You Must Remember This

Remus Lupin was having a very good day.

He surveyed the disco with a gleam in his eye. The dance floor was a lively mass of sinuously writhing bodies, and there was a line at the bar three Wizards deep. He'd already seen that nearly every table in the adjacent dining room was occupied. To top it off, Rico had just assured him that the casino was also full of people having fun and spending lots of money. It was the week before Christmas, and all of the guests seemed cheerful and full of high spirits.

Stepping out of the dance club into the foyer, he carefully closed the door behind him. The club was loud, although silencing spells kept most of the noise from invading the surrounding rooms, so the rest of the hotel stayed relatively peaceful. But opening the door always let a little sound spill out, and he didn't want to disturb the other guests too much.

Business had always been good, but of late it was positively booming. The post-War years were proving to be cash-rich and time-poor for most Wizards, but in typical British fashion they always seemed able to make time for vacations. Most wizards and witches wanted to go to places where they could eat, drink, dance and socialise without mingling with Muggles. The Ministries of Magic of many European countries had instituted strict new laws since the defeat of Voldemort, when the remaining Death Eaters had gone into hiding. International Wizarding travel had become heavily regulated, due to the remote but always-present threat of Death Eater resurgence. The resultant inconveniences caused by government interference in what were previously simple activities had been quite profitable for Remus.

He stood and looked around the festively decorated foyer, still a little in awe of what he and Harry had accomplished in three short years. The Phoenix Hotel was an oasis for world-weary Wizards. It was a castle, stately and grand in the way that English castles were meant to be, located in the countryside several miles outside of London. Harry had bought the land for Remus after the War, when they couldn't bring themselves to go back to 12 Grimmauld Place and neither had anywhere else to go. The walls of the lobby were painted in warm oranges and rich burgundies, reminiscent of the colours of Gryffindor House. Guests sat on plush couches around the great crackling fireplace, sipping tea, admiring the brightly decorated Christmas trees, or simply chatting with each other. The Phoenix was a place that felt warm, comfortable and safe, and that was a feeling of which no one could get enough.

It seemed like hardly anyone had made it through the war unscathed, emotionally or otherwise. Remus had conceived of and built The Phoenix - with Harry's financial backing - to give people a chance to get away from the unique pressures of post-War reconstruction, and the memories that some of them would have to endure forever. Dreamless Sleep potions were kept stocked in the apothecary, because he knew he wasn't the only one who still had nightmares full of blood and fire and flashing green light.

Some wanted to gamble, but only on games that were playful and harmless. It wasn't very long since just getting through every day alive had been a game of chance. There were Muggle card games, adapted for Wizards: Poker and Blackjack, as well as other games like Roulette and Craps. Dragon racing was transmitted live, every day, from Romania. Betting on professional Quidditch took place only in the back room, only for a very select clientele, and if questioned Remus knew nothing about it.

He noticed a young couple at Reception holding hands and nuzzling affectionately. Newlyweds, Remus thought, and from Scotland, judging by the colour of the Wizard Transit Authority permit tags on their luggage. He raised a questioning eyebrow at the desk clerk and got a subtle nod in return - all their papers were in order. He sighed. Wars came and went; governments rose and fell, but life went on as it always had. Only now, it was with significantly less freedom than before the fear of Voldemort and his Death Eaters had brought out the worst in everyone.

Remus felt his stomach growl, and moved toward the dining room. The lateness of the hour meant that the number of diners would be thinning out. That was when Remus liked to take his own evening meal. He preferred to sit at the bar, listening to the piano player and contemplating his plans for the next day ... except when there was an attractive, silver-haired young woman sitting alone at the bar. Such an occasion warranted an immediate change of plans.

"A beautiful woman alone at a bar is a crime against humanity," he said, coming up next to her. "May I join you?"

"Certainly, monsieur." She indicated that he should take the empty stool next to her.

The barman looked over, and a glass of ice appeared in front of Remus. "The usual," he said. The barman waved a hand, and Remus's glass magically filled with fifty-year old scotch. He glanced at the empty wineglass in the woman's hand. "And a refill for the lady, on the house."

She raised her magically refilled glass to him with a smile. "Mmm. Style, sophistication, and service. You're my kind of man, Monsieur Lupin."

He blinked. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mademoiselle...?"

"My apologies!" She extended her hand. "I'm Fleur DeLacour. I know your partner, Harry Potter. We were in the TriWizard Tournament together during his fourth year at Hogwarts."

"Oh, yes! You were the champion from Beauxbatons," Remus said, taking her hand and bowing slightly. "It's nice to finally meet you. Please, call me Remus."

"I'm pleased to meet you too, Remus. I've heard so much about you. You're quite famous, you know. Tell me, what's it like to be a dashing war hero?"

Remus laughed. "Not as exciting as you might think. There's a surprising lack of profit to be made in the war hero trade. It's very dull, really. That's why I run this place in my spare time."

"It's lovely here. Harry lives here as well?"

Remus nodded. "We own The Phoenix together. He's more of a silent partner, though; I handle the day to day business operations myself."

"Dear, sweet Harry. It's been so long since I've seen him -I'd like to say hello, if you know where he is."

"I'm sure he's around somewhere. This is the time of night that he's usually downstairs, having a spot of tea, or playing chess." People who specifically asked after Harry usually meant trouble of some kind.

To Remus' experienced eye, her smile was predatory. "I must ask him to have a drink with me."

"He doesn't drink with the customers," Remus answered as he raised his glass to her in a mock salute. "That's mostly my job."

"How odd," she said, slowly spinning round in her chair to face the main room. "He always seemed so friendly and approachable at Hogwarts."

"Oh, he is. It's just ... " Remus looked down at what was left of his drink, swirling the ice around in the glass. "People come here to escape from things, you see. Stress, anxiety, scars left by the war ... lots of people have them now. Everyone recognises Harry - he's the most famous Wizard in the world, after all, and people always want to sit and talk with him. And if you sit and drink with someone long enough, eventually they start telling you their troubles. Harry's had more than his fair share of those. He doesn't really need to hear about anyone else's." His kept his voice casual, but added just a hint of warning to the tone. Remus was very protective of his friend and highly suspicious of this woman.

Fleur nodded but didn't answer, quietly scanning the room. Remus easily noticed the little grin of triumph she gave when she spotted Harry's unruly dark head, bent low over a chessboard, at a side table near the musicians. The seat across from him was empty, and the band was going on a break.

She stood and gathered up her cloak. "Perhaps the company of a beautiful woman, as you say, will give him something else to think about for a while. I don't have any pain to share." She winked, but Remus wasn't fooled. Beautiful or not, there was something about this woman he didn't like. He wanted to tell her so, to warn her away from Harry. But he'd found in the past that Harry didn't take kindly to being protected behind his back. He'd have to be more subtle about it, or find a way to talk to Harry privately later. He felt the absence of Sirius with a pang; he had the directness that Remus lacked, and had always been able to handle Harry better.

"Good luck," was all he said. "I'll be in the casino. Come and find me later if you want, we'll play some Blackjack - maybe between the two of us, someone will get lucky tonight."

Fleur smoothed a hand over her hair and her robes, dropped a handful of coins on the bar, and headed for the empty chair.

***

Harry concentrated on the board in front of him. Chess was one of the things in life that required a person to think about strategy in advance, because blindly following a standard pattern and not thinking far enough ahead meant certain defeat. You didn't bring your queen out too early, because a crowded board presented more opportunities for the other side to entrap her. You didn't use your king to attack, because losing him meant losing the game, and rooks were most valuable at the end.

Harry didn't mind playing alone. It gave him something to focus his full attention on. Ron used to tease him that playing against himself was cheating, because he would always know what he was going to do next. No challenges, no surprises, his friend had said. But that was just the thing - Harry didn't know. Not if he kept himself honest. Not if he blocked out everything else and just concentrated on the game. Sirius, before his death, had taught Harry how much could be gained by finding out your own strategic weaknesses. If you could get through your own defences, anybody could. And there was always at least one method of getting through even a seemingly impenetrable defence. The more holes you could find, the more ways you could think of to block them before someone more dangerous found them too. Every strategy had a counter strategy. Even one lowly pawn could win or lose the whole game, just by being in the right place at the right time.

This particular game was turning out to be rather complicated. White was mounting a strong defence, but black was being very aggressive. It was hard to say how things would go. As he contemplated white's next move, a shadow fell across the table and a familiar voice disturbed his quietude.

"Harry, darling! May I join you?"

He didn't look up. "Even if I said no, it wouldn't stop you, Fleur."

She took the seat across from him. "Tsk, tsk. Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"I wasn't aware that we were ever friends," Harry answered. She laughed. He looked up just long enough to catch the eye of the Maitre'd, and motioned with his hand. Karl nodded and disappeared behind the bar for a moment, returning just long enough to deposit another glass of wine into Fleur's hand.

She took a long sip and sighed appreciatively. "I've been looking forward to spending some time in Britain again. The climate here is so ... rich."

"Really," Harry replied casually, moving his hand out of the way of the flying pieces as the black queen shattered a white bishop with her sceptre. "I would have thought it would be colder here than you normally prefer."

She chuckled, a dry, low sound. "Oh, don't worry about me. When I travel, I come prepared for all kinds of weather." Her long, silvery eyelashes swept downward and curtained her eyes as she took another sip of wine. More chess pieces flew as a white knight trampled a black pawn with merciless glee.

"Sadly, I'm not here on holiday," she sighed, setting her glass down on the table. "It's business. But this will probably be my last trip to England. After this I'll be able to retire, and lead a comfortable life someplace that's warm all year round. I've heard lovely things about California. I've always wanted to go to America, Harry, haven't you?"

Harry studied her carefully, trying to figure out what she was up to. He could tell she was baiting him, trying to draw him out into a little game of cat and mouse. But he couldn't see why yet, and he wasn't all that interested in taking up where she had left off. Still, it wasn't like he had anything better to do. She'd distracted him just enough from the game so that no matter what else white did, there was going to be a checkmate in three more moves. So he leaned back in his chair and finally gave her the flirtatious smile she expected.

"Why, Fleur, have you finally seduced some rich old codger into leaving you his fortune?" He saw her eyes flash in response. Now the game was afoot.

Reaching into her cloak, she drew out a small bundle, wrapped in a soft bag of brown leather. "This, Harry, is my retirement package. What's in this bag is so valuable that after I meet with my client tomorrow, I won't have any worries for the rest of my life. I can lie on the beach, drinking those Muggle concoctions with the little paper umbrellas in them, being waited on hand and foot by handsome young men." Her eyes were dreamy, and Harry began to think she'd had a bit more than one glass of wine before she'd found him.

"That sounds lovely," he said. "So what is it?"

She smiled. "Just a little something a client wants, for a private collection. That's what I do, after all. I help people acquire things. Now, about that - I've come to ask you for a tiny favour."

Ah, he thought, here comes the hook. "And what would that be?"

She batted her eyelashes at him, tossing her silvery hair back over one shoulder with her free hand. Oh, this was going to be good, Harry thought.

She leaned across the table to whisper conspiratorially, giving Harry a full view of exactly how low cut her gown was. "I need you to hold onto this for me tonight. I don't want to put it in the hotel vault with the other guest valuables. Not that I question your security measures, darling, but I'll feel much better if it is not kept in such an obvious place. My business reputation, you understand, is entirely dependent on my ability to deliver as promised." She glanced around furtively. "There are certain - people - who must not be allowed to get their hands on this."

She took Harry's hand in her own, and placed the pouch into it. Her fingers were slim and surprisingly warm. Using both hands, she closed his fingers around the pouch and held them in place. He could feel something round and hard through the supple leather; light, but solid. He mimicked her tone. "Certain people? What certain people? Are you in danger?"

"No, no, of course not. But one never knows, eh? Listen, there are other people I could ask to do this, Harry, but you're the only person I trust not to misplace it, or sell it behind my back. I know it will be safe with you. This is a very rare and desirable object, and it, too, is powerful. If it were to fall into the wrong hands - " she trailed off, unwilling to finish the statement. "Please, Harry, hold this for me and keep it safe. Just until tomorrow night, and then I'll be away from here for good, and I won't trouble you again."

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Fleur. You'll have to do better than that. You're asking me to put my business and possibly myself at risk, and you won't tell me what this is or what it's for?"

She dismissed his remark with a wave of her delicately manicured hand. "Don't make it sound so dramatic. I have a valuable object to deliver to a paying client, and I need a safe place and a trustworthy person to keep it for me overnight. I'm willing to make it worth your while." Her eyes travelled up and down his body in a way that left no doubt as to what she would prefer that he ask of her in return.

He pretended not to notice. "If this - object - is as valuable as you claim, I'm not sure that I'm comfortable with it -or you - being here at all. I don't want any trouble. As a businesswoman, I'm sure you understand that I have my own interests to protect. And you haven't satisfied my curiosity enough for me to say yes."

Her gaze was intent upon his face, studying him for any indication she might get her way. She brightened suddenly. "Would it help convince you if I told you that soon another old friend of yours will be arriving - one that you will be very happy to see? Is that enough to pique your interest?"

Harry's eyes flickered toward a movement in the doorway, then back to hers, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile. "Well, what do you know? It seems that's the most straightforward thing you've said all night."

Fleur frowned a little, and turned to see what had caught Harry's attention. Chief Regional Auror Ronald Weasley, accompanied by several uniformed female officers, had entered the dining room and was approaching their table.