Clandestine, My Clementine

Celeste Desrosiers hummed a lilting tune to herself, relishing the hush that enveloped the expanse of her stately abode. It was a stillness that evaded her on most days, a rare moment of tranquility that she savored with every breath. The young ones under her care, progeny of the Veelas, had all departed to bask in the warmth of familial embrace, now that the season of spring had bloomed in full.

Spring held a special place in the hearts of the Veelas, for it embodied all that they held dear and true. Their powers were at their zenith during this season, and the warmth of familial love that coursed through their veins seemed to intensify with each passing day. It was a time when kinship was paramount, and families were drawn to each other with a fierce desire to revel in the joys of togetherness.

To her great surprise, a muggle conveyance made its way to her front gate, unannounced and unexpected. She had not anticipated any visitors, not until the height of summer, at the very least. The scent of magic lingered in the air, but it did not emanate from the two, no, strike that, three individuals who now stood before her. And yet, they were the ugliest creatures she had ever set eyes on - not in terms of their outward appearance, mind you. It was their inner selves that repelled her, their judgment, insincerity, and shallow personalities that were palpable from the moment they crossed the threshold of her home.

Despite her misgivings, Celeste extended a warm welcome to the trio. The Veelas held firm in their belief in destiny and the mysterious ways of magic, and she trusted that whoever among them bore the gift of magic possessed enough of it to have surpassed the repelling charm she had placed upon her abode. It was not a conventional muggle-repelling charm, per se. Rather, she had imbued it with the intent of her magic, so that anyone seeking sanctuary, Veela or not, might find solace within the walls of her home.

"Your graciousness is simply limitless," said Mrs. Dursley, her voice tinged with annoyance. "We would have looked after our nephew ourselves, but our son had an urgent engagement that couldn't be put off. We'd hate for him to find out about his cousin's troubles." 

Her husband, meanwhile, had fallen into a stupor, his mind unable to grasp the complexity of the situation. Celeste noted with a keen eye that while the woman seemed to possess some knowledge of the magical world, she was still very much a muggle at heart.

Mr. Dursley's beefy countenance was etched with an air of surliness that did not endear him to Celeste. Nevertheless, she schooled her features into a polite expression and maintained an unflinching gaze upon Mrs. Dursley. Despite Mr. Dursley's leering demeanor and his obvious attempt to catch her eye, Celeste remained resolute in her bearing, projecting an air of sternness that suggested she would not hesitate to discipline if need be.

If anyone required discipline, it was their purportedly ailing son, Celeste thought to herself. She refrained from rolling her eyes at the Dursleys, however, maintaining a facade of polite interest. She was curious about the nephew they had entrusted to her care, even if it was only for a short period of time. As her gaze flickered past Mr. Dursley, she caught sight of a slender lad with tousled hair and the most vivid emerald eyes she had ever beheld.

And in that moment, it dawned on Celeste precisely how these muggles had come to be standing before her. The boy under their guardianship must have required special care, care that they were unable to provide. It was possible that through the boy's own magic, they had been led to her doorstep, as they sought to leave him for the duration of their vacation. 

"Oui, it is no trouble at all," Celeste replied, her voice betraying no hint of her inner turmoil. "However, I must apologize. It is the beginning of the season of spring, most of the children under my care have returned to their familial homes. Your nephew shall have no company but myself during his stay here."

Though inwardly perturbed by her discovery, Celeste maintained her outward facade of politeness, determined to extend her hospitality to these muggles, in the name of this child, as a true Veela would.

"That is of no concern. Our nephew has an unsocial disposition. In fact, it would please us if he was assigned some household chores." The Dursley woman spoke with a confidence that was not well-received by Celeste. “To help you, of course,” she added. 

As Mrs. Dursley spoke of her nephew's lack of social inclination, Celeste could not help but feel a sense of unease creeping over her. Something about the situation did not sit right with her, and she could sense a weighty darkness surrounding the boy's magic.

She listened to Mrs. Dursley's words with a keen ear, her instincts telling her that the woman was not being entirely truthful. Even without the use of Occlumency, Celeste could sense the lies woven into the fabric of her words.

"Chores?" Celeste repeated with a raised eyebrow, her delicate features betraying her surprise at the woman's suggestion. It seemed an unusual proposition, especially for a young child in need of care.

"I see," she tried diplomatically, after a moment's pause. "May I inquire as to your nephew's age?"

Celeste could feel her blood boil at the thought of the young boy being forced to undertake chores at such a tender age. The audacity of the Dursleys, to presume that a child should be burdened with such menial tasks, was almost beyond comprehension.

She could feel her frustration rising, a surge of anger and indignation that threatened to overwhelm her. It took all of her willpower to resist the urge to lash out, to unfurl her wings and set the offending couple ablaze with the power of her magic.

And yet, she knew that such actions would not be becoming of a true Veela, that it was her duty to maintain her composure in the face of such adversity. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, focusing her mind on the calm and steady rhythm of her breathing, until the surge of emotion had passed.

"He is…turning seven. A ripe enough age for some measure of responsibility," Mrs. Dursley replied, her tone somewhat curt.

As Celeste once more, considered Mrs. Dursley's response, she couldn't help but notice how small and frail the boy had looked when she had first laid eyes on him. It was difficult to believe that he was already turning seven, as his slight frame seemed more appropriate for a child several years younger. She also could not help but feel a pang of sympathy for the young boy, who would be tasked with menial chores at such a tender age. She could not help but feel that he should be allowed to enjoy his childhood, to play and explore the world around him, rather than being forced into menial tasks that were better suited for an adult.

Indeed, it was one of the things that Celeste treasured most about her own childhood - the freedom to roam and play in the fields, to revel in the beauty of nature, and to learn from the world around her. It was a time of innocence and wonder, a time that was all too brief in the grand scheme of things.

She pondered the circumstances of the young boy's arrival. She could not help but feel a sense of unease settling over her. It was clear to her that the Dursleys scorned magic, and she could sense a deep-seated distrust in their attitudes towards the boy's abilities.

It made her wonder about the boy's parents - where were they, and why had they entrusted their child to the care of such unsympathetic guardians? She could not help but feel a surge of protective instinct towards the boy, a need to care for him in a way that he had perhaps never experienced before.

It was a feeling that was not uncommon to her - as a Veela, she was often called upon to care for those in need, to offer a guiding hand to those who had been cast aside by the world. And yet, there was something about this boy that stirred her heart in a way that was different from the others.

She wondered if the Dursleys had ever truly asked how he was, if they had ever truly seen the pain and loneliness that lay hidden behind his emerald eyes. For a moment, she paused, gazing out over the rolling fields and the distant hills, lost in thought.

Celeste turned towards the Dursleys, her expression one of polite inquiry as she gathered the necessary paperwork from her desk. She had no need of the papers, of course - as a Veela, she had a deep understanding of magic and its intricacies, and could easily determine the boy's condition with a simple touch.

And yet, she knew that it was important to maintain the appearance of normality, to avoid raising any suspicions about her true nature. For now, at least, it was best to keep her powers hidden from these muggles, and to play along with their assumptions about her profession.

"So, you will be gone for your son's therapy for...?" she inquired, her voice soft and measured.

"Six weeks," Mr. Dursley managed, his words gruff and abrupt. The boy looked up, his expression one of innocent curiosity, as if unaware of the true nature of his family's departure.

As Celeste gazed upon the young boy, she felt a sense of warmth and affection stirring within her. Despite the circumstances of his arrival, she knew that she would do everything in her power to ensure that he was well cared for during his stay.

"I see. Well, this is certainly most unusual..." Celeste murmured, her eyes fixed upon the young boy who gazed up at her with innocent curiosity. "But nothing we can't take care of. What is his name?"

As she waited for a response, she noticed a sudden tension in the air, a palpable discomfort that seemed to emanate from the Dursleys. For a moment, she wondered if they were hiding something from her, if there was some secret about the boy's identity that they were not willing to reveal. 

"His name is H..." Mr. Dursley began, before he was cut off by his wife's sharp cough. "Ahem, his name is James Evans," he finally managed, his voice low and uncertain.

Celeste raised an eyebrow, noting the sudden twitch in Petunia's expression as she uttered the boy's name. It was clear to her that there was more to this situation than met the eye, that there were secrets and hidden truths lurking beneath the surface.

And yet, for now, she knew that it was best to play along with their assumptions, to keep her own suspicions hidden for the time being. With a small smile, she turned towards the young boy, her eyes sparkling with warmth and affection.

"James Evans," she repeated, her voice soft and she hoped, soothing.

"Very well. I will see you in 6 weeks," Celeste said to the Dursleys. Her eyes fixed upon the young boy who gazed up at her with innocent curiosity. As the Dursleys made their way out of the room, she felt a sudden sense of relief wash over her, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

And yet, as soon as they were gone, she turned towards the young boy who had no belongings except for a small pack with him. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering if she should reveal her true identity to him, if she should tell him that she was a Veela and that he was in the care of a magical guardian.

And then, as if sensing her uncertainty, the boy spoke up, his voice soft and trembling. "Well now, James, is it?" Celeste began, her tone gentle and reassuring.

"It's...It's...H...Harry actually, Harry Potter," the boy murmured, his eyes fixed upon her with a look of innocent vulnerability. For a moment, Celeste felt a pang of sympathy for the young child, who had been thrust into this strange and unfamiliar world without warning or explanation.

As Celeste gazed upon the young boy, she felt a sense of awe and reverence stirring within her. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, even in France, was anything but just a name. His victory over the Dark Lord had been celebrated far and wide, bringing an exodus and a new beginning for the wizarding community in both magical Britain and France.

And yet, despite his fame and his extraordinary triumphs, Harry seemed like any other young child to Celeste, small and frail, with a shock of unruly hair that did an excellent job at hiding the famous scar upon his forehead.

He ought to be free from the burden of his scar, if only for the sweet season of spring. For a moment, Celeste considered casting a spell to hide the scar, to shield the young boy from any potential harm or danger. She knew all too well the dangers that lurked in the shadows, the forces of darkness that still wished to do harm to the boy who lived.

But then, as she gazed upon his innocent face and felt the warmth of his hand in hers, she knew that there was no need for such measures. Harry was safe here, in her care, surrounded by the love and protection of her magic and her Veela heritage.

"I see. And pray, do you prefer Harry or James?" Celeste inquired, her tone gentle and soft.

"They call me Harry, and I've grown accustomed to it...but...they will be angry, so please call me James." The young boy replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Very well then, it is my delight to make your acquaintance, James," Celeste murmured, her own name rolling off her tongue in a musical lilt. "I am Celeste Desrosiers, and I am most pleased to have you here with me."

As James clasped her hand in his, she could sense a glimmer of trust and understanding within him, a sense of kinship that defied their differences in age, background, and experience. And then, as he paused to ask her a question, she felt a stirring of curiosity and intrigue within her, eager to know what was on his mind.

He clasped her hand as she introduced herself, and then paused, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You are? Truly?" he murmured, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "You are pleased...to have me here?"

Celeste felt a pang of sadness at the boy's words, realizing that he had likely never known a welcoming home or a loving family. It was a stark reminder of the harsh realities of life, even in the aftermath of victory and celebration.

It was not fair, she thought, that such a young soul should suffer so much.

"Indeed, mon cherie, it was merely a charade for your guardians," she replied, her voice soft and soothing. "I have no intention of making you do chores or disciplining you in any way. You are my guest, and I want you to feel at ease."

As James spoke of his family, she could sense a mixture of loyalty and fear within him, a sense of obligation to protect their secrets, no matter the cost. It was a heavy burden for a young boy to bear.

"And why are they leaving you here, James?" she inquired gently, hoping to ease his mind and offer him some measure of comfort.

For a moment, the boy hesitated, as if unsure whether to trust her with his secrets. And then, with a deep breath, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I shouldn't say," he murmured, his eyes downcast with shame and fear. "They...they told me not to tell anyone. It's a secret."

"Fear not, my child. If you do not wish to speak of it, I shall not press the matter any further. You are safe under my care," Celeste said, her voice gentle and soothing. "However, it shall only be you and me in this quiet house, except for my granddaughter who shall arrive on the morrow. She is a delicate flower, and I’m sure she will be delighted to make your acquaintance."

"I...I am not sure if she would want to be friends with me. No one does," the boy hesitated.

"Nonsense, my dear," she said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You will be just fine. My granddaughter is a kind and gentle soul, and she will be thrilled to have a new friend. You need not worry about anything."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Although, I must warn you," she added with a twinkle in her eye. "She is my darling flower, a princess in my eyes, but never forget, the key is patience with her, as it is with all women. That is all. Let her bloom, let her fly, and let yourself be her rock. Do you understand?"

The young man appeared to be struggling with understanding her meaning, his forehead furrowed in confusion. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Mrs. Des... Des... rocheers?” Celeste could not help but chuckle at the boy's attempt at her name, though she did not expect him to remember it nor be able to say it. 

"It is just Celeste, dear boy," she said, hoping he would find it easier to say.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…couldn’t say it,” the boy murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Celeste could sense his unease, and it pained her to see him struggle so.

“Do not fret, young James. The most important thing right now is that you understand. In due time, you will recollect and grasp the importance of it all, will you not?”

The boy nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I will. I’m good at remembering. It’s important, right? he said.

“Yes, yes, it is James.”

"I will remember. I promise," James affirmed before reciting Celeste's words with enthusiasm. "Be patient, let her bloom, let her fly, and be her rock."

The boy's eyes were shining with understanding. Celeste couldn't help but feel a sense of hope for the boy, despite the troubles that may lie ahead. With her guidance and patience, and the friendship of her granddaughter, perhaps he could find some solace and happiness in this unfamiliar place.