Sebastien Delacour smiled nervously at the French Minister of Magic, Monsieur Sauveterre, a big, burly man with a temper as big as his moustache.

'Death Eaters?' the Minister stared at his subordinate, his voice shrill at the end. 'Blasted English terrorists is our country?! C'est incroyable!' he threw his hands up in the air and tugged viciously at his moustache. 'What is the meaning of this, Sebastien?'

'It's all under control, Minister,' Sebastien said placatingly, cutting an insignificant figure as he sat across the desk in the Minister's oversized office.

'You lie too quickly and too readily, Sebastien.' the Minister's face turned dangerously red. 'When I asked you if we could hold the Triwizard Tournament safely in our country, you said yes. When I asked you if we should extend a hand of friendship to our insufferable neighbours across the pond, you said yes! And now you lie to me again! To me, the Minister of Magic!'

Sebastien's eyes dropped before the Minister's. It was clear no amount of honeyed words would calm down the Minister, especially when he was in such a bad mood. The Head Auror's vast experience told him that the best course of action in such cases was to tell the whole truth first, and deal with the barrage of backlash afterwards.

'You're right.' the subordinate looked at the Minister straight in the eye. 'I lied. Nothing is under control. We have limited resources and limited time in which to gather them. The way I see it – are choices are severely limited.'

The Minister's face grew whiter with each word but Sebastien ploughed on stoically. 'We need to lock our borders. No one comes in, no one goes out – at least through magical means. It should at least slow down the Death Eaters from getting reinforcements and give us time to retaliate. Secondly, news of the attack does not leave the upper echelons of the Ministry. We can't have panicked parents and overzealous reporters at our throats all the time. They can find out when we deem it appropriate. And lastly...' Sebastien sighed in resignation. 'We need the help of the British Aurors.'

The Minister had been listening quietly to his Head Auror... until the last sentence.

'Absolutely not!' Minister Sauveterre erupted in protest. 'I can manage closing our borders; I will happily restrict the press and keep the news quiet; but I will not – I repeat – I will not ask that pompous buffoon Fudge for his help!' The Minister banged his hand down on his desk, sending papers flying in all directions. 'It is their citizens who got us into this mess in the first place!'

'Convicted citizens.' Sebastien pointed out. 'And one dead Dark Lord.'

'Balivernes!'

'The British Aurors would know how best to fight them. We need all the help we can get, especially with so many underage wizards and witches involved.'

But the Minister was not moved, no matter how much Sebastien tried to persuade him. After a sustained charge of reasons and threats to support his arguments, which turned out to be an exercise in futility, Sebastien deemed it wise to return to his office. There was work to be done. Multiple late night floo calls, personal visits and summons had gathered most of the essential Ministry staff. Most didn't what the emergency was, but they had been labouring and complaining for multiple hours, which had made the atmosphere tense, feverish and nervous all at once. Sebastien wasn't feeling much different himself.

'Monsieur Delacour?' A prim brunette with thick glasses peeked in through the half-open door. It was his new assistant, barely a month at her post. He found her rather pert and loquacious for his tastes.

'Entrez, Emily,' he said sharply, but with a touch of weariness in his tone. 'you have the reports?'

Emily gave him the reports and left after commenting he looked as if he had come back from a meeting with a Hungarian Horntail, rather than the Minister. Sebastien smiled weakly and shuffled through the pile of illegal Portkey usage reports. Progress was maddeningly slow. There had been multiple incoming violations around the time of the attack, when the Death Eaters arrived, as expected. But one report caught his eye. Interestingly, it said there was another isolated usage of a short distance Portkey, almost a full half hour after the first ones. Also, unlike the other ones, it was away from the school, not to it. The destination was placed at an abandoned manor house about a couple of hundred miles to the west of Beauxbatons.

'Emily!' Sebastien shouted into the Floo, prompting the girl to come running into his office.

'Yes?' she raised an eyebrow as her superior gave her the specially marked Portkey report. 'Is there something wrong with this? But I was–'

'Give this to Dupont and tell him to investigate it on the double,' her superior interrupted, 'I have a good feeling about this.'

'Oh, well... Yes, of course, sir.' Emily nodded and briskly walked out, slamming the door behind her. Sebastien winced – the girl was efficient, but sometimes all he wanted was a softly closed door which didn't aggravate his growing headache.

Even though the hour hand of the clock indicated he had slept for almost twelve hours (or not at all), Harry felt as if he had barely slept for as many minutes. The evening sun filtered in through the curtains, but it was all flickering and twisting and turning in a dull haze. His head hurt, and his mind was still on a rollercoaster through his half-finished dreams and the deathly-still darkness of the night. He kept seeing Fleur, and hearing her voice in his head.

'Is that you, Harry? I miss you.' a ghost of a smile danced on Fleur's parted lips. She was lying there, right where Harry had left her under the Cloak.

'I.. I miss you too,' Harry replied, reaching out for her, only to see her form waver and turn into mist in Harry's fingers. And suddenly she was whole again, pouncing on Harry and trapping him underneath her fingernails.

'You left me!' she snarled, ferocious and wild as an untamed beast. 'You left me here – alone – to die!'

'No... no... no.' Harry protested, his skin growing cold. 'Never – I would never-'

'Pup.' Sirius' head popped into Harry's room. 'I heard noises, are you awake?'

Harry was jerked back to the present, sweat covering his forehead as he sat up ramrod straight. He fumbled on the side table for his glasses, putting them on. He glanced at the antique grandfather clock. Another hour had passed.

'Sirius.' his voice was dry. 'Yeah... yeah, I'm awake now.'

His godfather rolled his eyes and hastened him to come to the living room, where Mr Delacour was apparently bringing some guests. Harry absentmindedly nodded, his mind's eye replaying his dreams again and again. Guilt still coursed through his veins, fresh and unforgiving. He fervently hoped his Invisibility Cloak would be able to keep Fleur safe. Mr Delacour had been tepidly relieved when Harry told him about it, but he was far from reassured.

And then there was the small matter of being hit by the killing curse. A flash of green and a loud explosion ringing in his eardrums arrested Harry's senses. A wave of nausea slowly passed as he tried and failed to remember more details from that one, single moment before he fell unconscious. One thing he was almost certain of was that the spell had never touched his skin. It vaguely felt like the other times he had used Arxmancy, but there was something different. He resolved to ask Mr Delacour if he knew a specialist who could help him understand it. His pulse quickened as he thought about it. Arxmancy...

Arxmancy had saved his life more than once now.

He couldn't pass it off as insignificant. Not any more. He had to accept that, like Parseltongue, it was just another thing which pulled him away from his peers. All he had wanted all his life was to be another face in the crowd, leading an untroubled, quiet, happy life. But people were getting hurt, and trouble followed him wherever he went. It had followed him all the way to France. If he didn't accept who he was now, he might never have the chance again. In the eyes of the world, he was the freaking Boy-Who-Lived. But in his heart, he knew that he was just a kid making sure his parents' sacrifice didn't go in vain. There was something poignant and powerful about his realisation. that He took a deep breath as emotion welled up in his eyes – he would live up to it.

The Gryffindor lightly tilted his head from side to side, tracing a line over his scar, and made his way to the bathroom. He splashed a handful of water onto his face, letting the cool droplets trickle down the contours as he looked at himself in the mirror. His blurry reflection stared back, fierce and exhausted, as he let himself calm down from the rush of adrenaline that had been flowing through him. A sharp glint caught his eye. There was a small inscription on the edge on the glass. Harry traced his finger over the copper-tipped letters, putting on his glasses. The text was shifting, and getting blurred – it felt odd. The vagaries of the world are so often cloaked in darkness, but one never placed them in a different light. Was that from a book somewhere? Sounded like that kind of morbid quote. Regaining his composure once more, Harry shrugged and left the guest room.

He found Sirius and Mr Delacour, who was still wearing his clothes from work, seated in front of the fire. True to Sirius' word, there were also two unfamiliar faces settled side-by-side on the sofa. Harry looked at them curiously. One of them was a young blonde woman wearing an enormous brown fur coat and high heels – she looked rather ridiculous in them. The other was a heavily moustached man with his brown eyebrows scrunched behind fashionable, dark sunglasses. He wore an overcoat around two sizes big for him.

'Monsieur Ferrari and Madame Ferrari, ambassadors from Italy.' Mr Delacour introduced them with a flourish. 'This is Harry Potter.'

Both of them nodded rather stiffly, as if they had never heard the name before, and shook hands.

'Buonasera,' the man said in startlingly deep, heavily accented voice.

'Pleased to meet you,' said Harry, but the two strangers were no more forthcoming.

Harry sat beside Sirius, who grinned. 'Bloody foreigners, they call us. These two are more foreign than a bikini at the Ministry Gala.'

Mr Delacour frowned at Sirius, but sighed in the end. 'I'm sure the Ferraris' are here on important business, despite the fact that they declined an audience with the Minister.' he looked meaningfully at the couple, but they were admirably steadfast in ignoring their host. Their host repeated the sentence in Français and Italiano, but to no avail. Mrs Ferrari produced something which was between a half-nod and a shake of the head.

'C'est exaspérant!'' Mr Delacour threw up his hands in frustration. 'I don't know if they're scared or stupid, or both. I've tried to get them to engage in a proper conversation ever since they were brought to the Ministry. They haven't said a sensible word except their name, designation and greetings. I thought the Ministry might be intimidating them, so I brought then home. I can't risk offending them.'

The Ferraris' smiled blandly, offering no indication of their thoughts or whether they had understood what was being said.

'Who exactly are they?' Harry asked curiously. It felt as if Mr Delacour wasn't being completely forthright.

'They're important to my investigation.' Mr Delacour said and pursed his lips. 'I'll get some drinks. See if you can get them to loosen up.' Their host got up.

Harry looked helplessly at Sirius. 'Do you know what's going on?'

'I haven't the slightest clue.' Sirius smirked. 'But I'm going to find out.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Bothering someone who doesn't want to be bothered seems like a waste of time to me.' Harry stood up, still feeling weary from his earlier experiences.

Sirius dragged him down promptly. 'It's not wasting time if it's fun. Watch and learn, young apprentice. I know how to get someone to talk.'

Harry had a bad feeling about this. Sirius rubbed his hands gleefully and leaned forward, looking into Mr Ferrari's sunglasses.

'You, good sir,' the experienced prankster said, 'have a brain the size of a flobberworm.'

Mr Ferrari stared back unblinkingly, like a snake. No reaction. Sirius burst into laughter, rocking back and forth like a madman.

'Err... Sirius,' Harry ventured, not amused in the least, 'What if they understand English?'

'They're diplomats – of course they understand English!' Sirius grinned. 'That's what makes this so fun!'

'But Mr Delacour said–'

'Loosen up, Harry!' Sirius said, 'Listen, I got a few more.' He turned to Mrs Ferrari, who was wearing an inordinate amount of makeup. 'I love what you've done with your hair,' he said with complete sincerity, 'how do you get it to come out of your nostrils like that?' The woman's cheeks coloured slightly, but she didn't utter a word.

Sirius turned to Mr Ferrari once again. 'If I had a galleon for every time you said something smart, I'll be 29 knuts short of a sickle.'

Crease lines appeared on the ambassador's forehead. 'Your face would scare off a boggart,' Sirius continued in cheery vein, 'You're smellier than a blast-ended skrewt in a pile of dragon dung.'

Mr Ferrari drew his breath in sharply, his knuckles white as he clutched the arm of his seat in self-control. He directed a look of pure loathing at Sirius, who smiled in success. Mr Delacour chose that moment to arrive, a bottle of Firewhisky and four glasses floating behind him.

'Any luck?' their host asked, looking at his two red-faced guests. He deftly poured the drinks into the glasses and placed them on the glass-topped table, as the fire crackled merrily in the background.

'Loads.' Sirius grinned evilly. 'See.' He turned to Mr Ferrari once more, who seemed the more likelier to crack out of the two. 'Pillock.' the retired prankster said rather pointedly, close to the man's face. 'Plonker. Tosser. Wanker. Hag. Twit. Troll head. Troll breath.' Sirius took a moment to think.

'You missed troll.' Harry put in with a slight smile as he realised their dignified guest was starting to steam. This could actually work.

'Indeed.' Sirius said, raising an eyebrow. 'Troll. Chudley Cannons. Qo-'

Mr Ferrari had a restless tick in the corner if his eye, which grew more erratic with each word. He clearly understood English, and quite well at that. Mr Delacour was about to interrupt Sirius, but his previously mute guest got there first.

'Enough!' Mr Ferrari thundered in a distinctly younger, less deep voice, which took some of the edge off the proclamation, and made it sound more surly than scary.

'Merlin's beard!' Sirius drew back with comically wide eyes. 'IT SPEAKS!'

'You...' Mr Ferrari pointed a trembling finger at Sirius, looking ready enough to throttle him with his bare hands. 'You piece of mudblood trash!' His glasses fell off in his rage as he stood up, and Harry got a proper look at his face for the first time. It looked distinctly familiar. 'Flithy rat-nosed scum!' Mr Ferrari – who would be a distinct embarrassment to Quattro Formaggi and blue cheese, if not for the fact that he was now obvious as an imposter – took out his wand and pointed it at Sirius.

'Non!' Mrs Ferrari, who had been quiet till then, rushed to his side and hissed in his ear. She spoke English with a heavy French accent. 'Stop! You'll ruin everything!'

'He - he had the audacity to insult me.'

'Can't you take a few insults?'

'Never.'

Mrs Ferrari stepped on his foot vindictively. 'Just suck it up, idiot.'

'No,' Mr Ferrari said arrogantly. 'We Malfoys have more pride than that.'

What? The conversation had been carried out in whispers, but Harry had been sitting close enough to hear each word clearly.

'Draco?' he said in realisation. That was why he looked so familiar, minus the beard and the moustache. His snide voice was unmistakable. 'What are you doing here?'

'Potter.' Draco sneered at him, throwing away all pretence. 'The pleasure is all mine.'

Mr Delacour looked bewildered. 'You two know each other?'

'Far too well for my liking,' Harry replied, 'Who's with you, Malfoy?'

'Aurelie de La Fontaine,' he replied instantly as Aurelie made a frustrated sound. 'What?' Draco turned to her. 'You thought I was going to shield you? I don't even know you.'

'Aurelie!' Harry exclaimed, but it did make sense. The copious amount of beards, hair-colour changes and disguises were suspiciously similar to the one she had used when they had visited the Gringotts bank in the south of France. All that seemed such a long time ago now. But how in Merlin's name did Mr Delacour get hold of the two of them?

'You know her too?!' the head auror looked as if the eyes would pop out of his head.

'Yeah...' Harry said slowly as Aurelie waved her wand and removed the glamours now that they were no longer necessary. Mr Delacour shook his head in visible confusion.

'Expelliarmus!' he cast twice, taking the wands of both his guests. He looked like he desperately needed to get things under control. 'Okay, now you talk.'

Mr Delacour launched into a long and arduous line of questioning, as the bits and pieces slowly started to fit in together. Draco and Aurelie had taken an unauthorised Portkey out of Beauxbatons not long after Voldemort struck. They had ended up in an abandoned manor used occasionally as a vacation house by the Malfoys'. Before long, Mr Delacour had traced their magical signatures through some Portkey records and sent Aurors to get them for questioning.

'Dupont was conned by a couple of teenagers!' Mr Delacour almost spilled his drink in amusement.

On seeing the Aurors, the two escapees had (Draco claimed he had been coerced by the out-of-control redhead) raided a cupboard and put on some of Malfoys' parents clothes, in addition to Aurelie's glamours. They had then concocted the story of being two frightened magical Italian ambassadors suffering from amnesia in the hope no one would dare to arrest them or question them too closely. They had somehow succeeded in convincing Dupont. Draco's rudimentary Italian came in handy... but Mr Delacour had been suspicious from the beginning.

'Well, well, well.' The Head Auror leaned back with a perceptive eye. 'Nothing you said proves you're not working with the death eaters.'

'Of course not!' Aurelie protested, a bit too loudly. 'I mean, obviously – we're not even of age.' she tempered her voice.

Mr Delacour's eyes settled on her cooly. 'Then tell me, Miss De La Fontaine.' he swivelled the glass in his hand. 'How did you obtain your Portkey? Do not presume I did not notice you conveniently left that part out of your story.'

Aurelie opened her mouth once... twice... but was struck dumb. Draco shrugged impatiently.

'Just tell him.' he told Aurelie. 'It doesn't matter. My father will get us, well... me, out of here as soon as possible. I know you are plan–'

'Shut up, Draco!' Aurelie shouted, tears threatening to leak from her eyes. But still she revealed nothing.

'I... I don't know,' she said finally, not convincing in the least.

'I thought so.' Mr Delacour nodded, getting up. 'I will be detaining the two of you in a Ministry cell for questioning under Veritaserum, pursuant to the Marseille Civilian Emergency Act of 178-'

'Stop.' Aurelie had gone white. 'There was one more person with us.' she was talking very fast. 'My sister – Celine – I love her. She didn't arrive with us in the manor. I'm... I'm scared she might still be in Beauxbatons.'

'There was no magical signature within 50 kilometres of the manor besides the two of you.' Mr Delacour agreed, processing the information. 'Very curious, unless of course, the Portkey was tied to your magical signatures – allowing no one else to travel with the two of you.'

'No.' Aurelie breathed, her hands folded on her chest. 'No... how? A-...Celine,' she whispered. She stumbled over her words, but they carried genuine emotion.

'I am sorry for you sister, but if you don't give me anything to prove your innocence, I will have no other choi–'

'I'll talk.' Aurelie swallowed. 'I'm innocent. But I... I... know things. Secrets. Please believe me. I can help you help my sister.'

'I doubt it. Convince me.'

Aurelie closed her eyes tight shut, retreating deep into her thoughts. 'I have to speak with Harry Potter first,' she finally said, 'alone.'

'No.' Mr Delacour set his jaw hard. 'You are just buying time. I will not–'

'Mr Delacour?' Harry interrupted. He had been listening to the conversation intently and had been shocked as anyone to find Aurelie there. But there was something about her that intrigued him. She seemed different... gentler, more brittle, somehow. The Aurelie he knew was as stubborn and defiant as a mule. Despite his misgivings, or perhaps because of them, he knew he had to hear what Aurelie wanted to say to him.

'Let me talk to Aurelie first, please,' he found himself saying, 'I trust her.'

The head Auror had a grim look on his face.

'Sebastien.' Sirius looked at him meaningfully. 'There's no harm in it. I trust Harry to do the right thing.' Harry threw him a grateful look.

Mr Delacour threw his hands up. 'Outvoted in my own house!' he looked at Harry. 'Fine. Talk. But I'll be watching.' he motioned to the dining table. Aurelie and Harry got up in silence and walked to the modest sized, wooden dining table on the other side of the large room, taking seats on opposite sides. Aurelie reached across the table and squeezed Harry's hand comfortingly.

'Harry.' she leaned forward, whispering, her voice filled with pain and regret. 'I'm not the person you think I am.'

'I know.' This day had proved as much.

'You would hate me if you knew who I truly was, what I've done...'

'No.' Harry shook his head stoically. He wasn't going to give up on her just because she had pretended to be a crazy Italian. 'Never.'

'You would.' A sad smile grazed her lips. 'But we need your help first.'

Darkness. That was all Fleur knew for several desperate moments.

And then there was light – piercing through the fog in her eye, clutching, clawing desperately until finally reaching her retina. A soft, smooth cloth touched her lightly on her skin.

Footsteps thudded past.

Someone threw a match on her face, causing her to almost squeal in surprise as it sizzled out on the cloth. She held her breath, as she watched the man – a death eater by the looks of it – turn nonchalantly in her direction and let another matchstick drop, this time on her foot. He completely ignored Fleur, laughing at something his companion was saying. The two of them slowly plodded round the corner.

Fleur felt shivers creep down her skin. It was impossible to say whether it from the cold marble of the floor or the close shave she just had. After making sure the corridor was empty, she carefully stood up. She walked to a nearby window and looked into the crystal pane. The sun had set, and it was pitch black outside. She pressed her face to the cool glass, but try as she might, she could find no reflection. It was as expected. It confirmed what had been almost certain about. She was wearing the Cloak she had seen in Harry's memories a few times, and the one which he talked about so fondly.

But why did she have his Cloak, and where was Harry himself?

Memories came flooding back in her mind. The dance... the awkward change of partners... the almost kiss... the sudden attack... Voldemort... Harry's vision... their fight through the corridors... Harry's pigheaded idea to face Voldemort himself... and then he tricked her. That idiot had pecked her on the cheek and stunned her! Red, hot rage pricked at the corners of her mind. How dare he? He must have covered her with his Invisibility Cloak afterwards, the insufferable idiot. But a sudden realisation chased away all the anger from her mind, replacing it with something worse – worry. A lot of time had surely passed. There were death eaters roaming around freely in the school. That meant... that meant – no, she couldn't bear to think of it – they had lost. She leaned against the wall, feeling light-headed all of a sudden.

No, it wasn't possible. Madame Maxime wouldn't allow it. But what... what if? And what had happened to Harry? Her heart constricted. The mere thought of anything happening to him was unbearable. She had to find out. She had to find out what exactly had happened in the battle. She clutched the liquid-like cloth in her hands tightly, and let it go, exhaling as it slithered from her grasp.

She had to learn her surroundings, she had to find out what had happened. She took solace in her invisibility and set off in the direction of the biggest hall in the palace, the dining hall.

It was empty. Completely empty.

The enormous stone table sat coldly in the middle of the room, casting a foreboding aura around the hall.

'Tempus,' Fleur whispered under her Cloak. 1:52. Voldemort had struck at midnight. She had been dancing in Harry's arms then. All that seemed a lifetime ago. The glowing digits mocked her – taunting her to just think. A battle had just taken place. Fleur vividly remembered the students being rushed to the dorms. She shuddered. They would be there, herded together like sheep, until Voldemort decided what to do with them. She wondered what she could do when two death eaters walked in, passing inches behind her.

A blonde-haired man with a bad-tempered face was speaking loudly. 'You have inexcusably remiss in your duties, Mulciber. The dark lord will be most displeased.' the voice speaking, however, sounded quite pleased that the dark lord's displeasure would be directed at Mulciber. It was a snobbish voice, reminding Fleur of the host of one of her father's numerous fancy dinner parties.

'Do not presume to speak for the dark lord, Lucius.' Mulciber snapped back. Mulciber had a blackened eye and a bleeding nose, and spoke in a harsh grating voice which immediately reminded Fleur of the death eaters she and Harry had fought, and defeated, together. That had to be one of them.

'I would never dream of doing so,' Lucius answered smoothly, as Fleur picked up her pace and followed them. They were taking the north exit, which led directly to Madame Maxime's office. The death eaters knocked on the office door, which swung open after a few seconds. Fleur quickly hurried inside before the two.

'Report.' Voldemort sat in Madame Maxime's own personally crafted chair, embellished to his taste, and for a moment Fleur felt as if he had sensed her presence. She had heard powerful wizards could see through Invisibility Cloaks. Maybe this was when she would be discovered, her journey ending before it started. But Voldemort's red eyes quickly settled on his loyal followers. Fleur let out a slow, shuddering breath. There had to something special about this Cloak – she could feel it her bones. It seemed to almost hum to her, enjoying her attention. The Veela smiled and turned to the scene unfolding before her.

'Have you accounted for all the students?' the dark lord asked, casually exuding waves of inescapable danger and quietly menacing power that would carry all those who stood before him in its wake, leaving behind only utter despair and a dark patch in their souls. Fleur felt the wrongness in her bones, and instinctively shifted away.

'Yes... yes, milord,' Muliber stuttered. 'I beg for your forgiveness, milord. We found five to be missing.'

'Five missing students, you say,' Voldemort asked quietly.

'That is correct, milord.'

'Five?'

'Ye-es.' Mulciber withered under Voldemort's threatening gaze. 'Five, in addition to Harry Potter.'

'Imbeciles!' Voldemort thundered, his narrow eyes turning into narrower slits. 'Count again.'

'We've counted the students twice, milord.' Muliber gulped and started to visibly shake.

'Crucio!' Fleur jumped at how quickly and suddenly the spell hit the death eater. His screams rang out with an intensity which the revered office had surely never heard before.

Voldemort's lips curled up into a thin smile. 'Do not question my orders. Bring me the names of the students. Question their friends – use any means necessary – find out if they are hiding anybody.'

'I will make sure it gets done, milord.' Lucius bowed, putting in his first words at an opportune moment.

'You have until tomorrow.' The dark lord waved the two of them off. 'Leave.'

Not wanting to be locked inside the office, Fleur hurried after the two death eaters, wondering how in Merlin's name there were five students missing – four besides her, of course. Were they safe? Were they hiding? She only had more questions, but no answers.

Mulciber winced as soon as they were outside.

'Need to heal myself somewhat,' he said gruffly, referring to his cruciatus curse exposure. 'he's been in a bad mood ever since that Potter boy escaped.'

Fleur's heart lifted instantly. Harry had escaped! It was a miracle.

'Drat this school.' Lucius waved his wand in the air. 'Never know what's where.'

Fleur left the two irritable death eaters behind. She felt much more optimistic than before, and realised she needed to find a place to rest for the night. She would surely be able think more clearly after she had a good night's sleep. Her own room seemed too risky. The gardens seemed too drafty. Somewhere else inside the palace then – isolated, which could be made comfortable and offered at least a veneer of security. The abandoned classrooms on the third floor presented a safe choice. Yes, she could conjure some pillows and try to get a modicum of rest, before she figured out what to do the next day.

Sweat gathered on the nape of her neck as she hurried up the large spiral staircase to the upper floors. Fleur's shoulder felt stiff from crouching and she longed to be out from under the Cloak. She had spent her entire life underneath the stares of other people, but now she walked past several without being seen. It felt refreshing, she thought, she wouldn't mind more of it. The lights were dimly lit in the unused wing of the building, but Fleur didn't dare risk a Lumos. She removed the Cloak, applied her favoured disillusionment charm on herself, just to be safe, and pushed through the door of the nearest classroom she found.

The darkness was welcoming. Blessed relief and rest felt within reach before she brushed against a soft body in the middle of the room. Her wand was out in an instant as she buried her wand in her assailant's ribs, knocking the wind out of her adversary.

'Inarcerous!' Ropes wrapped around her assailant before they had a chance to react. Fleur bet they hadn't been ready for a Triwizard Champion. A muffled, distinctly female, cry burst from her victim's lips.

'Who are you? How did you find me?!' Fleur hissed, surprising herself with her ferocity. She made sure the door was locked before casting a low powered Lumos just above her adversary's face. She drew in her breath sharply.

A mop of dishevelled auburn hair framing a familiar, pretty, heart-shaped face greeted her eyes.

'Hello Fleur,' her captive said.

'Aurelie?'

A/N: Phew! Last few months have been busy. But it feels good to get in an update now. All reviews are appreciated.