Disclaimer: I do not have any rights of ownership for the characters used except the OC's. All the credit goes to the authors. Only the plot belongs to me.
Chapter 2 – Choices
~ Fleur Delacour ~
The rose gardens of Beauxbatons had begun to bloom again.
The warm, late spring sun poured golden light through the tall windows of the Charms classroom, the smell of lavender drifting in from the enchanted orchards that lined the academy's outer walls. Somewhere in the distance, music played, as if the castle itself was humming.
Fleur Delacour sat by the window in Professor Jade's advanced Transfiguration class, her usual seat being her only comfort at the moment.
With a quill in hand, jaw set tight, Fleur found her eyes not on her parchment.
But on him.
Sebastian Gray.
Or as she still stubbornly called him in her head: the arrogant Englishman.
The fact that he, as an 18-year-old who should be in his 4th year of schooling, was allowed to take advanced classes with the 7th year students just because he was deemed 'acceptable', did nothing but boost his ego.
It also made Fleur's wounded pride sting agonisingly more.
He sat four rows away, in the far-right corner. Perfect posture, dark robes, untamed hair that curled slightly behind his ears like he couldn't be bothered to comb it. He looked every bit like someone who didn't belong here—and knew it.
That irritated her more than she liked to admit.
He was supposed to be her bodyguard — an extra layer of protection after that pathetic attempt on her papa's life last month. Instead, he walked around as if he were here solely to flaunt himself and take a vacation. He took classes like everyone else, claimed to be part of some 'accelerated' programme Maxime had arranged, and yet somehow, he always knew more than the professors themselves. He barely lifted his wand in class. He never studied.
And yet he outperformed them all.
Even her.
Her humiliating defeat at the hands of a man 3 years younger than her, filled her with nothing but shame and the urge to rip her bedroom apart.
Fleur tapped her quill against the edge of her parchment. Her handwriting was perfectly neat, but the ink was blotting from the pressure of her grip.
"Miss Delacour?" came Professor Jade's lilting voice, breaking through her scowl.
She blinked, then straightened. "Oui, madame?"
"You 'ave been writing ze word 'infuriating' on your notes for ze last ten meenutes."
The class snickered.
Fleur flushed and quickly flipped the parchment.
Across the page, scrawled in beautiful, intensely cursive, was the word INFURIATING over and over again.
Her eyes snapped back to Sebastian.
He wasn't even looking at her. He was leaned back in his seat, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair, talking softly to Giselle Vaillant—one of the prettiest girls in Beauxbatons. Apart from her of course.
Giselle giggled at something he said.
Fleur ground her teeth.
~ With Fleur, later that day ~
Beauxbatons was perhaps the most beautiful wizarding school in the world.
Marble fountains with flocks of enchanted swans swimming within. Floating lanterns that glowed different colours depending on the season. Statues that whispered romantic poetry when couples walked by.
And yet none of it mattered to Fleur today.
Because Sebastian Gray was flirting. Again.
This time with two girls.
She sat under a sycamore tree with Anna, who was too busy stringing floating beads together to notice her best friend's growing silence.
Across the courtyard, Sebastian stood beside the water fountain, deep in conversation with Eloise and Lucie—both sixth-years, both hopelessly enthralled by his voice, his accent, his eyes, his smile, and his maddening confidence.
"You're staring. Again," Anna said without looking up.
"I am not," Fleur snapped. Too quickly.
Anna smirked, "You only make zat face when someone is getting more attention zan you."
Fleur shot her a warning look, but Anna just shrugged and went back to her beads.
Sebastian leaned forward slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind Eloise's ear. Fleur felt heat rise up her spine.
Who did he think he was?
She had tried ignoring him. That failed. She had tried confronting him—he only smirked. She had even tried testing him magically during their practice duels, pushing harder and faster. But it was like he was always ten steps ahead. Dodging, predicting, controlling—not just the duel, but her.
But then, at night, when everyone else slept, he changed.
Fleur had caught him once—outside her bedroom window, cloaked in invisibility. Not leering. Not peeking. Guarding. The presence of his magical aura had awakened her. It was powerful. Precise. Like a sword inside its sheath, just waiting to burst out and claim her enemies.
He was always there.
Watching. Waiting. Shielding her from enemies she couldn't see.
And regardless of how her arrogant bodyguard's nature and antics infuriated her, his green eyes had become the focus of her dreams. Some more... detailed than others, that turned her face just as red as the roses she admired every day at Beauxbatons.
Fleur Delcour would rather die than admit this, but it was true.
The French beauty had awakened something inside of her. A curiosity.
And the only one who could quench these feelings and make them go away, was Sebastian Gray.
~ Harry Potter ~
Gazing out into the night, Harry let the sound of the waves crashing against the coastline wash over him. The Dealcour's had a great place. Right over the French coast. The moonlight illuminated the mansion and their estate beautifully, casting a wonderful glow over the entire view.
This particular spot had become something akin to an escape for Harry.
He preferred being her than the gardens. The fact that Fleur couldn't follow him here was just an added bonus.
The girl was tenacious. He would give her that.
Even after being knocked on her rather wonderful ass every single time they sparred, she kept coming back for more.
Her drive to prove herself as more than a pretty face was impressive.
But she wasn't the one on his mind.
"Something bothering you, milord," Wrath spoke, materialising behind him. The dark of the night allowing him to move about without the unnecessary headache of someone seeing him.
Sighing, Harry reminded him, "You are an extension of me, Wrath. You already know."
The two let a wonderful silence stretch over them.
Because Harry was right. Wrath did know what was bothering his master.
And he did not like it one bit.
"You could always refuse to go," Wrath offered, knowing full well that wasn't something Harry would ever do.
Grindelwald had drilled one lesson into his mind from the day they had walked into this line of work: Always finish the job.
Chuckling, Harry retorted, "Do you truly believe that is our only option?"
"Personally, milord, I would prefer you going there and ripping them a new one," Wrath answered, allowing his true feelings to surface. "They should have been punished for what they let happen to you."
Harry didn't say anything. It had been more than a decade since his family had abandoned him to the Durselys. They sealed his fate and never looked back once.
If it wasn't for his own magic, and the appearance of Grindelwald, Harry shuddered to think what could have been.
And now, after all these years of avoiding the UK like plague, Harry would be forced to return to the place it all began.
Beauxbatons was chosen to participate in a new edition of the Triwizard Tournament. And of course, Fleur Delacour being a great duellist, would be a part of the contingent sent to Scottish Isles, to be seated and live among the hallowed halls of Hogwarts with their students.
And if Delacour goes, Harry has to follow.
There was no other option. Harry would have to face his past and make peace with it.
Harry was so consumed by his thoughts; he did not hear the familiar crack of apparition behind him.
Startled when a hand landed on his shoulders, Harry turned to see his mentor standing there with a stony look on his face.
"Where is your attention, boy? I hope it's not on the French lass and her obsession with you," Grindelwald jested, his tone still pretty stern.
Getting up, Harry turned towards the man that had raised him and decided to address the dilemma he found himself in. However, before he could do that, someone beat him to the punch.
"Lord Grindelwald, milord is worried about the thought of going back to his motherland and facing the disgusting people known as his birth family," Wrath said, reporting the gist of the matter to the aged wizard.
Exhaling loudly, Harry closed his eyes and muttered under his breath, 'Every damn time.'
Wrath had made it a habit of reporting everything before Harry could get a word in. The fact that he said it in a way that always ended up making the situation sound rather comical, made it even harder for Harry to get mad at his Obscurus.
Whether Grindelwald had no humour at all because of his old age, or because he was used to the antics of his protégé's magical guardian, he readily accepted the statement as it was and gestured for Harry to sit down with him.
The wind outside the Delacour's opulent residence howled like a beast in pain.
Maybe it reflected the turbulent state of his student's mind. Grindelwald had trained Harry physically, mentally and magically. But he knew how the wounds of his childhood still marred the depths of his subconscious.
"Your magic is restless," came Grindelwald's voice, low and steady, the way it always was when he wasn't playing to a crowd. "You are thinking of abadoning the mission."
From next to him, Harry didn't turn. He simply replied, "I'm not afraid."
"No," Grindelwald said, grey hair catching the light of the torch behind them. "You're not afraid. You're angry. Angry at the burden, angry at the job, angry at the fact that the ghosts of Britain still have claws in you."
Harry's jaw tightened. "You trained me to cut away weaknesses. Going back there… it's like picking them up again."
Grindelwald studied him for a long moment, eyes bright like molten gold. "Do you know what the difference is between the boy who I rescued from that wretched place that night, and the man standing before me?"
Harry looked at him finally. "…What?"
"The boy was shaped by survival. The man is shaped by choice."
The words hung in the cold air.
Grindelwald rested his hands on the railing. "Hogwarts, the Potters, heck Britain as a whole, is not a place—it is a wound. It will test you. It will tempt you to return to the role they wrote for you: Harry Potter, the forgotten son, the victim, the boy they cast aside." His gaze hardened. "You must remember that you are no longer their creation. You are mine."
Harry almost smiled at that. "You make it sound like I'm just your weapon."
"You are," Grindelwald said without hesitation. Then his voice softened. "But you are also my legacy. My protege. The only person I have ever trusted with my truth. I did not raise you for more than a decade just so you could weaken at the first sight of old wounds. That is not Harry Potter. And I know that because I shaped that kid into the man he is now with my own two hands."
Harry looked away at that. The old man never said things like this without reason.
"You will travel with her," Grindelwald continued, meaning Fleur. "You will protect her. You will fight if you must. But above all… you will protect your truth, unless something unexpected happens. If they fear you, let them. If they hate you, let them choke on it. Do not bend to their expectations. Make them bend to yours. The lion does not bother with the opinion of the sheep."
"And if the truth comes out?" Harry asked quietly.
Grindelwald smiled faintly. "Then own it, boy. Show them the result of your hardwork. The very scars that shaped you into the wizard you are."
Grindelwald placed a hand on his shoulder. "Remember this, Harry, the only way a man can let his past bother him, is if he pities the life he is living now."
A silence fell between them—warm despite the icy air.
The moment was broken by the voice of Harry's trusted guardian, "Exactly what I wanted to say, milord."
And just like that, the tension bled away, replaced by easy laughter and the soft chorus of exaggerated sighs and rolling eyes.
Harry exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in his chest loosen.
And for the first time that night, he allowed himself to believe he could step foot in Britain again without being swallowed by his past.
~ Appoline Delacour ~
Appoline Delacour had never been one to be easily swayed. In their world, charm and power were common, and men with both were about as rare as rain in England — plentiful, but rarely worth noticing. She had endured their posturing, their futile attempts at battling her allure, the ones who puffed their chests like roosters and the ones who crumbled at a single glance.
Sebastian Gray was not one of them.
At first, she had observed him for the same reason any protective mother might — to make certain the young man entrusted with her daughter's safety was deserving of the responsibility, and not just another hormonal teenager that might end up selling her daughter away for a chance at laying with her.
But days turned to weeks, and she found her eyes following him for reasons that had little to do with duty.
There was a steadiness in the way he moved — unhurried, precise, yet never stiff. Confidence along with a little arrogance that stemmed purely from his belief in his abilities. His wit, when he chose to use it, was measured and sharp enough to draw blood if he wished.
And when he thought himself unobserved, there was something in his gaze; a quiet, focused intensity that made her catch her breath before she could stop it.
The magic was part of it. It hummed off him in low, constant waves, a reminder that beneath his control lay a dangerous potential. Something darker than what she had felt in decades. Dark, yet it was not malicious at all.
That danger only sharpened the edges of his appeal.
She noticed herself drifting toward the corridors he favored; the duels he had with her daughter, where he knocked her down every single time, without so much as breaking a sweat; her gaze catching on the flex of his fingers against the worn leather of his wand holster, or the way his voice lowered when speaking in confidence. \
There was something raw in him. Something untamed. As though the refinement most men wore like armor had never been able to cage him.
By the week's end, she stopped pretending it was just professional interest. Sebastian Gray was not merely capable of guarding her daughter. He was a man who, she suspected, could meet desires she had thought buried with the passing of her youth.
Desires born not out of safety, but rather pure passion.
Author's Note
Next chapter will see Appoline connecting with her baser instincts. Let's see what unfolds after that.
Go check out more with the link mentioned in the notes. Until next time.
See ya.