A new face

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4 June 1995 Delacourt Manor.

- Oh, monsieur, that's... That's a terrible haircut! - Right at the entrance, something airy and hurricane-like in lace and ribbons came over me. The scent of some fancy perfume enveloped me in a stupefying cloud as it almost dragged me along, heading for a huge mirror and a table laden with various bottles I'd never seen before. Stunned by this barrage of words and the flurry of activity around me, I'd forgotten about the wand up my sleeve.

Seated in a chair, I finally got a chance to look at the person who had "attacked" me. She was a short, frail, black-haired girl, dressed in some incredible dress of lace and ribbons, surprisingly harmonious with each other and not tastelessly garish. Her lush mane was braided into dozens of pigtails, some of her hair fell freely down her back, and all of it was decorated with beads, ribbons, and stones. She thought for a second that if Professor Trelawney had such a stylist, she wouldn't look like a dishevelled dragonfly. I didn't notice anything like the "battle paint" on her face that I'd seen earlier at Hogwarts or Little Whinging Primary School; rather the opposite, the girl wasn't wearing makeup, as far as I could tell. Her grey eyes from under her long lashes scrutinised me, and for a split second it seemed as if we were in a kitchen where I was to be the main course.

- Monsieur needed a dramatic makeover! - Having satisfied herself with the inspection, the girl began in a high-pitched voice. - Mr Delacourt said that monsieur must not be recognised even by his best friend or girlfriend!

- Lady, I have to disappoint you, but my friends have betrayed me, so I have no desire to see them. - My jaw clenched involuntarily, and my cheekbones swelled with the pain that came again. The fact that I had never had a girlfriend, in spite of my timid attempts to make some kind of relationship with the fair sex, I decided to keep silent.

- Excuse me, monsieur, excuse me," she said again, "my name is Miriam, and I am the stylist of the Delacourt family. My task for today is to make you unrecognisable, monsieur, and I will do it, whatever it takes. - A small fist jokingly waved at me. - I will do it even if Monsieur resists.

The girl's direct, vivid emotions, which did not hide her feelings, unlike those of the Delacourt couple, helped me to relax for a while, giving myself over to the delicate hands, which twisted me about, trimming, dabbing, and dripping into my eyes coloured liquids from numerous bottles. The bottles with shimmering witchy substances inside were replaced by frankly Muggle bottles with multilingual labels, and the concentrated face of the girl who had gone to work reminded me of the films I'd seen on TV about great artists of the past creating another masterpiece.

I had a desire to doze off, but every time I tried to do so, another click of scissors or splashing from some bottle pulled me out of a sweet half-dream.

Finally, the whirlwind of activity with the beautiful and unusual sounding name Miriam, which was raging around me, released me from its clinging hands with sharp claws and turned me round to the mirror.

- My eloquence was all I could muster, which was sharply compromised by what I saw in the mirror.

The familiar Harry Potter no longer existed. Mr Potter had given way to a short-cropped, russet-haired boy with a Muggle military hairdo. The Boy Who Survived's trademark scar on his forehead and green eyes had been replaced by brown contact lenses and smooth skin instead of the serpentine streak of the curse.

Turning to Miriam in complete shock, I could only utter one thing: "HOW?"

- Artificial skin, a Muggle invention. - Miriam understood my surprise exactly. - It adheres well, stays on for quite a long time, the main thing is to remember to renew the sticker periodically, so that it doesn't fall off at the wrong moment. And the best thing is that your new look doesn't have a single drop of magic in it.

On an involuntary impulse, I hugged the frozen girl.

- Ahem, Mr Potter," the slight smile in the politician's voice was quite obvious. - My daughters might be jealous of you and Miriam. - After that flash of humour, Delacourt's face turned serious again.

- I want you to meet someone else who can help you disguise yourself. - With his master's last words, a grey-haired man dressed in a Muggle three-piece suit walked through the door. - Henri, we need something that isn't too restrictive. Other than that, it's up to Mr Potter's discretion.

The politician, discussing something with Miriam, who gave me a sly smile, walked out, leaving me to the couturier's mercy, at whose gesture the House elf puffed and levitated a pair of heavy metal cases.

Unlike Miriam, Henri's couturier didn't neglect magic. On the contrary, he enjoyed being a magician. Seating himself in a chair not far from me, he opened both cases with his wand, from which various wardrobe items began to fly out - the elderly man was a master of levitation.

Around me and Henri, who was sitting in the armchair, spun several rings made of articles of clothing flashing at high speed: trousers, shirts, T-shirts, jumpers, jackets and shorts - all of it was spinning, joined at different angles and in different combinations, as if living a life of its own.

Lulled by this flickering, I dozed off for a while. The master's gentle cough brought me out of the sweet dream where I had been forcing my wand down the Dark Lord's throat, forgetting all about magic. When I opened my eyes, I found that both of my coffers were already closed, and a rather impressive stack of clothes on the table in front of me.

- Mr Potter, I would ask you to try these on. - At the wave of my wand, a thin screen decorated with floral patterns flew from the corner.

Taking cover behind the screen, I carefully pulled on my new clothes. Black Muggle jeans of the most classic cut, with the silhouette of a lion standing up on its side glistening lonely. A simple steel-grey shirt without any lace or frills, which sat rather baggy on me, but didn't constrain my movements at all. If you put on a decent robe, you'd be an ordinary mage, not too rich, but not poor either. Take it off, and you're looking at a muggle who's never heard of magic. When Henri realised from my face that I was satisfied with the clothes I had chosen, he bowed slightly and walked out the door, accompanied by the coffers floating in the air.

The day before, in the underground hall of the Delacour house.

The people gathered in that room were a rather heterogeneous bunch. The Delacourt couple were true politicians, only slightly lowering their emotional shields in the presence of close friends. A tall, mature man with long blond hair and a beard that didn't hide the many spell and blade scars that littered his face, dressed in an unrestrictive shirt, trousers, and soft boots. He was a middle-aged man with long, tangled hair, his eyes looking away from the crowd and his lips whispering something only he could understand. The Delacours paid no attention to the oddities of their second and last friend, having long since become accustomed to his manner of behaviour.

- Ciaran, James, I asked you to come here today because I had a chance. - Delacourt Sr. seemed excited beyond measure. - I won't ask you to take an oath to keep what you've heard a secret - that would be an insult to our friendship.

- Jean, you know very well that we can keep quiet," James glanced at the politician, distracted from his musings.

- Today my daughter brought Harry Potter to the house, who asked the Delacourt family for help and political asylum... though I doubt he knows those words, but the general meaning of his request, conveyed through Fleur, is as follows.

- Harry Potter, you say..." Ciaran stretched out thoughtfully. - That explains a lot. And what does he want from you?

- I think he turned to Fleur, and therefore to me, out of hopelessness when he found out that Dumbledore and his best friends were trying to manipulate his life. Poisoning him with friendship potions and planning to marry his protege, the heiress of a family of blood traitors, as they're called in England - that alone would have been enough to make a fifteen-year-old run away.

- Well, the boy had been unlucky in life. - Ciaran shook his head doubtfully. - I didn't think Grindewald's victor would stoop to outright meanness, but... I always thought his fame as a light wizard was a bit overblown by the newspapers. But that's not the point," the wizard looked at his best friend. - It's about what you want in this situation.

- I want the next Dark Lord to die in England, instead of getting involved in politics on the continent after his eventual victory-and he may well win, if you remember what happened there fifteen years ago. I don't think he, with his lust for power, will confine himself to England alone. But even if he does limit himself to one country - the status quo will still be disrupted. Refugees, a change in magical England's policy on the world stage, the prospect of an invasion across the Channel to us nearest neighbours. England, with a victorious Dark Lord, could become a breeding ground for all manner of contagion. Well, and the opportunity to strengthen the position of the family in England, to get the opportunity to indirectly influence the Ministry through a national hero - is worth a lot.

- And the opportunity to negotiate? - Marie Delacourt did not pay attention to the surprised raised eyebrows of her husband. - Or are you not even considering a treaty with Voldemort?

- A true Veela," James said with some admiration. - "What exquisite cunning... With a trump card like the Boy Who Survived, to negotiate with the Dark Lord... A classy option, but a useless one.

- I think so too," Ciaran nodded in agreement. - No matter what trump card we have, it's impossible to predict how the strongest dark mage on the continent will behave after a victory. If I were him, I'd get rid of allies who know too much. And just trust the word of a man who didn't hesitate to come to the house fourteen years ago to kill a defenceless child..... I can't believe he retained any sense of honour. Then again, knowing Lucius personally," the mage grimaced, "with such 'allies', you'd be afraid for a helping hand, let alone the success of the whole endeavour.

- There's another reason I'm more inclined to help Potter than to bargain with the Dark Lord behind his back. - Jean-Claude straightened up. - He saved Gabrielle during the Wizarding Tournament organised by Dumbledore, and the Delacourt family is owed, if not LIFE, then at least HELP for saving my child.

- The goblins report that Dumbledore has a rather loose interpretation of custody and the family safe," Marie continued. - "He's withdrawn a fair amount of money over the years, supposedly for 'caring for the boy' without ever documenting it. I don't know whether he'd spent it on another bribe to the Wizengamot, or on the rumoured secret order, but the fact remained that Harry Potter had never seen the money.

- And from what my daughter has told me, Potter spent the first eleven years of his life with relatives who hated him, in complete poverty, you might say. - Jean-Claude grimaced. - Keeping the scion of a noble and ancient family, the last survivor of the Potter War with the Muggles... It was somehow... Unworthy.

- So the Headmaster is quietly stealing from the scion of an ancient family. - James perked up, speaking on the usual subject of accounts, laws and papers. - But there's a difficulty: even I, for all my cleverness, couldn't withdraw everything from the accounts of a ward if I suddenly went mad and wanted to commit such a heinous act. Dumbledore would have to make do with a pittance of the principal account - goblins won't let anyone get into assets that are untouchable to outsiders without the heir's personal instruction. So there can only be two ways for him to do this. Either tell Potter about the true size of the inheritance, not just the baby safe, confess that he needs the money, and try to convince him to sponsor the Headmaster's ideas further. But it will come out that he's put his hand in his pocket before - the goblins won't keep quiet about that. Or he could marry Potter to his protege and then, having such leverage over the poor man, pull money out of him. The second option is more favourable to him. Even if Potter suddenly dies in battle or from an "accident" - all the money will go to the "inconsolable widow", who obviously will not forget the benefactor who arranged her happiness, and here no one will be able to dig in. Everything will be honourably executed by the same goblins, who even if they understand what happened, they won't dig up Dumbledore without proof, and who would believe them at all.

- Yeah... I never thought the victor of Grindewald would go to such lengths..." Ciaran grimaced. - At least if we decide to help Potter, we'll be honest about what we're doing and why, and what we expect him to do if we win. And this one...

- So you agree with me that it's better to help Potter? - Jean-Claude continued. - 'Then I propose a plan of action: change Potter's appearance, restore his control over the accounts, James - the accounts are yours to manage. Ciaran, can you get him trained in battle magic in a year and a half or two?

The wine-sipping man nodded after a moment's thought.

- It would be desirable to see his level first... but I think it's possible if you train hard. The opportunity to train a potential assassin of the Dark Lord for a battle mage like myself is a challenge that many will not wait for in a lifetime, then again, the English and French will not forget the companion and teacher of a national hero. James will get a cut of the money for managing the Potters' money, which he will surely in his inimitable, goblin-induced nervous tic manner invest in the most unexpected ventures. The three of us get a little leverage over the English Ministry... But you must have kept something in reserve for yourself, Jean, confess it.

The politician tried to raise his eyebrows indignantly, but quickly gave up, laughing under his friend's penetrating gaze.

- Yes, you're right, you're bloody right. I have two daughters for whom I need to find suitable suitors... And then Providence sends me an unmarried heir to an ancient, wealthy family, and not bound by a marriage contract from birth..." James laughed.

James laughed, choking on the wine he had just drunk. The mage finished his glass in a gulp.

- The old procurer!

- Not in the least. I noticed an interesting thing about Mr Potter at lunch today: he's a strong enough mage at such a young age to be in the same room with Veela and her two commoner daughters without too much trouble. Which means he won't go into a drooling trance further down the line, which might draw attention to him... Both Fleur and Gabrielle. - Jean-Claude looked at the crowd with a meaningful glance.

- And even I, in the first years after my marriage, needed a special amulet made by the late Arnold Delacourt, peace be upon him. My grandfather was a brilliant artefactor. And it took you both a while to stop turning into drooling idiots around my wife.

- For a political alliance like ours, it was the alliance itself that mattered, dear," Mari smiled at her husband. - And the fact that you were able to resist my charms and learn to live without the amulet allowed me to finally see you as a true friend and lover. Young Potter has a rare resistance to Veela charms, and in the future, as his magical power increases, he will not react to them at all. So my daughters' interest in him is assured. But there is no need for them to know about our plans - everything will work out without our help.

- Further, it is desirable to get Potter out of Dumbledore's custody as quickly as possible, digging up more dirt on this great wizard. And from what we know, there will be a lot of dirt. - Jean-Claude said thoughtfully. - And subsequently to achieve his accession to the rights of Lord Potter after adulthood. Marie, don't you remember, the Potters used to have votes in the Wizengamot?

- Now the Potters and for some reason the Blecks have a vote in the Wizengamot, Dumbledore. I don't know where he got the Blecks' vote from, but he must have paid someone royally, because the last surviving Bleck is still alive, albeit outlawed.

- James, raise your contacts in London, we will need informants about what Dumbledore Lord and the Ministry are doing, there is little hope for the Prophet - too much customised information and too little truth. - Ciaran advised. - And I'll have to look for potion makers, to restore the boy to health. If the newspapers aren't lying about him, then all four years of Hogwarts were one battle for survival. Basilisk, the Philosopher's Stone, that obscure godfather of his, about whose escape from Azkaban was written even in our newspapers... by the way, it would be necessary to find out the details of that long ago story..... Now here's the Tournament, where he ran into the Dark Lord and somehow managed to escape....

4 June 1995 London branch of Gringotts.

Having, thanks to the efforts of Delacourt Senior's men, changed my appearance beyond recognition, I, along with the politician and Jean-Claude's friend James, a tall, thin man, clearly out of this world, who had joined us on the way, travelled to Gringotts with the help of a portkey.

 James, who had received my consent, sauntered over to the goblin cashiers' counters in the main hall and, after a brief but very emotional conversation, arranged a meeting with the Potter family's account manager. After a couple of minutes, a goblin dressed in full armour came out from behind an inconspicuous door and beckoned us to follow him, inviting us into the bowels of the goblin bank, which were closed to ordinary people.

 As we walked down the long, tangled corridors, roughly carved into the stone massif, we gradually descended lower and lower, finally arriving at a small door guarded by two goblins. The two guards let us into the usual business office, a long desk piled with papers, armchairs, and many cabinets with thick books. The only difference from the office of the same headmaster in Little Winning, to which I had been summoned a couple of times, was that on the wall hung a considerable number of marvellously beautiful weapons, glittering with steel, gold, and precious stones. The master of the office, a wrinkled goblin, not old enough, wearing simple, one might say ascetic clothes, met us at the entrance and after a short greeting and introduction led us to the chairs.

 - I was informed that you sought a meeting with me, Mr Potter. - Griphawk, who was somehow not fooled by my disguise, made himself comfortable in the chair.

 - Mr Griphawk," James, who was more experienced in dealing with goblins, spoke instead of me. - Mr Potter, in his conversation with me, had mentioned that at no time in the past fourteen years of his life had he ever received an account statement or a request for a major financial transaction involving Potter family assets.

 As Jean-Claude's friend outlined the purpose of our visit, the goblin rapidly changed the colour of his skin, gradually turning pale green, his claws beginning to scrape across the polished tabletop, leaving shavings clearly visible even from where I was sitting. After apologising to us, the goblin left the office, and a wild roar came from the corridor - it was even strange how a rather modest-sized creature could have such a voice. Apparently, what he had said had really touched him. Griphawk returned, accompanied by another goblin, much younger, speaking emotionally in Gobbledook. James, who apparently knew the language, listened blissfully to the Potters' account manager's stilted turns of phrase, clearly swearing at him.

 - I have to admit, gentlemen, we have no evidence that Mr Potter actually received the papers sent to him. - The goblin slumped heavily in his chair, calming down abruptly. - The only thing we can say in our defence is that many heirs and aristocrats prefer to entrust the management of accounts entirely to goblins or, in the case of guardianship, to guardians. So Mr Potter's lack of instructions and the papers signed by Headmaster Dumbledore taking responsibility for the guardianship of the heir of the family after the death of his parents were not in doubt for us. But if this is the case as you say..." The goblin tapped his claws nervously on the mangled tabletop, as if staring in amazement at the deep scratches. - Mr Potter, this is a rather serious accusation against the bank, and we must ask you to confirm your words under Veritaserum.

 - I have nothing to fear if your questions are only about the financial part," James and Jean-Claude nodded, agreeing with my opinion.

 At the manager's roar, a goblin brought a small vial of Truth Serum. I bowed as the younger goblin handed me the cup, and three drops of Veritaserum fell into it before my eyes. There was an immediate blissful silence in my head, broken by a voice I was obliged to obey, obliged to tell the truth.

 - Are you Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter?

 - Yes," I said, almost without thinking about the answer, absorbed in the warm and empty feeling in my head.

 - Have you received your account statements from the Gringotts Bank?

 - No, not once.

 - Have you received requests from Gringotts Bank for various transactions involving your assets?

 - No, never.

 - Did your guardian ever discuss the subject of Potter family money with you?

 - He only informed me that my parents had left me a small inheritance, kept in a safe deposit box, which I had already visited several times.

 - Did he inform you that it was a child's safe and that the rest of the money was in a safe at deeper levels?

 - No, I first heard about there being something else besides the "baby safe" only today.

 The goblin handed me a cup with an antidote and I collapsed in my chair, gradually coming to my senses. The scowling manager waited until I had finally recovered and spoke again.

 - Mr Potter, the Gringotts Bank apologises for what happened. The person responsible for delivering your letters from the bank, who has been negligent in his duties over the past few years, will suddenly leave this mortal world today, having been poisoned by mushroom salad during dinner. Such is the fate of those who jeopardise the reputation of the goblin race. As an apology, we can offer you ten per cent of your bills in addition to what is already in the Potter family vaults. That's quite a substantial sum. Nor will Gringotts prevent you from secretly changing Dumbledore's control over the management of your accounts to someone convenient to you.

 When I agreed, the goblin pulled another parchment from somewhere in the depths of the table, and James signed it, sprinkling it with blood from his cut finger. Immediately the goblin's blood was added to it, followed by my signature and blood.

 - Now, Mr Potter, that problem is solved. Dumbledore won't get another Knut from your accounts, and more importantly, he won't find out that a Frenchman now controls them. - The goblin looked at us with a slight chuckle, realising that keeping the secret benefited us as much as the bank. Jean-Claude grinned, pleased with the manager's dodgy behaviour, and even James's eyes showed some respect for the goblin who had managed to ensure that the bank's reputation was preserved.

 The papers I'd pulled from the desk describing my assets quickly passed from my hands into the hands of my allies, who quickly looked them over and returned them to the goblin.

 James, calculating something in his mind, spoke.

 - As Jean-Claude must have said before, there is enough money to live well for a lifetime, and to leave to the children. - Inexplicably, the financier smiled thinly. - I think I can increase your wealth somewhat, Mr Potter, but don't expect immediate results. There isn't much free money in your accounts, so don't expect them to increase very quickly - the bulk of your finances are "circulating" in various businesses in the magical and Muggle worlds, and it won't be possible to get them out of there painlessly. The money that is free from turnover has mostly been raked out of your accounts by Dumbledore, and it is hardly possible to get anything back - he is too powerful to bring him to justice. The most you can do is make him nervous in the press and damage his reputation as a great light wizard in the eyes of others. And now I must make a vow to you.

 James rose from his chair and walked over to me, pulling out his wand. 

 - I, James of the Anjou family, do swear an oath to Harold James Potter that I will conduct his financial affairs honestly, at the first demand and if necessary provide a detailed account of my actions and their consequences and reasons. Let my honour and magic be my surety. - The halo of light common to magical oaths enveloped the man. The goblin and Delacour Senior looked at him respectfully.

 I looked at the man gratefully, impressed by his honesty.

 - I appreciate what you've done, Mr James," I bowed to the financier. - Manager Griphawk, I have one more request for you... When Dumbledore comes to collect my money from Gringotts - send me a memory of the look on his face afterwards, I think it would be a worthy picture and moral compensation.

 A chuckling Griphawk could hardly squeeze out an assent.

 We left the bank building, still chuckling slightly, and stopped for a bite to eat at a café in Diagon Ally. As soon as our order arrived, Jean-Claude and James simultaneously placed an eavesdropping protection, a Circle of Inattention, something that looked like Animagus protection, and some other enchantments I didn't know about.

 - There is one more thing that needs to be done soon. - Jean-Claude abruptly lost his cheerfulness. - You have now released your family's finances from control, and James has sworn an oath to you on magic and honour. On that score, as you can see, we can be trusted. What remains is to free your life from legalised control in the form of the long-bearded guardian you have, who for some reason sent you to Muggle relatives instead of raising you himself or fostering you with any of the noble families. Why he did it is still to be investigated, personally I don't see any reason why it was necessary. Then there's his manipulation of your finances and your signatures to Gringotts' requests. Those two facts are already enough to initiate proceedings to have his rights to your custody revoked somewhere in a neutral country. With our judicial system it may take a long time, but the chances of success are high.

 - I would suggest organising the case in Germany, where the International Tribunal of Wizards is currently located. - James entered the conversation. - On the one hand, it's a neutral organisation that doesn't care about you, so they'll handle the case relatively impartially. On the other hand," the mage smirked openly, "it's a neutral organisation that doesn't care about you, so they'll be relatively impartial. - German wizards, who are the majority in the Tribunal at the moment, although they respect Grindewald's victor in words, they remember very well who was his loyal associate in the first years of the wizard's rise, and who betrayed him by stabbing him in the back. Not everything that was written about Dumbledore's victory over Grindewald supposedly in a fair duel was true, and not everyone let themselves be fooled by newspaper praises of "the greatest light wizard of the century". Yes, Dumbledore ended up killing Grindewald, but they had done a lot of business together before that, including on the territory of Germany, which had lost the most in the World War. So the old trickster wasn't much liked in Germany, to say the least... perhaps more than the Germans, the only people who had any complaints about Dumbledore were the wizards of the Land of the Soviets, who had lost an incredible number of people in Grindewald's war, but it would be too expensive to go to them for justice.

 I listened to James intently, sipping at my coffee. I couldn't say that his words came as a surprise, but I'd heard some things for the first time. All in all, the plan seemed reasonable enough.

 - What would it require of me?

 - Well... for starters... - Jean-Claude twirled his finger in the air. - First, you'll need to find people to "throw in" your case at one of the Tribunal meetings. It will require some time and some money, which you have. The Tribunal only deals with big cases, but with some effort..." he grinned.

 - We'll need your memories, as well as the Potters' will..." James frowned. - The latter could be a problem, if the Ministry or Dumbledore had stashed it away. I'd have to see what statements were in the press fourteen years ago, and what's in the Ministry's public records, to talk about anything in particular. I've never been interested in this case, though a competent lawyer could make such a career out of it... I have someone to look in the Ministry's archives, though... There is one person there who loves money and for a certain fee is ready to answer a question to anyone... Everyone knows everything, but apparently this official pays a little bit to all his bosses who could destroy his small business, and so far everyone is satisfied with it. It would take time and, again, a fairly modest amount of money to bribe them....

 - And once again, Mr Potter," Jean-Claude looked me in the eye without a smile. - All of us, James, myself, Ciaran, and I all have some interest in this case, we are politicians, businessmen, and simply enterprising people. But we also remember that the Delacourt family owes you for saving Gabrielle, that my daughter Fleur has a great deal of respect for you, and we will not go behind your back like Dumbledore did, much less try to steal from you or set you up in any way. I don't want to say that we've become friends with you already - we're more like allies - but we have a common cause that my old associates and I are now getting into. I am telling you this in order to eliminate any possible misunderstanding between us in the future, and please understand me.

 Although Delacourt Senior's words surprised me somewhat unpleasantly, I found the strength to nod in agreement and shake his hand firmly. Indeed, a politician can not be idealistic-blessed, but the Frenchman's honesty and his straightforwardness in the conduct of affairs already outweighed any possible disadvantages. Again, James's oath, the honest word of the head of the Delacourt family and his acknowledged debt to me was worth a lot, it could protect me from possible betrayal, which I could not hope for in the camp of Dumbledore's or the Dark Lord's supporters.

 - Mr Delacourt, what is your friend Ciaran's interest in this matter? - I asked a question of no small importance to me. It was clear what Delacourt Sr. and James needed and what they would get if they succeeded, but the militant's position remained a mystery.

 - How can I put this?" Jean-Claude said, gathering his thoughts. - I don't want to speak for him, but it seems to me that the very possibility of training a man who had already killed one Dark Lord as an infant, even if not completely... For a mage like Ciaran, that alone would be a real gift. But he will not refuse the Order of Merlin of the first degree in case of your possible victory," Jean-Claude smiled, showing that he was half-joking, "and other bonuses attached to the reputation of a teacher and mentor of a national hero. On the wave of popularity Ciaran will be able to get into the top management of the French Aurorat, maybe even become its head, and try to change a lot of methods of training and organisation of our fighters. Now he has no such opportunities, and no money or influence of Delacourt and Godefroy families can help him in this, too many French noble families are interested in maintaining the status quo in the Aurorat. A man with a fresh perspective on French problems is of no use to anyone there. Politics, what else can I say...Well, and again...Ciaran still does not miss any big trouble in France, he can be called a younger follower of the local Alastor Moody, so for a chance to fight with a worthy opponent, he will go to a lot, although to the Dark Lord himself is unlikely to go, soberly assessing his own strength. But he was one of the strongest fighters in the Aurorat's French force.

 Satisfied with Delacourt's answers, I finished my steak, and after paying, we left the café, preparing to return to France. Before I turned into the alley between the houses, I noticed Weasley Junior and Hermione walking towards me, but they walked past us, not realising who they had just looked at with indifferent glances. Mentally I thanked Miriam's art once again, truly making me unrecognisable even to my 'best friends'.

 I spent the rest of the time before dinner in the company of Fleur and Gabrielle, who expressed their admiration for Miriam's disguise. Fleur made me blush when she tried to see the hidden scar, and her lips were right next to mine as she studied my forehead intently, finally deeming the stylist's work "well worth it," and Gabrielle laughed merrily when she saw the colour flooding my face. We walked around the park, going to the most secluded corners of the estate, and the girls showed me a tiny grotto with a trickle of water falling from the vaults, shimmering in the sunlight. Then, after leaving Delacourt's domain for a while, we visited the nursery where the Ministry of Magic workers were breeding griffins. Hagrid's lessons hadn't gone to waste, and the majestic half-lion half-eagles allowed themselves to be petted, which earned me respectful glances from the nursery staff and interested looks from my beautiful companions. During the walk, my embarrassment, which usually interfered with conversation with the girls, gradually disappeared somewhere, and I sincerely enjoyed talking to the educated and delicate daughters of Jean-Claude, telling them about Hogwarts and the funny pranks of the Weasley twins. I thought the twins were at least good enough to have two of the most adorable girls I'd ever seen in my life laughing at their antics.

 Dinner with the rest of the family and the silent Ciaran, who had joined us, was uneventful, no serious conversations, realising that I had already made enough serious decisions today that I needed to digest them. After dinner, everyone went to their rooms, and Gabrielle jokingly decided to do what Fleur had done and look at my scar, which required her to stand on her tiptoes, but I just smiled at the girl who laughed. The night was surprisingly quiet, even the pain in my scar didn't bother me, and my dreams were peaceful and serene. Despite the events of the previous day, the company of two carefree girls with their bright and pure emotions gradually healed my mental wounds.