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VII. A Feat
The question of why people follow you is an important one for a villain. One critical reason is power- a display of strength does much to win people over. A well executed feat will see your names etched into history books- and will hopefully see your ledgers filling up with names. Sometimes they are carefully planned- a deathblow struck against a fierce foe, a brilliant maneuver or cunning plan… but sometimes opportunities just arise.
Harry liked Normandy, and part of it was probably the castles. The land was rich with history, he supposed, but he found himself liking all the castles. Mont St. Michel was worth the trip alone- even if going from the Dogger Bank to Normandy wasn't much of a trek.
After a bit of debate, Harry decided to go through France on foot or possibly broom, while the ship and crew would go around and meet him on the Mediterranean coast somewhere- Harry was leaning towards Monaco. Margaret had insisted on casting a few tracking spells on him, and Harry couldn't really bring himself to refuse her- rather obviously she couldn't join him in his trip through France.
Harry happily played the part of bumbling tourist for a bit. Were the books he bought in the magical towns probably overpriced? Yes. Could he really understand French? No. But they seemed sort of interesting, and Harry could learn. If not, they'd make good souvenirs.
The language barrier was a problem, definitely, and Harry had to wonder if there was some way to speed up the process… Maybe using memories of someone else learning French? His attempts at acquiring food and drink were… less than stellar, but he didn't starve. He could search for adventure without a full grasp of the language, and that was enough.
It was while meandering a little south of Brittany that he saw it. A horse that was white as the clouds and that almost seemed to glow in the dark of the night. Of course, Harry wasn't completely stupid- he immediately looked around to see if there was a pond or something nearby. Kelpies were supposed to be black, but caution with magical creatures never hurt.
It cantered up to him, and Harry couldn't help but notice that it was already prepared for riding- a bridle and saddle already in place, bits of delicate metalwork gleaming slightly in the light of the moon. Before he fully realized what he was doing, Harry was climbing onto the horse, and once he settled into the saddle it whinnied and burst into motion, powerful muscles moving under Harry as he held on for dear life.
Harry Potter had rode Thestrals and Hippogriffs before, but the closest comparison he could make to the horse under him was probably that time his broom was cursed during a Quidditch match. It bucked and danced and generally made riding it an incredible pain in the ass- almost literally, considering the aching he could feel in his legs already.
Still, as stubborn and spirited as the horse was, Harry could match it, out of spite if nothing else. He pulled out his wand and managed to keep it in his hands even as the animal bucked, and attached himself to the horse with conjured rope- he could always just cut then (or use a Bubble-Head Charm) if the horse got clever and tried to drown him, Kelpie style.
Unfortunately, the horse's general wild nature meant that attempting to steer was… difficult. Harry thought they might be going south, but he couldn't be entirely sure. His attention was mostly devoted to getting jostled by the horse as little as possible- the scenery kind of faded away when Harry was trying not to get thrown around like a rag doll.
Harry nearly jumped off the first time it attempted to wade a river (after several spirited attempts to throw him in) but thankfully it didn't seem to have any sort of ability to breath underwater- it climbed out of the river soon enough, even if Harry was now soaked- he could have used charms to dry himself, but that would run the risk of getting his wand jostled out of his hand, which was a very bad thing, obviously.
In theory, Harry would have loved the idea of taking a horse through the French countryside, but this was, evidently, no normal horse. Was there some sort of compulsion that the creature gave off that lured people to their potential last ride?
At some point, Harry realized that getting off was a bad idea- if he were to stumble off, he was almost certain the horse (who seemed downright malevolent) would try to trample him. When the sun rose, the horse only got angrier- whinnying wildly and desperately attempting to throw Harry from its back- into ponds, rivers, or down particularly steep inclines.
Harry had come to terms with the fact that the horse was trying to kill him, but decided to stick around- he could have Apparated back to Normandy or Brittany… but Harry Potter had rode a dragon out of Gringotts. He could manage a horse. At least that's what he told himself as the two raced through the Massif Central.
Attempts to rein in the horse or direct its course were still ineffective, but Harry could see that the horse, as supernatural as it was, was beginning to tire, the aching muscles clearly straining under the soaked coat. Harry was tired too- all nighters were bad enough without being on horseback.
Both of them suddenly felt a lot more awake when they heard the growl of an animal and turned to see the biggest wolf either of them had ever seen, so large that it rivalled the horse's height at the shoulders.
Some sort of subconscious agreement between the two- work together until we aren't potential wolf chow- was quickly reached. When the wolf lunged, the horse dodged out of the way and Harry sent a stunner flying at the creature, which sunk into the coarse fur and did no more.
The horse seemed to snort at him as they fled from the wolf, but that was nowhere near all the tricks Harry had up his sleeves- if magic couldn't work directly, all he had to do was attack indirectly. Unfortunately, the wolf moved fast, taking long bounding strides- at least until Harry sent a tree limb crashing into its face. It recovered astonishingly quickly though, and seemed to be nipping at the horse's tail every time Harry looked back.
And they rode, desperately fleeing, for quite some time- thankfully they managed to avoid any major towns, although Harry was certain some poor farmers were going to wake up to a lot of odd questions the following morning, questions like "Who in God's name rode a horse through my vineyard?"
Eventually, Harry managed to get a lucky spell in as the wolf opened its jaws wide in an attempt to catch the horse by its tail- he sent one of the nastiest curses he could remember straight down the beast's gullet, and with a choked cry of agony it stumbled and crashed into the ground.
In other circumstances Harry might have examined the body- but he was dead tired, to the point that he just slumped against the horse's mane, with only the ties he conjured keeping him from falling off. His body ached and he was so exhausted he decided to give the horse the benefit of the doubt- he could get away with a five minute nap, right?
It was a few weeks before Gabrielle was to return to Beauxbatons, and she was kind of bored. Yes, going to Provence and meeting her relatives was nice, but the novelty eventually wore a little thin… couldn't something just happen?
As if Fate decided to answer her question, she heard the sound of something moving through the shrubbery. Riding to her feet, she saw that it was a horse and rider, and they were obviously exhausted, to the point that the latter seemed to have fallen asleep on his mount's back.
There was a bit of contrast there, Gabrielle thought. The horse with the beautiful coat of purest white, and the rider with his unkempt mane of black hair. Wait. Gabrielle recognized that hair- she had several posters depicting it, after all. She walked up and brushed a bit of the hair out of the way- and sure enough, a lightning bolt scar crossed Harry Potter's forehead.
She turned and ran for the house. "Mama! Papa!"
When Harry Potter awoke, he swiftly realized that he was on a soft bed and not tied to the back of a horse. That was either very good or very bad.
For a moment, he thought the other person in the room with him had to be an angel, before quickly realizing that the glow around the figure's head wasn't divine light, but rather the reflection of light off of brilliantly silver hair. After a second, Harry recognized the face.
"Gabrielle?"
Her face lit up. "You're awake! Let me get Papa!" With that, she scampered away, leaving Harry alone in the room.
It occurred to Harry that he should have been in a lot more pain than he currently was. Magic anesthetic, maybe? He had no idea how long he'd slept, how worried Margaret and the crew might be….
Before he could start worrying too much, the door opened to reveal a man- presumably, Monsieur Delacour, with Gabrielle close behind.
"Harry Potter- it's good to see you again. Are you feeling well?"
"Better than I expected, honestly- did you pump me full of some magical painkiller?"
Monsieur Delacour nodded. "You're very lucky to be alive right now, Harry."
"I get that a lot." Delacour chuckled a bit.
"That horse…" he sighed. "Have you ever heard of ze Cheval Mallet?"
"The what?"
"It's something a little like your own Kelpies, I believe- a horse that lures riders in then kills them." Harry had kind of gathered that, but okay.
"Did it run away or something?"
"No- it's still in ze stables. No one has tried to ride it, of course… it is your horse."
"Can you look after it?" There was no way in hell Harry was bringing that thing on his boat.
"It would be our pleasure, Monsieur Potter… is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Do you happen to have an owl I could borrow?"
VIII. Foreign Contacts
There is much to be said about succeeding on your own, digging deep and getting through problems with sheer grit… but sometimes you need friends in other countries. In a worst case scenario they can shelter you in exile until you can finally enact your glorious plan to return. Best case? They provide a lovely vacation spot and an avenue for international expansion, if that's what pleases you.
After sending his letter, Harry was left with nothing else to do but hang out and wait in a major Veela community on the shores of southern France. Truly, he was unfortunate.
It wasn't nearly as bad as in Britain, but Harry had a bit of a reputation in France- thanks in large part to glowing praise on Gabrielle's part. Everyone took it with a grain of salt, at least until Harry rode into town on the back of a creature that should have certainly killed him- that lent a lot of credence to the rumors. Most remaining doubts were vanquished the moment Harry showed them the beast he had felled on the way- more particularly, the Beast of Gévaudan, a notorious magical man-eater.
More than anything, Harry was interested in the hide- he was going to get some sort of keepsake out of this, especially considering he was leaving the horse with the Delacours, who had suggested using it to stud (they could have taken it for free, to be quite honest). There were no stables on his island, and Harry wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to build any… except for Thestrals or Hippogriffs, maybe? That would be cool…
Eventually, the ship arrived and it, pardon the pun, made waves- the little magical community was basically facing a nightmare scenario of muggles stumbling upon their hiding spot, at least until Harry calmed them down.
Still, a few of them were interested enough to take a look around, and Harry would admit that he was kind of showing off a little, but he was proud of it.
"You really lifted it from ze sea?" Monsieur Delacour was more than a little shocked as Harry led him on board.
"Yeah. Of course, it's more than just my ship, now…"
Several people nearly bolted when they saw the ghosts. They actually fled when they met Margaret.
Harry decided to stay for a while. Sure, he apparated back to the island to check on Kreacher and the other vampires, but France (or at the least the French, especially the Veela) weren't half bad. Attempting to speak with them, though…
He mostly had to speak through either of the Delacours, which was vexing, for obvious reasons- Monsieur Delacour typically had better things to do than translate for Harry, and the other option was a preteen.
The third option was, of course, learning French, and Harry figured he could give it a shot. Of course, he tried asking Monsieur Delacour if there were any shortcuts or magical ways of getting around language barriers… but nothing. He had to learn the old fashioned way- thankfully, he had time to spare and all the conversation partners he could ever want.
Fortunately, his bumbling through the basics of the French language was seen as amusing more than anything else, even if the crew of his ship weren't too happy with the idea of Harry going native. That sentiment was rather rich coming from the blokes who gawked at the Veela without a single ounce of shame- apparently, while French was unacceptable, exceptions could be made for suitably attractive French people...
Disappointingly, Harry found himself falling behind Margaret's own studies in French- it was a little grating to lose, but she had almost nothing else to do with her time instead of studying. Harry got to spend his days outside, under the warm Mediterranean sun- he wasn't blind to the fact that he got the better end of the deal.
Even if he was basically on vacation, Harry tried to take some steps to improve the castle anyways- or at the very least, improve its library. Harry shamelessly borrowed books from Monsieur Delacour to make copies of- sure, they were in French, but he was learning- and took trips around the country (not on horseback) to see the buildings. Would snatching his favorite bits of architecture and smashing them together make his castle look like a bit of an architectural mongrel? Probably, but a bit of eccentricity seemed to be the norm for wizarding houses, and Harry was certain he'd have enough room for all the wild ideas he had bouncing around in his head.
He was going to relentlessly use magic to make the grandest building he possibly could- owning the tallest building in the world sounded extremely appealing to Harry, even if the muggles wouldn't know about it. What was the point of being a wizard if you couldn't trump the non-magicals at a few things? Of course, the tallest tower/castle thing in the world would be rather empty with only like eight people living inside it, with that number temporarily going up to perhaps a dozen total if Harry invited his friends over to dinner. So he wasn't opposed to new guests….
Sure enough, once news of his place spread among the little community, some of the Veela were interested in it. Harry wasn't sure how good of a job he and Margaret did at communicating what the place was like, but there was a decent number of volunteers who wanted to, at the very least, look around and give it a shot. Harry hoped they wouldn't be disappointed, but definitely wasn't going to complain about his new guests.
Unfortunately, this seemed to mean that any plans to explore the Mediterranean in greater detail would have to be delayed a bit until the Veela could get settled on the island. For some reason, they didn't want to spend much time on the ship. Harry thought it was fine…
(Of course, the problem was that what was fine for Harry Potter- a cargo ship filled with ghosts and inhabited by a vampire- was very much not fine for the average person.)
Still, Harry could always come back, maybe even put some of his French into practice. Maybe he should try learning more languages? If there were no magical means to make the process easier, he'd just do it himself. Maybe he could look into something a little more… exotic? He wasn't entirely sure, but the list was certainly long...
After promising to correspond some more with Monsieur Delacour (and after receiving a promise of letters from Gabrielle) there wasn't much else to do but prepare to cast off and return to Doggerland.
Mostly for the sake of the Veela, they went fast- if it was just Harry he would have been stopping all over the place, looking at Spanish cities or trying to find something of interest under the sea. (Wasn't Atlantis supposed to be just outside the Strait of Gibraltar, or something? He could ask the Mermen, maybe) But Harry wanted to be accommodating, so they went as quickly as the engine allowed.
Soon enough, they were back home, and the Veela seemed sufficiently impressed. The castle had grown some more in Harry's absence- it was nowhere near the incredible heights he liked to imagine, but there were a couple of floors now, and thankfully enough rooms to support all their new guests. Harry wondered if he could maybe build a few greenhouses now- he had people (other than himself) who could tend to them now without frying in the sunlight.
Oh yes, and he needed to find a good place to put the coat of that wolf he killed- Harry had to admit that the idea of gathering spoils from all over the world and putting them in his castle was dangerously appealing.
The Veela definitely chafed in their new environment at first- other than whatever personal conflicts might have arisen between them and the vampires, they seriously disliked the Mermen and balked at eating food caught by them until gently reminded that they didn't have much else.
Still, they offered fresh perspectives, which Harry could appreciate. They taught Kreacher several new recipes (thank goodness for any new way to cook fish) and made a few requests for new things to add to the castle itself. The most notable of these was a pool- Harry had figured there was no real reason to build one initially, as the ocean was right there- but the Veela had a different opinion, mostly because of their clear discomfort with Mermen. For some reason, Harry attacked the problem of building a pool with particular zeal.
Admittedly, the pool was probably more his speed, even if he could (hopefully) depend on the Mermen to fish him out of the ocean if he fell in. As it turned out, he wasn't completely alone in being a less than stellar swimmer- most of the vampires were around before swimming was really a thing done for leisure, so their knowledge varied from little to none.
Harry's attempt to teach them how to swim did work out, even if there were some definite bumps along the way. It was another reminder that they were from the distant past- especially when Harry learned that Margaret considered no clothes at all 'appropriate swimwear' (the 17th century, what a time!).
On the subject of age, Harry's birthday (and likewise Neville's) had approached shockingly quickly while Harry was off in France, and of course Harry was going to invite his friends over for a party. But not too many- Harry did want his island to not be public news.
So he sent invitations to Hermione, Neville, and Ron, obviously, but also decided to invite George. He could have invited more of the Weasleys- all of the ones in Britain, even- but he didn't want to imagine the kind of explosion Molly would have if she got an idea of the circumstances Harry was living in- he had to wonder if any of the Howlers already sent to him were courtesy of her…
Harry decided for the slightly more subtle route of apparition to pick up his friends- he was proud of his boat but rolling up to Devon with the fog magic going full blast seemed a little silly. There was no way in hell Harry was letting the Floo anywhere near his castle (was an internal network possible?) for security reasons, and on top of that he tried to limit apparition to just the pier using wards.
George was the only one who hadn't seen the island before, and once the initial shock of the island had worn off he thought it was impressive- his eyes seemed to shine a little at the idea of books full of unknown spells… George also did no small amount of eyebrow waggling when it came to asking and suggesting what Harry was doing on his lonely island full of Veela and vampiresses…
Ron seemed more than a little tongue tied by Harry's new guests, while Hermione nearly blew a gasket when she was introduced- she sent him a few suspicious glances, but seemed to mellow a little as she talked with the girls and realized Harry wasn't doing what she suspected he was. Thankfully, Neville seemed to keep his cool, so he and Harry had an interesting discussion about what sorts of plants he could actually expect to grow on the island.
"Oh, Neville-" Harry rifled around for a moment or two before pulling out an aged book. "I've got your gift- wanted to give it to you before dinner."
Neville took it gently, conscious of how delicate it seemed to be. "I don't recognize the title…"
"I'd hope not- it would be a pretty poor gift if you already read it, yeah?"
Dinner wasn't bad- the maids had even convinced Kreacher to try some recipes from when they were young, which were largely pretty good- but their conversation sort of meandered. What started as a discussion of Harry's new guests became reminiscing about Bill and Fleur's wedding, which then slowly transferred into a slightly abridged retelling of the war, or at least the destruction of the Horcruxes.
The vampires and Veela paid close attention as they retold the hunt for each of the pieces of Voldemort's soul- even George and Neville were stunned by the real reason behind their little Gringotts heist. (Oh, the Goblins were going to be pissed with Harry the next time he showed up there, weren't they?) Still, there was one bit that really stuck out.
"Wait, Ron, you opened the Chamber by yourself?"
"Yeah." He shrugged. "I mean, I wasn't really talking like Harry does, I just tried to repeat what Harry sounded like…"
Harry froze for a moment. Technically speaking, what made Ron learning what 'open' sounded like in Parseltongue different from Harry learning that 'hello' sounded like in French? Could he…?
"Hey Ron, do you think you could learn Parseltongue?"
"I mean, I was just copying what you said, I couldn't understand it…"
"But could you learn it?"
Ron shrugged. "I dunno, mate- Auror work's miserable right now…"
Harry nodded. "Well, I'd still like to try to teach it," he said, "Maybe I could write a book?"
Omake (do I call it omake if it's basically canon?): The Horse
The Cheval Mallet had begun to settle into its new life. Sure, it could have fled after Dark-Hair, Green-Eyes was removed from its back, or it could have even struck out, killing him and his companions with flashing hooves, the horse was curious. It could escape anything, survive anything… but boredom was still a problem, and this odd collection of Silver-Hairs and Dark-Hairs seemed intriguing. (He wasn't exhausted!)
At the very least, they paid him the respect he deserved and treated him with caution borne from knowledge of what he could really do. Dark-Hair, Green-Eyes never reappeared, and none else were brave enough to mount him, or face the breaking of their neck that would swiftly follow after they were thrown.
That damnable bridle and saddle were finally removed- apparently, so they could be presented to Dark-Hair, Green-Eyes- and none of the humans tasked with caring for him dared approach him with bit, stirrup, or bridle- all he received from them was food. Food and mares.
The humans apparently wanted him to stud, and while the horse prickled at the idea of obeying orders on principle, if it meant he could sire colts and foals… well, the horse wasn't complaining.
The horse lived out its days as it pleased, running and exercising, staying strong. Just because he was under human care didn't mean he could grow soft. Of course, it would ride alone- none of the humans were suitable. Dark-Hair, Green-Eyes was just the least bad of all options. (It's not like the horse had taken a liking to him, or anything!)
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