"Who will tell Maman?" she asked quietly.
He smiled a wry smile back at her, understanding her point completely. "I will do that as well," he assured her. "And put your fears away, chérie, you have done nothing wrong, understand?"
When Fleur finally crawled into bed that night, it was with equal measure of relief and terror dominating her thoughts. Her terror was simple to define: she was facing a life-changing event that had never been part of her dreams, and it would forever alter her future in ways that she could not know. Either she would be dead in a month, or–
–she wasn't ready to think about that just yet.
She did not want to die, and truly, she did not think it would come to that. It was simply not Harry's way. If he was willing to assist her at his own expense when there should have been no danger, would he ever let her die when he could prevent it? No, she wasn't worried about that, and she would deal with the rest later.
She was, however, very relieved that it would not be her that broke the news.
The tall, thin, Armani-clad form of Sebastian Delacour stood silently on the walkway in front of Number Four, Privet Drive, simply taking everything in. His jet black hair had acquired an edge of grey over the years, and made him look quite distinguished among the would-be royalty of Little Whinging, Surrey. His brown eyes scanned the scene with a keen intelligence that tended to frighten anyone who ended up in his political sights.
The investigation that led him to this place was fraught with dead ends. As a celebrity, there was no shortage of information available about Harry James Potter, but there was also no mistaking the multitude of contradictions amongst the sources. If he didn't know better, he would say that every last story about him was a complete and utter fabrication.
And standing here in this austere neighborhood, he began to truly believe that.
One thing the stories all had in common was that they started with the boy growing up in either a magical castle that bore a suspicious resemblance to Hogwarts, or an enormous manor house with hundreds of servants to cater to his every whim. His records at the Ministry of Magic, however, told a very different story: his home was in a Muggle neighborhood, and his guardians were Muggles themselves. It had taken quite a lot of effort to retrieve that information, but Sebastian was certain of his facts.
Those same records painted an unusual and troublesome picture, too. For one, while he lived with the Dursley family in Little Whinging, his finances were controlled by Albus Dumbledore himself. Having those responsibilities separated in such a way was virtually unheard of in their world, so it raised an immediate red flag.
For another, guessing that the Potter Will would explain the division, he had immediately looked it up – only to find that it was sealed, again, by Albus Dumbledore. No amount of wrangling could get that document released. It shouldn't have even been legal, but there it was, certified by the Chief Warlock himself!
And finally, there was a tiny note from the British Department of Mysteries: Harry Potter was the subject of an active Prophecy, no additional information available.
Apart from his average Hogwarts grades, there was nothing further in the Ministry files, which was strange in and of itself. Most children had at least one warning for accidental magic, and there should have been Social Services inspections for his safety, but none of those things existed. To say that it was bizarre was a huge understatement: something was rotten, and he was a good enough politician to know that it went all the way to the top!
Since he couldn't obtain anything particularly useful from the Wizarding records, he next turned to the Muggle world – and there the story took a decidedly darker turn. While there were no complaints recorded against the Dursleys, the number of times their nephew visited the hospital was beyond suspicious. Digging in further, he discovered that the visits were never for illness, but rather for violent injuries like broken arms, broken legs, broken ribs, and concussions.
Either Harry Potter was an unthinkably accident-prone child, or something awful was happening in that house.
His school grades were interesting as well. At first they were quite impressive for his age, but then, at the beginning of the second quarter of his first year at school, they fell dramatically. There was no explanation given, but the reviews from his teachers changed from glowing to derisive, virtually overnight! He could only guess why it happened, and was certain that the reason was nothing good.
The Dursleys themselves were much less interesting, at lest according to their records. The family consisted of Petunia, a housewife; Vernon, the managing Director of a Muggle power tool manufacturer; and Dudley, the son, who by all rights was as dim as Harry's grades made him appear to be. They hadn't so much as a parking ticket on their records, and they were quite well off financially.
Again, the lack of blemishes was a blemish in and of itself. Everyone had at least a late credit card payment or something of the sort, or some other thing that would count against them in some small way! There was nothing where the Dursleys were concerned, and that caused him to wonder if there had been some sort of intervention by Wizards.
And once again, there were no Social Services inspections.
Sebastian did not yet have a complete picture, but the pieces he had so far clearly indicated that it would be a highly disturbing one. The tone of his investigation changed quickly: he was now working not only to ensure his daughter's safety, but Harry's as well. Regardless of anything else, the boy had saved his daughter's life, and without any expectations whatsoever of receiving a reward of any kind. It was the only way a life debt could form!
Looking up again at the startlingly plain house that stood in front of him, he had a disturbing feeling that he was about to find the missing pieces.