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A mischievous expression came over Sirius' face. "Come on, Harry, I don't think it will be that much of a sacrifice. After all, if the rumors are anything to go by, the lady is not too repulsive.
Harry snorted. "More like bloody stunning, if you ask me! But that's not the point."
"I know it isn't. But you have to consider the advantages, Harry. With this contract, you are forging an important political alliance which will only help with your insane dark lord problem. The French can be very helpful in the coming war, and you can't discount the value of friends who love you and want to protect you."
"I know, Sirius," Harry replied with a sigh. "It's just… it seems like my whole life has been decided for me… I've never made any decisions on my own. This is just another example of someone deciding something important for me without my input."
Sirius' almost playful expression sobered immediately, and he stared at Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry. I just… I was desperate to help you. I felt so useless sitting there in Grimmauld while you were in danger. I truly believe this is a very big step for you. It is in your best interest, Harry."
"I believe you," Harry responded, his voice almost inaudible. "Look, I'm… grateful you care, Sirius. Merlin knows that's been in short supply in my life. But don't expect me to be… ecstatic about this betrothal—it's too much, too soon. I need some time to think about it… to figure out how I feel about all this."
"I would not have expected anything else. Just promise me one thing—don't shut Fleur out. She is a wonderful young woman, and if I'm any judge of character, I think you will get along famously with her. Get to know her, Harry."
"I will, Sirius," Harry affirmed. "She's in the same boat as I am—I certainly wouldn't hold this against her."
"Great!" Sirius said, slapping Harry on the back. "That's all I can ask for. I think it's almost time for dinner—would you like to see your room first?"
When Harry replied he would, Matty was called and the two of them separated—Harry to go to his bedroom, and Sirius started to pour himself a drink. Harry suspected he was now feeling guilty over his actions regarding the betrothal, and although Harry did not want to accuse Sirius of anything or make him feel the guilt, he wanted his feelings to be known. He would talk to Sirius later that night and tell him.
A quick walk through the castle and they had arrived at the family apartments, Matty chattering away at his side, telling him about how the family had been excited about his arrival and how it was an honor for him to be housed in the family wing rather than the guest wing. Harry smiled indulgently at the loquacious little fellow, reflecting that he reminded him of Dobby—not as hyper, but certainly eager to please and talkative.
The room was several times larger than the small room at Privet Drive which the Dursleys had allowed him to inhabit. It was dominated by a large four-poster bed, while a large fireplace stood on the opposite wall. No Floo access, though, thought Harry, nor could he expect to find many of things which had been present in his aunt and uncle's home. It was a castle, after all, and the home of a wizarding family, which meant the normal necessities of a Muggle house, such as electricity and central heating, would not be present.
The light switch on the wall and the large dome light above his head disproved that fact, and as he flicked it on, light flooded into the room. Wondering why they had lights, Harry set out to search the room for any other Muggle items, but he was unable to find anything else. It was another question to ask the Delacours.
Other than the bed, the furnishings in the room consisted of a desk against the far wall beside the window and two comfortable looking stuffed armchairs situated in front of the fire. His trunk lay on a chest at the end of the bed, although it had not yet been unpacked. Harry pondered doing some unpacking for a moment before deciding not to bother—Jean-Sebastian had said they were moving into the ambassador's manor in England very shortly, after all, so his stay here would likely be very short in nature.
Lying down on the bed, Harry spread his hands and legs out wide, luxuriating in the softness of the mattress and the overall comfort of the suite, something of which he had not known much in the past. His bedroom on Privet Drive certainly could not compare, and although his bed at Hogwarts was very comfortable, still it was a dorm room, shared with four other young men. This was his own and far more than he had ever had before.
A moment later, Matty popped in, informing him that dinner would be served shortly and that he was to make his way down to the dining hall to greet the family. Suddenly nervous, Harry asked the small elf to lead him there, to which Matty replied that was the reason why he was here after all. Harry grinned and fell into step behind him.
Harry was led to a sitting room down several levels below his bedchamber. Upon entering, he was stunned by the sight of more beauty in one location than he ever could have imagined—the entire female population of the Delacour family was there. Fleur, of course, he already knew from the previous year, but the older woman who sat beside her could easily have been mistaken for her older sister, if Harry did not already know who she was. Fleur was a carbon copy of her mother, from her deep ice-blue eyes, to the waves of silvery blond hair which hung free down her back, to the pale skin, high cheekbones and slightly narrowed chin. When they stood to greet him, he could see that they were even of the same height with one another, with the mother perhaps slightly taller than the daughter.
Gabrielle, whom he also knew, was contrasted slightly from the two older women by her hair, which was a lighter shade—a pale, almost white, blond which shimmered in the late afternoon sun. Her eyes were also a darker shade of blue, and her face was heart-shaped, although with age and the loss of her baby fat, that might well change. Still, her whole person bespoke of the ethereal beauty of her older family members, of which she would undoubtedly share when she matured. The truly disconcerting fact was that they were all watching him closely, making Harry feel like he was on display.
Feeling exceptionally self-conscious, Harry nevertheless squared his shoulders and, with resoluteness he was far from feeling, marched into the room, only to be almost bowled over by a blond-haired blur who latched on to him like a heat-seeking missile. Gabrielle excitedly chanted his name while chattering away in French (of which Harry, of course, did not understand a word), all the while hugging him as though she would never let go.
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