A/N: Inspired by Deprived by 'The Crimson Lord'

Have fun!

Chapter 3: A Man of Mistakes

Fleur Delacour looked down at the little boy in front of her, on any other occasion, she would have cooed at the sheer cuteness he effused, cheeks tinged a rosy hue and eyes brimming with unadulterated hope.

This was no such occasion.

The first-year student had just asked her out to dinner, sprouting words of his family's vast fortune; of which she was certain was false.

To her side Dominique and Emile covered their mouths, trying to hold in their giggles. They were failing miserably.

"Yes Fleur, he could take you on such a nice date and once he's done, maybe both of you can go shopping together? You could help him reach the top shelves, without magic." Dominique dropped all pretence of normality and laughed, unabashedly, at her own joke.

The little boy hardly realised the sarcasm coating Dominique's voice, as a result, he nodded his head vigorously in affirmation.

"Clement, was it?" She waited for the little boy to nod his head in assent, "I think it's so sweet of you to ask me, but I'm going to have to decline. You are a little too young for me."

The little boy's eyes shuttered as the last vestiges of hope vanished, leaving behind a despondent gaze.

He took off running.

"That has to be a record. Barely a week in and what is this, the twentieth proposal?" Emile tried in vain, to hold in her laugh.

"I think you should've given him a chance Fleur. He was cute and who knows, maybe you would've grown into him?" Dominique, ever the joker, decided to add her own two cents.

Fleur couldn't help but titter at the joke, slapping Dominique on the arm in admonishment.

"Why must you always make fun of my predicament Dominique?"

"Hey, I should be allowed to laugh as much as I want. I have to make the most of the time I have left, no?" Dominique was the only one to laugh at her joke this time.

"Too far?" Dominique looked at both of her friends, any trace of humour eviscerated off their features, their eyes surprisingly similar to the little boys'.

"Too far." Fleur agreed, her eyes becoming shiny.

"Oh, come on, don't get all mopey!"

"Do you expect me and Emile to be fine with the thought of your death?"

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Let's talk about more positive things! Your father was really fine with you entering the tournament?"

Fleur shared a look with Emile, they had promised each other, in private, that they would find a way to get rid of the blood curse that plagued Dominique. It did not matter that there was no known cure for the disease. They would restore her health. They had to.

"Yes, it was suspiciously easier than I thought it would be." Fleur decided to entertain her idea of changing subjects.

"Do you think he's made one of his crazy plans? Like that time, he set Aunt Juliette's hair on fire to stop you from crying?"

"Excuse me?! Your father did what?!" Dominique couldn't hold back the surprise in her voice.

"Dominique, you do not realise how hare-brained some of his plans are. To think he is the Head of the DMLE is actually quite scary." Fleur sighed in faux exasperation.

"Wow, that's so cool!"

Both Fleur and Emile rolled their eyes at their best friend.

"Only you, Dominique, could find someone spontaneously combusting 'cool'."

"Hey! Don't make me sound like a crazy! Anyways, answer Emile's question, do you think he's going to set someone on fire?"

"That's not what she said," Fleur rolled her eyes again at her ludicrous best friend, "no, I don't think he has made any crazy plans thank god. He's been far too busy with the Ministry to have enough time."

"Ah well, that sucks. Imagine he did, what would he have thought up? Hmmm..."

"Knowing Sebastian, I don't think there would be any limits, he would hire a bodyguard if he could."

"A bodyguard? Really Emile? You think Hogwarts will let a trained killer roam around their halls?" Fleur shook her head in mirth.

A bodyguard, yeah right. As if.

I stare at the stone gargoyle in front of me, a grotesque caricature of the real thing.

Do they not realise, the wingspan alone would take up the width of this corridor? And the claws, they are the size of a regular hand.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I look down to the diminutive professor.

"Will you be joining us, Professor?"

"No, Mr Henderson, I believe this is a private endeavour. That reminds me, please collect your timetable from the headmaster. As you were a special case, he personally saw to the making of your schedule. Also, do remember Mr Henderson, my office will always be open to you. Whether it be to discuss the intricacies of Charms or something as nonsensical as the weather."

"Thank you, Professor. I'll keep that in mind."

"Now, let's not keep the headmaster waiting. Peppermint creams."

I watch as the gargoyle leaps out of the way, allowing entry into the staircase.

Though to be fair to them, they couldn't have picked a much better creature to stay still in one place and guard, once I've stepped foot onto the staircase it begins its slow ascent upwards.

As I raise my hand to knock, the voice of the headmaster stops me.

"Please, come in Mr Henderson."

The door must be enchanted with detection spells.

Albus Dumbledore was not an impatient man, he had thankfully shed that habit during his adulthood. There was no point in rushing into things, especially when doing so can result in your quietus.

However, as he waited for the boy to enter, he could barely keep his legs from shaking in anticipation. His fingers were a lost cause, they had already begun a light drumming against the table.

The young man walks in.

In an effort to curb his wayward fingers, the headmaster steepled them.

"Please take a seat 'Mr Henderson'."

"Thank you, sir."

"Lemon drop?"

"I never developed a sweet tooth sir, so I'll politely decline."

The headmaster took the time to regard the youngster in front of him, now that he was within wands reach. Green eyes, the boy definitely had green eyes. Why do they seem so familiar?

"I am sure 'Mr Henderson', you realise how rare transfer students are in the magical world. Particularly, one who decides to transfer as late as you. So, you will not be surprised that I found myself most curious of you."

"Of course, sir."

"When I first laid eyes on you, you appeared very, for the lack of a better word, ordinary. However, upon closer inspection, there were small details that I noticed did not add up. I do not wish to sound like I am flattering myself, but surely, you assumed I would notice your glamours."

"Indeed sir, I knew you would be amongst the handful of people that would catch me out in my charade."

"There were others?"

"Barely, but yes."

"Interesting, if this has happened before, I would assume logic would dictate another approach. Polyjuice perhaps?"

"A smart option, though, in this case, it would be the wrong option."

"Oh?"

"You see sir, my charade, although easier to detect when compared to the Polyjuice potion, will never be undone. You will never be able to see who I truly am without my consent. The Polyjuice Potion will work as long as you consume it at regular intervals. What happens when a situation occurs where I cannot take it? Or worse, I have been found and they register the antidote? Whilst it is true that I do not want people to discover my glamours, it is imperative they do not recover my true identity."

"To my knowledge, there are no such glamours." The headmaster whilst aware that he was being intentionally side-tracked, could not help but sate his thirst for knowledge.

"Ah, that would be because there are no such glamours, to my knowledge at least."

"I realise I am reaching my years in age Mr Henderson, but I do believe my sense of hearing has not abandoned me, yet."

"No sir, I don't think you've lost your hearing, but I believe I'm correct in my knowledge, the glamours I wear are one of a kind."

"As interesting as this discussion is, I'm afraid it leads to one rather obvious question," Dumbledore waited for the boy to nod in agreement, "who are you?"

"You cannot comprehend how many people have asked that question or even tried to forcefully acquire it. None have succeeded in getting their answers."

"I'm afraid 'Mr Henderson', that I have no other option but to follow in their footsteps. I cannot allow someone of an unknown origin to walk freely amongst a group of children. Especially, now that I realise the troubles you have undertaken to remain as such."

"I understand sir, I also think it would be counterproductive to my goals if I chose not to abide by your wishes."

"Counterproductive," a new voice snorts in derision, this one belonging to the hat that resided on the Headmasters' shelves, "where have I heard that before?"

Albus momentarily turns his attention to the hat, which has now gone quiet after adding its quip into the conversation. The incident with the boy in front of him and the hat had not escaped his attention, he rather doubted it escaped anyone's attention, to be honest. It only fuelled the mystery behind 'Jools Henderson.'

Once I'm done with this conversation, I shall ask the hat about that bizarre occurrence.

"For what it's worth, hat, I am sorry. Though, I did tell you not to go any further."

The hat grumbled to itself but said nothing more on the matter.

"Mr Henderson, would you please remove your glamours. If for no other reason, then for me to stop using a name that is obviously fake."

"Before I do that Mr Dumbledore, I must ask that you do not reveal my identity to anyone without my knowledge."

It does not escape The Supreme Mugwump's notice that this is the first time the child has used his name.

"Unfortunately, I can only accept your proposal once I deem that your identity will cause no issues for my students."

"Very well."

I knew this was inevitable when I chose to take this contract.

His hands twitch as I move to unbutton the cuffs of my shirt.

Wizards, I sigh internally, draw wands first and use logic later.

"As I said, sir, there is a reason you haven't heard of my glamours," I touch the tip of my index and middle finger to my wrist allowing for the runes etched into my skin to appear, " my glamours are layered to ensure they are not obvious, but they are not constructed with a spell. My glamour is forged through the use of runes inscribed into my skin. A simple wave of your wand will not suffice to get rid of it. The runes are keyed and powered with my magic, they will not appear without my authorisation and thus cannot be discarded."

I cut off the magic powering the runes, something I have not done in years.

I wait.

Dumbledore faintly noticed the loss of oxygen in his lungs.

A shot of energy thundered through his system and at once he was on his feet, scrambling towards the child in front of him.

"I don't think that's a wise option, sir."

The mysterious energy abandoned the headmaster, taking all his vitality with it. Albus was once more reminded of his old age.

"Harry?"

"You would be correct, headmaster."

"Impossible! You cannot possibly be in the seventh year," the headmaster motioned his wand over the boy, checking for any more obscure magic, "you should be the same age as Thomas! You are non-identical twins after all."

Albus Dumbledore found none.

Harry unclenched his fist; he was never one to willingly allow another to point their wand at him.

"I assure you, sir; I am indeed Harry. As for my appearance, time magic can have some rather permanent repercussions when meddled with."

The strength in the older wizard's limbs struggled under the additional pressure of the emotional turmoil inside of him. As a result, he found himself stumbling on his feet.

A black leather wingback chair materialised behind him with a wave of the boy's hand.

Wandless Conjuration?

"Thank you, Harry." The headmaster took a seat on the comfortable chair.

"I'm sure you would have managed but you're welcome all the same, sir."

With another flutter of the boy's hand, a single lemon drop escaped the confines of the bowl on his table and made its way to him, where it promptly shed its wrapper.

"Lemon drop, sir?"

The headmaster blinked.

Swallowing the lemon drop; the absolute absurdity of the occasion did not elude him.

"I do not know where to start, where have you been Harry?"

Dumbledore waited for an answer that did not come.

"Harry?"

"Oh yeah, that's me. I haven't been associated with that name in so long, sir. Forgive me if I forget to reply. I've been here and there, nowhere special."

"I feel as if that is my fault, at least, partially. I am so very sorry, Harry. So very sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for, sir," the lost child shakes his to add weight to his statement, "you've done nothing wrong."

"It is my fault, my boy, I was the one who named Thomas the destined child. I was the one who told them of the prophecy."

"Then the Potter's will be in your debt, sir. You did what you thought was right and warned them. It was how they chose to react to your news that resulted in my leaving."

Albus Dumbledore noted with sadness, the way Harry referred to his family, his voice held no inflexion of familiarity, let alone warmth for his family.

"Time has changed them, Harry. They are not the same people they once were."

"Time is a wonderful teacher, headmaster, it has changed me also," the eldest potter smirked, aware of the direction the conversation was heading towards, "I am not the same child they once abandoned."

"They want you back, Harry. I daresay they need you back. Your family has stopped living after your leave. Functioning is all that they are capable of most days."

"Stop," Harry halted with his hand, the warmth that previously contoured his features escaped, in its place, a wall of ice, "the respect I have for you is genuine, sir. It is not built on a foundation of pretence. Your profession is also one that warrants respect in my eyes. A competent teacher will spend their lives helping their students, making something out of their own lives. Your influence is eternal, and, in some ways, you are immortal, your teachings will live through your students. Someone of your stature, should not be advocating the actions of halfwits."

Albus winced at the veiled threat.

"What of family, Harry? Can you truly tell me, that I am wrong to assume you miss your family?"

"I can. As I said, I am no longer the little boy who couldn't distinguish between indifference and neglect," Harry crossed his arms, lips drawn into a thin line, eyes chips of green shards, "If you continue with this line of conversation, I will have to further alienate myself from you, sir."

This time Albus Dumbledore was aware of the plasticity laced into the term of respect.

"Please, Harry. Allow a troubled old man one more question."

"Very well, Mr Dumbledore," the temperature of the room plummeted along with the tone of the Potter's voice, "I shall acquiesce to your request."

Albus Dumbledore winced.

"What of young Rosie? Will she be subjected to your abject dismissal also?"

"She is my sister."

"Truthfully, that does not answer my question."

"Indeed, it does not."

Albus waited for the child to expand, his hopes were once again wasted as the eldest Potter continued his impervious stare back.

"I understand," in truth he did not, allowing a sigh to escape his lips, Dumbledore took in the child's posture, "why have you returned to Hogwarts? Why now, of all times?"

"If it was not for my client, I would not be here."

"Client, Harry?"

"I am to be the protector of one Fleur Delacour, sir. She is a member of the French contingency that is yet to arrive."

"A bodyguard?" Albus studied the boy for what must've been the hundredth time, his vigilant posture making more sense, "you are but a boy, Harry."

"Truly headmaster, a boy?" Harry questioned, his face giving way to a smirk, "A boy runs amok with his friends wondering what games to play next. A boy didn't run through alleys in the hopes of finding his next meal. A boy wakes up every morning safe in the knowledge that he will have a bed to come back to. A boy didn't hide amongst the rats in the hopes he is left alone like the vermin. A boy does not have blood on his hands, headmaster, he does not yearn for combat the way a baby does their mothers' milk. I have been called many things, sir. Monster. Diablo. Ungetüm. Even Bakemono. A boy? I have not been called in many years."

"I feel as if there is no limit to how many apologies I can give you, Harry," the headmaster raised his hands to his eyes, he dabbed away at the small amount of wetness around them, "I will take this regret to my grave."

"If it makes a difference, I forgive you for the shortcomings you believe you have made with regard to me, sir."

"You have no idea what that means to a man like me. A man who has been plagued by his mistakes."

Albus Dumbledore took a moment to gather himself.

"Delacour? As in Sebastian Delacour, the head of the French DMLE?" Dumbledore wondered aloud.

"You are correct, sir."

"Interesting, you must be very well accomplished in your line of work to warrant his attention."

"You are correct, again, sir."

"This explains how you are so familiar with speaking formally."

"It is a habit that was ingrained at a young age, though, occasionally I do like speaking informally. it's one of the few mementoes I like to keep from my childhood."

"I see," Albus motioned towards Harry's arm, "would you mind if I take a look at the runes?"

"Not at all, sir."

The boy once more, activated the runes etched into his skin.

That is a Demiguise, a creature of invisibility which makes sense. What is that next to it though? χαμαιλέων?

"That is an old rune I discovered across my travels; it roughly translates to Chameleon. This is what enables me to change my glamours at will without the drawbacks of them being taken off. it allows me to blend with my surroundings, making me invisible even though I can be seen."

Albus Dumbledore paused.

"How curious, you are able to read my thoughts without legilimency. But I wonder how?"

"I am sure, sir," Harry taps his nose with a smirk, "someone of your standings, realises the importance of keeping some secrets."

Touché, Harry.

"Of course. Might I add, what an ingenious way of hiding yourself."

"It has to be, to get by you, sir."

"Excuse me?"

"We have already met, sir. Maybe not under the guise of 'Jools Henderson'. But, rest assured, we have met previously. You were otherwise occupied at the time to be worrying about me though."

"Would you do an old man a service, by telling him exactly when this was?"

"I can do one better and show you if you'll let me." Harry gestured to the Pensieve.

"That would be most kind of you, Harry."

Albus barely had time to register the fact Harry wandlessly summoned his memories.

I don't have to wait for long before the headmaster returns from the bowl of memories.

"That...That was surprising and if I'm being honest, a touch disheartening."

"Ah, it was nothing more than me being in the right place at the right time, sir. Nothing more than luck."

"I am sure luck has some merit, Harry. However, I am able to tell where luck was involved and when a plan is executed perfectly." I sense the amusement lining the headmaster's words.

I watch as the ever-present twinkle in the older wizard's eyes shines brighter.

"You flatter me, sir. I hope that will put to rest some of your questions."

"They will, my boy. Yet, I daresay they have succeeded in awakening even more questions."

"The universe, sir, has a way of answering questions that it deems important."

The corners of my mouth lift in a smile as the headmaster laughs wholeheartedly.

"Wiser words have not been spoken, Harry."

"I'm glad, I was trying to emulate you, after all, sir."

When the clock gives a small chime, I know our meeting has ended.

"Unfortunately, it is time I conclude this wonderful meeting. Though, before I do, I would like to ask you one final question, Harry."

"Of course, sir."

"How do you plan on interacting with your family, you will no doubt run into them?"

"I will treat them as I treat everyone else, sir. They are no different from the strangers that walk these halls."

"Fate truly is a cruel mistress. I will hold you no longer, Harry. Please do not hesitate to come to me if you are in need of help."

I feel as if I've heard this line a lot today.

"Of course, sir."

Fluffy! The thought hits me as I turn to the door.

"One more thing, sir. I didn't come here alone..."

Julien Valentin observed the occupants of the 'wizard's bar' as they went about their business. To call it a wizard's bar was blasphemy, considering the brutes did not have any Chateau Lafite on tap.

I'm sorry, sir. We only have a fine selection of beer on tap, can I interest you in Peroni or some Ursus, maybe? Julien imitated the bartender in his head. Fine and beer should never be used in the same sentence, anyone who does use them together deserves to be hung, besides what sort of savage would drink beer so late in the evening?

The Frenchman was brought out of his musings as a man took a seat opposite him.

The man was rather pale with cropped black hair; blue eyes and an angular jawline. He would be considered handsome if it were not for the rather grim burn scar that stretched from the right side of his neck to his cheek.

"Julien Valentin?"

"You must be, Andrei Dumitru; I trust you managed to leave your quarters unnoticed."

"We had a little incident with one of the dragons somehow, it managed to break its confines," The scarred man smirked in remembrance, before flagging down one of the waiters at the bar, "get me a pint of your finest Ursus."

An image of the Romanian dragon handler being lynched invaded Julien's mindscape.

"Your knowledge of Romanian is surprising, I thought I would have to resort to magic to speak with you." Andrei intoned with some respect.

"I would have my father to thank for that."

Julien's father had made sure his son was skilled in all manners of arts. By the time he reached his 10th birthday, Julien could play ten different instruments, write poetry, was proficient in Polo and most other sports that concerned his pureblood heritage. Languages were soon added to the list thereafter. When he questioned his father, he would get the same answer every time. 'The future Minister of France should not be seen as someone entirely reliant upon magic, you will earn more respect from your fellow leaders when they realise you have taken the time to learn their language.'

Julien Valentin was a pureblood brought up in the belief that he would one day become the French Minister of Magic. He was born for it. He attended more court sessions and political debates as a child than any other pureblood minor. Manoeuvring through private balls and parties was of second nature to him. By the time he reached adulthood, his network of links and contacts spanned all the corners of the globe. Julien would succeed where his ancestors and even his father had failed.

He would be the first in the Valentin lineage to become the Minister of Magic.

Julien's plan went off without a hitch. He entered an arranged marriage with a pureblood witch and fathered an heir, allowing him to be seen as a stable mature man with his life in order. From there, he amassed a great number of favours from his fellow purebloods. Favours he would cash into votes when the time came. He carefully weeded out the competition, using force when fortune did not work. Everything was set, all he had to do was wait for the Minister to step down.

And then.

Sebastian Delacour.

Julien hated that name.

Like the vermin he was, Sebastian wheedled his way through the cracks of the ministry. A man who was once nothing more than a regular Auror climbed through the ranks of the ministry.

Special Auror.

Head Auror.

Head of the DMLE.

The French wizarding community adored the cretin. They loved his choice of wife. The French contingent was not backwards like most of its neighbours were, they did not abhor muggles, instead, they worked with them. Sebastian marrying a half Veela showed the public he was a man not stuck in the old ages. Most purebloods liked him, those that did not would never openly announce their hatred of him. To do so would be a social slaughter.

To make things worse, the Minister had let loose his plans of retiring. Killing Sebastian now would certainly seem suspicious as he was the only other real contender for the title. So, Julien could do nothing but watch as his meticulous planning crumbled, by someone he did not even consider a threat.

Until.

A couple of his sources enlightened him on the fact that one Fleur Delacour was planning on entering the Triwizard Tournament. A tournament filled with danger and demise; a tournament known to take lives. Sebastian's love for his family was no secret, his love for his eldest was second to none. If something was to happen to Fleur, the man would be in no state to run for the position of Minister of Magic.

Initially, Julien had opted to kidnap the girl with some hit wizards. That was until he learnt what the first task would entail. A rogue dragon could annihilate a flock of wizards, an airheaded girl would be no problem.

Julien cashed in a few favours, which led him to where he was now.

"Shall we get on with the matter at hand, Mr Dumitru?"

A/N: I'm sorry if you guys expected a chapter last week! I had to take care of a few errands. Ideally, I'd like to upload every week but sometimes I won't be able to and when I can't upload each week, I'll try my hardest to upload it the week after.

Thank you for all your reviews, they mean a lot! Honestly.

Also, one of you guy's mentioned the last chapter felt rushed, that wasn't my intention, I'm sorry if it came out like that. I hope this chapter works better.

Something that caught my eye was when someone mentioned Jools not interacting with Fleur, he has. Jools didn't steal the ring from Sebastian, he stole it from Fleur. Well, that was what I wanted it to come across as but I understand it may not have. I've tried to rectify this by editing the first chapter.

Please be patient with the story, everything will be explained in due time.

Thank you for your wonderful support, I hope this chapter was worth it.

Until next time!