The Invitation
Ginny worked hard to entertain her parents, taking them for long walks in the mountains and along the stream feeding the lake, or to Valloup, the nearby Magical village, but they seemed happiest relaxing in the Headmistress’s house and wandering around the school. Her parents particularly seemed to like the gardens bordering the lake, and would sit on a bench there, admiring the flowers and the view.
The biggest surprise was how well her parents got on with Gosse, and how much he seemed to like them. The three of them would chatter on for ages. Gosse was rarely conversational, except about his current painting, but he seemed happy to listen endlessly to them, and even talk as well.
“It is good for my English,” he told her one night. “And they are easy to talk to, your parents. They are very entertaining.”
“They’re easy to argue with,” said Ginny, ruefully. “And very annoying. I’ve always found.”
“Your mother is like mine,” said Gosse. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Seriously?” But on reflection Ginny could see what he meant. They both had an impulsive, volcano-like nature, she realised, even though she got on much better with Beatrix than her own mother.
“We should ask your parents to meet her,” suggested Gosse. “She would like that, I think.”
Ginny felt there should be a law against these particular parents meeting. “Maybe they’re too alike?” she suggested, nervously. “You keep dragons apart, after all.”
“No!” said Gosse, amused. “It is good sport, that. Mixing dragons. I always enjoy it when you meet my mother.”
They had another visitor: Apolline’s other daughter, Gabrielle Delacour. Ginny’s parents exclaimed over her, how she’d grown, how pretty she was, and Gabrielle seemed to enjoy this. She was there, she said, to invite Ginny and her parents for lunch at Apolline’s the following day.
“And these,” Gabrielle added, handing Mr Weasley a bunch of card rectangles, which he studied in bafflement.
“They’re tickets for a concert in December,” Gabrielle explained. “I am singing. You are all invited.”
“Are you in a choir?” asked Mrs Weasley.
“No,” said Gabrielle. “I am singing solos. With a piano. I’d like you to come.”
“Does the piano sing too?” asked Mr Weasley, brightly. “I’d like to hear that.”
Gabrielle’s expression didn’t flicker. “You need to know, though,” she went on, “That this is a concert in front of Muggles, although I hope to have many magical friends there too. So we must all be discreet, of course.”
“I’ve studied Muggles for years,” Mr Weasley assured her confidently. “I know how to pass as one of them, believe me.”
December’s a long way away, Ginny comforted herself. Anything could have happened by then.
Gabrielle returned the following day to take them to Apolline’s. She proposed to Apparate with two of them at a time, first Mr and Mrs Weasley, and then Ginny and Gosse. When Ginny came to a halt on Gabrielle’s arm, she was surprised to find herself indoors, in a strangely-blank hallway. Her parents were waiting there too, her mother already looking unsure and annoyed.
“Mama lives in central Paris, you see,” explained Gabrielle. “She prefers it to the magic part. But of course, she cannot Apparate where Muggles can see, so she has this extra room to arrive in.”
The only feature in the little room was a single ordinary-looking door, but they had to wait while Gabrielle cast a number of spells before the door opened. “Mama values her security,” Gabrielle said with a shrug as she finally opened the door.
The house inside was remarkably compact. They were in a little square hallway, with rooms off in all directions, and they could see through open doors into most of them. The walls of the hallway were covered with unrecognisable objects, some painted, some with feathers and fabric, some carved stone.
“These are from Algeria,” explained Gabrielle, gesturing. “They are strongly magical. My mother adores them.”
They could see Apolline busy in her tiny kitchen, a strange sight to Ginny, who had only ever seen Apolline cook lying down with a single wand-flick, but she seemed calmly at home amidst saucepans and bowls of food. She greeted them more normally this time.
“I am nearly ready,” she said to them. “And we are waiting for Poseidon.”
Gabrielle’s head whipped around in surprise. “What? Poseidon’s coming here?” She was suddenly upset and annoyed.
“He will be here shortly,” said Apolline, coldly. “And you will be polite to him.”
“Polite? I am always polite. He is the one who…”
“Some drinks for our guests, Gabrielle,” said Apolline, her voice glacial.
“You can’t stand him either,” stormed Gabrielle. “Don’t let him just turn up here!”
“The drinks,” said Apolline. “Now, please, Gabrielle!”
Through one of the open doors Ginny could see a dining room, already set up for entertaining, but Gabrielle stomped through another doorway and beckoned them after her. This room had large sofas in primitive colourful designs, and a table made from stained glass resting on a tree root, as far as Ginny could determine. The table bore bottles and glasses, and Gabrielle crossed to this. “Some wine for everybody?” she asked. “Before Poseidon criticises it?”
Mrs Weasley went to the window and exclaimed over the view. They were high up, it appeared, and were looking past roofs to tall Muggle buildings in the distance. Ginny identified the tall metal tower she had ascended with the Holombecs the last time she’d been in Paris.
Gabrielle was sloshing wine into glasses, and Ginny crossed to her and took one. “So who’s Poseidon?” she asked quietly. “And what’s wrong with him?”
Gabrielle scowled as she continued to pour. “Nothing,” she said, shortly. “There is nothing wrong with him. It is everyone else who is wrong, that is all.”
Gabrielle tossed her head angrily, picked up two glasses and took them over to Ginny’s parents. When she returned, she wordlessly picked up another pair of glasses and carried them over to Gosse, passed one to him and stood chatting.
Ginny tried hers: It was white, dry and fizzy, and too easy to knock back in the stuffy warmth of the room. Gosse and Gabrielle were talking about mutual acquaintances, which she found dull, and her father was sounding forth on what he’d read in The English Wizard’s Guide to Paris, so she wandered back into the hall.
At the end of the hallway, where the entrance had been, was a yard-wide tree trunk carved with primitive symbols. She stepped closer to examine it, and twitched mightily when the centre of the tree bulged, became a strange beaked face and spoke.
“Poseidon!” the face announced in a voice so deep and husky she expected wood splinters to emerge from its mouth.
Apolline behind her called something Ginny couldn’t understand, and the tree split in two, with a crack. Ginny stumbled backwards as a tall figure loomed from the darkness between the two halves.
The tree noisily repaired itself in a symphony of cracking and creaking sounds as Ginny looked up in amazement at the stranger. He was tall - taller than Harry, probably – as thin as a skeleton and had long silver hair, like Apolline’s. The face was narrow, the nose and mouth a protuberant beak, over a receding chin, and the eyes were silver, as if blind, but they were on her.
“You’re smaller than I expected,” said the newcomer, in a strange cawing voice. “From the painting.”
“Oh?” Ginny said, weakly. She realised she’d slopped her glass, and it was dripping down her wrist. “That was just the horse, I expect,” she added, licking furtively at her hand.
Poseidon’s eyebrows gathered. “Is that humour?” he demanded.
Ginny nodded, embarrassed. “Sorry...”
“I dislike apologies,” stated Poseidon.
“Oh. Well, I won’t keep you,” she said uncertainly. “I’m sure you want to talk to Apolline…”
“I won’t waste my time on small talk,” said Poseidon. “It’s you I came to see.”
“Me? Why?”
Another frown. “You were responsible for the death of a previous Chief Auror…”
“He tried to kill me…” Ginny began, angrily, but he waved her to silence.
“And from a position of obscurity have risen to one of France’s highest positions. It is necessary we meet.”
“Because…?”
He ignored this. “Why did you come here? To France?”
Ginny shook her head to clear it. “Because… because I was going to be arrested,” she said, uncertainly.
Poseidon frowned. “Merely that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You are entirely human. Why did you interfere in Goblin matters?”
Ginny felt rising anger. “Because they asked me to. Because if I hadn’t the Dementors would have wiped out an entire tribe of them. Is that a crime here now?” Is he here to arrest me?
The mirrored eyes were hard to read. “Goblin lover?” he demanded. “Is that it?”
“No,” Ginny snapped.
“But the British Ministry of Magic is your enemy.”
“Not really, no.”
“Even though they exiled you?”
“That was just Dolores Umbridge. And some others. Look, what is this? Why are you interrogating me?”
Poseidon drew back his head and studied her in surprise. “I seek your views. That is all. And half-breeds? What is your opinion on them?”
“I… I don’t know many. One, I suppose,” she added, thinking of Hagrid.
“And do you respect her?”
“Her? Who are we talking about?”
He gestured impatiently over her shoulder. “Apolline, of course,” he said.
“She…? Half-breed?” She’s too small to be half-giant, surely?
Poseidon frowned. “Apolline is half-Veela. Surely you knew that?”
“Oh! I’d forgotten,” she added weakly.
“As am I, of course.”
“You…? Are you related?”
He sighed impatiently. “She is my sister. Is this total ignorance of yours a pretence? Or is this all a joke to you? Our mother was Veela. You know this.”
“I… I remember hearing Fleur had a Veela grandmother,” Ginny said. Harry had told her, years ago. “Is it important?”
He gazed at her silently. “It should not be,” he said eventually. “Is it important to you?”
“I… Well, not really, no,” she said in annoyance. She was done with polite fencing. “I don’t care what she is. Or what you are. Is that a problem?”
He studied her once more. “So you are not infected by your country’s prejudices,” he said after another pause.
“Prejudices? It’s only Umbridge and Yaxley. Don’t blame everyone else.”
“You are naïve, I think. There is much dislike in Britain of half-breeds. And other magical species.”
“Really? Have you been there recently?”
“Have you? I think not. And much can change in a single year. Remember that people always have the government they deserve.” Poseidon paused. “You would have made a good Auror.”
“Would I?” Ginny asked in puzzlement. “Why?”
“Because you are straightforward. You speak your mind. And there is that strength of yours, of course. That aggression. Apolline assumed I would agree her little plan, that you would be one of us, whilst being in her pocket. But perhaps I would have prevented her.”
“One of us?” echoed Ginny, light dawning at last. “Are you an Auror?”
“I am Chief Auror. Because of this, because we are brother and sister, Apolline thinks she can presume, that she can steal you from under our noses.”
“But you didn’t want me.” Ginny pointed out. “Because I’d annoyed Dawlish.”
Poseidon frowned in puzzlement. “No. I do not care what Dawlish thinks. But it is amusing that Apolline sent you to Beauxbatons as an agent, a trainee, and she in turn had you stolen from her. But I think you would have made a poor Untouchable. Pardon me, I do not mean that as an insult.”
“Because I’m too obvious?”
“Everybody knows La Nue. That is something Apolline cannot deal with. Although I doubt many realise exactly who – and what - you are. But if you ever become bored of being a headmistress, you must tell me.” He turned away, towards the tree trunk, and flicked his wand at it. It yawned open once more. “Tell my sister I cannot stay. But I have enjoyed our little chat. Good day, Headmistress.”
The gap in the tree swallowed him up and closed once more.
Ginny went uncertainly into the kitchen, where Apolline was still busy. “He said… Poseidon said he couldn’t stay,” she said apprehensively.
To her relief, Apolline seemed unworried. “Oh,” was her entire response. “Tell everyone to sit down.”
“Don’t you need any help?” Ginny asked
“No.”
Gabrielle marshalled everyone to the correct seat. Ginny found herself opposite her father, with Gosse on her left, and Apolline at the head of the table on her right.
Behind her parents, Ginny could see the wall was covered with photographs of the Delacour family. She could see Mr Delacour, smiling as always, in many of the photographs with Apolline, looking cool and elegant. A photograph of a couple she didn’t know: A very grand looking pair, the man standing with his hand on the shoulder of the woman. She was very beautiful, with long silver hair. When she squinted at it, she realised that she wasn’t an ordinary woman, but a Veela. So this must be Apolline and Poseidon’s parents. What sort of man married a Veela? Apolline’s father was presumably a Bonnacord. Ginny tried to examine his face, too. He seemed kindly enough, beneath his stern attitude.
There were no pictures of the easily-identifiable Poseidon. There were plenty of photos of Gabrielle, from a small girl to adulthood, but strangely she could see no photographs of Fleur. She twisted around to look at the wall behind her; The same rule seemed to apply here. Even stranger: Ginny recognised a photograph that also hung at home, of Fleur and Bill’s wedding. There, it showed the newly-wed couple, with Delacours and Weasleys on either side. Here, all the relatives were present – but the central couple was absent.
“Isn’t Mr Delacour here?” asked Mr Weasley. “We were hoping to see him.”
“I am sorry,” said Apolline, appearing in the doorway. “Toussaint was called away on business. Did Gabrielle not say? He is devastated not to be here, and hopes to see you soon. Are you coming to Gabrielle’s concert? He will definitely be there.”
The Weasleys expressed their disappointment, and their hope that they’d see Mr Delacour soon.
“So what will you be singing?” Mr Weasley asked Gabrielle as she walked around the table topping up the drinks. “Molly likes love songs, don’t you dear?”
“It is a themed concert,” said Gabrielle, filling Gosse’s glass with one hand resting on his shoulder, to Ginny’s annoyance. “Heroines and antiheroines.”
“So which are you?” asked Ginny, acidly. Gabrielle merely laughed and sloshed some wine into Ginny’s glass.
“Have you noticed the windows?” Gosse whispered in her ear. Even here, in company, she felt the goosebumps that his close proximity always produced. She shook her head. “Look at the view here,” he suggested, quietly. Ginny looked, but couldn’t see anything unusual. In the distance was the metal tower they’d climbed. She shrugged her incomprehension. “The other room looks in a different direction,” he whispered. “But the view is exactly the same.”
Ginny looked again, and realised he was right. She could only shrug once more.
The food was excellent, as she’d expected, and reminded of their summer with the Delacours. Plenty of fish, and herbs. And small platefuls. Her father, unabashed, asked for seconds, and then thirds, but Apolline flicked her wand to refill his plate without comment.
Gabrielle was serving red wine now, and they were eating steak, something of a novelty to Ginny’s parents. The Delacours were suggesting some sightseeing for the Weasleys. Ginny noticed the suggestions steered away from the Muggle attractions that the Holombecs had taken Ginny to see; Probably wise, she thought.
“But you must see the Army Museum,” said Apolline. “There is some excellent Magical art there you must see.”
Ginny glared at Apolline, but the latter seemed not to notice.
“Yes,” chipped in Gabrielle, “You must see Gosse’s painting there. It is formidable!” That left Ginny trying to glower impotently at the pair of them.
“Sounds wonderful!” exclaimed Mr Weasley. “Don’t you think, my dear?”
Fortunately, Mrs Weasley said that she preferred to defer that treat until her feet had got used to her shoes. Both Apolline and Gabrielle tried loudly to convince her otherwise, and Ginny couldn’t decide whether that was loyalty to Gosse or impishly trying to drop her in it. I prefer to get things over with, she told herself silently, but here’s the exception.
To Ginny’s pleased relief, Gosse spoke up at this point. “You must see the Menagerie,” he said. “Everyone adores the magical animals and plants, and you can simply sit and enjoy, if you prefer.” Gosse’s English was better than she’d realised. She squeezed his hand affectionately.
“How about this afternoon?” suggested Gabrielle. “I haven’t been for ages.” She was looking at Gosse as she said this, annoying Ginny further. Ginny jumped to her feet and began stacking empty plates. Apolline had disappeared into the kitchen to ready the next course. She managed to barge Gabrielle away from Gosse, although her sister-in-law didn’t seem to mind.
This also gave Ginny the chance to check on Gosse’s observation about the windows. She found he was entirely correct: The view from the sitting room was identical to that from the dining room – and the kitchen window was exactly the same. She stacked the dishes as carefully as she could next to the sink, but no sooner had she taken her hands away from them they were lifting and diving into the bowl in the sink, which was suddenly full of soap bubbles.
She was fascinated by Apolline’s final touches to the puddings: She was preparing individual servings, intriguing constructions with a perfect sphere of ice cream suspended amongst chocolate threads that formed a web around the ice cream.
“That looks amazing,” Ginny said. Apolline merely grunted, keeping her eyes on her work.
“Thanks so much for inviting us,” Ginny tried then. “We’re all having a lovely time. It’s a wonderful lunch.”
“You’re welcome,” said Apolline, but without much warmth.
“And thanks for coming to my rescue when my parents arrived,” Ginny pursued. “I hadn’t realised… well, that my mother thought I should be in Azkaban.”
Silence. “Unless you agree with them, of course,” Ginny said, nettled.
Apolline sighed. “I have not properly congratulated you,” she said. “On your appointment.”
“Well, thank you for helping me get there,” said Ginny, politely.
Apolline shook her head. “I had nothing to do with that,” she said shortly.
Ginny was annoyed now. “Did you have your own candidate, then?” she asked, pointedly.
Apolline took her eyes off the pudding she was crafting to look at Ginny, but her expression was still guarded. “No,” she said. “You made yourself a strong contender. In this climate, you were a popular choice.”
Ginny wanted to ask Apolline what she meant, but the chef’s concentration was back on her pudding, and she wasn’t paying Ginny any attention.
Someone made a mistake sending you here. The First Minister’s words to her, a month ago, about Ginny’s first job at Beauxbatons. And that someone had been Apolline Delacour. Was this because she lost her hold on Ginny? Or was it something else?
“Have you seen Draco and Lavender recently?” Ginny asked then.
“No,” said Apolline, distracted. “They are not here.”
“Here?”
“In France.”
“Oh,” said Ginny, blankly. “Have you sent them to Poland?”
There was a long pause while Apolline delicately drew a chocolate equator around one of the ice cream balls. “No,” she said eventually. “They don’t speak Polish, and there are other places they are more…” She stopped speaking, her mind intent on the pudding. “Suited,” she said eventually.
Suited? If they’re not in France, and not in Poland, where…? OK, they didn’t speak Polish, but they didn’t speak anything else either, apart from French, and not much of that.
And English… Were they back in Britain?
Vince couldn’t believe his luck. Here was the redhead again, unmistakable, but his size again now, behind one of the little panes of glass. He cooed with glee as he settled on the windowsill, ready to wreak his revenge.
He’d grown bored of Marseilles. There was never enough food for the entire gang. And one of the others had looked a bit like Orban, leader of one of the other gangs, who’d disappeared only weeks before Vince’s encounter with the redhead. He wasn’t sure, and he’d asked the rest of the gang, but their little black eyes were even more dull and lacklustre now than they’d been in the old days.
So he’d headed out, north west, following his instincts, heading for Paris. He’d reached here eventually, where it was much more to his taste. More cosmopolitan. And more stylish. Plenty of others like him, yes, but plenty of food.
And here she was, his nemesis, his arch-enemy. But he had the advantage now. He cooed in vengeful triumph.
Ginny was distracted by a strange sight at that point: A huge bird settled on the window ledge outside, almost filling it. Intuition made her dodge back into the dining room, where she could see exactly the same large bird. It wasn’t a bird she recognised. It was the size of a turkey, and slate-blue, like an ordinary pigeon but much bigger.
She heard Apolline cry out in annoyance, and a banging noise. The huge bird took flight immediately, and disappeared into the distance.
Vince’s heart was beating furiously. A hand had come out of nowhere and hammered on the glass, and he was flying, in a noisy flurry of feathers. He swore at himself, and wheeled round, ready to attack once more.
On the other hand, there was an entire French stick that some idiot had dropped on the pavement, far below.
Mug, he sneered, as he dropped down towards it, intent on his prey.
“Ah!” Gabrielle was saying. “Mama is plagued by the birds here! They are such a nuisance.”
“That was an ordinary pigeon,” said Gosse. “Only too big.”
Gabrielle glanced unhappily at him, but didn’t say anything. Ginny turned to look at Gosse, who mouth was twisted in amusement.
“What?” she whispered in his ear as she sat down.
Apolline appeared then with the puddings, which were exclaimed over, and Ginny had to wait until they were eating, and for her father to be holding forth on the subject of ice cream, for Gosse to lean over and murmur in her ear.
“This apartment has only one window,” he said, his breath thrilling her. “And it must be very small! Barely bigger than a normal pigeon!”
She thought about this. “Perfect if you don’t like being spied on,” she whispered back, after a while.
“Mmh,” said Gosse.
Gabrielle and Gosse between them managed to persuade Mr and Mrs Weasley to visit the Menagerie that afternoon, so the entire party Twisted there as soon as they’d had their coffee.
The Menagerie was a combination garden and zoo, it appeared, and thronged with magical Parisians and visitors keen on magical plants and animals, or simply seeking a pleasant walk.
They arrived in front of the Hippogriff enclosure, which Ginny’s parents exclaimed over with pleasure. Ginny could still remember one descending on her, claws at the ready, and was unenthusiastic, so she drifted away from the cage, and followed Gabrielle towards the plant displays, leaving her parents and Gosse with Apolline.
Ginny and Gabrielle wandered down a path bordered by flowers that changed colour constantly. Gabrielle paused to watch a camellia turn slowly from orange to blue, and Ginny stopped close by to look at a bed of strobing hyacinths. A mistake, she decided quickly, when her eyes began to ache. She moved on to examine a bank of delphiniums where bands of colour moved continually up each column of blossoms.
“I seem to have upset your mother,” Ginny observed.
Gabrielle shrugged. “I think not,” she said. “She is distracted at the moment. I think her work is difficult right now.”
“She doesn’t seem keen on me becoming Head of Beauxbatons,” Ginny fished.
Another shrug. “I think she was merely surprised,” said Gabrielle. “It is certainly tradition at Beauxbatons to have young heads, but you are perhaps extreme.” She changed the subject, tactfully, perhaps. “So, how did you like my uncle?” she asked.
Ginny could only shrug in her turn. “He just seemed to think I was totally ignorant, because I didn’t know what he was talking about. Or who he was.”
Gabrielle laughed. “Truly? Yes, that would annoy him. But he is unbearable to me, because I didn’t want to have a magical career. And very boring. We do not see him much, fortunately. Last year we had to visit him, and it was dreadful. His wives fought like cats the entire time.”
“Wives?”
Gabrielle nodded. “Yes, it is shocking, that. He says Veela always have two wives, but I don’t believe that is true. One is full Veela, too. She is all right, on her own. She tells me lots of things. About men. Things like that. But the other one is dreadful. She wants to play the great seductress, but Lucille is so much better at that, without trying, so Therese is always cross…. Are you coming to my recital?”
“Recital?” asked Ginny in bemusement, her mind full of Veelas, and remembering regurgitating poetry as a small child.
“My singing concert,” said Gabrielle.
“You must be very young for that,” Ginny observed. She’d been calculating: Gabrielle could be no more than fifteen.
Gabrielle looked surprised. “You are three years older than me,” she pointed out. “And you are a headmistress. Anyway, it would be good to have your support.”
“As family, or as Headmistress of Beauxbatons?” Ginny asked suspiciously.
Gabrielle smiled, conspiratorially. “As both,” she said. “And as a friend, I hope. But please, fully dressed! I would like support, not competition. And yes, I will be entirely covered. Before you ask.”
“So is this why you’re not at Beauxbatons?” Ginny asked, curiously. “Your singing? Or are you at Durmstrang?” She’d been surprised to discover that Gabrielle wasn’t at the school, although her name had appeared in records of earlier years.
Gabrielle nodded. “Singing’s very important to me,” she said. “I have a scholarship. Did you know that? And magic…” she shrugged. “There are different sorts of magic, and music is mine.”