Harry Potter and the Second Chance - Chapter 67 - Jean-Luc

The morning air in the dungeons was as dreary as ever, the damp stone walls adding an extra layer of gloom to the already unpleasant reality of attending Potions first thing after breakfast. Harry walked alongside Ron and Hermione, the latter already flipping through her notes in preparation for whatever Professor Snape had in store for them that day.

"Another hour of Snape breathing down our necks," Ron muttered. "At least we’re working on antidotes today—means we’re less likely to be poisoned."

"Maybe he’ll go easy on us today," Harry offered as they neared the classroom door.

Ron gave him a withering look. "Honestly, Harry, have you ever known Snape to ‘go easy’ on anyone?"

Harry chuckled as he turned his gaze toward Snape, who had just opened the classroom door and was sweeping his robes aside as he prepared to admit the students.

As Harry turned to head into the class, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

"Harry! Harry!"

Harry turned just in time to see Colin Creevey skidding to a stop in front of him, breathless and clutching his ever-present camera. The younger boy’s face was flushed with excitement.

"Professor Dumbledore wants to see you in his office right away!" Colin blurted out.

Harry blinked and turned instinctively toward Snape, who was staring at him. For a moment, Snape seemed to be considering refusing the request. However, after several seconds he narrowed his eyes before giving the slightest shake of his head, then exhaled through his nose and made a vague dismissive motion with his hand.

"Go, Potter," Snape said in his usual drawl. "It seems you have a habit of escaping my lessons."

Harry nodded quickly, trying not to look too relieved.

"Blimey," Ron muttered under his breath, "how is it you always manage to get out of Potions?"

Unfortunately, Ron had spoken just as Snape had silently stepped up behind them.

"Perhaps, Mr. Weasley," Snape said smoothly, "if you dedicated as much effort to your other interests as you do to your complaints, you might also find your name called to visit the Headmaster one day. However, for the sake of your academic survival, I would strongly advise against missing any of my classes."

Ron opened his mouth, clearly about to make a retort, but snapped it shut as Snape turned and disappeared into the classroom. Harry struggled not to laugh at the look on Ron’s face—his expression was a mix of indignation and horror.

"You really do have all the luck," Ron grumbled, shuffling into the classroom. "Just once, I’d like to be mysteriously summoned instead of stuck in here with him."

Harry smirked and waved a quick goodbye to Ron and Hermione before turning to Colin. The younger boy practically vibrated with excitement.

"Come on, then," Harry said, gesturing for Colin to walk with him.

Colin trotted beside him, practically bouncing with excitement. "I wonder what Professor Dumbledore wants!" he said eagerly. "It’s probably something important, right? Maybe it’s about the Tournament? Or maybe something secret? Or—oh! Maybe he wants you to do an interview for the Daily Prophet—"

Harry chuckled. "I doubt it’s that exciting," he said.

As they walked, the conversation drifted toward Colin’s photography. Harry, remembering the boy’s endless enthusiasm for snapping pictures, decided to ask, "So, do you develop all the pictures yourself?"

Colin nearly tripped over his own feet. "You—you actually want to know about that?" he stammered.

Harry shrugged. "Sure. I mean, I’ve never really thought about how magical photos work, but it looks interesting. And you always seem really passionate about it. Do you use a special potion for developing them?"

Colin’s eyes practically lit up. "Yeah! There’s this whole process— I have a little setup in the Gryffindor dormitory—well, in the corner near my bed—you have to mix the solution just right or the pictures come out all wonky! And if you mess up, the people in the photos might start acting strange. One time, I got the mix wrong, and all my pictures kept sneezing for a week!"

Harry laughed. "That sounds like something Fred and George would love to get their hands on."

Colin beamed, encouraged by Harry’s interest. "Oh! And then there’s framing the shot! You have to get the lighting right—especially for moving pictures, because shadows can mess up how they come to life! And I’ve been experimenting with different exposure times to see if I can get clearer moving images without blurring—oh! And action shots, like Quidditch, are even harder because you have to—"

As Colin chattered on, Harry listened with genuine interest. He could tell that no one had ever really asked Colin about his hobby before, and with every follow-up question Harry asked, Colin’s excitement grew. It was refreshing to see someone so enthusiastic about something that wasn’t Quidditch or the Triwizard Tournament.

Before they knew it, they had reached the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office. Colin was still mid-sentence when Harry glanced up and noticed someone approaching from the opposite direction.

Fleur.

She walked toward them with her usual effortless grace, her silver-blonde hair catching the torchlight as she moved. Harry nodded and smiled at her in greeting.

Harry nodded and smiled in greeting. "Morning, Fleur."

"Bonjour, ‘Arry," she said, returning his smile before glancing curiously at Colin, who had gone completely silent beside him.

Colin’s face had turned an impressive shade of red. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out.

Fleur tilted her head slightly, then gave him an amused smile. "Ah, and who is your friend?"

Harry grinned. "This is Colin Creevey. He’s a brilliant photographer."

Colin made a strangled noise somewhere between a squeak and a hiccup, before he finally got his mouth to work. "I—uh—you—hello—I mean—bonjour!"

Fleur chuckled lightly, her eyes twinkling. "It is nice to meet you, Colin." She turned to Harry. "You ‘ready for our business with Dumbledore?"

"Yeah," Harry replied.

He turned back to Colin, who was still staring at Fleur with the look of someone who had just been told he’d won a million Galleons. "Thanks for the message and then walking here with me, Colin. I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?"

Colin nodded dumbly without looking away from Fleur. "Uh-huh."

Harry stepped toward the gargoyle, glancing back just in time to see Colin finally turn to leave—only to almost walk directly into the stone wall beside him. He jolted to a stop at the last second, shook himself, then shuffled away in a daze, still grinning as if he were floating.

Harry snorted, shaking his head in amusement. "I think you broke him," he muttered to Fleur.

Fleur arched an elegant eyebrow, shaking her head. "It is an annoying thing to have to get used to," she said with a shrug.

Harry turned back to the gargoyle and gave the password. Nodding as the stone guardian shifted aside, revealing the spiraling staircase beyond which lead up to Dumbledore’s office. Harry glanced at Fleur and gestured for her to go ahead. "Shall we?"

As the enchanted staircase carried them upward, Harry cast a sidelong glance at Fleur. She stood tall, her usual air of confidence intact, but there was a slight furrow in her brow. Clearly, she was anxious for this conversation.

The spiraling stone steps came to a stop, and Harry rapped his knuckles lightly on the heavy oak door before pushing it open. Inside, the warm golden glow of the office contrasted with the brisk morning outside. The usual odd trinkets and whirring silver instruments adorned the shelves, and Fawkes dozed contentedly on his perch.

But Harry barely had time to take in the familiar room before Fleur suddenly froze beside him.

Her breath hitched. Then, in a voice filled with pure shock, she whispered, "Papa?"

Before Harry could react, Fleur darted forward, her usual grace momentarily replaced by excitment. The man standing near Dumbledore’s desk turned just in time to catch her in a tight embrace.

"Ma petite fleur," he murmured, his voice warm and affectionate as he held her close.

"Papa, c’est si bon de te voir," Fleur said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

"Et moi aussi, ma petite. Cela fait trop longtemps."

Harry stood awkwardly by the door, catching only fragments of their rapid French. Despite the fact that he had made an effort to learn the language this year their exchange was far too fast for him to follow properly. He did, however, understand that Fleur had said it was good to see her father, and that monsieur Delacour had responded in kind, calling her his little flower.

Fleur finally stepped back, regaining her composure, and looked at her father with a mix of happiness and confusion. "Why are you ‘ere?" she asked, slipping back into English.

Monsieur Delacour gave a small shrug. "I do not know. Professor Dumbledore reached out to me and asked me to be here for an important discussion."

Fleur’s brow furrowed, and she turned to Dumbledore, who had been watching them with a small smile. However, as soon as their reunion ended, his expression shifted into something more serious.

"What we are about to discuss is a serious matter that happened yesterday," Dumbledore said gravely, folding his hands atop his desk. "Given the nature of the conversation, I felt that Fleur should have a parent present. Given our past acquaintance, I reached out to Monsieur Delacour so that he could be here for this discussion."

Despite the fact that Harry had begun to expect that Dumbledore had connections everywhere, he couldn’t help himself from looking over to Fleur noticing that she was equally surprised that her father and Professor Dumbledore had a history with each other.

Unaware of his daughter’s surprise, Monsieur Delacour gave a slow nod. "If you believe it was necessary, then of course, I was going to join for this conversation."

"Good," Dumbledore said, inclining his head. Then, his gaze shifted toward Fleur. "Before Harry and myself begin—"

Monsieur Delacour's eyes flicked to Harry in sudden interest at that remark, though he remained silent.

Dumbledore continued, "I believe it would be best if Fleur shared her account of yesterday's events from her perspective. It will provide context and give me a place to start filling in the blanks."

Monsieur Delacour raised a single eyebrow as he regarded his daughter, clearly waiting for an explanation. Fleur hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding at him.

With a steady breath, she turned to Dumbledore and began recounting the events of the previous night—just as she had told Harry.

She spoke clearly, her voice unwavering, but the tension in the room grew with every passing detail.

"I was in the castle when I noticed ‘arry and Professor Dumbledore leave the Great Hall, but something about the way they moved—it was … suspicious. So, I followed.”

Monsieur Delacour listened intently, his features growing more serious with every word. He did not interrupt her, merely nodding slightly in encouragement as she continued.

"They left the castle, out onto the grounds. When it became clear that they might apparate, I … cast a tracking charm on Harry." She ignored Dumbledore’s laugh and shook her head slightly, as if remembering the unease she had felt.

"I was right and watched them disappear at the edge of the forest. So, after running back to the carriage to drop my bag and grab a different coat, I ran over to where they had disappeared and apparated to where they had gone. It wasn’t too difficult to follow their trail once I apparated at the edge of the village. However, their trail led to a house … a shack. From the moment I saw it, something about it felt … wrong. The very air around it felt thick, heavy. And when I stepped closer, it became even worse. I cannot explain it fully, but it was as if the shadows themselves had weight. The magic there—it was vile."

Monsieur Delacour inhaled sharply at that, but still, he said nothing.

Fleur’s gaze flickered toward Harry before she went on. "I crept inside and that is when I realized something was terribly wrong. I ‘ad to act."

She exhaled, her fingers flexing slightly at her sides as if reliving the moment.

"After making my way to the back of the shack, I saw ‘Arry reach for something floating in the center of the room—a ring. Even from where I stood, I could feel the wrongness radiating from it. And after he managed to ignore me calling out, before he could touch it, I cast a spell to push it away from him. But I—" she hesitated, her expression momentarily troubled, "—misjudged the protections on the item. So instead my spell rebounded and struck ‘Arry."

Harry shifted slightly at the memory. His ribs still ached faintly from the impact, but he wasn’t about to say anything about it.

"After that, I made sure ‘Arry and Professor Dumbledore were alright and waited there for them to wake up."

When she finally finished, the room was silent. Fleur let out a slow breath, and Harry could see the way her father was now gripping the back of a chair, his knuckles white.

Monsieur Delacour’s sharp blue eyes moved between Harry and Dumbledore, his expression unreadable for a moment before he finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of both concern and authority.

"Now," he said, "someone is going to explain exactly what is going on."

His gaze hardened as he focused on Dumbledore. "My daughter is Veela and as such her blood carries a strong connection to magic—she can feel it in ways others cannot. And if she tells me that the house contained such magic, I trust that it was no ordinary darkness. So tell me, Professor, what exactly did my daughter get caught up in?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Dumbledore raised a hand, stopping him. The old headmaster’s piercing blue eyes swept between them before he spoke.

"This," Dumbledore said gravely, "relates to Lord Voldemort."

To Harry’s surprise, neither Fleur nor her father flinched at the name. Most people, even those in the Order, recoiled at the mere mention of it. But Fleur only blinked, her expression momentarily surprised before something like sympathy crossed her features as she looked at Harry.

Her father, however, remained impassive. If anything, he looked expectant.

Dumbledore took note of his reaction. His own brow lifted slightly. "You do not seem surprised, Jean-Luc."

Monsieur Delacour exhaled slowly, folding his arms. "If the reports and rumors I have heard from my previous colleagues about Mister Potter’s past three years at this school are true, then I am not surprised that this revolves around that terrorist and his former followers."

Harry looked at him sharply. "You know about what has gone on over the past three years?"

Monsieur Delacour inclined his head. "I spent many years working within the French Ministry. Including working with individuals tracking dangerous magical activity. Believe me, even in France, we have heard of your … misadventures, Monsieur Potter."

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

Dumbledore, however, simply nodded, his expression solemn. "Then this should be less of a leap to believe what I am about to say."

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"I believe Voldemort to be alive."

The words settled into the air like a storm cloud.

Fleur’s father frowned slightly, but he did not look as shocked as one might have expected. Instead, he studied Dumbledore carefully.

"Alive?" he repeated. "Even in France, the news of his defeat all those years ago was well received. It is one thing to believe that he still has men loyal to his ideals—the Death Eaters have never truly vanished. But it is another matter entirely to claim that he did not die. If he is alive… how did he survive?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers together before he shook his head slowly, his expression grim as he spoke a single word.

"Horcruxes."

Monsieur Delacour’s mouth dropped open in shock, his normally composed demeanor cracking for the first time since the conversation had begun. His sharp blue eyes widened, and his hands clenched into fists. Beside him, Fleur’s gaze darted between her father, Dumbledore, and Harry, confusion evident on her face.

"What is a … ‘orcrux?" she asked, her voice filled with cautious curiosity.

Jean-Luc turned to her immediately, his previous surprise replaced with something far more serious. His voice was tight as he explained, as if merely speaking of it left a foul taste in his mouth.

"A Horcrux is the darkest of dark magic," he said. "It is an object used to store a fragment of one's soul."

Fleur’s expression twisted in confusion. "Store … a fragment of the soul?"

"Oui." He exhaled heavily, rubbing his temple. "The process of creating one—it requires tearing one's soul apart. It can only be done through murder."

Fleur turned pale, her hands gripping the arms of her chair as if steadying herself. Her normally flawless composure was shaken, her delicate features tightening in horror. "Murder?" she repeated softly.

Jean-Luc turned sharply back to Dumbledore, his voice rising in anger. "Are you telling me that you have gotten my daughter—and one of your students—involved with Horcruxes?"

Harry bristled at his tone, but Dumbledore sat up straighter, meeting Jean-Luc’s intensity without flinching. His piercing blue eyes locked onto the other man’s, and after a brief moment, he shook his head.

"I had no desire to involve your daughter in this matter," Dumbledore said firmly. "Although, from my examination of the ring your daughter mentioned, I must say—Harry here has your daughter to thank for his life. I am, at the very least, relieved that she managed to follow us and intervene."

Monsieur Delacour’s expression flickered, but he was still clearly furious.

Dumbledore, however, sighed and turned his gaze toward Harry, his expression shifting from firm resolve to something more measured.

"And as for involving Harry …" He hesitated, then shook his head, as if choosing his words carefully. "The hunt for the Horcruxes was Harry’s idea."

Monsieur Delacour’s eyes widened further, his anger momentarily replaced by sheer astonishment.

"His idea?"

Harry straightened in his seat, prepared to explain himself, but before he could, Dumbledore continued.

"And I am just relieved," Dumbledore said quietly, "that he came to tell me and is listening to what I have been saying—rather than running off on his own to try and deal with them … as I suspect he very much wants to."

Harry felt heat rise in his face, both from frustration and guilt. Because the truth was… Dumbledore was right.

A part of him did want to run off. A part of him wanted to hunt down every last one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes and destroy them without hesitation, without waiting, without wasting time, without putting anyone else at risk. Every moment they spent discussing things was a moment that someone might notice what they were doing.

Monsieur Delacour’s gaze snapped to Harry, assessing him as if trying to determine whether Dumbledore was exaggerating.

"You would be out hunting by yourself?" he asked slowly.

Harry clenched his jaw, then nodded. "If I have to, yes."

Monsieur Delacour muttered something in rapid French under his breath, something Harry didn’t quite catch but suspected wasn’t complimentary.

But then, as if a realization suddenly struck him, Monsieur Delacour turned back to Dumbledore abruptly.

"This is ze second time you have said it now," he said sharply. "Horcruxes. Plural."

Dumbledore's expression grew solemn. He inclined his head in a grave nod.

Monsieur Delacour swore under his breath in rapid, harsh French.

Harry only caught a few words, but Fleur clearly understood all of it—her head whipped around to her father so fast that her silver-blonde hair flicked over her shoulder. Her blue eyes widened in utter disbelief.

"Papa!" she gasped, scandalized.

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. The look on her face was somewhere between shock and betrayal, as if she had just learned her father was capable of something as unthinkable as kicking a puppy.

Monsieur Delacour, however, ignored her completely. His entire focus remained on Dumbledore, his face set in deep seriousness.

"What can I do to help?" he asked without hesitation.

Dumbledore’s gaze softened slightly, and he nodded in appreciation. "Your offer is greatly valued, Jean-Luc. And I assure you, should the time come when we require assistance, I will not hesitate to call upon you."

Monsieur Delacour nodded firmly, as if it were already decided. "Good. I would not stand by while the shadow of that monster falls over the world once again."

Dumbledore exhaled slowly, but then he hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing.

"With respect to the Horcruxes themselves, however, we have everything well in hand," he said carefully. "As we only have …" Another brief pause and Harry, who had been nodding along in agreement, suddenly noticed that Dumbledore had glanced at him before speaking. Then he turned back to Monsieur Delacour. "Two remaining."

If the older man noticed anything off about Dumbledore’s wording, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair.

"So you believe you are close to destroying them all?"

"We are making significant progress," Dumbledore confirmed. "At this point, the most important thing is ensuring that no one sympathetic to Voldemort learns that we are aware of the Horcruxes, or of our efforts to eliminate them."

Monsieur Delacour nodded grimly. "You expect him to return soon, then?"

Dumbledore’s expression turned grave. He met Monsieur Delacour’s gaze, his blue eyes filled with certainty.

"I certainly do," he said quietly.

Monsieur Delacour swore again.

This time, Fleur’s mouth dropped open.

"Papa?!" she gasped, looking at him as if he had just turned into a completely different person.

Harry couldn't help it—he let out a short laugh. Fleur shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted at best. The situation was far too serious for her to actually be angry.

Monsieur Delacour let out a slow breath, regaining his composure. "I apologize for my language, ma petite fleur," he said sincerely, shaking his head. "But this … this is worse than I feared."

Fleur, still visibly reeling from the conversation, blinked and nodded, her lips pressing together.

Satisfied, Monsieur Delacour turned back to Dumbledore, his expression hardening once more.

"You are right though," Dumbledore said looking towards Fleur’s father. "Which is why we must act carefully and deliberately. Voldemort is not yet at full strength, but the moment he returns, he will waste no time re-establishing his power."

"I will honor your request, Headmaster," he said firmly. "I will tell no one of your actions. I understand how delicate this situation is, and I will not allow it to be compromised."

Dumbledore inclined his head in gratitude, but Monsieur Delacour wasn’t finished. His voice carried a quiet, unshakable conviction as he continued.

"But when the fight begins … when the war truly starts … I will stand by your side."

Dumbledore studied him for a moment before standing from his chair. He extended his hand, and Monsieur Delacour clasped it in a firm handshake.

"Thank you, old friend," Dumbledore said, his voice warm with genuine appreciation.

Monsieur Delacour gave a short nod, but Harry noticed how his grip on Dumbledore’s hand tightened. His entire demeanor seemed to become even more tense.

"Despite my offer," he said, voice lower now, carrying the weight of warning, "I had better hear no more news of Fleur being involved with Horcruxes."

Dumbledore’s gaze didn’t waver. "I assure you, she will not be."

Monsieur Delacour studied him for a long moment before finally releasing his grip. Whatever tension he had been holding in seemed to settle—just slightly—at Dumbledore’s words.

Then he turned, walking over to where Harry sat.

Harry straightened as Monsieur Delacour reached out, clapping a firm hand onto his shoulder.

"I wish you luck with the path you have chosen to undertake, Harry Potter."

Harry met his eyes, seeing something that almost looked like amusement beneath the seriousness.

"It reminds me of something I might have done in my youth," the older man admitted with a small, knowing smile.

Harry, despite himself, found a grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah?"

Monsieur Delacour nodded. But then, before Harry could react, the grip on his shoulder suddenly tightened—painfully so.

Harry winced slightly but refused to let it show as Monsieur Delacour’s blue eyes bore into his.

"I am proud of my daughter for having managed to save your life," he said, his voice even but unmistakably firm. "But I meant what I said to your Headmaster. Fleur is not to be involved in this going forward. If you require additional help, you will come to me."

Harry had no idea how to respond to that.

But Monsieur Delacour wasn’t finished.

"I do not care how much my daughter likes you, it will not protect you should I find out that she was involved in this again."

Harry froze.

His eyes shot up in shock, his mind scrambling to process the words.

Monsieur Delacour, apparently satisfied with the effect his words had had on him, released Harry’s shoulder and turned on his heel.

Harry barely had time to react before his gaze flicked instinctively toward Fleur.

And that’s when he saw it.

Her face had gone completely red.

Her usually confident and composed demeanor had utterly crumbled in that single moment.

Before Harry could so much as open his mouth to say anything, she spun on her heel and strode out of the office behind her father, her hair flicking behind her as she went.

Harry sat there, still half in shock, his mouth slightly open.

Dumbledore chuckled softly.

Harry turned to look at him, still processing. "Did that just—?"

"It did indeed," Dumbledore said with an amused twinkle in his eye.

Harry groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Brilliant. Just brilliant."

Dumbledore only smiled, before sitting back down in his chair.

"Well then, Harry," he said calmly, "shall we continue?"

But Harry could barely focus—his mind was still stuck on Monsieur Delacour’s words.

"I do not care how much my daughter likes you."

… Merlin help him.

Kind Regards,

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If you like this content do not hesitate to smash that like button and subscribe. Haha but seriously if you do enjoy the story - do favorite it, other than messaging me or leaving a comment it's the only way I know if you are enjoying the stories and chapters.

Story Note 1 – Fleur’s dad?!? Well have to say I’m glad that seemed to be unexpected and no super-sleuth managed to guess that he was going to be there! For the most part I really enjoyed writing the interaction between him and Dumbledore. And Harry and Fleur. The hints about their past will of course come up down the road. Enjoy the wait! But guesses are welcome of course …

Story Note 2 – While I try to refrain from writing Fleur’s dialogue full of silent H’s and eet and ze and whatever depiction of how a French accent is portrayed (more so as it is unpleasant to look at) I chose to totally get rid of the portrayed accent for Jean-Luc as he has diplomatic experience so had more time to minimize/lose the accent.

Story Note 3 – Looks like Fleur does like Harry!!! Probably not the way Fleur wanted that to come out. But I’m sure that inadvertently will speed things up for everyone who wanted the relationship to move along!

Thanks to those of you out to those of you who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you enjoy them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or reach out to me directly.

Disclaimer – It has come to my attention recently that I unfortunately do not own Harry Potter. Who knew.