The hospital room was eerily quiet, save for the soft rustling of the sheets and the occasional flicker of light from the candles on the bedside table. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, legs swinging back and forth, staring at the floor with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Across from him, Sirius sat in a worn armchair, running a hand through his unruly black hair, clearly just as unsure about how to start the conversation as Harry.
Sirius finally broke the silence, his voice gruff but laced with warmth. "Hey, Harry... How are you feeling, kid?"
Harry looked up at his godfather, a frown pulling at his small lips. He shrugged, still unsure how to put into words the jumble of feelings swirling in his head. "Um... okay, I guess," he mumbled, shuffling his feet. It was the sort of answer a five-year-old would give when they didn't really know how to explain that they felt like they were carrying the weight of the world.
Sirius let out a quiet sigh, glancing at Harry with soft, understanding eyes. He knew it was more complicated than that, but he didn't press. "Yeah," he said, voice dropping slightly, like he was speaking to someone much older. "I get it. It's been a lot for both of us, hasn't it?"
Harry nodded solemnly, still not looking up. "Yeah..." His voice trailed off as his small hands fiddled with the edge of the blanket, suddenly very interested in the small, repetitive motion.
Sirius studied him for a moment before giving a rueful smile, trying to break the tension. "You know, for a little guy, you've got one hell of a serious face." He reached over, giving Harry's messy hair a playful ruffle. "I don't think I looked this broody until I was, like, fifteen."
Harry blinked up at him, a hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You were broody at fifteen?"
Sirius gave a dramatic sigh, leaning back in the chair like he was about to tell Harry the secrets of the universe. "Oh yeah. I used to brood like a professional. James and Lily used to give me all sorts of trouble about it. They'd always say, 'Sirius, you're too young to have that many deep thoughts.'"
Harry's eyes sparkled a bit, his earlier discomfort starting to melt away. "Were they nice to you?"
Sirius's smile softened, his eyes distant for a moment. "Nice? They were better than nice. They were my best mates." His voice cracked just a little as he said it, but he cleared his throat quickly and continued, trying to keep things light. "James was a pain in the arse, but that's what made him great. And Lily—she was the only person who could put me in my place and still make me feel like I was the smartest bloke in the room."
Harry tilted his head, still digesting the idea of his parents through the eyes of this man, this godfather who seemed so familiar yet distant. "What were they like?"
Sirius's gaze softened, a warm smile curving at his lips as he remembered his best friends. "James... well, James had this... confidence. Like, he'd say 'let's do something crazy,' and everyone would follow him, even though you knew it was going to end in trouble. But it didn't matter, 'cause he made you believe everything would be alright. Lily—she was brilliant, always calm and collected. But she had a fire in her, especially when it came to things she cared about." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "She used to get so mad at me for my stupid stunts. You'd think she'd seen it all by now, but she never lost that fierce spark."
Harry, still hanging onto every word, blinked up at Sirius, his voice small but full of wonder. "Were they nice to me?"
Sirius's heart ached, but he didn't show it. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking Harry in the eyes. "Oh, Harry," he said softly. "They loved you more than anything. You were their world. You still are."
The words hung in the air for a moment as Harry processed them, and then his small voice broke the silence. "I wish I could remember them."
Sirius's expression softened, his heart swelling with both pride and sorrow. He reached out, carefully placing a hand on Harry's small shoulder. "You don't have to remember them to know how much they loved you, Harry. They would be so proud of the brave, kind-hearted boy you've become." His voice was steady, though there was an undeniable crack in it, a sign of how deeply he felt the weight of the loss, even now.
Harry looked up at Sirius, his wide, innocent eyes searching for something, perhaps understanding or comfort, and found both in his godfather's gaze. He allowed himself to relax a little, to lean into the warmth of Sirius's presence, something he hadn't realized he missed so much.
Sirius gave a half-smile, squeezing Harry's shoulder gently. "I know you've been through a lot, kid. But you're not alone anymore. I've got your back, always."
Harry smiled back, his face lighting up with a little more confidence. "Thanks, Sirius."
Sirius chuckled softly, the sound low and warm like the crackle of a fire. "You've got it, kid. You've got it." He ruffled Harry's hair again, a little rougher this time, trying to coax a laugh out of him.
Harry giggled, his small form finally relaxing into the comfort of his godfather's care. It wasn't much, but for the first time in what felt like forever, things didn't seem so heavy. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.
—
Dorea stood silently beside Melania, both women observing the quiet but profound moment unfolding between Sirius and Harry. The soft murmur of their conversation drifted through the room, and despite the light banter, the tension of years spent apart hung in the air like a fragile thread. A quiet sigh left Dorea's lips, the kind of sigh that spoke of old memories and the slow, aching passage of time.
"It's like watching James and Sirius all over again," Dorea murmured, her eyes brimming with both sadness and warmth, as though she were seeing two ghosts brought to life in the next generation.
Melania, ever poised with her serene and regal air, glanced at Dorea and offered a small, knowing smile. "Yes," she replied softly, her voice laced with a blend of affection and understanding. "They were always inseparable, weren't they? Even as children, nothing could break the bond they had. But now, it's Harry's turn."
Her gaze returned to the pair, and though her words were calm, there was an unmistakable warmth in her tone, a quiet approval of the healing that had begun. Sirius, after all, had never truly been alone—his heart always open, ready for the next soul to care for. And now, there was Harry.
Arcturus, standing at Dorea's side, watched his son and grandson from the shadows of the doorway. His tall frame, imposing and dignified, made him seem like a sentinel, forever vigilant. His piercing gaze, though often intimidating, softened as he observed the interaction before him. His hand rested on Dorea's shoulder, a comforting gesture that spoke volumes of their shared understanding, even if words weren't necessary.
"They'll be alright," Arcturus said, his voice low and steady like the rumble of distant thunder, his tone betraying neither doubt nor hesitation. He wasn't just hopeful—he was certain. "Together, they'll find their way."
Dorea smiled faintly at him, her hand lifting to cover his briefly, her eyes filled with appreciation. "I hope you're right, Arcturus. It's been so much for them both."
Charlus, always the more reserved of the two men, had positioned himself on the opposite side, watching the scene unfold with a quiet pride. His sharp, discerning eyes never wavered from his grandson and godson. His posture was rigid, but there was a softness in his gaze—one that came with age and experience. His mind raced through memories of a younger Sirius and James, now entwined with thoughts of Harry and his future.
"They are stronger than we give them credit for," Charlus said, his voice rich with authority, but tempered with a tenderness that only those closest to him would recognize. "Sirius, as lost as he may have felt, has always had the ability to pull others up. And Harry... Harry is his father's son. He'll rise."
Dorea, leaning into her husband's side, tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a half-smile. "I always said you had too much faith in them, Charlus," she teased lightly, but there was no mockery in her tone. Only a quiet adoration for her family. "And here you are, proving me wrong again."
Charlus shot her a brief, amused look—one that was familiar to anyone who had seen them together. It was the kind of look that said years of marriage and shared lives had cultivated a bond as deep as the roots of an ancient tree.
"Someone has to," he said with a wry smile. "And it might as well be me."
The moment settled into comfortable silence as they all turned their attention back to the two figures at the center of it all—Sirius and Harry. The connection between them, though tentative at first, was beginning to take root, blossoming slowly as they shared stories, memories, and laughter that hinted at what could be a lifelong relationship. The kind of bond that wasn't forged in a day, but in moments like this—small, unspoken, and yet irrevocably binding.
As the room settled into the quiet rhythm of the evening, Dorea glanced at Melania, her eyes softening as she spoke again, quieter this time. "I think we've all waited for this moment longer than we realized."
Melania's smile deepened, her eyes glinting with quiet approval. "And now," she said, her tone laced with certainty, "it's finally their time."
—
Historic Wizengamot Session: Sirius Black Exonerated and Major Changes Implemented
By Barnabus Cuffe
In a session that will undoubtedly go down in wizarding history as one of the most dramatic and consequential, the Wizengamot convened yesterday under extraordinary circumstances, resulting in explosive revelations and sweeping reforms that promise to reshape the very fabric of our magical society.
What began as a routine inquiry quickly transformed into an unprecedented event, catching the attention of wizards and witches across the globe. Charlus Potter and Arcturus Black, in a move that stunned many, presented the long-suppressed will of James and Lily Potter—a document that had been mysteriously blocked from execution by none other than former Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore. The contents of the will were clear: Sirius Black was the designated godfather and rightful guardian of Harry Potter, a role he had been denied for over a decade. The will also provided the shocking revelation that Peter Pettigrew, not Sirius Black, was the Potters' Secret Keeper—a detail that would have forever altered the course of the Potters' tragic demise had it not been for the betrayal of the rat himself.
The explosive news didn't stop there. Following a thorough investigation led by the ever-vigilant Madam Amelia Bones and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE), it was revealed that Sirius Black had been imprisoned without trial—a gross miscarriage of justice fueled by unverified accusations and a systemic presumption of guilt. In perhaps the most damning piece of evidence, Sirius's wand, which had never been properly examined, was subjected to the Priori Incantatem charm—a magical test that revealed only non-lethal spells. The results were irrefutable: Sirius Black was innocent of the crimes he had been accused of.
The Wizengamot, its members visibly shaken by the news, voted unanimously for the immediate release of Sirius Black. The once-feared prisoner of Azkaban was freed, but not before being transported to St. Mungo's Hospital, where he is currently receiving treatment for both physical and psychological wounds sustained during his wrongful imprisonment. Healers Dorea Potter and Melania Black, whose detailed reports have cast a horrifying light on the conditions Harry Potter endured under Dumbledore's instructions, continue to oversee his care.
But the revelations didn't stop with Sirius's exoneration. In a dramatic and unexpected turn of events, the Wizengamot moved swiftly to remove Albus Dumbledore from his position as Chief Warlock, a decision that left the room in stunned silence. Dumbledore's controversial actions in placing young Harry Potter with the abusive Dursley family were not only in direct violation of the Potters' will, but the revelations about Harry's abuse—documented by Healers Dorea Potter and Melania Black—led to an overwhelming consensus that Dumbledore had overstepped his bounds.
Dorea Potter, who had quietly observed the proceedings, spoke with the authority of a woman who had seen the dark side of magical bureaucracy firsthand. "The truth is clear," she said, her voice firm yet compassionate, "We cannot ignore the years of neglect Harry endured because of one man's misguided sense of protection."
And just like that, the era of Dumbledore's unchecked power came to a close.
In a move that will surely send ripples through the halls of power, Augusta Longbottom was appointed the new Chief Warlock. Known for her sharp mind and unwavering commitment to justice, Longbottom's ascension marks a fresh chapter in the Wizengamot's history—a turn towards accountability, transparency, and, dare I say, a much-needed shakeup.
But the changes didn't stop with Dumbledore's ouster. The Wizengamot took swift action against those who had perpetuated the injustices that plagued the wizarding world. Barty Crouch Sr., who had been instrumental in securing Sirius Black's wrongful imprisonment, was expelled from all Ministry posts without so much as a flicker of opposition. His role in the miscarriage of justice was clear, and the Wizengamot made it known that such abuses would not be tolerated.
Meanwhile, attempts by members of the so-called "Dark Faction" to use the exoneration of Sirius Black as an excuse to release other prisoners from Azkaban were firmly denied. The Ministry's investigation, led by Madam Bones, found that the cases of these Death Eaters remained airtight. No, this was not a case of mass exoneration—it was a case of one man's wrongful imprisonment, and justice had been served.
And there was yet another bombshell. Albus Dumbledore, whose influence had extended far beyond the borders of Britain, was also expelled from his position as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW). This move came after an emergency session convened by Jean-Claude Delacour, whose late father, Pierre Delacour, had been a prominent figure in the Black Dragon Legion and whose testimony regarding Dumbledore's unseemly international dealings raised eyebrows across the magical world. Dumbledore's departure from this prestigious post is a dramatic sign of the waning of his once-untouchable reputation. The implications of this move for international magical relations cannot be overstated.
As the session drew to a close, there was an overwhelming sense that a new era had begun. The events of the day left the wizarding world on the precipice of change, one that could finally bring accountability to the corridors of power. For the first time in many years, it felt as though truth had finally prevailed—and not just for one man, but for an entire society that had long been under the thumb of powerful and often corrupt leaders.
One can only hope that the path forward is one of healing and reform, where justice is not merely a slogan, but a lived reality for all.
Stay tuned to The Daily Prophet for more updates on this developing story and the continued efforts to ensure that the wizarding world remains a place where truth and justice truly matter.
—
Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk in her office at Hogwarts, the soft crackle of the fire and the occasional murmur of students in the halls providing a distant backdrop to the weight of her thoughts. The flickering light of her enchanted desk lamp illuminated the pages of The Daily Prophet, but her gaze seemed to linger on nothing in particular as she read the article by Barnabus Cuffe. A large part of her mind was still processing the revelations of the Wizengamot session—the exoneration of Sirius Black, the expulsion of Albus Dumbledore from the ICW, and the damning evidence of Harry Potter's years of neglect.
Her eyes trailed over Cuffe's words, her brow furrowing with the slow recognition of just how much had been concealed, how much had been missed in those early years. She had trusted Albus implicitly, as she always had, but now... now, the firm foundation of that trust was shaking beneath her.
Sirius Black, the man she had known as a brilliant student at Hogwarts, was not a traitor after all. The Potters' will had been blocked—by Dumbledore himself—and the truth of Peter Pettigrew's betrayal was only now being uncovered. The dark cloud that had hung over her memories of those years seemed to loom even larger as she recalled the events of that fateful night.
It had been the same night that Voldemort had met his end, the same night Harry Potter's parents had been murdered. Minerva had been sitting in her cat form, perched atop the Dursleys' garden wall, watching with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She had seen too much of Vernon Dursley's cruel disposition and Petunia's cold disregard for anything outside their narrow view of the world. Their son, Dudley, was an obnoxious, spoiled little terror even then—though Minerva had learned that such qualities were often fostered by neglect and bad parenting.
When Dumbledore had arrived, it had been as though the air itself thickened with the weight of decisions yet to come. Minerva had transformed back into her human form with a flick of her wand, stepping from the shadows of the garden wall and approaching him.
"Are you sure it's safe, Albus?" she had asked, her voice low, careful. Her heart had been heavy with the weight of uncertainty, and the sight of Harry's small, innocent face only added to it. "I've watched them all day. They're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable!"
Dumbledore, ever the picture of calm authority, had given her that infuriatingly serene look. "I am confident, Minerva. His aunt and uncle will provide him with the protection he needs." His gaze had softened. "The blood wards—Lily's sacrifice—will ensure his safety, even here."
"But can't we find someone more suitable?" Minerva had pressed, her voice quivering with concern. "Surely there is someone in the magical world who can—"
"No, Minerva," Dumbledore had interrupted gently, but with finality. "He must be kept away from the wizarding world for now. For his own protection. These people are his family, after all."
Minerva had swallowed the bitter taste of those words, watching as Dumbledore had carefully placed the bundle that was Harry onto the doorstep. The baby stirred in his sleep, unaware of the magnitude of the moment. The letter, the one Dumbledore had written to explain the tragedy of that night, lay next to him, as if a simple note could ever convey such sorrow.
"I wish there was another way," Minerva had whispered, her voice barely audible in the darkened night. But Dumbledore had already turned away, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked down the path, leaving her to stare at the small figure on the doorstep.
"Goodnight, Albus," she had said softly, though it felt like an empty sentiment.
Now, five years later, the full truth had begun to unravel. Harry's childhood, spent in that miserable home with the Dursleys, had been one of neglect, abuse, and mistreatment. As she read about the reports from Dorea and Melania, her stomach turned. She had known something was amiss, but to read the details—Dorea—she could hardly believe it. Dorea Black-Potter, who had always been a friend, a confidante, was Harry's grandmother—and had been kept in the dark about his plight all these years.
Minerva could not shake the memory of Dorea's radiant smile, her quiet strength, the way she had always handled adversity with grace and dignity. And now, she had awakened from a long coma, only to discover the truth of what had happened to her family. The Potters had not only lost their lives but had been betrayed—by their trusted friend, Peter Pettigrew—and by those who should have known better.
She set the paper down with a deliberate motion and clasped her hands together. The sorrow in her heart was overwhelming. How had she let this happen? How had she stood by and allowed Harry to be left in the care of a family so undeserving of him? In her attempts to follow Dumbledore's wisdom and assurances, had she betrayed her own better judgment?
But Minerva was not one to wallow in self-pity. She was a Gryffindor, after all. And as the weight of her regrets began to settle, another thought entered her mind, stronger than the rest: There was something she could still do.
The time had come for her to act. She would visit St. Mungo's, not only to reconnect with Dorea, but to offer her support to Sirius, who, despite everything, had remained steadfast in his loyalty to the Potters. She would speak to Melania, who had always been like a sister to her, and to Augusta, a woman whose wisdom and loyalty had been invaluable over the years. She would help them rebuild what had been broken, help Harry understand that there were people who truly cared for him.
Minerva stood, her old bones creaking with the effort, but her resolve hardening. She straightened her robes and took a deep breath, her voice firm and steady. "This will be put right. I will not allow another moment of Harry's life to be wasted in the shadows."
And so, with her heart set on the path before her, Minerva McGonagall prepared herself for the long journey ahead. Justice, she thought with a deep sigh, was long overdue—but it was never too late to begin.
—
Narcissa Black-Malfoy sat in the opulent drawing room of Malfoy Manor, the rich, dark wood of the furniture contrasting sharply with the looming weight of her thoughts. The luxurious tapestries that adorned the walls whispered of the Black family's storied past, yet in this moment, they felt like an oppressive reminder of the path that had been laid before her. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room, but Narcissa's focus was solely on the parchment in her hands.
The latest edition of The Daily Prophet lay open before her, the front page headline almost blinding in its stark implications: Sirius Black Exonerated, Dumbledore Ousted from ICW, and Justice for the Potters. Her fingers tightened on the paper as she read through the article by Barnabus Cuffe. The words seemed almost too much to take in all at once. Sirius exonerated. The words rang in her head, each syllable sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine. The years of torment, of being forced to live with the stain of her cousin's supposed betrayal, were now shattered by the truth. He had been wronged.
Dumbledore ousted. A ripple of vindication surged within her as she absorbed the news. She had never trusted the old man—his manipulation of her family, his insistence on maintaining power over the wizarding world—it had always unsettled her. Now, to read that he had finally been stripped of his power felt like a long-overdue reckoning. The revelation felt almost too satisfying, though she knew better than to revel in it too long. The wizarding world was shifting, and with it, the dangerous game of alliances was becoming more complex by the hour.
And yet, amid the storm of emotions, it was the line that followed that truly gripped her: Justice for the Potters. Narcissa's heart beat heavily in her chest, a twinge of sorrow, regret, and perhaps even hope surging through her. It was impossible to ignore the mention of Charlus Potter and Arcturus Black in the same breath. Her family—her blood—had been key players in exposing the corruption that had allowed the Potters to suffer. Narcissa felt a cold pang as the image of Harry Potter—a boy who had known nothing but suffering and neglect at the hands of his aunt and uncle—flashed in her mind. How could anyone let this happen to a child? she wondered silently. She had always felt something for him, a pull toward the boy whose pain mirrored the injustices of her own family. Her resolve to protect him from the manipulations of others surged.
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the low murmur of voices in the hall. It was Lucius. Narcissa's gaze shifted toward the door, the cool facade of indifference she had perfected in the presence of her husband already settling into place. She could almost hear his footsteps before they reached the threshold, the weight of his calculated precision in each movement. Lucius, ever the dutiful servant of the Dark Lord, would not be pleased by her thoughts—nor by the sense of urgency growing inside her. Narcissa had been treading carefully for years, feeding information to the Black Dragon Legion under the guise of loyalty, all while working against the very thing Lucius adored: power. The Dark Lord had been her greatest mistake, an allegiance she had never truly accepted, but one she had been forced to endure. Now, with Sirius's exoneration and Dumbledore's downfall, she saw an opportunity to change the course of their lives.
She needed to act, and she needed to act quickly.
The firelight flickered as Narcissa folded the paper, the weight of the task ahead pressing down on her shoulders. She could no longer hide in the shadows of her husband's ambitions. The Black family was entrenched in this battle—whether she liked it or not—and she would stand by her kin. Her first step would be to reach out to Andromeda, her estranged sister, and Sirius, the very man whose name had haunted her thoughts for too many years. Their bonds, tested by time and circumstance, could not remain severed for much longer. It was time to reaffirm them.
But it was not just about family. It was about ensuring Harry's future, ensuring Draco's safety. The wizarding world was teetering on the edge of chaos, and Narcissa would not allow the legacy of the Malfoys and Blacks to be swallowed by it. She had a part to play in this new era—one that she had not chosen, but one she would shape with unwavering determination.
Rising from her seat, Narcissa straightened her robes, the silken fabric whispering against the air as she took in a deep, steadying breath. This was no longer a fight for mere survival. This was a fight for the future.
With that thought, she left the drawing room, her gaze set firmly ahead. The first step had been taken. Now, the real work began.
—
In a sunlit Parisian apartment, nestled in the heart of a charming street near Montmartre, Jean-Claude Delacour sat at the breakfast table. His family gathered around him in an atmosphere of quiet comfort, the early morning sun casting a warm glow over the elegant, yet cozy, setting. The silverware clinked softly as the gentle hum of conversation floated through the air, accompanied by the intoxicating aroma of freshly baked croissants and strong, dark coffee.
Jean-Claude, a man whose presence could command a room with nothing more than a glance, unfolded the latest edition of Le Daily Prophet. His sharp, calculating eyes moved quickly over the front page, absorbing the details of the dramatic events that had shaken the wizarding world. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he read aloud, his voice rich with the weight of victory.
"Sirius Black exonerated. Dumbledore ousted from ze ICW. And justice for ze Potters," he muttered, almost to himself, savoring each word. A ripple of satisfaction ran through him, his eyes gleaming with the knowledge that the intricate web of plans laid by the Black Dragon Legion had come to fruition.
Fleur, who had been quietly sipping her orange juice, paused mid-gulp, sensing her father's mood shift. Her bright blue eyes, the same as her mother's, widened with curiosity. "Papa, what iz eet?" she asked, her accent lilting as she leaned forward in her seat, clearly eager for more information.
Jean-Claude lowered the paper and looked over at his daughter, his proud, enigmatic smile never faltering. "Eet seemz, ma chérie," he began, his voice smooth and confident, "our little project is succeeding. Sirius Black iz free, and Dumbledore—well, he iz slipping, 'ow you say, 'out of power'."
Fleur's small hands reached out eagerly for the paper, her delicate fingers tracing the words as she tried to make sense of the complicated articles. She was only nine, but she had a keen sense for matters of importance, her sharp mind already absorbing the intricacies of the wizarding world.
"Zat's good, right, Papa?" she asked, glancing up from the page, her expression both curious and cautiously optimistic.
Jean-Claude leaned back in his chair, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Very good, Fleur," he said with a touch of gravitas. "Zee Legion's efforts, they 'ave borne fruit. Many brave souls 'ave worked hard for this, and now, zis world will be a little better for eet."
The sound of Gabrielle, who was five, giggling at the table next to her interrupted their conversation. She had just smeared a little too much strawberry jam on her chin, and in her innocence, seemed completely oblivious to the weight of the discussion unfolding around her.
"Papa, zis man—ze one in zee paper," Fleur continued, her young voice full of wonder and seriousness, "'e look like a criminal in zat picture. Zat man Sirius? Is eet true?"
Jean-Claude chuckled, the sound deep and rich, with a touch of amusement. "Ah, ma petite, zat man's life is more complicated zan you can imagine. But today, we are celebrating zis victory. Zis victory iz for justice."
Apolline, Jean-Claude's stunning wife, entered the room with the grace and poise that made her almost as enchanting as the day Jean-Claude had met her. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders like spun silver, and her striking blue eyes—so similar to Fleur's—shone with a warmth that was unmistakably maternal. She was a woman of fiery spirit and determination, but always with a delicate, almost ethereal presence.
"Quoi? What are you all talking about now?" Apolline asked with a mischievous grin, her heavy French accent dripping with playfulness as she bent to kiss Gabrielle on the forehead, wiping a bit of the jam from her face. "Jean-Claude, you look like a man who's just won the war. What's got you all... satisfait?" She leaned over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the paper.
Jean-Claude raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a playful smirk. "Ah, ma belle, it seems our little Legion is making some noise today. Dumbledore 'as been ousted, and Sirius Black iz exonerated." He paused for dramatic effect, eyes gleaming. "It's quite ze... success."
Apolline rolled her eyes, tossing her hair back as she sat beside him. "Success? Mon dieu... I've been telling you for years zat your... secret little Legion would cause a stir." She gave him a teasing nudge with her elbow, her playful nature making Jean-Claude's stoic demeanor soften just slightly. "Well, I suppose I can't say I am surprised. You are Jean-Claude Delacour."
Fleur, ever the perceptive child, watched the exchange between her parents with a look of awe. She admired her father's quiet strength and her mother's warmth, but also the dynamic they shared. "Papa, will you be busy now? With zis... Legion business?"
Jean-Claude turned to his daughter, giving her an affectionate glance. "Oui, ma petite, I will be busy. But not too busy to take you to zee park later." He grinned, though his mind was already calculating the next steps in the mission. "But for now, I will enjoy zis breakfast with my family."
"Ze Legion iz ze best!" Fleur declared with pride, her voice full of innocence and admiration for the group that had brought her family to such a pivotal moment.
Jean-Claude's lips twitched into a genuine smile, though his eyes remained thoughtful. "Indeed, we 'ave done well... but we cannot rest. Zere is more to be done." He glanced over at Apolline, his gaze hardening for a brief moment as he thought of the long road ahead. "The victory today is important, but we must be vigilant."
Apolline, who had already shifted her attention to calming Gabrielle down (who was trying to dip her entire croissant into her juice), gave him a soft look. "For now, we savor this moment, mon amour. The world doesn't need to fall apart today, oui?"
Jean-Claude smiled warmly, his usual calm returning. "Oui, my love," he agreed. "For today, we enjoy zis... But tomorrow, we continue."
As they continued to eat, the soft sound of family chatter filled the room, and Jean-Claude, despite the storm brewing on the horizon, allowed himself a rare moment of contentment. The Legion had succeeded, Sirius Black had been freed, and the Delacours stood poised for the next chapter of their journey.
The sun outside blazed bright, and Jean-Claude knew it was only the beginning.
---
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