Chapter 58

Riddle stared at him. "You're back," he said slowly.

"Yeah."

"How?"

Harry could feel Riddle's incredulity from where he stood, leaning against the opening of Riddle's office. But he didn't immediately jump to suspicion like Snape had. He was shocked to be certain, judging by his bewildered expression, but he didn't discard the possibility—as impossible as it seemed.

"I used my wand to get out of the cell and my cloak to sneak back to the floo," Harry said. Riddle's eye twitched.

"It wasn't that simple."

"No," Harry sighed. But did he want to tell Riddle about Dumbledore? It was important to share the spell Dumbledore had taught him—he doubted he could manage it himself. But what would Riddle do if he learned Dumbledore was still living? His whole life had been lived almost in honor of Dumbledore's supposed sacrifice, chasing after his shadow to complete what he'd failed to. To live up to the expectations that had been bestowed upon him from the nature of his wand. To surpass Dumbledore.

But it was up to Riddle to meet Grindelwald head-on and win. They couldn't afford him to be at anything but his best. They couldn't afford any distractions.

And there was another reason—one that Harry was trying his best not to think about, shoving it back down in the black depths of his mind it kept bubbling up from. If he told Riddle the whole story? Harry knew the idea that would strike him suddenly, because it had to occurred to Harry. Riddle was not insane like Voldemort; he was not evil; but Harry could not trust him to be anything other than unforgivably ruthless in pursuit of his goals. Riddle wanted to match up against Grindelwald. To compare himself against the greats, wand to wand.

But if he learned of Dumbledore? If he learned that Dumbledore was holding up the power of Nurmengard itself? Harry could not discount the idea from his mind that Riddle would simply be satisfied by Grindelwald's death. That the prospect of someone sneaking in through the floo Harry had escaped through, finding the sanctum Harry had been to, and killing the man Harry had met would be ruled out. Because if Dumbledore died, so would Grindelwald and his entire government, his followers, and important wizards from every nation in the world—and, of course, a city-worth of muggle lives.

Leaving nothing behind but a victorious Riddle and Britain's dominance over the rest of the world.

"But it's not a story I have any interest in sharing. It's unimportant," Harry said, his tone brooking no opposition. "But there is something from my time there that is of utmost importance to our upcoming assault."

Riddle's eyes narrowed at his avoidance but he didn't press. He'd apparently earned that much trust. "What?"

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief.

"I came across a spell that we'll need if we want any hope of succeeding. But I'll need your help in mastering it."

"Show me."

Harry had come back late the previous night, after hours of working with Riddle, well past when the rest of the Potters had gone to sleep, so all they had seen of him the previous day had been a flash of stained robes and his limping gait as he rushed from the cabinet out to the floo.

The night of rest, and potions, had helped his injuries, beating down the aches another notch, and helped put some color back into his face. His robes had been replaced with fresh, clean ones, and he'd scrubbed every inch of himself. In all, you'd hardly be able to tell the events of the last couple of days.

If only Lily hadn't stopped by his room this morning to check in on him, and seen him in the bathroom checking his bandages. The sight of the damage the Metamorphmagus had done to his body had killed the apology for intruding in her throat, and he'd seen her face go pale in the mirror. She'd turned and fled, to give him his privacy, and had been oddly silent all morning while preparing breakfast. James had picked up that something was off as soon as he entered the room, his gaze flicking between Harry and his wife as he made his way to the table.

"I—it's good to see you Harry," James said, finally breaking the silence.

"Thanks. It's good to be back," Harry said wholeheartedly.

"Riddle came through not so long ago—but I guess you probably already knew that—and he said that you had been...taken prisoner."

Harry hummed noncommittally.

"He said that you'd been taken to Nurmengard. But well, I guess he must've been wrong, since—"

"I was."

James stopped. "You...were? Taken to Nurmengard?"

Harry nodded. "And, as you can tell, I managed to escape."

James shook his head, bewildered. "I—how? What happened—"

"James!" Lily said sharply, cutting him off. "Don't interrogate him about it—I'm sure it was an awful, awful thing he has no need of remembering. We should all just be thankful he's here now, and safe." Her eyes were shiny.

"I—what?" James blinked, looking between the two of them, confused.

"Ah," Harry said, grimacing, "don't worry about it. I think Lily happened to see some...injuries I picked up recently." He turned his gaze to hers, catching the sorrow behind her eyes. "I wasn't tortured," he said softly. "It was a fight of my own picking."

She nodded but didn't seem particularly mollified. Whatever response she had was interrupted by Jimmy entering the room, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"Morning," he grunted at his parents. "Morning Harry," he said, plopping down in the seat next to him.

"So…" James said, shooting concerned looks at his wife, before turning fully to face Harry. "I assume Jimmy is here to stay?"

"I would expect so. For all intents and purposes the tournament is over for Britain. Did you talk to Riddle?" Harry asked.

"Briefly. He informed us of his...plans." James eyes darted towards Jimmy as he hesitated. Jimmy's head perked up.

"This is something really big, isn't it?" he said excitedly, eyes bright. "If the tournament is going to end. What's going on?" His parents didn't meet his eyes, looking down with troubled expressions. He turned to Harry hopefully.

"Uh—yes, it is," Harry muttered. It wasn't like he could pretend everything was normal. Too late for that—he'd dragged the kid from his hotel room and out of the country without notice. And Jimmy had already known too much about what Harry was doing.

Jimmy leaned forward, his voice lowering to a whisper that was still easily audible to his parents. "You're going after Europe directly, aren't you?"

Harry didn't answer this time, as he could feel Lily's stern gaze beating down on him, but Jimmy seemed to take this as confirmation.

"Is there something I can do?"

"Jimmy!" Lily scolded. She folded her arms. "You are not getting involved in this business."

Jimmy looked back at her with a frown. "I'm already involved. I just spent months living in Europe, competing. I helped Harry get back into the country, I helped him...with other things. I think I've earned the right."

Harry figured he had restrained himself from mentioning Voss. Smart choice to assume that Lily wouldn't be particularly enthused about him facilitating the support of illegal muggle insurrectionists.

"That may be so," Lily sighed, shooting a quick frown at Harry. "But this is different. This is dangerous. You're still a student."

"I'm eighteen," Jimmy said flatly. "I'm not a kid. And I can tell this is important—I want to be part of it."

Jimmy turned to Harry with his face set, expectant. Lily mirrored him with a pleading look. Harry sighed. He couldn't help but think: was this what he used to look like? So young, but so determined, frustrated at the idea of being kept out of the loop by the adults around him. But, he reminded himself, that was different. That was a war that already revolved him as a centerpiece, a war he had been fighting since he was a child. This was not Jimmy's fight—despite his efforts to help Harry previously. But that didn't mean he hadn't earned the right to at least be included in the discussion.

Jimmy wanted respect, not danger, unless that was the way he saw to gain it. He wanted to gain what he saw Harry possess. What his father had.

"Riddle's gathering his forces," Harry said, meeting Jimmy's eyes calmly. "To assault Nurmengard."

Jimmy blinked and mouthed the name, Nurmengard.

"We're going to kill Grindelwald, and dismantle his government."

Jimmy gaped at him, and managed a simple, "Why?"

"Harry!" Lily hissed. "I don't him involved in this!" She turned towards James for support but he was simply staring at Harry with an unreadable expression.

"He's not," Harry forestalled, raising a hand. "But he's right that he deserves to know. He's helped our work more than you would believe." Jimmy's face brightened with a proud smile, even as a protest came to his lips.

"But I agree, his involvement has reached its end," Harry said, cutting Jimmy off before he could speak. His eyes were cold as they bored into Jimmy's, freezing him in place. "This is war, Jimmy. People that take part are going to die—probably most of them. Maybe all of us. You're a good kid, and a strong wizard, but this isn't something you should stick your head into. You're young; finish Hogwarts. Spend time with your friends, your family. You've got a good life ahead of you."

"You're not that much older than me," Jimmy grumbled petulantly.

"Aye. But I've got some experience with this sort of thing. Too much. Enough to see more than my share of friends your age dead in the ground. I don't want to see another."

Jimmy held his gaze, emotions churning behind his eyes as he stared at Harry. Finally his expression broke and he looked down. "All right Harry." He tilted his head back up. "But what about you?"

"Me?" Harry cracked a dry smile. "I'll be fine."

"Harry…" Lily said. She had draped an arm around the sitting James, leaning against him. The worry hugged tight to the lines of her face.

"Hey listen, I've already been to Nurmengard. If it didn't kill me the first time, it sure as hell won't the second time."

"Promise you'll take care of yourself?" she said softly. James squeezed her hand on his shoulder. "That you'll do your best to stay safe?"

Harry stared back at the eyes identical to his own, filled with pleading. His gaze traveled down and found James. The man looked back at him warmly and give him a slow nod. Harry's expression softened, the joking smile fading away.

"I promise."

"Thank you Harry." Suddenly Lily's somber expression turned mischievous. "You know, there was a firecall for you earlier. From a girl."

James chuckled.

"What? Who?" Harry said, frowning.

"I believe it was a Ms. Delacour."

Fleur.

"Why don't you give her a call back?"

Harry left the kitchen, playful smiles burning into his back, but he ignored them. The memory of when he'd last seen Fleur had been burned into his mind, the dull helplessness as she stared off into space, uninterested in anything, under the effect of the sedation potion he'd given her to save her from the constant pain of her tortured body, warped beyond its natural ability to hold itself together. In her brief periods of lucidity she hadn't been able to speak, barely holding herself back from writhing around in her hospital bed as the stitching in her skin came apart.

And then she was gone, without him being able to do a thing to help her.

He threw the powder into the fire and called out the name recorded on the parchment beside the mantle. It flared green and he stuck his head in.

"Harry!"

He blinked, letting the twisted emerald streamers settle around his face, as the room came into focus in front of him.

Fleur sat on a cushioned chair a few steps away, curled up with her feet tucked underneath her. Her face had a gauntness he hadn't seen on it before, a certain hollowness to her eyes, which seemed to look a little past what she was focused on. But her mouth, her very normal, human mouth, was curled into a warm smile, no sign of the warped beak it had once been. Her silver hair was pulled to one shoulder, spilling down without any sign of feathered protrusions. Her skin was covered in soft looking robes but he could see no sign of any bandages, or feathers.

"Hello Fleur."

"They did a good job, no?" she said with a smile, but he could see the pain lurking behind her eyes.

He smiled back at her. "Yes, they did."

"You know, we've heard some very interesting things here, recently."

"Oh?"

"My family, since my return, has been very vocal about our belief that Perrot was betraying our nation. Of course, we did not manage to raise much support. He has many friends. Or, he had. Because now, he has seemed to have disappeared. Apparently no one on the continent can find him. People have not been so quick to dismiss us now." Her face turned predatory. "And I had a sneaking suspicion I had you to thank."

"You do."

"Did you kill him?"

"Yes."

She hissed in satisfaction, leaning back as if a weight had been dropped from her shoulders. "Thank you, Harry." Then her gaze turned sharp and she sat back up.

"You never told me how you managed to free yourself—I saw how they had you. What happened? And since? Have you been working with Voss?"

"Ah, well a lot has happened," Harry laughed, scratching at his chin. "It would take a while to tell."

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow and settled back in her chair, curling up even further on herself.

"I have been stuck in this house for weeks. Talk." She beckoned imperiously with one hand.

Harry chuckled. Riddle had given him the rest of the day. Why not?

Harry turned the small plastic brick around in his fingers, fiddling with it idly. He'd almost forgotten about it, but he'd managed to find it among the stack of belongings Snape had moved through. He turned it on and dialed the only number programmed on it.

It only rang once before it was picked up.

"Evans," Voss said, with obvious distaste. Harry sighed.

"Hey Voss. Can we talk?"

"Few things would give me more displeasure." Harry remained silent. "Ten minutes," she finally snapped.

"Perfect. I know that we parted ways on the wrong foot—but I do think its important to contact you about this."

"Do you need my help again?" she said waspishly.

Harry choked out a laugh. "In a way. Mutually beneficial, as unlikely as I'm sure you'd think." She snorted in response. "But it's reached the point I've told you about before. We're going after the chancellor. And it's happening soon."

"So why call me?"

"Nurmengard—his fortress—is a formidable obstacle. It's going to take a lot of effort and a lot of lives to take it. We'd like all the help we can get. And...once we do, that's it. We kill Grindelwald and his followers, and his reign is over. It would be—good, I think to have your people there, as active representatives of the people who are going to replace him. Unless you'd rather the wizards decide that."

"Do you know what has been happening here since you left with your little stunt?" she asked, anger trembling in her voice. "People have died. The chancellor has cracked down on all the riots and they've started targeting the ringleaders. That led them to us. To my people. People are vanishing—wizards are appearing in the middle of homes and murdering."

"And this is the only way to end it," Harry said coldly. He wasn't going to argue with her, he wasn't going to fight about the past.

"Fuck you Evans!"

"Listen," he breathed, "you cannot take Nurmengard on your own. That's not some supremacist wank—that is an unfortunate objective truth about the nature of magic. Ask any witch or wizard; go call up Fleur, find one in the village, or snatch one off the street. They'll all tell you it is literally impossible to even find the damn place without magic. This is the chance. Whatever else has happened: this is your best chance to free Europe. We are your best chance of killing Grindelwald. Isn't that the most important thing? What you want the most? We can do it without you. But it would be better for both of us if you were there, I think."

Voss was quiet over the line for a long time.

"You're a real bastard Evans."

"I know."

"What do we need to do?"

Harry's breath escaped in a thankful sigh. "Try to keep it hushed. We don't want a wizard pulling it out of one of your people's heads. But prepare to move as large a fighting force as possible to a point in the city when the time comes. I can't even tell you what we'll be up against but it's going to be nasty. Bring what you can. I'll send you more details later."

"If this doesn't work than you've ruined us. Years of work, risking our lives."

"It'll work," Harry promised. It better.

As Harry approached the sound of talking voices he saw a small shadow lurking outside the splash of light leaking out from the kitchen.

"Edward," he whispered, almost to himself, but it was clearly loud enough to travel as the small boy whipped around.

"Mr. Evans," he muttered quietly. He scuffed his feet, chancing peeks back over his shoulder at the hallway to the kitchen. Harry frowned. Thought he had gotten over his nervousness with the Potters. And then a particularly loud laugh reached his ears and Edward flinched.

Ah. Jimmy.

Edward hadn't met Jimmy before, who had been in Europe the entire time he had stayed with the Potters. Their first born, another boy.

He gave the boy a small smile. "It's alright Edward. Jimmy's nice—you'll like him."

Edward shrugged aimlessly, like that wasn't something he was particularly worried about, but maybe some of the tension in his stance diminished.

"Don't worry. If he even looks at you wrong Lily'll string him up by his ears. You know you're her favorite."

That at least got a bit of a giggle. Harry gave him one last encouraging smile and made to walk past.

"I heard some of what you and Mr. and Mrs. Potter were talking about."

Harry froze in place. He kept his face placid as he looked down at the young boy. "And what's that?"

"Those people that came here and attacked us. You're going after their leader, aren't you?" Edwards eyes shone in the dim light, so large on his childish face. There was a quiver to his voice. "The people that...killed my mum. My dad."

Harry's mouth felt dry, and itchy, and he found the words stuck in the back of his throat as he stared down at the boy's innocent face.

"Yes."

"Are you going to win?"

Harry swallowed. "I—yes, I am."

"Good," Edward said, and sniffed. "I want them to pay. I want them gone. Mrs. Potter says I shouldn't say that—but it's true. I hate them!" His face was twisted into a rictus; but not of cruelty or rage, like Harry would expect to see from Riddle, or even himself. It was a rictus of pain. And loss.

What was Harry supposed to say? To not let the hatred of his parents' fate control his life? That it would poison his mind and he should instead make peace, and forget, and live his live free of that shadow? Maybe that would be what Dumbledore would say.

But he could not think of more hypocritical words to pass his own lips.

"I know," Harry said quietly. He bent down to eye level, and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I know. They will, Edward, I promise. I'll take care of it. You'll never have to worry about them again."

"You better win."

"I will. I swear."

Edward nodded once and then darted away, trotting down the hallway in the way children do, heading towards the kitchen with his head held high. Now it was Harry who lingered back, sulking in the cool shadows of the unlit room.

I want them to pay.

And they would.

His eyes stared unseeingly into the dark as his mind swelled with memories.

Delaney slumped in a chair, neck mottled black where it had been crushed, filling with blood beneath the skin and just starting to swell. Blood and tears and spit dripping from his face, his hair hacked from his skull for potion use.

And his wife. Slumped, falling back against the wall behind her. Her head hung loosely, the skin unbroken, but stretched out and bulging where snapped vertebrate pressed up beneath it, as it dangled across her chest.

Both of them stared back at him, eyes glassy and vacant, mouths open in silent screams.

Muggle families, faceless, ephemeral shadows of people he imagined, changing in shape and number, unique besides their empty eyes and mouths hanging open with slow breath, the only sign they still lived. Taken by Dementors.

Piles of Aurors, robes bloody and torn.

Harry took a breath and pushed them all away, but the blood continued to pound in his ears, drowning out the sound of the house around him.

Grindelwald was the keystone, the backbone of Europe. He was the ultimate enemy. Their target. But he was Riddle's quarry, Riddle's test. A different face filled Harry's mind as he pictured the assault.

His magic hummed beneath his skin, tingling against his fingertips, and the hem of his robes started to swirl unnoticed.

Dolohov, Harry snarled in his mind, Our reckoning is coming.

And this time you're not going to get away.