Sleep evaded Fleur Delacour. Harry had long since left to meet Dumbledore and any possibility of slumber was struck from her mind. The lack of sleep in culmination with the alcohol and dark news they'd stumbled across that night left her feeling ill, empty almost. She thought she'd seen enough darkness in Egypt to last a lifetime, of malicious Pharaohs and vile Witch Queens, but this was of an entirely new echelon.
It's not as if she wasn't prepared for the outcome, of their existence at the very least. But to have incontrovertible evidence of their actual, tangible existence of someone perverting the natural order of existence and how numerous they were breathed life into an entire realm of possibilities that Fleur had hoped would never come to fruition.
The rational part of her brained screamed at her, to run. There were countless places across the channel where she'd be beyond safe. Some recess of her mind till hoped it was a fanciful tale, weaved to strike fear within the heart of the British. She even entertained the narrative that it was like the pages of the storybooks she was read as a child, though they certainly left the gorier details out of those stories.
She wasn't naive enough to expect it to be all fine, she lay awake on her bed, staring at the ceiling thinking of all the possibilities of what would come, minutes bled to hours of silent contemplation. The wood stone above transforming into an inaudible mirage that captivated her until dawn came, though no peace came from the rumination, only uneasiness.
She sat up in her bed, throwing off the covers that offered no comfort, she'd lain awake in her dress robes which was entirely too uncomfortable, but she hadn't particularly cared all that much. She picked a fresh set of robes from the cupboard and shimmied into them. She wasn't entirely sure what she was going to do. She couldn't talk to anyone about what ate at her save Harry and Dumbledore, who both seemed to be occupied so she chose to simply sit in bed.
She picked up a book from the corner table, a text of archaic runes and the likes. She flicked the first page open and the hour that passed after opening it didn't see her delve past the first chapter, her mind was too disorganized to read effectively, but the faux reading made her feel like it would take her mind off of it, even if it only prolonged the thoughts she attempted to hide from.
She tried desperately to delve into the pages, trying to commit the runic pattern to memory, reciting a phrase in her head to drown out what tried to emerge. Her eyes drooped for a moment before bouncing back into alertness, a cycle that continued until she returned to the fitful rollings in her bed, no matter how many times her eyelids fell weakly, desperate to rejoin the adjacent, sleep would not grant it's embrace, forever taunting her.
She was broken from the spasmodic attempted sleeping cycle by a furious pounding upon her door. It wasn't the calm knock she'd expected out of Harry, she swung her legs over the bed fearfully and slipped her shoes on, before obliging the person on the other side of the door by pulling it open.
She expected to find emerald on the other side of the door, instead she found herself looking into panicked blue.
"Headmaster?" She questioned worriedly.
"There's no time." He responded breathlessly, "Come quickly."
He tore off back down the hallway, for a man of his age he moved with surprisingly elegance and speed. Fleur found herself having to jog to level her pace with the taller, older man.
At first, she didn't know where she was going, but as they continued through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, her destination became clearer and clearer, the Hospital Wing. A coldness grew beneath her breast, the uneasiness multiplied tenfold. It had to be Harry, she entertained the notions it could've easily been someone else that had been cursed, someone could need help. But the last time she'd seen Harry was last night when he left to see the Headmaster, his being there and having Albus Dumbledore retrieve her with a sense of urgency and panic surrounding the wizened man left only one option in her mind.
Harry was injured and if his reaction was indicative of how serious it was, it was grievous.
Soon enough they rounded the corner into the alabaster white of the Hospital Wing and Fleur was greeted to the sight she'd been dreading since she began her journey.
The back corner of the Hospital Wing was cordoned off, large curtains were erected to protect the contents of whatever was behind it. Dumbledore threw the white sheets aside and Fleur was quickly on his heels.
The air was heavy, corrosive even. The volatility of whatever happened behind it weighed on her like lead, biting at her exposed skin like the hot sun. He was clad only in his underwear and he looked at the ceiling vacantly, his once vibrant green eyes had lost their vigor, staring aimlessly at the roof above, his scar weeped a dark discharge that flooded across his forehead like forks of a large river, but what caught her eyes the most was the large garrish gash that crossed his arm into his chest. It didn't look particularly deep but the crimson ichor leaking from it was exacerbated by the sickly green that bordered the wound. A circle was drawn around the bed, covering it in a pale ethereal barrier.
"How?" She asked Dumbledore fiercely. "'He told me he was going to see you about the memories!" She was angry, anger like she'd never felt before. She thought he was safe in the Headmaster's hands only for him to return not six hours later as little more than a corpse. She struck down the part of her that wanted to rise, the part of her that wanted to let the avian side reign supreme.
"He did," He confirmed sadly, "But we embarked on a hunt for one of them soon after he told me, I failed to understand the specificity and depth behind Harry's connection to Voldemort, he incited a reaction far greater than what should've been possible, in my negligence I sent him alone as a test."
"Is that meant to placate me?" She asked hotly, "That everything is fine, you were just negligent?"
"No, Miss Delacour, I shan't say everything is alright, but I think you'll find little comfort in my words." He explained.
"I think the fact that 'Arry lies dying mere meters from you should be sufficient reminder enough." Dumbledore winced at her tone and words, but Fleur couldn't find it in herself to care, she was hurting and she wanted to inflict equal suffering to the man who in her opinion, had caused it. Deep down she knew he didn't really deserve it, but in the moment she wasn't caring enough to stop the words flowing from her lips.
She watched the matron try desperately to seal the wound on his chest to no avail, his chest and torso were marred with tens of runic inscriptions far too obscure for Fleur to know, he looked less a man than a canvas for an artist's scrawls.
"Harry needed to complete this task, not only for himself, but understanding the magnitude of their relationship was of paramount importance, the object was in Hogwarts, as much as controlled environment as I could provide." He began, looking sadly at Harry on the bed.
"He lies dying and you call that 'controlled'?" She scoffed.
"What would you prefer Miss Delacour? That he had been fighting against the forces of Voldemort when this happened? It pains me more than you know, but I wouldn't have sent him into danger without good cause."
"I'd prefer he didn't have to fight, I'd prefer that I didn't have to fear that he might not wake." She said scornfully.
"It's a luxury we cannot afford Miss Delacour, time is not our ally in this war and likely never will be, we need a substantial advantage, Harry needed to do this, as much for himself as for this war." He explained.
"What happened to him?" She asked, this time with no anger, just sadness.
"A Welsh curse, stops the blood coagulating." He explained, "Old, but not hard to cure. But his physical injuries are not what worries us, his very magic wars within himself. A by-product of his contact with the Horcrux I'd wager. As I said, it reacted volatilely, far worse than even the worst predictions. Whatever protections the Horcrux possesed has placed him in a state of limbo."
"Will he live?" She asked fearfully.
"I can't be sure, any other person would've been killed immediately, but he alone survived the crucible. Mental maladies rarely ever cause death in of themselves, but with the extent of their connection, with the abstruse nature of everything that surrounds the interaction, I can't be certain, no one can." He explained sadly.
"You know," She started coldly, "He always told me of how good you were to him, of how he knew the 'Great Albus Dumbledore.' But everything that's even befallen him has happened on your watch, or at your hands." The older man let out another wince, but she wanted to hurt him as he'd hurt Harry, hurt her.
"You needn't remind me of my sins where Harry is concerned Miss Delacour," He cautioned, "For a dying man is forever reliving those he failed. But I take solace in knowing I've only ever subjected him to danger when the matter was imperative." He offered.
"Why was it ever imperative?" She shot back fiercely, "Why did it fall upon the shoulders of a boy, a young man to solve the world's problems?"
"Everything he's ever done, everything he does has served a singular purpose, the eradication of Lord Voldemort." He explained as if it was simple.
"You're being purposely vague." She said plainly.
"Quite an interesting story I might admit, but not one you should hear from my mouth. Alas, Miss Delacour, a question if I may?"
She sent a cursory glance to Harry, he was still being tended to by the Matron. It felt odd to have a conversation so close to what was happening, disrespectful even, but Fleur chose to oblige the man, if only out of curiosity.
"You may." She responded succinctly.
"What are your plans now?" He inquired, "You're well aware of the danger that you shall be subject to should you choose to remain within these Isles, you'd find ample safety across the channel, I daresay you've no inclination to remain at Hogwarts, save your ties with the Weasley Family, you could even find safety in Indonesia with William."
She had to contemplate for a brief moment, her answer would surely dictate a great portion of her life. "I promised Harry I'd help him, I intend to keep that promise."
"You'd forego safety to help him?" He asked gently.
"I promised." She said simply.
"Very well," Dumbledore said, seeming happy despite the situation surrounding them. "I've an offer if you're interested Miss Delacour?"
That was intriguing, given what they were discussing, she chose to oblige him with a short nod and let him say his piece.
"Tell me Miss Delacour, have you ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix?" He questioned, peering at her keenly.
"I've heard the name in passing though I'm not privy to its purpose," She admitted, "The Weasleys were never forthright with its existence." She finished, with a slightly disdainful tone rising in her voice despite trying to keep it out.
Dumbledore gave a small frown. "I wouldn't hold it against them, for a clandestine group operates on the premise of secrecy and to ensure our continued existence, that shroud was to be maintained at all costs, even if it meant alienating those close to them." He explained placatingly. "Though I've gotten ahead of myself, The Order of the Phoenix was a resistance group formed by myself during the first rise of Voldemort, for over a decade we interrupted his plans and fought against his tyranny in Britain. Though I fear our focus on espionage endeavours will be shifted in favour of bloodier affairs."
"You're telling me this because?" She questioned, though she imagined she already knew the answer.
"I would like to extend the invitation to join the Order." He stated simply.
"You want something from me, you're not extending a hand out of a need to be inclusive." She said, expecting there to be far more beneath the surface of the deal.
"Yes, your membership would be contingent on a duty of paramount importance, though likely nothing as vulgar as you're thinking. An important task, to an important end."
"That task being?" She asked, intrigued.
"The protection of Harry James Potter in his search for the horcruxes of Voldemort."
"Why me?" She asked succinctly, not entirely wanting to exchange a duel of words given the situation.
"Many reasons, though I count your status as a witch of exemplary talent and ability as one of them." He admitted, "Though there are many reasons I choose to extend our hand today."
"Such as?" She asked, "I find myself wondering why I'm being chosen over his friends, or even members of your Order, of whom I have no doubt are equally talented."
"While Harry's own friends, chiefly Miss Granger and Mister Weasley are quite capable and admirable students in their own rights, they're children and it is a poor adult and educator who encourages them to ingratiate themselves into the war before they're ready, I'd bar Harry from going if didn't know it was a futile endeavour." He continued, "But you Miss Delacour, are proven in your own right, you've skills that will prove invaluable in the wars to come, especially to Harry. But beyond that all? Harry has become quite fond of Miss Delacour, likely more than he could ever admit and I think you've come to care for him too."
"I'm engaged." She said scandalously, though she could feel small tendrils of heat creep into her cheeks.
"I didn't quite mean like that," He let out a chuckle, "Though I've seen stranger things happen in this lifetime."
"If I accept your offer, what happens?" She asked.
"You'll protect him, he's powerful and within the not so distant future, will present a serious threat to the Dark Lord, but for now, he's a young man caught amidst a war." He explained.
"To what end?" She continued.
"Ideally, until the Dark Lord is defeated. Ever since I discovered what would befall us, I've tested the boy. One day, he will lead the Order of the Phoenix. At that time, I would see you released from any obligations you felt like you had to us."
"That easily?" She asked simply. "You'd thrust him into a position of leadership so quickly?"
"I think you sorely underestimate Harry, Miss Delacour, his talents run far beyond martial ability, he possesses a unique ability to empower those alongside him, one that will most certainly see him thrust into the position of power, as it so easily does."
"I suppose you telling me all of this is contingent on me accepting your offer?"
"Yes, you've no obligation to accept of course, you could flee to safety just as easily, live your life in peace." He replied equally as simply, "Though I don't think Fleur Delacour is that type of woman, no?"
She just stared at the old man in response, not really knowing how to respond.
"Do you accept this invitation Miss Delacour?" He prompted gently.
She had to take a moment to think. Could she really leave them alone? Could she really leave Harry alone? But all her life the enmity between the French and the British had been drilled into her, they weren't to be trusted. It was lies, well most of it anyways, war tensions that ran deep even after the First World War and then Grindelwald's Darkness. France was all too happy to receive British assistance, but inverse would likely never be true. The French were proud, would she ever know her home again if she fought in this war?
"I accept." She said with conviction, she wouldn't abandon Harry, though she tried to convince herself it was solely to right her countrymen's wrong and not because of anything else the Headmaster mentioned.
"Very Well then Miss Delacour, are you ready for your first mission as a member of the Order of the Phoenix?" He asked.
'What is it?" She asked, sounding a tad eager. If she was going to be apart of something larger, she'd at least show how capable she truly was.
"There remains few people alive who know of Horcruxes, fewer still that have seen one. I know of one man still alive that might know something further." He explained.
"So you want me to find him?" Fleur questioned.
"Not find him per se, he's in Hogsmeade." Dumbledore told her in an odd tone of voice.
"Should I go now?" She asked.
"No, I'll need to contact him, but prepare to leave early on the morrow." He advised.
Dumbledore shot a final glance to Harry, before vacating the ward. Fleur sat with Harry for a little longer, watching the terrifyingly slow beat of heart and rise of his chest from next to his seat. She was ready to embark on a new phase in her life, albeit a much more dangerous one.
If Fleur had known exactly what her first task was going to be, she'd likely have refused.
The path to Hogsmeade was shrouded with the ivory white of a blizzard, despite what had seemed a common calamity for Hogwarts, the British had never created a spell to calm it, or even heating charms strong enough to negate it. Without the Thestral-drawn carriages or any other form of transportation, she was relegated to trekking through the snowstorm on foot.
She hated the cold, it always made her feel confined, trapped. It weakened her magic, made it sluggish and made her feel lethargic. The long walk to Hogsmeade embodied that exact feeling well. Her boots moved snow out of the way, flicking it up the back of her robes, she desperately wanted to be out of there, somewhere warm preferably.
Soon enough she reached her destination, albeit much paler and languid from when she'd set out. What was a five minute journey for the carriages turned into a sedated forty minute walk, though she imagined it likely would've been much more expeditious if the thick blanket of snow allowed her to see five feet in front of her.
Soon she arrived at her location, Dervish and Banges. It hadn't changed since she'd last seen it. Though last time was with Harry, that was a sore subject for her. It had been a long day since he'd fallen into his lifeless slumber, Dumbledore had assured her he was likely going to be fine, but that didn't help watching him fight an invisible foe on the bed.
She wiggled the cold handle and opened the heavy door, kicking some snow into the front of the shop and catching the bell above her with the doorframe, letting a resounding gong-like noise resound throughout the room.
She shook some of the snow off of her outer robe and vanished it as it hit the ground. It was much nicer here, as far as warmth went. Her arrival was not unnoticed, a woman appeared from behind the corner, middle-aged with her dark hair pulled behind her head.
"Welcome dearie," She offered to Fleur, "I didn't think anyone would be brave enough to venture out into this storm."
"Not bravery," She amended disdainful of the weather. "Professor Dumbledore sent me, said there was something here he needed."
"You'll be needing my Husband then," She explained but walking behind the counter and screaming downwards into what Fleur assumed was a path into the basement.
"Hen!" She cried, "I need you!"
Soon enough a man arose from the depths, the same one that had served Harry and her those weeks ago. Though he was rather dishevelled, his face was red and he was covered in oil, contrasting the pair, he looked a fair bit older than her, with streaks of grey already worming their way into his hair.
"Miss Delacour? A pleasure." He greeted politely, extending his hand.
Fleur took it gently, "Have we met?" She asked skeptically.
"Not officially though, but I do remember you from the papers and the shop, I apologize for being so forward." He offered, "Henley Dervish at your service." He said with a smile on his face and a tone within his voice like it had been rehearsed and executed countless times.
"Professor Dumbledore said you had something for him?" She asked.
He seemed surprised. "Oh! That bit of unpleasantness, well," He said awkwardly, walking towards the hole he emerged from, "Best follow me then."
He walked down the creaking stairs, Fleur slowly rounded the corner to follow too. A trapdoor descended into the cellar via a set of derelict wooden stairs. She followed after the man carefully, ensuring she didn't disturb the steps too much for fear of being swallowed into their depths.
It wasn't a long walk, but definitely longer than it should've been, the room underneath the building must be extensive, she thought. Whereas the room above was lit with an ornate chandelier and the daylight from the windows, the passageway beneath was lit with tall, archaic torches that periodically lit the roughly built stone walls.
"Did the Headmaster tell you exactly what he wanted?" He asked, taking a torch out of the bracket.
"He said something about a man." She offered, "Said you knew something of mutual interest."
They rounded a sharp corner and found themselves against a heavyset wrought iron door.
"Well then Miss Delacour, I'd prepare yourself then, you might not like what you see." He explained grimly, throwing open the door with a hard shove.
A man was laid out on a bloodstained cot, he was pale and gaunt and seemed to be breathing heavily, far too heavily for anyone healthy. His right arm was severed in a crude amputation and a gnarled wooden prosthesis was fitted where a limb once was. The room stank of bile and excrement and Fleur had to push down the rumbling feeling within her stomach.
"What is this?" She asked harshly, she came expecting to carry back a package and now was confronted with a room that stank of death.
"Not what, Miss Delacour," The man amended politely, "But who, Caractacus Burke, former co-owner of Borgin and Burkes."
"What's wrong with him?" She asked quietly, not to disturb the man.
"Many things," Dervish said sadly, "He appeared at the shopfront many years ago he was a friend of my father, back when he still ran the shop, he'd been tortured, lost his arm too. We've housed him here ever since.
"He must be old." Fleur commented plainly.
"Quite a bit into his first century." The man explained, "He was never overly powerful, I'm inclined to think the Lycanthrophy has a hand in it, or he's just doesn't want to die, he always was a stubborn bastard."
"I might be blind, but I'm not deaf," The man rasped hoarsely, "Don't speak of me as if I don't exist within the room."
"Sorry 'Cus," Dervish apologised, "Miss Delacour here wants to ask a few questions."
"Get here then," The man ordered rudely, "I don't want to be dealing with this shit all day."
Fleur knelt down beside his bed, he mustn't have been totally blind, or at the very least very aware of his surroundings as he propped himself against the headboard of the bed roughly.
"Careful," Dervish cautioned, "The full moon was only a few days ago, he'll be weak."
Fleur obliged, "Mr Burke, I was wondering if you remembered some artifacts you bought a long time ago, specifically one you bought close to seventy years ago."
The frail man snorted, "I can barely remember my own name lassie, you'll have a fat chance of getting me to remember something that long ago."
"I've been assured it's something you weren't going to forget, a locket of extreme importance."
The man thought for a moment, "A gold one, had an emerald 'S' embossed on the front, got it from some ugly bint, heavy with child. Ten Galleons was all it took, I thought she must've been desperate to get money to find somewhere to stay."
"Do you remember who you sold it to?"
"Hepzibah Smith, the fat bitch." He said hostilely, "Was meant to trade me a set of Goblin-made armour for five-hundred galleons, never did."
"Do you remember what she did with it? If she said anything about the powers of these objects."
"She did brag about how all the artifacts she collected had some sort of power, that locket and a chalice of some sort of importance." He explained hoarsely.
"Did anyone know more? Of what they did, their enchantments?"
"Well there was.." The man stopped mid-sentence, as if in pain. Fleur frowned.
"Are you okay?" Fleur asked as the old man cradled his head.
"Hen." He croaked, "Hen… Make the snakes stop, It hurts, please." He pleaded, breaking down.
"What's wrong with him?" Dervish asked, panicking. "What's happening."
Fleur cocked her head, thinking of what could've happened.
"Patet Amino." She incanted lightly, the man seemed to stop for the briefest of moments, his scarred visage falling still, before he began to cradle his head again.
She frowned and racked her mind for another spell.
"Anathema Francere." She tried again, this time more forcefully. The result was the same, though lasted a few moments longer.
Somnus Sopor, She thought, waving her wand over the man's head, he fell still and fell asleep.
"What did you do?" Dervish demanded.
"I just put him to sleep," Fleur assured the panicked man, "Someone's cursed him." Though she doubted it was a curse, she'd never seen a curse that acted solely upon a specific memory, there were a few possibilities she knew of, there was Taboo's, but memory charms were out of the question, it was puzzling to see the man have such a reaction over being prompted, there was a trace there, but not one she could safely follow.
"Cursed him?" Dervish asked aghast, "Who would curse an old man."
"I think you know," Fleur said bluntly, "I think you know exactly who did it."
The man swallowed hard. "What do I do?" He whispered.
"If he survived the first war, it's likely they're not looking for him, but be vigilant." She cautioned. "Contact Professor Dumbledore if you need anything to help him."
The man ignored her, in favour of tending to the now shaking man on the bed. He'd live, but she wasn't sure whether or not him living was a gift, given how it looked like the man spent every minute suffering in darkness. She left them behind, following the torches back to derelict stairs, ascending them with the same vigilance she descended them in. She bid Dervish's wife farewell and braved the blizzards icy embrace once more, this lead was exhausted. She didn't like showing up empty handed but hopefully, there was something else to follow a trail that had lain dormant for decades, if nothing else, it kept her mind from worrying about a dying Harry.
He'd been falling.
He'd been falling for quite some time now.
His feet had never left the ground, but the sense that he was in perpetual motion remained, like being launched into a pensieve memory replayed constantly. The atmosphere hadn't changed, the permeated darkness that made him feel lethargic, made it hurt to breathe.
It wasn't a foreign sensation, of him being in a vision. He didn't like to say he'd become accustomed to it but he'd rather this than the alternative of being thrown into uncharted territory. At the very least, this time his control over his body was absolute, his feet were his own and on wooden ground.
He took a few steps forward, it all felt familiar.
Grimmauld Place.
Last he remembered his was at Hogwarts and this was anything but. It was the first time he'd been in the house since Sirius had died. That fact alone saddened him greatly, but what was more disconcerting was the fact that he was alone. He didn't need to check each room to confirm that fact, he was utterly isolated from all outside the house.
He walked down the main set of stairs, it was all as it once was, but at the same time, nothing. What had once symbolized Harry's only escape, one of his only tangible connections to a time beyond his own, a time where his parents lived and loved. A time he would soon never be able to access again, that fact alone stung more than whatever he was to be subjected to.
He tried to light the way, but his wand would not channel his magic. The warmth of the Phoenix Feather was no longer present, it felt distant, like he grasped a wand that was not his own. It felt cold and lifeless, he put it back in his pocket, not wanting to feel the desolate shaft any longer.
He paced his way through the house confused. Was there a point to this? He was submerged into whatever this was for no reason, aside from the exacerbate just how terrible he felt.
He found his way to the dining hall, he debated going in. He doubted anything beyond would be good, but he was more content with doing away with the fanciful attempts to corrupt and break him. He grasped the ornate handle and twisted.
It was hot, scalding hot, Harry could feel it blister the skin of his palm under the intense heat but he couldn't free his hand.
It had lulled him in, the false sense of security within his own mind, but now the dreading feeling had returned, of being static, being locked into position without control, he stepped into the room beyond, the transition into the lack of control was smooth, enough that if Harry wasn't so alert, he likely wouldn't have known immediately.
It was not the dining room as he knew it, it was darker, a stark contrast from what once sat in Grimmauld Place. A long black table stretched the length of the room and around it stood a myriad of robed figures and at the head of the table sat Voldemort, though not as Harry had ever known him. He was not the Tom Riddle he'd seen in the shade of the diary, nor the serpentine and scaly visage that returned that night in the graveyard. It was almost like he was in limbo between the two, some sort of vile equilibrium. His cheeks were hollow as if he was starving, but his skin was not too pale, lanky hair still sat on his head but his eyes were still dark brown but a dark scarlet danced beneath them, as if blood welled beneath the pupil begging to spill forth.
He was not alone in the room, it was dominated by figures clad in dark cloaks stood behind tall chairs, none taller than the one Voldemort occupied. Everyone around the room bowed their heads until Voldemort lifted a head, then the twenty or so figures found a seat at the table.
"Today," Voldemort began, much like his appearance, his voice seemed to be a mixture of the demonic drawl that Harry had come to known and what Harry assumed was his normal voice, it was a grating noise, unstable. "We welcome a new ally into our ranks, Fenrir Greyback, Alpha of the English Midlands Pack." He introduced the man, Harry's head turned to observe him.
He was a hulking figure, if Harry thought Rowle was large he was sorely unprepared to see Fenrir Greyback, given how emaciated Remus looked he imagined all Werewolves looked similar. The skin of his face was rough, taut as if there wasn't enough to cover his disfigured countenance. His robes were tight as if he were under the threat of bursting out of them. Again, unlike Remus Lupin, matted hair covered his body almost entirely, facial hair stretched across almost his entire face, leaving only small gaps beneath his eyes.
"A pleasure." The Werewolf said succinctly, though his words were laced with a sadistic growl that if facial expressions were any barometer, made the entirety of the room, save Voldemort uncomfortable.
"Very well, Fenrir has graciously decided to support our cause with his werewolves." Voldemort explained in a sort of excited tone, though it did not mesh well with his voice.
The entirety of the table was silent at that revelation, Voldemort chose to break it almost immediately after it began.
"Yes, My Lord." A younger man spoke up, "We captured a pair of Hitwizard's investigating to the North of Tinworth."
"What became of them Antonin?" Voldemort asked expectedly, almost dangerously.
"We redirected them by use of memory charms, Bagnold too is searching for Caractacus Burke." 'Antonin' explained nervously. Harry pondered, that was the second time he'd heard the name though only in Voldemort's visions, the man must've held some importance at some time.
"Did you gleam exactly why they want him?" Voldemort asked, but Harry could hear fury rising in his voice.
"No, My Lord, They didn't know the exact reasoning, but Bagnold wants him badly." Antonin explained gently.
"Leave." He uttered only a single word but that was all that was needed, everyone including Harry began to file from the room. "Not you Regulus, I've need of your elf."
"Of course My Lord." Harry's head turned briefly, Sirius' Brother, he told Harry that he'd died in the war, but here he was looking very much alive. The two looked very similar, it was disconcerting and Harry felt another stab of pain. Voldemort stood up and something immediately caught Harry's eyes, a glitter of gold around his chest drooped down, Harry couldn't exactly make out what it was with the static point of reference, but it looked like a necklace of some form.
Harry wasn't privy to the rest of the conversation, whoever's body he occupied left the meeting last so whatever came next was beyond his comprehension. He wondered what he'd need an Elf for, could it have been Kreacher? Or one of the other elves who's head sat adorned in Grimmauld Place?
His feet carried him out the door, but he was no longer in Grimmauld Place when he stepped out of the door and the countless Death Eaters that stepped out prior were nowhere to be seen.
The Hallway was long, long enough that it stretched further than Harry could see. Along either side of the corridor ran a serpent motif, who's head appeared to be staring menacingly at Harry. He began to walk down the corridor and the head of the serpent on the wall began to follow him.
A hissing noise began, it echoed around him throughout the hall. He couldn't control his hands, therefore the noise remained undamped, assaulting his eardrums. The snake emerged from the wall, with not one head but three.
The snake was dark green and with with serpentine movements began to circle Harry, the hissing turned melodic as it circled around him. It swung around in front of him, rearing its head back as if to strike, it bared three sets of fangs, one of gold, one of bone and the other milky white. It struck and Harry saw only darkness.
He was no longer falling.
His eyes opened and for the first time in nearly a week, his eyes saw again and he breathed of his own accord.
Welcome to Chapter Fourteen, Visions and Vows, what I hope to be the last chapter before we reach 100k Words, ambitious given the next chapter will likely have to be the longest one yet to reach that goal, but I'm open to giving it my best shot. I apologise for this chapter taking so long to air, Life's been pretty hectic and I wrote it all out, decided it was terrible and took another shot at it, writer's block hit me pretty hard and powering through it, especially on a chapter that didn't have such a Harry-centric focus was interesting.
We get a solid insight into Fleur and her mind during the whole situation, as she tries to track down another on the orders of Dumbledore, though nothing comes of it.
I do also want to address something, without hopefully giving away anything further. In my mind, Horcruxes are sentient, they've been embodied with a soul and will do anything they can to ensure their survival and such a reaction was possible given that the Room of Requirement is quite literally a room saturated with Magic that answers the user's call, the Horcrux called, or rather, perverted and the room rushed to it's defense. Though in my mind, Horcruxes only know what they knew at the time of being split, or rather knew what was going to happen, they're connected to Voldemort in some way, but not to each other. Though I do get enjoyment out of putting some characters that we don't really see into the story to add the whole Horcrux hunt that much more interesting, I think, at least in my opinion, that a realistic hunt would not only be learning about it's location, but it's defenses too, which Harry has just learned the importance of. Especially given the curse on the ring, it felt odd to me there wasn't more caution taken with the Horcruxes in regards to their defences, but alas, we'll see what becomes of it.
This chapter was very much an intermission to Christmas, which is just around the corner and for the first time in ten chapters, we say goodbye to Hogwarts and return to the Burrow, which I hope should be good and coming soon, but University starts soon and I have to move to my new home, so some time in the future, there will be a bit of a break, hopefully not too long but the upload rate is definitely going to take a hit.
In the mean time, I'll be working on a second Harry/Fleur Story, working so heavily on one has drained me a bit, it'll definitely get finished but I want to get a few drafts out there.
Regards, I hope you enjoy Chapter Fourteen, Visions and Vows.