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Harry, Newt, and Flamel
The ballroom had shifted from formal dancing to more casual socializing, and Harry found himself being gently shepherded by Newt toward a quieter corner where Nicolas Flamel sat in comfortable conversation with Minister Delacour.
"Ah, young Harry," Flamel said with obvious pleasure as they approached. "I was just telling Victorien about the fascinating conversation we had earlier regarding practical applications of protective magic. Would you care to continue our discussion?"
"I'd be honored," Harry said, settling into one of the chairs that appeared with a casual wave of Minister Delacour's wand.
"I'll leave you to your philosophical discourse," the Minister said with a warm smile. "Though I expect a full report on any revolutionary innovations you develop during this conversation."
As Minister Delacour departed, Newt pulled up his own chair.
"So, Harry," Flamel began, "I've been thinking about our earlier discussion. Your approach to basilisk materials—treating them as partners rather than tools. This philosophy extends beyond just material handling, yes?"
"I think so," Harry replied carefully. "Magic works better when you understand it as relationship rather than domination. Whether it's materials, creatures, or even spells themselves."
"Interesting." Flamel leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Most magical education focuses on control. Master the wand movement, memorize the incantation, force your will upon reality until it bends to your design. But you're suggesting something quite different."
"He's always been that way," Newt interjected with obvious pride. "Even last year, Harry approached magical creatures with genuine curiosity rather than fear or the desire to control."
"Newt told me you have an interesting companion named Itisa, and that she is quite...fierce." Flamel said casually, and Harry tensed a little.
Harry was not sure how much Newt had told Flamel, but he doubted that he had told him everything; otherwise, he would be in deep trouble right now for having a Nundu for a Pet. Harry didn't want to show nervousness on his face, so he cleared his throat and spoke with his political voice. "She can be quite fierce,"
"Most would have wanted to control such a creature. You chose partnership."
"I chose friendship," Harry corrected. "Though I admit, there were times when I didn't understand what that would actually mean."
"None of us do at the beginning," Flamel said with a slight smile. "Every significant relationship—whether with person, creature, or magic itself—begins with ignorance and hope. The question is whether we learn and adapt, or whether we try to force understanding according to our preconceptions."
"You're suggesting that my approach to magic might be fundamentally different from standard magical education?" Harry asked.
"I'm suggesting," Flamel replied carefully, "that you might be rediscovering older approaches that modern magical society has largely forgotten. Before Hogwarts, before the codification of spells and rigid magical hierarchies, wizards understood magic as negotiation. You asked the world to change, and if you asked correctly, it sometimes agreed."
"That sounds inefficient," Harry observed. "Modern spellcasting is much more reliable."
"Reliable for common applications," Flamel agreed. "But innovation—true magical innovation that changes how we understand reality—rarely comes from reliable, codified approaches. It comes from wizards willing to ask magic to do things it hasn't done before."
Newt nodded enthusiastically. "I've seen this in magical creature research. The most significant breakthroughs come from researchers who genuinely engage with creatures as intelligent beings with their own agency, rather than specimens to be studied and catalogued."
"So what you're both suggesting," Harry said slowly, "is that my instinctive approach to magic—treating it as relationship and partnership—might actually be more advanced than the structured education I'm receiving at Hogwarts?"
"Advanced isn't quite the right word," Flamel corrected. "Different. Complementary. Structured education provides foundation and reliability. Your approach provides innovation and adaptation. The question is whether magical society will allow you to develop both, or whether it will try to force you into one category or the other."
"Meaning?" Harry asked.
"Meaning," Flamel said gently, "that established institutions—whether Hogwarts, Ministry hierarchies, or Foundation structures—tend to prefer predictable excellence over unpredictable innovation. Your success challenges their frameworks, and challenges make people nervous."
"I've noticed," Harry said dryly. "Minister Fudge seems particularly uncomfortable with my independent approach to international business."
"Because you represent a threat to the established order," Flamel explained. "Not intentionally, but structurally. If a twelve-year-old can achieve international recognition and commercial success outside traditional channels, what does that say about the necessity of those channels?"
"That they might not be necessary?" Harry suggested.
"Exactly. And people whose power derives from controlling access to resources and opportunities become very concerned when someone demonstrates that their control isn't actually required for success."
"So what do I do?" Harry asked. "Accept institutional oversight to avoid political complications, or maintain independence and deal with constant pushback?"
"That," Flamel said with a slight smile, "is the question every innovative wizard eventually faces. And there's no universally correct answer."
"What did you choose?" Harry asked directly.
Flamel's expression grew distant. "I chose independence. Created the Philosopher's Stone outside any institutional framework, shared my knowledge selectively, and spent six centuries avoiding political entanglements whenever possible. It gave me freedom but also isolation. I missed opportunities for collaboration because I was so focused on maintaining autonomy."
"Do you regret it?"
"Sometimes," Flamel admitted. "Though I also recognize that working within established institutions would have constrained my research in ways I couldn't accept. The trade-off was necessary for the kind of work I wanted to do."
"But Harry isn't you," Newt interjected gently. "His work focuses on protection and helping others, not personal immortality and alchemical transformation. His needs and trade-offs might be quite different."
"True," Flamel agreed. "Which is why I'm not advising him to follow my path. I'm simply pointing out that the choice exists, and that either direction comes with costs and benefits."
"Beauxbatons offers structure and resources," Harry said slowly, thinking aloud. "Better workshops, dedicated professors, international exposure. But it also means leaving my friends and probably accepting more oversight than I'm comfortable with."
"And Hogwarts?" Flamel prompted.
"Hogwarts is home," Harry said simply. "Even with all its limitations and political complications. My friends are there. The people who know me as Harry rather than the Talisman Prodigy or the Boy-Who-Lived."
"Friendship," Flamel said thoughtfully, "is perhaps the most undervalued resource in magical society. We focus on power, knowledge, wealth, influence—all important things. But genuine friendship, people who value you for who you are rather than what you can do? That's rarer than any Philosopher's Stone."
"Though friendship doesn't provide workshop space or access to rare materials," Newt observed practically.
"No," Flamel agreed. "But it provides something more fundamental—authenticity. The ability to be yourself rather than constantly performing for political or commercial audiences."
"So you're saying I should prioritize relationships over opportunity?" Harry asked.
"I'm saying," Flamel corrected, "that you should understand what you're choosing and why. Opportunities will always exist—new contracts, better resources, innovative partnerships. But the people who know and value the real you? Those relationships are harder to replace."
Harry thought about Hermione's enthusiasm for his innovations, Sebastian's quiet loyalty, Daphne's pragmatic friendship, Neville's growing confidence, Luna's serene acceptance. Even Crystal-Harmony, struggling with her own identity questions, had chosen to transform her entire body structure just to spend time on the surface with him.
"I think," Harry said slowly, "that I'm not ready to leave Hogwarts yet. Even with all its problems and limitations."
"Then don't," Flamel said simply. "Though I would encourage you to find ways to access better resources without abandoning your support network. Perhaps summer programs, collaborative research projects, international exchanges that don't require permanent relocation."
"Like the Italian visit?" Harry asked.
"Exactly. Italy gets your expertise for two weeks, you gain access to their techniques and materials, and everyone benefits without requiring you to abandon your education or friendships."
"That's... actually quite sensible," Harry admitted.
"I have occasionally been accused of wisdom," Flamel replied with dry humor. "Though usually after making spectacular mistakes and learning from them painfully."
Newt laughed. "That's the most honest description of the learning process I've ever heard."
"Speaking of learning," Flamel continued, his expression growing more serious, "there is one other matter I wanted to discuss. Your talisman work is impressive, but it's ultimately derivative—improvements on existing protective magic rather than truly revolutionary innovation."
Harry felt slightly stung by the assessment, though he recognized its accuracy. "What would you consider revolutionary?"
"Magic that changes fundamental assumptions about what's possible," Flamel replied. "My Stone didn't just extend life—it challenged basic principles about mortality and transformation. True innovation redefines the boundaries of magical possibility."
"So you're saying my talismans aren't actually that impressive?" Harry asked, trying to keep the hurt from his voice.
"I'm saying," Flamel corrected gently, "that you have the potential for much more. Your instinctive understanding of magic as relationship rather than domination could lead to innovations that make even the Philosopher's Stone seem modest by comparison. But only if you're willing to pursue genuine exploration rather than just improving existing frameworks."
"How do I do that?"
"That," Flamel said with a slight smile, "is something you'll need to discover yourself. Though I suspect the answer involves following your instincts about partnership and relationship, even when—especially when—those instincts contradict established magical theory."
"Very helpful," Harry said dryly. "Cryptic advice from legendary wizards. That's definitely going to make my life simpler."
Flamel's laugh was loud. "If I gave you specific instructions, I'd be constraining your innovation to my understanding. Better to point in interesting directions and let you discover your own path."
"Plus," Newt added with a grin, "cryptic advice makes us seem much more mysterious and impressive. If we were straightforward, people might realize we're just as confused as everyone else, we've simply had more practice pretending otherwise."
As their conversation wound down, Harry reflected that he'd learned more about magical philosophy in thirty minutes with Flamel and Newt than in two years of formal education. Not because Hogwarts was inadequate, but because these wizards understood something fundamental that standard curriculum didn't address—that magic was alive, responsive, and far more complex than any textbook suggested.
"Thank you," Harry said sincerely. "Both of you. This has been... illuminating."
"The pleasure was entirely mine," Flamel replied, standing up from his chair. "Though I hope we'll have opportunities for future conversations. My door is always open to brilliant young wizards with interesting questions."
As Flamel departed with a final warm nod, Newt turned to Harry with obvious satisfaction. "That went remarkably well. Nicolas doesn't offer ongoing mentorship lightly—you've genuinely impressed him."
"He thinks I'm wasting my potential on derivative work," Harry pointed out.
"He thinks you're capable of more," Newt corrected. "There's a significant difference. Now, I believe someone has been trying to catch your attention for the past several minutes."
Harry followed Newt's gaze to see Crystal-Harmony near one of the terrace entrances, her wheelchair positioned carefully.
Harry made his way across the ballroom toward Crystal-Harmony, noticing how she straightened slightly in her wheelchair as he approached. Her dress still shifted between silver and blue in the light, and despite the obvious exhaustion in her eyes, she managed a genuine smile.
"Harry," she said warmly. "I was beginning to think you'd been permanently claimed by international dignitaries and legendary alchemists."
"Just temporarily claimed," Harry assured her, settling into the chair beside her wheelchair. "How are you holding up? It's been a long evening."
"My legs hate me," Crystal-Harmony admitted. "But I've survived council meetings that lasted twelve hours, so I think I can manage one more hour of French diplomatic entertainment."
From her position, she could see couples moving through another dance on the main floor—elegant.
"I've been watching the dancing," she said quietly, her eyes following the graceful turns. "It's beautiful. So different from our water dances in Abyssantica."
"Tell me about water dancing," Harry said, genuinely curious. "How does it work?"
"We use currents and pressure changes to move together," Crystal-Harmony explained, her voice taking on the dreamy quality it always did when she talked about home. "Partners spiral around each other, creating patterns in the water with their movements. The best dancers can make it look like they're flying, weightless and free."
"That sounds incredible," Harry said sincerely.
"It is." Crystal-Harmony's smile turned wistful. "Though I was never very good at it. My tail movements were always too stiff, too uncertain. Other young RSH would dance at festivals while I watched from the coral gardens."
"Like you're watching now," Harry observed gently.
Crystal-Harmony met his eyes, and he saw the depth of longing there. "Harry... I know this is probably foolish, and my legs barely work, but... would you dance with me? Just once? Even if it's terrible and I can't actually move properly?"
Harry felt his heart beating faster, but he quickly looked at her legs. "Crystal, you can barely stand. I don't want you to hurt yourself—"
"I'm already hurting," she interrupted softly. "My legs ache constantly, my body feels wrong, and in a few hours I'll return to the water. But right now, I'm on the surface with you, at a ball, and I want one dance. One memory of moving to music on land with my friend."
"One dance," Harry agreed, standing and offering his hand. "Though I'm warning you now—if you fall, I'm catching you, and we're calling it artistic interpretation."
Crystal-Harmony's laugh was bright despite the tears gathering in her eyes. With his help, she managed to stand, gripping his arm with desperate strength as her legs trembled beneath her.
"The balcony," she suggested. "Less crowded, and if I embarrass myself, fewer witnesses."
They made their way slowly to the terrace, Crystal-Harmony's guards moving to follow before she waved them back. "Stay," she commanded. "This is between me and Harry."
The balcony was blessedly empty, the night air cool and carrying the scent of gardens below. The orchestra's music drifted through the open doors, currently playing something slow and romantic.
"Perfect," Crystal-Harmony breathed. "Now, you'll need to basically hold me up, but we can pretend it's proper dance position."
Harry positioned himself carefully, one hand at her waist, the other holding hers, trying to provide enough support that she wouldn't collapse while still maintaining something resembling dance form.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No," Crystal-Harmony admitted. "But let's try anyway."
They began to move—or tried to. Crystal-Harmony's legs simply didn't work the way surface dancing required. Her knees bent wrong, her ankles twisted, and within three steps she would have fallen if Harry hadn't been supporting most of her weight.
"I can't," she said, frustration and heartbreak mixing in her voice. "I thought maybe I could, but I can't. My legs won't—they don't—"
"Then we'll do it differently," Harry said firmly. "Who says dancing has to follow their rules?"
He adjusted his grip, essentially holding her against him so her weight was supported completely, and began moving them through slow, simple circles. Not proper dance steps, but movement nonetheless—swaying gently to the music while her feet barely touched the ground.
"This isn't dancing," Crystal-Harmony protested weakly, though she'd wrapped her arms around him for stability.
"This is our dancing," Harry corrected. "And it's perfect."
They moved together in their improvised dance, and Harry felt her relax slightly against him. She was crying now, tears streaming down her face, but she was smiling too.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For pretending this is real dancing."
"It is real dancing," Harry said. "Maybe not what everyone else does, but it's ours. And that makes it real."
They continued for another minute, the music washing over them, before Crystal-Harmony's legs finally gave out completely. Harry caught her smoothly, lowering them both to sit on the balcony's stone bench.
"I'm sorry," she said, wiping at her tears. "I wanted to give you a proper dance, and instead you got... this."
"I got to dance with a princess who transformed her entire body structure just to experience the surface world," Harry said firmly. "I got to hold you up so you could move to music on land for the first time. That's not 'instead'—that's extraordinary."
Crystal-Harmony looked at him with such open affection that Harry felt his breath catch. "You always know the right thing to say."
"I'm just being honest."
"I know. That's what makes it perfect." She leaned her head against his shoulder, exhaustion finally overwhelming her. "Five more hours until I have to return to water. I wish it could be longer."
"Me too," Harry admitted. "Though I'm grateful for the time we have."
They sat in comfortable silence, the music continuing behind them, until Crystal-Harmony's guards finally approached with respectful concern.
"Your Highness," Reef-Shield said carefully. "Perhaps you should rest before the final hours?"
"Perhaps," Crystal-Harmony agreed reluctantly, allowing Harry to help her back into her wheelchair. "Though thank you, Harry. For the dance. For everything."
"Anytime," Harry promised. "And next time, I'll come to you. Water dancing sounds much more practical for someone with a tail."
Her laugh followed him as he returned to the ballroom, feeling like he'd just experienced something more intimate and important than any of the evening's diplomatic conversations.
Harry had barely re-entered the ballroom when a small blonde missile launched itself at his legs.
"'Arry Potter!" Eight-year-old Gabrielle Delacour announced loudly, causing many heads to turn. "You are 'ere! I 'ave been waiting to speak wiz you all evening!"
"Hello, Gabrielle," Harry said, gently detaching her from his legs before she could knock him over. "You look very nice tonight."
"I know," Gabrielle agreed with a big smile. "Maman bought me zis dress specifically for tonight because she knew you would be 'ere and I needed to look my best for my future brother-in-law."
Several nearby conversations paused at this declaration, and Harry felt his face heat with embarrassment.
"Gabrielle," he said carefully, "I think you might be getting ahead of—"
"Non, non," Gabrielle interrupted, waving a finger at him that kind of reminded him of Hermione, "I 'ave planned everything. You will marry Fleur, and zen you will be my brother, and we will 'ave family gatherings where you tell me stories about fighting basilisks and I will tell you about my dolls."
"That's... quite a plan," Harry managed. "Though I'm not sure Fleur—"
"Fleur likes you very much," Gabrielle said matter-of-factly. "She talks about you when she thinks I am not listening. She says you are 'interesting' and 'surprisingly mature' and 'aggravating but charming.' Zis means she wants to marry you."
"I don't think that's what it means—"
"Also," Gabrielle continued, completely undeterred, "I 'ave already picked out names for your children. Ze boys will be named after famous French wizards, and ze girls will be named after flowers. You are welcome."
Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and decided that arguing with an eight-year-old about hypothetical future children was a battle he couldn't win.
"Thank you for your... comprehensive planning," he said diplomatically. "Though perhaps we should focus on the present rather than the distant future?"
"Ze future is not so distant," Gabrielle informed him seriously. "Maman says Fleur will be graduating soon, and zen she will need to find a 'usband. Better to secure you now before other girls realize 'ow wonderful you are."
"Gabrielle!" Fleur's voice carried across the ballroom with obvious mortification. "What did I tell you about matchmaking?"
"To do it quietly," Gabrielle replied innocently. "But 'Arry is right 'ere, so I thought—"
"You thought you would embarrass both of us publicly," Fleur finished, arriving with her cheeks flushed pink. "I am so sorry, 'Arry. My sister 'as decided she is cupid and refuses to listen to reason."
"It's fine," Harry assured her, though he was fighting a grin. "Though I have to ask—did you really say I was aggravating but charming?"
Fleur's blush deepened. "I... may 'ave said somezing similar. In private. To my diary. Which my sister apparently reads when I am not looking."
"I was bored," Gabrielle defended. "And your diary is very interesting! Though you should write more about 'Arry. Ze entries about 'im are ze best ones."
"Gabrielle Delacour, you will stop talking immediately," Fleur said with as much authority as someone could muster while being mortally embarrassed. "And you will apologize to 'Arry for being so forward."
"Why?" Gabrielle asked with genuine confusion. "I am just 'elping move things along. You are too shy, and 'Arry is too oblivious, so someone must take action."
"I'm standing right here," Harry pointed out.
"Yes, and you 'ave not drank a glass of wine with her or even told 'er she looks beautiful tonight," Gabrielle said accusingly. "Zis is why I must intervene."
"You do look beautiful," Harry said to Fleur, deciding that honesty was probably the safest approach. "Though I assumed you knew that already, what with the whole quarter-Veela thing and generally being... you know... you."
"Smooth," Fleur said dryly, though her smile suggested she was pleased despite the awkwardness.
"See?" Gabrielle said triumphantly. "'E just needed prompting! You two are 'opeless wizout me."
"We are managing fine wizout your 'elp," Fleur said firmly. "Now, you will return to Maman and Papa and you will not mention weddings, children, or future family gatherings for ze rest of ze evening. Compris?"
"Oui, Fleur," Gabrielle agreed with suspicious ease. "Though I still zink you should kiss 'im. Just once. To see if you are compatible."
"GABRIELLE!"
The little girl scampered away laughing, leaving Harry and Fleur standing in mortified silence while several nearby guests tried very hard to pretend they hadn't heard the entire exchange.
"I am going to die of embarrassment," Fleur announced. "Right 'ere, in front of everyone. Zey will write on my tombstone: 'Killed by eight-year-old sister wiz no sense of appropriate boundaries.'"
"She's... enthusiastic," Harry offered.
"She is demon," Fleur corrected. "Beautiful, sweet-faced demon who will be ze death of me."
"Though she's not wrong about the diary thing," Harry ventured with a grin. "Aggravating but charming?"
"I 'ate you," Fleur said without heat. "You and my terrible sister both."
"No you don't."
"No," Fleur agreed with a slight smile. "But I should. Zis would all be much simpler if I did."
As she walked away to presumably murder her younger sister, Harry found himself grinning despite the embarrassment. Gabrielle's enthusiastic matchmaking was mortifying, but there was something oddly flattering about being someone's planned future brother-in-law.
Even if the match-maker in question was eight years old and had already named his hypothetical future children.
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