Harry woke to sunlight streaming through half-drawn curtains and the soft sound of breathing beside him. For a moment, he simply stared at the ceiling, his mind replaying the events of the previous night. Gabrielle's perfume still clung to the sheets, constantly reminding him of what had transpired between them.
He turned his head slightly. She slept peacefully, her silvery-blonde hair splayed across the pillow, her face relaxed in the afterglow of their passionate lovemaking during the night. There was something vulnerable about her now, far removed from the confident diplomat who had stood in the gallery watching the proceedings.
With a yawn, he reached out and spooned her from behind, allowing himself to succumb to sleep once again.
He woke up sometime later to find the bed empty. Stretching, he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. His eyes caught sight of the closed bathroom door and he released a small breath, swinging his leg over the edge of the bed.
He sat there for a moment before slipping out of bed. He padded across the room to retrieve his wand from where it had fallen on the floor alongside scattered clothing. A quick tempus charm showed it was barely past seven—early, but not unreasonably so. The day's meetings wouldn't begin until nine.
As he moved toward the bathroom, his foot knocked against something solid. Gabrielle's bag had toppled over during their hasty undressing, spilling its contents partially onto the floor. Harry bent down to pick it up and noticed a sealed envelope that had slid out. The French Ministry's official seal caught his eye—not unusual for someone in Gabrielle's position, but something about it seemed off.
His auror instincts kicked in before he could think better of it. He cast a silent spell to check for any harmful enchantments—finding none—before turning the envelope over. It was addressed to Gabrielle Delacour, but the sender's name made his eyes narrow.
Mateo Calderón.
The Spanish representative who had been so vocal against Harry's refugee stance.
The bathroom door opened with a soft click, and Harry quickly returned the envelope to the bag, straightening up just as Gabrielle emerged, wrapped in a white hotel robe. Her hair was damp from the shower, and her face broke into a warm smile when she saw him.
"Good morning," she said softly, moving toward him with the easy grace that was second nature to a veela. "You look troubled."
Harry shook his head, forcing a smile. "Just thinking about today's meetings."
She reached him, placing a hand on his chest. "Always working, even now?" Her voice was light, teasing, but her eyes studied him carefully.
"Hard habit to break," he replied with a small smile as he leaned down to kiss her briefly. "I should get ready. I need to send an owl to London before the session begins."
Gabrielle nodded, stepping back. "I understand. I should be going soon anyway. The French delegation will be meeting for breakfast in an hour."
As she dressed, Harry watched her from the corner of his eye, trying to reconcile the woman who had melted against him last night with whatever connection she might have to Calderón. Was it merely professional correspondence between diplomats? Or something more?
"Will I see you tonight?" she asked, now fully dressed in sleek robes of periwinkle blue that complemented her eyes.
Harry nodded. "I'd like that."
She smiled, leaning in for one more lingering kiss before heading to the door. "Until then," she murmured, and was gone.
Harry waited until her footsteps faded down the hall before summoning his Patronus. The ethereal creature materialized before him, standing proud and expectant.
"To Susan Bones," he instructed. "Need background on correspondence history between Gabrielle Delacour of France and Mateo Calderón of Spain. Priority two. Discreet."
The Patronus bounded away, disappearing through the wall. Harry stared after it for a moment, feeling a twinge of guilt. Susan was his friend and his colleague, and even beyond that, she was one of the few people he trusted implicitly. She would understand the sensitivity of the request.
With a sigh, he headed for the shower. The hot water did little to wash away his suspicions.
-Break-
The morning session of the ICW was considerably less heated than the previous day, focusing on routine matters of international magical cooperation. Harry participated where necessary, but part of his mind remained fixed on Gabrielle and the letter.
She sat with the French delegation, occasionally catching his eye across the chamber. Each time, she offered a small smile that seemed genuine enough. Nothing in her demeanor suggested duplicity.
During a brief recess, Harry found himself cornered by Eleanor Beckett, the American representative.
"Director Potter," she greeted him, adjusting her square-framed glasses with one finger. "I wanted to clarify something about yesterday's discussion."
Harry nodded, taking a sip from his goblet of water. "Of course."
"While the United States' official position remains firm on migration control, I personally found your arguments compelling." Her voice dropped slightly. "Not all of us see the situation in black and white."
Harry studied her face, searching for any sign of insincerity but finding none. "I appreciate that, Representative Beckett. Perhaps there's room for compromise if we focus on specific cases rather than sweeping policies."
She gave him a measured nod. "Perhaps. Though I can't speak for everyone in my delegation, I believe we could support targeted programs for refugees who meet certain security criteria."
"That would be a start," Harry acknowledged.
Beckett glanced around the room before continuing. "I should warn you, Director. Calderón has been gathering support for a much stronger proposal than what he presented yesterday. Spain is pushing for mandatory registration of all refugees, including magical signature cataloging."
Harry frowned. "That's essentially treating them all as criminals before they've done anything wrong."
"Exactly," Beckett agreed. "And from what I hear, he has France's support already."
Harry's eyes involuntarily flicked toward the French delegation, where Gabrielle stood in conversation with her superiors. As if sensing his gaze, she looked up, her expression unreadable from this distance.
"Thank you for the information," Harry said, turning back to Beckett. "I should prepare for the afternoon session."
She nodded, and Harry's brows furrowed slightly when he saw her hesitate for a moment. Finally, she spoke, "One more thing, Director Potter. Be careful who you trust here. Not everyone's motivations are as transparent as they seem."
With that cryptic warning, she moved away, leaving Harry with an even greater sense of unease. He had become rather cutthroat since the war, but he had dropped his guard last night. Had that been a mistake? His eyes hardened as he considered the possibility.
The afternoon session began promptly at two. Harry had just settled into his seat when a ministry owl swooped through one of the high windows, dropping a sealed letter on his desk before departing. The British Ministry seal told him it was from Susan.
He broke the seal discreetly, unfolding the parchment beneath the desk.
H,
Seven correspondences in the last month. Content unknown. C visited Paris three weeks ago for two days. No official meetings on record. D recently promoted to special advisor on refugee matters. Connection to Grandmother may be relevant. Will continue digging.
Be careful.
S
Harry folded the letter and vanished it with a tap of his wand. Seven letters in a month was far more than routine diplomatic communication would warrant. And what was this about Gabrielle's grandmother? As far as Harry knew, Gabrielle's veela heritage came from her maternal grandmother, but he couldn't see how that would be relevant to the current situation.
His thoughts were interrupted as the Chief Warlock called the session to order.
"Representatives," the elderly wizard announced, "we turn now to the matters left unresolved from yesterday's discussion. The Spanish delegation has submitted a formal proposal regarding the refugee situation. Representative Calderón, you have the floor."
Calderón rose, his dark robes immaculate as he stepped to the central podium. "Thank you, Chief Warlock. Esteemed colleagues, after careful consideration and consultation with multiple delegations, Spain puts forward the following measures to address our shared concerns."
He waved his wand, and copies of a document appeared before each representative. Harry scanned it quickly, his jaw tightening as he read.
"First," Calderón continued, "we propose mandatory registration of all magical refugees, including wand registration and magical signature cataloging. Second, establishment of designated settlement areas within each receiving nation, with monitoring charms to track movement. Third, a five-year probationary period during which refugees cannot hold certain positions within magical governments."
Murmurs spread throughout the chamber. Harry felt his pulse quicken as he read further down the document. The proposed restrictions were draconian, treating refugees as little better than parolees.
"Additionally," Calderón went on, "we suggest the creation of an international task force specifically dedicated to identifying and apprehending former Death Eaters and their sympathizers who may be hiding among legitimate refugees."
Harry raised his hand, and the Chief Warlock nodded in his direction. "Director Potter."
Harry stood, his voice steady despite his anger. "While I appreciate Spain's concerns for security, these measures go well beyond reasonable precaution. They effectively criminalize being displaced. The vast majority of these people are victims, not perpetrators."
Calderón's expression remained polite, but his eyes hardened. "With respect, Director Potter, easy words from a man whose country has not borne the brunt of this crisis. Spain has taken in over ten thousand magical refugees in the past three years. The strain on our resources is immense, and our citizens deserve protection."
"Protection does not require dehumanization," Harry countered. "Treating refugees as suspects undermines the very values we claim to uphold. There are less invasive ways to ensure security."
The French representative, a silver-haired wizard named Dubois, stood next. "France supports Spain's proposal with minor modifications. The reality is that we cannot distinguish between those fleeing persecution and those who were the persecutors without proper measures."
Harry scanned the French delegation, finding Gabrielle's face among them. Her expression was carefully neutral, but she didn't meet his eyes.
The debate continued for nearly two hours, with positions forming along predictable lines. Northern European countries largely supported Harry's more moderate approach, while southern nations facing the largest influx of refugees backed Spain's proposal. The United States, true to Beckett's hint, suggested a compromise position focusing on high-risk individuals rather than blanket policies.
By the session's end, it was clear no consensus would be reached that day. The Chief Warlock called for a committee to draft a compromise proposal overnight, with representatives from Britain, Spain, France, Germany, and the United States.
As the session adjourned, Harry gathered his papers, deliberately taking his time. He needed to speak with Gabrielle, to gauge her position directly rather than making assumptions.
He waited until most of the chamber had cleared before approaching the French delegation. Gabrielle stood in conversation with Dubois, but she looked up as Harry approached.
"Director Potter," Dubois greeted him with a thin smile. "Your passion for the refugee cause is admirable, if perhaps impractical."
"I prefer to think of it as principled," Harry replied evenly. He had a few choice words about how the allies had turned sides but he refrained. He had a more pressing matter to take care of. "Ms. Delacour, might I have a word? I believe we have some areas of potential compromise to discuss before the committee meeting."
Gabrielle glanced at Dubois, who nodded slightly. "Of course," she said, stepping away from her superior. "Perhaps we could walk in the gardens? The committee doesn't meet for another hour."
Harry agreed, and they made their way out of the chamber and down a flight of marble stairs to the courtyard gardens behind the building. Spring flowers bloomed in carefully tended beds, and a fountain burbled peacefully at the center.
Once they were sufficiently distant from other diplomats taking air, Harry spoke quietly. "You didn't mention your position on the refugee proposal."
Gabrielle sighed, turning to face him. "My personal position or France's position?"
"Are they different?"
"You know they are," she replied, a hint of irritation in her voice. "I'm an advisor, Harry, not the Head of Delegation. My opinions aren't always reflected in our official stance."
Harry studied her face. "And yet you've been corresponding regularly with Calderón. Seven letters in the last month seems like more than casual diplomatic exchange."
Her eyes widened slightly before narrowing. "You've been investigating me?"
"I'm head of Magical Law Enforcement. Noticing things is my job."
Gabrielle's cheeks flushed with anger. "And what did you think you'd find? Evidence of some conspiracy? Or just confirmation that last night was a mistake?"
Harry took a step back, surprised by her vehemence. "That's not fair. This isn't about last night."
"Isn't it?" she challenged. "You wake up next to me and your first instinct is to run a background check?"
"My first instinct was to wonder why the Spanish representative leading opposition to my refugee position is secretly communicating with the woman in my bed," Harry retorted, keeping his voice low.
Gabrielle's expression shifted from anger to something more complex. "Not everything is about you, Harry. Or about politics."
"Then explain it to me," he said. "Because from where I'm standing, the timing seems suspicious at best."
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes locked with his before she glanced around to ensure they weren't being overheard. "Not here," she said finally. "Meet me at my hotel room after the committee meeting. The Ritz, room 512. I'll explain everything then."
Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked back toward the building, leaving Harry alone in the garden with more questions than answers.
-Break-
The committee meeting was as contentious as Harry had expected. For three hours, they argued over the finer points of Calderón's proposal, with Harry pushing back against the most severe restrictions while searching for acceptable compromises. Throughout, Gabrielle sat silent at Dubois's side, taking notes and occasionally whispering in her superior's ear.
By the meeting's end, they had hammered out a watered-down version that still included registration requirements but eliminated the designated settlement areas and reduced the probationary period to two years. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than the original.
"We will present this compromise to the full assembly tomorrow," Dubois concluded, gathering his papers. "Unless there are further objections?"
Harry shook his head, exhausted. "It will suffice for now."
As the committee dispersed, Harry caught Gabrielle's eye and received a small nod in return. Their meeting was still on.
He returned to his room first, sending a Patronus message to Susan updating her on the committee's decision and requesting any additional information she might have uncovered. Then he checked the time—just past nine. He'd give Gabrielle an hour to return to her hotel before following.
At five minutes past ten, Harry knocked on the door of room 512 at the Ritz. He'd cast a disillusionment charm on himself during the walk over, not wanting to be seen entering a French diplomat's hotel room during sensitive negotiations.
The door opened, and Gabrielle ushered him inside quickly. She had changed from her formal robes into casual slacks and a loose blouse, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. The room was smaller than his, with a sitting area separate from the bedroom.
"Would you like something to drink?" she offered, gesturing to a bottle of wine on the coffee table.
Harry shook his head. "I'd prefer clarity."
Gabrielle sighed, sinking onto the sofa. "Always straight to business. Sit down, Harry. This might take a while."
He took the armchair opposite her, waiting.
"My grandmother wasn't just any veela," she began, surprising him with this apparent non sequitur. "She was a leader among her people before she married my grandfather and moved to France. Veela have their own refugee problems—they've been persecuted for centuries, their communities broken apart, families separated across borders."
Harry frowned. "I don't see the connection."
"The connection," Gabrielle said patiently, "is that I grew up listening to her stories. About being forced to flee, about being treated with suspicion wherever they went, about losing family members who couldn't escape in time." She leaned forward. "When I was appointed as special advisor on refugee matters, it wasn't random. I lobbied for the position because I care deeply about this issue."
"That still doesn't explain Calderón," Harry pointed out.
Gabrielle reached for a folder on the side table and handed it to him. "This might."
Harry opened it to find copies of the letters between Gabrielle and Calderón. He scanned them quickly, his brow furrowing as he read. They detailed a plan—not to restrict refugees, but to identify and extract specific individuals from among them. Names were mentioned: former resistance fighters against Voldemort's foreign allies, wandmakers whose skills made them targets, even families with children showing extraordinary magical potential.
"What am I looking at?" he asked, looking up at her.
"A rescue operation," Gabrielle said simply. "Calderón and his team has been identifying high-risk refugees who need special protection—people who would be specifically targeted by remaining Death Eater sympathizers. The registration program gives us cover to identify them and extract them to safer locations."
Harry flipped through more pages. "This isn't in Calderón's official proposal."
"Of course not," Gabrielle replied. "The official proposal is the cover. We needed something that would appeal to security-minded officials while allowing us to implement the rescue operation beneath the surface."
"So Calderón's hardline stance is... what? An act?"
Gabrielle shook her head. "Not entirely. He genuinely believes stronger security is necessary. But he also recognizes that some refugees deserve special protection. It's complicated, Harry. Not everyone fits neatly into the categories you want them to."
Harry set the folder down, processing this new information. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have worked together on this."
"Would you have agreed to a registration program, even knowing its true purpose?" she challenged. "Or would you have insisted on finding another way, one that might not have gained enough support to pass?"
Harry didn't answer immediately, knowing she had a point. "You still should have trusted me."
"It wasn't about trust," she said softly. "It was about effectiveness. Your moral stance is admirable, but sometimes compromise is necessary to achieve any progress at all."
"And last night?" he asked, the question he'd been holding back finally emerging. "Was that part of the operation too? Get close to Potter, make sure he doesn't interfere?"
Hurt flashed across Gabrielle's face. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" he pressed. "The timing seems convenient."
She stood abruptly, anger flaring in her eyes. "I've been attracted to you since I was an immature teenager, Harry Potter. You saved my life during the Triwizard Tournament, or have you forgotten? Last night happened because I wanted it to, not because of some political scheme."
Harry rose too, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. "I haven't forgotten," he said more gently. "But you have to admit, from my perspective—"
"From your perspective, everything revolves around your crusades," she interrupted. "Has it occurred to you that some of us are fighting the same battles but with different methods?"
They stared at each other, the tension between them shifting from anger to something else. Harry became acutely aware of her breathing, of the slight flush on her cheeks, and of how her eyes darkened as she looked at him.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. "I shouldn't have assumed the worst."
Her expression softened. "And I should have been more forthcoming. We both have trust issues, it seems."
Harry couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him. "Occupational hazard."
Gabrielle's lips curved into a smile. "Perhaps we can find a better way to occupy ourselves now?"
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with insinuation as she gazed at him with the same look in her eyes that she had the previous night. Harry hesitated only briefly before closing the distance between them, his hands finding her waist as his lips sought hers.
Unlike their first night together, this kiss wasn't frantic or desperate. It was slower, more intimate, as if they were both taking time to reconsider what they were doing. Gabrielle's hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, her touch firm and certain.
When they broke apart, she took his hand and led him toward the bedroom without a word. This time, there was no need for pretense or excuse. They both knew exactly what they wanted.
Gabrielle's bedroom was dimly lit, a soft glow from a single lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Harry followed her inside, his hand still clasped in hers, warm and steady. She didn't pause, didn't hesitate, just turned to face him as they reached the edge of the bed. Her eyes locked onto his, dark and intent, and she tugged him closer, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
He didn't need more invitation than that. His hands slid to her hips, pulling her flush against him, and their lips met again. The kiss was deeper this time, hungrier, her mouth parting under his as she pressed herself closer. A quiet moan escaped her, low and throaty, vibrating against his lips. Harry's pulse quickened, his grip tightening as he backed her toward the bed, their movements fluid, almost instinctive.
The mattress dipped under their weight as Gabrielle sat, her hands quick to tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. Her fingers grazed his chest, warm and teasing, tracing the lines of muscle before she leaned in, her lips brushing against his collarbone. Harry let out a soft groan, his hands finding the hem of her blouse. He lifted it slowly, savoring the way her skin felt under his fingertips, soft and warm. She raised her arms, letting him peel the fabric away, and her bra followed, discarded without a second thought.
Her skin glowed in the low light, and Harry paused for a moment, taking her in. Gabrielle didn't shy away from his gaze. Instead, she reached for him, her hands sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him down into another kiss. Their mouths moved together, slow but intense, tongues brushing as their breaths grew heavier. She moaned again, softer this time, and the sound sent a jolt through him, urging him closer.
Harry's hands roamed her back, fingers splaying across her spine as he eased her down onto the bed. She arched under him, her body pressing up to meet his, and he could feel the heat radiating from her. His lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, then down the column of her neck, where he lingered, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. Gabrielle's breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping her as her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly.
"Harry," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with need. It was the only word she managed before another moan slipped out, louder this time, as his mouth found the curve of her shoulder. He kissed lower, his hands sliding to her waist, unbuttoning her slacks with perfect ease. She lifted her hips, helping him slide the fabric down her legs, leaving her in only her lace knickers.
He paused again, his eyes meeting hers. She gazed back at him, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths, her lips parted. There was no question in her gaze, only certainty, and it was all the invitation he needed. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her knickers, pulling them down slowly, and she kicked them off, her movements impatient.
Gabrielle reached for him, her hands fumbling with the button of his trousers. Harry helped her, shedding the rest of his clothes quickly, and in no time, they were skin to skin, the heat of her body against his sending a shiver through him. She pulled him down, her legs parting as she guided him closer, and their mouths crashed together again, the kiss messy and urgent.
He settled between her thighs, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding down her side, gripping her hip. She arched again, her nails digging into his shoulders as she pressed herself against him. A low groan rumbled in his chest, and he could feel her trembling beneath him, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.
When he finally entered her, it was slow and measured, giving her time to adjust. Gabrielle's head tipped back, a long, drawn-out moan spilling from her lips. The sound was raw, unguarded, and it drove him deeper, his movements steady but firm. Her hands roamed his back, fingers pressing into muscle as she matched his rhythm, her hips rising to meet each thrust.
The room filled with the sounds of their breathing, their moans, and the soft creak of the bed. Harry's pace quickened, driven by the way she moved beneath him, by the way her moans grew louder, more desperate. All the while, she clung to him, her nails leaving faint marks on his skin, and he could feel her pussy walls tightening around his girth, her body tensing with every thrust.
"Harry," she gasped, her voice breaking as she arched higher, her legs wrapping around his waist. The word dissolved into another moan, high and breathless, and Harry's control slipped. He moved faster, harder, his hand sliding between them to find her clit. He began to rub her hard in a way that made her cry out, her body shuddering under his touch.
Gabrielle's moans turned into a string of incoherent sounds, each one louder than the last, her hands gripping him tighter. He could feel her nearing the edge, her breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts. His own release was building, a tight coil in his core, but he focused on her, on the way her body responded to every touch, every movement.
Suddenly, her entire body tensed, a piercing cry tearing from her throat as her slick core spasmed violently around him. Her nails dug into his back, her rounded hips bucking against him as waves of pleasure rolled through her. Harry didn't stop, didn't slow, riding out her climax with steady thrusts, his own breaths ragged now. The sight of her, the sound of her, pushed him closer, his grip on her hip tightening as he chased his own release.
It hit him hard, a low groan escaping as he buried his throbbing length deep, his body shuddering with the force of it. Gabrielle's hands softened on his back, her touch turning gentle as she pulled him down, their foreheads pressing together. They stayed like that for a moment, their breaths mingling and their hearts pounding, the world reduced to the heat of their bodies and the quiet aftershocks of pleasure.
Harry rolled to the side, pulling her with him, and she curled against his chest, her toned leg draped over his. Her breathing was still uneven, but she was smiling, a soft, satisfied curve to her lips. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her flushed face, his thumb grazing her cheek, and she leaned into the touch, her eyes half-closed.
They didn't speak, and they didn't need to. The silence was comfortable, broken only by the occasional sigh or the rustle of sheets as they shifted closer. Harry's hand rested on her hip, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against her smooth skin, eliciting a soft, content hum from her.
Minutes passed, or maybe longer, time blurring in the haze of afterglow. Gabrielle stirred first, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. Her eyes were still dark, but there was a playful glint in them now, a hint of mischief. She leaned in, kissing him softly, her lips lingering against his.
"Ready for round two?" she murmured, her voice low and teasing.
Harry chuckled, the sound rough but warm. "Give me a minute," he said, but his hand was already sliding down her back, pulling her closer. She laughed softly and straddled him, her movements slow as she took her time. The lamp's light caught the curve of her body, and Harry's breath caught, his hands settling on her thighs.
This time, she set the pace, her hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm that had him groaning within seconds. Her hands braced against his chest, her nails grazing his skin as she moved, and the sounds she made—soft gasps and low moans—filled the room again. Harry watched her, captivated by the way her head tipped back and the way her lips parted with every breath, releasing breathless sounds with every fluid motion.
He sat up, wrapping an arm around her slim waist, and their mouths met in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. She moaned into it, her movements growing faster, more urgent, her slick heat gripping him tightly.
His hands roamed her body, one sliding up to cup her breast, his thumb brushing over her sensitive nipple. She gasped, her rhythm faltering for a moment before she pressed herself closer, her moans louder now, totally unrestrained as she impaled herself on his manhood rapidly.
The tension built quickly, their bodies moving in sync, and the heat between them soon became overwhelming. Gabrielle's breaths came in sharp bursts, her hands gripping his shoulders as she rode him harder, chasing her release. Harry's groans mingled with hers, his hands guiding her hips, urging her on.
Her trembling body convulsed, her slick walls clamping tightly around his throbbing length as intense, rolling waves of pleasure surged through her. Harry followed moments later, his own release hitting with a force that left him breathless, his pulsing length spilling deep inside her. His arms tightened around her as they rode out the waves of ecstasy together.
They collapsed back onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin, both of them panting. Gabrielle laughed softly, the sound muffled against his chest, and Harry grinned, brushing a tender kiss against her damp forehead.
-Break-
Roughly fifteen minutes had passed and they lay tangled in the sheets, the city lights twinkling beyond the window. Gabrielle's head rested on Harry's chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns across his skin.
"We still have a problem," Harry said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "The compromise proposal doesn't fully protect the most vulnerable refugees."
Gabrielle propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. "No, it doesn't. But it gives us a framework we can adapt."
"If I propose amendments tomorrow, focusing on protections for specific categories—children, the elderly, those with rare magical abilities—could you and Calderón support that?"
She considered this. "Possibly. If you frame it as a security measure—protecting valuable magical resources—Calderón could sell it to his delegation. The French would follow if both Britain and Spain agree."
Harry nodded, his mind already working through the implications. "And what about the rescue operation? How do I fit into that?"
"That depends," she said, studying his face. "Are you offering to help, or looking to take over?"
"Help," he clarified. "Britain has resources that could be useful, and I have contacts throughout Europe who still owe me favors."
Gabrielle smiled. "In that case, we could use your network. Particularly for extracting refugees from Eastern Europe where our reach is limited."
They spent the next hour outlining plans, strategies, and contingencies, their naked bodies pressed together as they worked. It was an odd way to conduct international diplomacy, Harry reflected with amusement, but somehow more honest than what happened in formal chambers.
Eventually, exhaustion caught up with them, and conversation gave way to sleep. Harry's last conscious thought was that he hadn't felt this balanced—between business and personal connection—in a very long time… and it left him with mixed feelings.
TBC.
Visit patreon.com/TheBlackEarl if you'd like to read chapters in advance. Chapter 29 of this fic is already up over there.
Meanwhile, check out my other fics too.
Thanks for reading!