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The ballroom was finally beginning to settle into a rhythm that felt less like a frenetic diplomatic skirmish and more like the end of a long, exhausting siege. The music had softened, shifting from the grand, demanding waltzes to something slower and more contemplative, and the enchanted ceiling had dimmed its starlight to a restful indigo.
Harry navigated the edge of the crowd, his eyes scanning for a safe harbor. He had survived the interrogation of the French Ministry, the matchmaking of an eight-year-old, and the weight of representing his country, but his social battery was running dangerously low.
He spotted Daphne Greengrass standing near a marble pillar. She held a glass of something sparkling and pale, looking elegantly bored, a calm island in the sea of networking adults.
Harry exhaled and walked over, leaning against the pillar beside her.
"Hiding?" Daphne asked without looking at him, though the corner of her mouth quirked upward.
"Strategically repositioning," Harry corrected, loosening his collar just a fraction. "If one more person asks me about the 'Price of my Talismans' or are you willing to give me one for free to 'test' it,' I might accidentally set them on fire."
Daphne turned, her ice-blue eyes amused. "That would certainly liven up the evening." She took a sip of her drink. "You look like you've survived a war, Potter. Or at least a skirmish with the French bureaucracy."
"A bit of both," Harry admitted. "It's... a lot."
"It usually is," she said. "But the food was good."
"Incredible," Harry agreed. He looked at her, noting that despite the terrifying nature of her mother, Daphne seemed relatively at ease in this shark tank. "So, third year. Are you ready for it? I assume you've picked all the difficult electives."
"Ancient Runes and Arithmancy," Daphne confirmed. "Mother insisted. She says Divination is for people who enjoy smelling incense and being wrong, and Care of Magical Creatures is for people who don't mind smelling like manure."
Harry snorted. "I picked Runes too. For the talismans. And Care of Magical Creatures, actually."
"Of course you did," Daphne said, shaking her head. "You and your monsters. I suppose you'll be bringing that terrifying cat of yours?"
"Itisa is not a monster, she's family," Harry defended automatically, though he smiled. "But yeah. It feels strange, talking about school here. Standing in a palace, wearing robes that cost more than a Firebolt... it still feels bizarre to be here, Daphne. Like I've stepped into someone else's life."
Daphne swirled her drink, watching the bubbles rise. "You will get used to it, Harry."
Harry looked at her sideways, raising an eyebrow. "Does that mean I'm going to be attending more parties like this?"
Daphne gave him a look that suggested he was asking if water was wet. "You know the answer to that question. You're Harry Potter. You're the Talisman Prodigy. You're the boy who keeps surviving things that should kill him. You don't get to hide in the dormitory anymore."
Harry groaned softly, letting his head thump back against the marble pillar. "Brilliant."
"I was nervous in the beginning, too," Daphne admitted, her voice dropping an octave, losing some of its public polish. " The first time Mother brought me to a gala, I was six. I was terrified I'd spill pumpkin juice on a Minister." She shrugged one elegant shoulder. "But eventually, you get used to it. You learn the scripts. You learn to smile when you want to scream. And eventually... you get bored."
She gestured with her glass toward the crowd. "It's the same people, Harry. The same conversations, just in different languages. Someone like Horace Slughorn would be in paradise right now, but for the rest of us, it's just work."
"Who's Slughorn?" Harry asked.
Daphne looked at him, surprised. "Right. I forget you grew up with Muggles until you were eight. Horace Slughorn. He used to teach Potions at Hogwarts before the war—before Snape. According to my parents, he was... a collector."
"A collector?" Harry frowned. "Of what? Dark artifacts?"
"People," Daphne said. "He had a talent for seeing talent. He collected students who were famous, or brilliant, or well-connected. He called it the 'Slug Club.' If you were his friend, if you were in his club, you could get any job you wanted. He knew everyone. He built a web of favors and influence that stretched across the entire Ministry." She nodded toward the room. "He would be incredibly happy here. He'd probably have Minister Delacour eating out of his hand within the hour."
"Sounds exhausting," Harry muttered. "And manipulative."
"It's Slytherin," Daphne corrected simply. "It's how the world works, Harry. Connections matter." She turned her body fully toward him, her expression sharpening. "Speaking of connections... how did it go for you tonight? Did you find anyone willing to sell your talismans without demanding your soul in exchange?"
Harry sighed, the frustration of the evening bubbling up again. "Not many. The moment I bring up that I'm independent, that I don't have a Foundation backing me... they turn their backs. They look at me like I'm a child playing with fire."
"You are a child playing with fire," Daphne pointed out. "A very talented child, but still."
"Russia was interested," Harry admitted. "Ekaterina Belikova. She gave me her card. Said her family respects independent power."
Daphne's eyebrows rose. "Russia? That is... intense. Russia is a harsh country, Harry. The winters are cold, and the politics are colder. They don't play by the same rules as Western Europe. If you rely on them, you might find yourself in debt to people who don't accept galleons as payment."
"I know," Harry said, rubbing his temples. "I'm not sure how much I can trust it. But it's better than being owned."
"You could still join the Greengrass Foundation," Daphne said quietly.
Harry stiffened, his green eyes flashing as he looked at her. "I will not throw away my freedom, Daphne. I'm not going to be a pet artificer for your mother."
"Don't look at me like that," Daphne scoffed, her own temper flaring. "I'm not Mother. I know she can be... difficult. I know she's a shark. But she's effective."
"Effective at manipulation," Harry shot back.
"Yes! That's the point!" Daphne hissed, keeping her voice low so as not to attract attention. "Harry, look around you. You are brilliant, yes. You are brave. But you are alone. Right now, you are young, and people indulge you because you are a novelty. But once you get older? Once you are seventeen? You will have to start obeying laws you didn't write. You will have regulations strangling your business. You will have competitors who don't play fair."
She took a step closer, her blue eyes intense. "When that day comes, you will need strong friends by your side. Not just school friends, Harry. Powerful friends. Institutions. You cannot fight the entire world on your own."
"I'm not fighting the world," Harry argued. "I'm just trying to help people."
"And that is exactly why the world will try to eat you," Daphne retorted. "You are supposed to work alongside people who know how the game is played."
"You mean I'm supposed to work alongside the same people who funded Voldemort's campaign?" Harry snapped.
The name seemed to suck the warmth out of the air between them. Daphne didn't flinch, but her face went very still.
"My parents," Harry said, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed anger, "died fighting him. And your parents gave him gold. And now you want me to sign my work over to them?"
Daphne looked at him for a long, heavy moment. She didn't look ashamed. She looked... weary.
"For someone so smart, Potter," she said softly, "you are very naive sometimes."
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off.
"What would you do to protect the Tonks family?" she asked.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"If someone held a wand to Nymphadora's head," Daphne said, her voice steady. "If Mister Tonks and Lady Andromeda were threatened with death. If you knew that fighting meant they would all die, right there in front of you... what would you do? Would you stand on your principles? Would you die bravely? Or would you do whatever it took to keep them breathing?"
"I would do everything," Harry said instantly, the image of his adoptive family flashing through his mind. "I would fight."
"And if you couldn't win?" Daphne pressed. "If the enemy was invincible? If he had already killed everyone else who stood against him?"
"I wouldn't give money to a madman," Harry insisted.
"I understand your anger," Daphne said, her tone shifting from confrontational to something almost gentle. "I do not fault you for it. But think, Harry. Just for a moment. We read the history books, but we didn't live it. From what I heard, from what I read in the family journals... Voldemort was winning."
She said it simply, as a fact of history.
"The Ministry was crumbling," Daphne continued. "The Aurors were dying. Whole families were being wiped out in a single night. Sure, the other side had Dumbledore. But Dumbledore is one man. Dumbledore is not enough to protect everyone. And then... a miracle saved all of us."
She looked at him pointedly.
"My parents did the job," Harry said quickly, instinctively deflecting the credit. "All I did that night was cry in my crib."
"Maybe that's true," Daphne conceded. "But whatever happened that night caused Voldemort to die or flee. It ended the war. But before that night? Six years before he disappeared? That was when the Great Pure Houses were forced to choose."
She leaned in, her voice a harsh whisper. "It wasn't a choice between 'Good' and 'Evil,' Harry. It was a choice between 'Side with him' or 'Beg for mercy.' What were my parents supposed to do, Harry? Wait for the Dark Mark to appear over our manor? Wait for us to be slaughtered because we refused to pick a side? Or save themselves by using the only thing they could use—their reputation and their gold?"
"Why didn't they try to contact Dumbledore?" Harry asked, his voice bitter but quieter. "Surely he would have helped them. He's the Leader of the Light. He's supposed to help."
Daphne looked away, toward the center of the ballroom where the lights were dimming.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I wasn't born. But... I have heard from my father that Dumbledore never liked our House. He sees the world in Gryffindor colors, Harry. If you aren't one of his, you are expendable. He would never have helped them, even if they begged. And my parents... they are too proud to beg for a life raft that isn't coming. My father once told me before I came to Hogwarts 'Dumbledore is like a chessmaster, do not rely on him if you desire your own survival and those you love. Never trust Dumbledore.' I don't know what history My Family has with Dumbledore, but I choose to believe my father."
She turned back to him, her eyes hard again. "They chose survival. Me and Astorita exist because they made that choice. You can hate them for it. But don't pretend it was simple."
Harry stood there, the sounds of the party washing over him, feeling unmoored. It was easy to hate Lucius Malfoy. But Charles and Cassiopeia Greengrass? Were they monsters, or were they just... people who were scared and rich enough to buy their way out of fear?
He wasn't sure how to feel.
"Daphne," a smooth, cultured voice cut through the tension.
Harry turned to see Cassiopeia Greengrass approaching.
"Mother," Daphne said, instantly straightening, the vulnerable girl vanishing behind the mask of the Heiress.
"Mr. Potter," Cassiopeia said, bestowing a friendly, dazzling smile upon him. It was the smile of the elegant shark Crystal-Harmony had described. "I trust my daughter hasn't been boring you with school gossip?"
"Not at all, Lady Greengrass," Harry said, his voice automatic. "We were just discussing... history."
"History is fascinating," Cassiopeia agreed, her eyes lingering on him for a second too long. "But the present is pressing. Daphne, darling, be ready. The ball will end soon, and we must make our farewells to the Minister. We wouldn't want to be rude."
"Of course, Mother," Daphne said. She cast one last glance at Harry—a look that said think about it—before stepping to her mother's side.
"Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Potter," Cassiopeia said.
"You too," Harry replied.
As they walked away, Harry let out a long breath he felt like he'd been holding for ten minutes. He leaned back against the pillar, and realized that for all his talk of independence, he really, really needed to talk to Andromeda after this whole thing ends.
He scanned the thinning crowd, ignoring the lingering gaze of a German diplomat, and found what he was looking for near a floating tray of self-replenishing éclairs.
Nymphadora Tonks was leaning against a pillar, looking remarkably elegant in her midnight-blue gown, though she was currently trying to discreetly shake a crumb off her bodice without alerting the nearby French aristocracy. Her hair had settled into a warm, burgundy curl that framed her face beautifully, though Harry noticed the tips were threatening to turn a bored shade of gray.
He walked up to her, feeling the smile growing on his face.
"Careful," Harry said, sliding up beside her. "I think that éclair is plotting revenge."
Tonks jumped, her hair flashing a startling yellow before settling back to burgundy. She swallowed the bite she'd been chewing. "Wotcher, Harry. You nearly gave me a heart attack. I was just... inspecting the structural integrity of the pastry. For Auror training purposes. Obviously."
"Obviously," Harry agreed solemnly. He offered her his hand. "Come on, Dora. Dance with me."
Tonks stared at his hand like it was a live grenade. "You're joking. Harry, you know I have two left feet. And in these heels? I'm a hazard to navigation. I'll cripple you, and then who's going to make cool magical jewelry for the Aurors?"
"I'll risk it," Harry said, not dropping his hand. "Besides, I've had a crash course from Fleur. I can lead. You just have to follow."
"Fleur," Tonks muttered, though she placed her hand in his. Her skin was warm, her grip firm. "Right. The wonder-witch."
Harry pulled her gently toward the floor. The orchestra had transitioned to a slower, more melodic waltz. He placed his hand on her waist, firmly, securely, and she rested her hand on his shoulder.
They moved. And to Tonks's visible surprise, she didn't trip.
"You're actually guiding me," she murmured, looking at him. Her hazel eyes were wide, reflecting the enchanted starlight above. "Since when did you get smooth, Potter?"
"Since I decided I didn't want my toes broken," Harry teased, tightening his grip slightly as he guided her through a turn. "You look beautiful tonight, Dora. I mean it. I told you before, but..."
"Yeah, yeah," she deflected, though her cheeks dusted pink. "It's the dress. Mum worked miracles."
"It's not the dress, well...the dress looks good too...but...you know what I mean," Harry said softly.
They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, moving like one. Harry looked at her eyes, then his eyes, looked at her nose, the shape of her cheeks, they were pretty red and beautiful, then his eyes fell on her lips, they looked...soft...
"So," Tonks said, breaking the silence with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Her hair shifted, a strand of bright, teasing turquoise falling over her eye. "I've been keeping count, you know."
"Count of what?" Harry asked, steering them away from a large, spinning couple.
"The harem you're apparently building," she deadpanned.
Harry was sure he had heard her wrong, and he missed a step, almost stepping on her right toe. "My what?"
Tonks grinned, looking delighted to have thrown him off balance. "Your collection. Honestly, Harry, are you collecting dangerous and powerful witches like they're Chocolate Frog cards? 'I'll trade you one Agrippa for a Sea Princess.'"
Harry groaned, recovering his rhythm. "I am not collecting anyone."
"Oh, please," Tonks ticked them off on her fingers behind his back as they turned. "First, you have Crystal-Harmony. An actual princess who transformed her entire biology just to see you. Then there's Fleur, the Veela champion who looks at you like you're the only interesting puzzle in the room."
"We're just friends," Harry protested weakly.
"And now I see you having intense, whispered conversations in dark corners with Daphne Greengrass," Tonks continued, raising an eyebrow. "Is the Ice Queen of Slytherin number four? Or are we counting me as number one, since I was here first?"
"You're not a number," Harry said, his voice dropping, becoming serious. "And Daphne... we were talking about politics. Trust me, it wasn't romantic. It was depressing."
"Likely story," Tonks teased, though she looked relieved. "You've got a type, Potter. Scary, powerful, and demanding."
"I like people who can keep up, who know their worth, and are not afraid to chase it, people who challenge themselves, and me." Harry retorted. He spun her out and brought her back in, the movement bringing them chest-to-chest for a fleeting second. He held her gaze. "Speaking of dancing... who was that bloke you were with earlier? The one with the blue eyes?"
Tonks blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. "Oh. Demir? He's nice. Turkish delegation."
"He seemed very... attentive," Harry noted, trying to keep his tone casual and failing. He felt a prickle of something hot and uncomfortable in his gut, not quite anger, but a possessive sort of anxiety, and it didn't help that Demir was quite handsome.
Tonks searched his face, her grin turning sly. Her hair shifted from turquoise to a smug, vibrant violet. "Why, Harry Potter... are you jealous?"
"I'm observant," Harry corrected, though he knew he wasn't fooling her. "He looked like he was enjoying the dance a lot."
"He's a Metamorphmagus," Tonks said softly. "First one I've met. It was nice to talk to someone who gets it. The shifting, the identity stuff."
Harry felt a pang of inadequacy. That was something he couldn't give her. He could give her talismans, he could give her loyalty, but he couldn't understand what it was like to change your face with a thought.
"Did you... like him?" Harry asked, the question escaping before he could check it.
Tonks stopped teasing. She looked at him, her expression softening into something tender and a little sad. She squeezed his shoulder.
"He has a girlfriend, Harry. They have this bond... it sounds amazing, actually." She shook her head slightly. "But even if he didn't..." She trailed off, her eyes searching his green ones.
"Even if he didn't?" Harry prompted, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"I'm not looking for a Turkish wizard," Tonks whispered. "I've already got my hands full trying to keep one trouble-magnet alive." She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a hush that seemed to shut out the rest of the ballroom. "I've only got eyes for one wizard, you idiot."
"Which one?" he whispered back, daring her to say it. Daring himself to hear it.
Tonks bit her lip, her eyes darting down to his mouth and then back up, panic and longing warring in her expression. She didn't answer. She couldn't answer. Not here. Not yet.
Harry decided to have mercy, but not before pushing just a little bit further. He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear as he guided her through the final turn of the dance.
"Ideally," Harry murmured, his voice low and vibrating against her skin, "it would be a wizard who thinks you look perfect exactly as you are. Even when your hair is violent orange."
Tonks let out a shaky breath, and Harry pulled back to see her face. Her cheeks were flaming a brilliant crimson, and her hair had turned a soft, rosy pink, the color of affection.
"You're dangerous," she muttered, though she was smiling. "I'm going to have to watch you."
"I'm counting on it," Harry said.
The music swelled to a final crescendo and then faded into silence. The dancers stopped, applause rippling through the room like a wave. Harry didn't let go of Tonks's hand immediately, giving it a squeeze before they stepped apart.
A chime rang out, clear and bell-like, drawing the room's attention to the raised dais at the front of the hall. Minister Victorien Delacour stepped forward, looking every bit the statesman in his midnight-blue robes. The room fell silent.
"Mesdames et Messieurs," the Minister began, his voice amplified by magic, warm and resonant. "As the stars dim above us, we bring this Grand Bal to a close. Tonight, we have not merely shared wine and music; we have shared a vision of the future."
He gestured to the floating banners above.
"We have seen that boundaries—be they borders of nations, or the surface of the sea—are not walls, but thresholds. We have strengthened old alliances and forged new ones." His eyes swept the room, lingering for a moment on Harry before moving on. "In times of uncertainty, it is friendship that lights the dark."
He turned slightly, extending a hand toward the area where Crystal-Harmony sat.
"I wish to offer a special gratitude," Delacour said, his voice filled with genuine respect. "To a guest who crossed a world to be with us. Her Royal Highness, Princess Crystal-Harmony of Abyssantica. Your presence here honors France, and reminds us that courage takes many forms."
The applause was thunderous.
Harry watched Crystal-Harmony. He knew how much pain she was in. He knew her legs were trembling. But as the applause washed over her, she gripped the arms of her wheelchair.
"She's going to stand," Harry whispered.
"She shouldn't," Tonks hissed worriedly. "Her legs..."
But she did. Slowly, Crystal-Harmony pushed herself up. Her legs shook visibly beneath the shimmering fabric of her gown, but she locked her knees. She stood tall, her chin lifted. She didn't grimace. She smiled, a radiant, triumphant smile.
"Thank you for inviting me here, Minister Delacour. I am deeply honored to be here tonight, to meet so many people of the surface world, to finally see with my own eyes what this side of the world is like, and not just hear and read about it in our archives.
"As Princess of my People, I know that we have long been allies with the people of the surface. We have had our ups and downs, just as the tides rise and fall. But I feel that tonight, we have created a new bond between the wizarding world and my people, a stronger bond, one that I hope will last for generations to come.
"My people and the people of the surface might look different, but beneath the scales and the skin, we feel, and we dream, and we love just like everyone else. It is our magic that binds us together. I hope this magic can help us create a future where our people and yours can live not just as neighbors, but as friends. A world of peace, where the depths are not so dark, and where the sunlight can illuminate both our worlds and bind them together forever."
There was thunderous applause, and Harry clapped the loudest, so much that his palms started to hurt, and he looked at Crystal Harmony, smiling at everyone. Her eyes found his, and her face brightened like the sun.
She bowed her head gracefully to the Minister and then sank back into her chair. She was breathing heavily.
"That," Harry said quietly, "is a Queen."
The applause redoubled, but the Minister raised his hands, signaling the end of the formalities. The ball was ending, and people were saying their final goodbyes to one another.
"Come on," Harry said to Tonks. "We need to say our goodbyes. The potion won't last forever."
They made their way toward the exit, but the path was blocked by the Greengrass family. Cassiopeia Greengrass stood like a queen on a chessboard, waiting for them. Beside her was her husband, Charles.
Harry stopped, assuming his diplomatic mask. "Lady Greengrass. Lord Greengrass."
Charles Greengrass stepped forward. He extended a hand.
"Mr. Potter," Charles said softly. "It was a pleasure to finally meet the young man who has my wife so intrigued. And my daughter so... smily."
"The pleasure was mine, sir," Harry said, shaking the hand.
"We will be watching your career with great interest," Charles said with a smile. "Do not be a stranger."
"Mr. Potter," Cassiopeia said, a political smile on her beautiful face. "Travel safely. The world is changing. It is good to be prepared."
"I always try to be," Harry replied evenly.
He turned to Daphne. She looked tired, but still smiled at his sight.
"Goodnight, Greengrass," Harry said. "See you on the train?"
"See you on the train, Potter," she nodded. "Try not to get into trouble before September."
"No promises."
"Harry!" Astoria chirped, bobbing a curtsy that was more enthusiasm than form. She looked adorable in her pale blue dress, practically vibrating with energy despite the late hour. "Will you tell Luna I said hello? And tell her to look out for Nargles in France!"
"I will, Astoria," Harry promised, smiling at the eleven-year-old. "Good luck with your second year."
As the Greengrass family swept away, Harry turned to find the Delacours saying goodbye to many different people, a sea of people; eventually, their turn came to say goodnight. The Minister looked satisfied.
"Monsieur Potter," Delacour said, clasping Harry's shoulder. "Thank you. For everything. The alliance holds, and the future looks brighter for it."
"Thank you for having us, Minister," Harry said. "It was... an education."
He turned to the Minister's wife, who stood beside him radiating an effortless, silvery grace.
"Madame Delacour," Harry said, offering a respectful bow. "Thank you for welcoming us so warmly."
Apolline Delacour smiled, her blue eyes in a way that reminded him instantly of Fleur. "It was a pleasure, Monsieur Potter. I have examined the specifications of your protective talismans myself, my husband speaks of little else these days. To weave such complex safety into such elegant forms... it is truly remarkable work for one so young. You have a rare gift for preservation."
"That is very kind of you to say, Madame," Harry replied, pleased.
"It is merely the truth," she said softly. "We look forward to seeing what you create next."
He turned to Fleur.
She was standing slightly apart from her parents, looking ethereal in the dimming lights. Her blue eyes locked onto his, and she stepped forward, closing the distance until she was invading his personal space in that confident way only she could manage.
"So," Fleur said softly, her voice a low purr. "The night ends."
"It does," Harry said. "Thank you, Fleur. For the tour. For the advice, and for the dance...I really enjoyed it."
Fleur smiled. "It was my pleasure, 'Arry. You are... never boring."
She reached out, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders.
Fleur leaned in. She bypassed his cheek entirely. Her lips brushed the very corner of his mouth, a lingering, soft pressure that sent a jolt of electricity straight to his toes. It wasn't quite a kiss on the lips, but it was far, far more than a friendly peck. It was a claim.
She pulled back, her eyes dancing with amusement at his stunned expression.
"Bonne nuit, 'Arry," she whispered. "I enjoyed tonight. Immensely. Do not make me wait too long before you return."
Harry swallowed hard, his brain rebooting. He instinctively fell back on the manners Andromeda had drilled into him. He took her hand, bowing low over it, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
"I promise to write," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. "Goodnight, Fleur."
"Ooooooh!"
The high-pitched squeal came from knee-height. Gabrielle Delacour was bouncing up and down, looking between Harry and Fleur with wicked delight.
"You kissed him! On the mouth! Almost!" Gabrielle crowed, clapping her hands. "Maman! Did you see? Fleur kissed 'Arry! They are practically married now!"
"Gabrielle!" Fleur hissed, her pale cheeks flushing pink. "Tais-toi!"
Gabrielle ignored her sister completely, turning her big, hopeful eyes on Harry. She grabbed his hand with both of hers.
"And me, 'Arry?" she asked, batting her eyelashes comically. "Can I get a kiss like Fleur? I am also a Delacour! I am very pretty too!"
"Gabrielle!" Apolline stepped forward, her tone sharp. "Voyons, sois sage! Comporte-toi convenablement!" (Come now, be good! Behave properly!)
Gabrielle pouted for a second, realizing her mother wasn't going to let her get away with it. Deciding to compromise, she jumped up and threw her arms around Harry's neck for a fierce hug instead.
Harry laughed, kneeling slightly to return the embrace. "You are very pretty, Gabrielle," he agreed warmly. "But I think your mother is right. A hug is perfect."
"You must come back soon!" she whispered loudly into his ear. "I have to show you my drawings of our wedding!"
"Gabrielle, par les dieux," Fleur groaned, covering her face with one hand. "You are impossible."
"Come along, little menace," Apolline Delacour said, laughing as she scooped up her youngest daughter. "Let the poor boy go before you suffocate him."
"Au revoir, 'Arry!" Gabrielle shouted as she was carried away.
Harry stood up, dusting off his knees. He turned to his group as the Delacours started walking away. Newt looked amused, Ted looked impressed, and Andromeda looked proud.
Tonks, however, was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms.
"So," she drawled, "Fleur kisses you on the mouth, the little one plans your wedding, and the Princess is waiting for you to carry her home. I reiterate my previous point, Potter."
"Which was?"
"You're building a harem," she said, shaking her head. "And I'm going to have to beat them all off with a stick."
Harry grinned, bumping his shoulder against hers. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Dora."
"Shut up," she said, but she linked her arm through his as they turned toward Crystal-Harmony. "Come on, Casanova. Your carriage awaits. Or in this case, your Portkey. We have a princess to get back to the sea."
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