Author: Psykiapa (that's me, obviously)

Rating: Very meek PG-13

Genre(s): Romance, (is there romance yet? No, nothing major, just a warning) Fantasy, Harry Potter (duh)

Warning: This story might include slash (if you could call it that), but that is barely any part of it right now.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never will, or anything incorporated with it. I am writing this purely out of the pleasure to be filling the time between when the books come out, and I do not disrespect the fact that J. K. Rowling owns this or that Warner Bros. owns the movie(s). Until I can finish writing the sylvan language, I will be force to use the closest thing to it; J.R.R. Tolkien's elvish. Please understand that I didn't write it, or else I'd be much more financially endowed than I currently am. Don't file a suit; I'm just a humble writer. Oh, and I may subconsciously quote TV shows or movies, or be inspired by them, sometimes it's indicated, sometimes its not, but you should know that I don't mean any harm.
Chapter 14: Interludes in War and Spies

Sirius woke in the morning, Charlie shaking him awake after his late shift. Sirius opened his eyes to the cool morning light, and quickly got up from his position on the ground. Without saying anything to each other, they had gathered their things, spread the ashes and coals from the fire, neatly brushing away any signs that they had spent the night in the small grotto, put their boots on and were off to another border.

It was not that clear, and they could tell that a storm was on its way to them. They hunched under their grey cloaks, knowing that no one, Muggle or magical, would see them. It was their training as such that they could walk, cloaked in grey, through muggle London and not be noticed. Their powers of disguise were truly amazing, as though they were the human counterpart to chameleons. They were the hardest to track, and the swiftest to travel unheard. Though they had no invisibility cloaks, they didn't really have need of them, for they were unnoticed without. They rarely spoke to one another, and when they did, it was normally on what path to take through the forest or chatter about politics and tasks they would need to complete to create peace in the end. It was hard work, being one of the Clan of the Grey Wizards, and took some getting used to. As new recruits, they were not given the hardest of jobs. However, it was true that they had need of the swords and daggers they carried.

Sirius bent down to observe their path. He found quite a few leaves turned over the wrong way, but this was not what he was supposed to notice. One of those leaves had a caking of mud on it, but only in a small jagged pattern like that of the sole of an army boot. Charlie bent to look as well.

"This path has been traveled, and not by one of our folk." Charlie said, glancing at Sirius. Sirius nodded in concurrence.

"We should watch our tongues as well as what we do. It would not be pleasant if we were found out right away." He said, and the young Weasley agreed quickly. "If we have to we should change our path, so as not to be found by someone who may be tipped off."

They stood and started down the path again. Conversation was scarce, but when they did speak, it was nothing out of the ordinary or strange. They were merely travelers, at least to anyone who didn't know them. Thought turned to Bill, whom they would be meeting at the closest wizarding town, and that was Venesia.

The French countryside was not all that striking; rather, it was quite like the English countryside that they were used to. This was perhaps a good thing, for they couldn't be distracted in what they were doing. It was a strange phenomenon that they were meeting the oldest Weasley child, and that the younger Weasley would be more the adult in this situation. It was able to make him feel much older and wiser than his past twenty-nine years. As a young boy, it had never occurred to him that he'd be in this situation; he had always looked up to Bill with the deepest respect. Bill had always been the smart one of the pair. After all, he had been Head Boy. What Charlie didn't know was that Bill had looked up to him as well. Brains got him a long way, but his adventurous spirit had always clashed with the fact that he was never really any good at athletics, as Charlie was. After all, Charlie had been Quidditch captain.

Sirius, however, was thinking about totally different aspects of his life, mainly, the present one. He didn't know what it was that he was needed to do, but he also knew that he wasn't a part of the Clan for no reason at all. Direction is always a hard thing to find when there is no leader, as was the current situation. He supposed that eventually they would find a replacement for Dunhall, but things would not be the same. It was strange to think that he was actually beginning to miss the slightly surly, quiet leader. They had barely spoken, why was it that this loss was weighing down on him so? Good leadership is always a hard thing to have to take over after. No doubt the person who had to do so would seem empty, somewhat shallow. He knew he was a long throw from next in line, and that he would not be called upon, but the fact was that he was terrified his position would suddenly be upped. He had made rash and dangerous decisions in his youth; he was not about to subject people to that again.

Surely, he thought, surely they would have some ideas about my past? Lily was, after all, an adopted Clan member. They would have watched her grow from afar, would they not? And if they had watched Lily, they would have known James, and if they had known James, surely they had known Sirius Black?

It had always struck him as strange how they had accepted him without any regard whatsoever to his past and 'murder.' It was almost as if they had been waiting for the High Wizards to realize how stupid they had been to think he would actually kill his best friend. And after he was freed, it was almost as if they had been waiting for him to come to them. He found it terribly odd that they didn't bat an eyelash at his entrance into their world. He supposed that, as they were a very secretive kind of people, that he would never really know what it was that led them to the convincing that he was a wrongly accused man before even Harry had known. Perhaps that was just the way they reacted to the changes in life. They were more calculating even than McGonagall at her best, so it really shouldn't have surprised him.

The trees were coming to a thinning, and after them they could see a field of wheat. It was eerie, to see the acres of this plant, and not to see a human for miles. Charlie inconspicuously grabbed a handfull of the stuff, knowing that whoever owned such a huge field would not miss it. They waded through it, looking all the while for signs of life, or at least a road. It was after a half an hour of blank wandering that they first saw the smoke. It was starting to grow cold, the overcast weather making the fall day nearly frigid. They knew it was not a fire in the field, for it was far too trained for it to be like that. They knew it had to have come from either a magical fire or a chimney. They also knew that where there were people, there were roads. Of course, the roads in this area were not bound to be very good at all, as they were trying to keep Muggles away. Just in case it was a house of Muggles who were related to wizards/witches, they decided it wasn't the best to follow the smoke. They could end up in a stickier situation than they were counting on being in.

Presently, they came to a road that wasn't paved and seemed just to meander on it's own way toward Venesia. Charlie and Sirius decided that they may as well just walk the road, it wasn't likely that they'd run into anyone, judging by the condition of the road. One thing that did catch their attention were the deep wagon ruts in the road. Neither had really ever been to France before, and had they been, they wouldn't have been half as observant as they were now. Training as a member of the Clan of the Grey Wizards had many advantages. They made mental notes to look for the owner of such a possible carriage. It was their knowledge that it would have had to be someone of wealthy stature, and they were not always sure that the aristocrats were that trustworthy. In their esteem, aristocrats were not to be trusted simply because they didn't need to be cautious, as they had so much that losing a little would be hardly irreplaceable. They would have to be very careful if the wagon was headed to the same place they were.

They finally reached a great stone gate and looked for a knocker. There was no need to do so, for they were caught unaware by a small circular hole being uncovered and a blue eye staring out at them.

"What do you want?" The person, who was a gruff old man, asked irritably.

"We wish to spend a few nights in the pub called Vendredi Rouges. Would you mind terribly much letting us in?" Sirius answered as politely as he could.

"What buiseeness 'ave you 'ere?" The eye narrowed in suspicion.

"We are meeting my brother here. Bill Weasley. Can you check if he's come?"

"What does zis brothair looke like?" The eye was almost shut by now.

"He's got long flaming hair the same color of mine and a fang in his ear. You'd know him if you saw him." Charlie described, trying not to give much away.

"Well, I thiink I can say to you eempertinent Engelish typese that I 'ave not seen such a person iin my life-tyme. Be off with you!"

"But we have to stay here! We told him to meet us here, and we can't contact him to tell him that we won't be meeting him here; he was traveling from Egypt, he could be anywhere!" Charlie exclaimed, aghast.

"I advise you to keep bettair track of zis brothair you speak of."

"We just want to be let in; we won't cause you any harm." Sirius said, grinding his teeth.

"Zat iis not a very appealing sound to my ears, sank you. And I can not let you iin!"

"Why not?" He asked, closing his eyes and rolling them behind his lids. Charlie gave a look of caution to the old man; it was never good to make Sirius impatient.

"You aare wearing grey!"

Sirius felt the warning bells go off in his mind. Charlie glanced at him. This man perhaps wasn't speaking clearly.

"What was your answer?" Charlie asked, his eyes squinting slightly.

"I said, you aare wearing grey!"

"What does our dress have to do with anything?" Sirius murmured, a low tone to his voice that should have been a signal to the wrangling gatekeeper that he was insulted.

"Well, I need to know, aare you one of . . . zem?"

"One of who?" Sirius asked. "Explain it to me like I'm a small child."

"Iit iis 'ard to see anyvone wearing grey as a small child. Zey aare killin' us iin strange ways. Do you 'old company wit zem?"

"We are but poor travelers on the road, trying to get into a good inn to pass the time until my brother can join us. We mean no harm; in fact, where we come from, grey is quite the fashionable color. I would have thought the French would have known that." Charlie cut in hurriedly before Sirius could say something to worsen their situation.

"I suppose zat lett-iing you iin wouldn't 'sactly be, as you Eenglish typse say, lettin' myself out o' ze frying pan and iinto ze fire." The blue eye took one more look at the two worn men, before he opened the great door.

They were immediately reminded of the Veela they had seen in the past. Of course, he was far older and far fouler than the Veela they had observed; he was also male, and they had only seen women. His hair was pale and fell in a waterfall of grease to his ears, where it fanned out away from his head. His nose was gnarled as an old bulbous growth on a tree, and they saw immediately that his other eye had a scar running through it, and an opaque sheen over the original cornflower iris and dark pupil. He was wearing a dirty brown coat, that seemed to fall more about his stooped figure like a cloak than the once-fine leather it was made from. His pants were stained blue jeans, telling of his social standing and financial position. He had stained teeth and a smell of not-quite-fine ale about his breath. When he next spoke, they saw his teeth were as crooked and broken as his countenance, but that they were not totally rotting away. His hood was drawn to protect him from the threatening weather, but he did not need the lantern they could see was in his small alcolve nearby.

"Zese aare strange times, you can never be too caareful. I lost me eye to a man wearing grey, or at leest vat I thought was a man, 'e kept 'is hood up. So you can see, I thiink, where I came from in asking you." He had turned his back to them and was headed toward the hut. "Be glad of your pretty faces; iin zis country you may lose them."

After this strange encounter, they followed the sounds of clicking boots on the cobblestone road out to the square. The activities of the French people seemed to go on much as they would normally, but there was a hint of grey in their speech, and laughter was quickly silenced. Two little girls raced past them, nearly knocking into them, but neither took notice. There was one simple thing that they could tell from the crowd, and it was simply this; nothing was as it seemed.

It would look, to anyone left untrained in the way that such people as they were, this looked like a joyful town. The market held fresh items of curiosity. The children chased each other around the ankles of the adults, their toys painted in bright colors and laughter in the eyes. They watched the women laugh at the gossip of the day, and the men get passionate over such things as who had the best gnome-protection system. Merchants who had their goods on display were shouting loudly above the crowd why exactly their particular products were better than the others of supposed "lesser quality."

What was only recognizable to those who knew to look for it was the simple fact that underlying all this perfect happiness and normalcy, there was a sense of fear. Whenever someone took to laughter, it was stifled quickly by a hand over the mouth and silenced, even if it did continue. The adults were not speaking loudly, and the merchants yelling in their stands had only to speak slightly above a normal voice to be heard. The children were the only genuine things in this entire populace of witches and wizards. All this was obvious at once to the two Grey Wizards, and they walked through the crowd, checking prices and quality of the goods they found of interest, the truth they found not forgotten but not acted upon.

Everywhere they went, people gave them glances out of the corners of their eyes, little suspicions of things that they dare not say aloud. Sirius knew that the people of this town had seen some kind of grief; he knew that they were aware of people who wore the grey that was their uniform. Short glimpses of the two spies were not spoken of, but they were thought about. A witch discussing the price of dragon heartstring with another witch saw them and quickly turned her head back to her conversation. And older man who was playing Bellot with two gambling partners saw them, then went back to the hazy smoke of his pipe.

They went from booth to booth, looking at the pottery they may find there, the food, the magical instruments. Sirius picked up a wooden flute, turning it over in his hands. He set it down again. Perhaps he'd buy it tomorrow. Charlie picked up an odd little ocarina and put it almost to his lips, fingers flying in a pattern and rhythm a gypsy taught him. He smiled and bought it. At the next stand, Sirius found a mortar and pestle. It had an anti-breakable charm on it, and it was made of a fine blue clay, glazed a brightly dark blue on the outside and left white on the inside. The pestle remained unglazed. It was small, and fit right into the palm of his hand. He made a quick decision to buy it, knowing that this more than most other things would help him in his study of herbs and other medicenes. Charlie looked at the stacks of herbs with mild curiosity. It was common knowledge that he was hopeless with any kind of potion or herb. He was not old enough to have escaped Snape as a teacher. They each bought an apple or two at the next stand, along with some vegetables that they knew they would eventually need on the road. Sirius had no need for the charms that the next stand held, but his heart had been taken long ago by tragedy. Charlie found a lavender rock trapped in a world of silver on a black string. He grinned to himself and bought it. It would be a good way to woo a certain shield maiden's heart. Sirius smiled at him. It had been a long time since he had bought a necklace for his love.

"Charlie?" A female voice called through the crowd.

Charlie looked up.

"Charlie Weasley?"

Charlie turned just in time to see a blonde head duck itself down and start walking toward him. It was a girl that was a thing of the past; a beauty with silver hair and a body that would make women jealous and men lustful; he remembered her vaguely from a day in the past, a long time ago. At least, what seemed a long time ago.

"What kiend of aniimals do you work with?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." Charlie answered, looking up from polishing his dirty boots. It had been a half an hour after Hagrid's last Care of Magical Creatures class had left for the day.

"And vy not?"

"Because of a little thing called the rules, that's what." He tried to ignore her. It didn't work.

"I caan not see what iit iis you thiink will 'elp by not telling me-eh."

"You have a terrible accent, you know that, right?"

"I am workiing on iit, sank you." The girl batted her eyes at him, her hands innocently behind her back, toe kicking at the sod under her feet. "Per'aps you could 'elp me?"

"I am not interested, thank you." He had caught her innuendoes in his fist.

"'Ow can you not bee? I know many men 'oo would kiil to be offaired zat chance. What iis so different about you?" She sounded honestly curious.

"Do you realize how arrogant you sound? Do you?"

"I am not arrrogant! Do you know 'ow modest you're being?"

"I told you; I can't talk to you; it's against regulations."

Charlie shook himself back to the present; it had been two years since he had seen this girl-well, he supposed she was a woman now. He was surprised she had even remembered him.

"Hello, Ms. Delacour."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius noticed a group of people glaring at Fleur.

"Call me Fleur, please."

"Your English has improved." Charlie noted.

"Yes, I told you I would get better at it, but you didn't listen to me."

"I was a bit irritated with you at the time."

Fleur laughed; it was a rolling sound, and Charlie had to grudgingly admit that it was charming, rather than what he would have figured it to be; shrill and annoying.

"You were always so blunt. I think that might have been what made me remember you. You were the only man that wasn't fooled by my veela charm." She paused a moment. "What are you doing here? And in grey as well?" She eyed Sirius up, trying to remember where she had seen him.

"I was innocent." He said simply. Recognition flared in her eyes.

"Let's talk inside." She said, glancing around at the suspicious crowd.

"Where inside?" Sirius asked.

"I own an inn, the Vendredi Rouges. We should be safe from eavesdroppers there." She turned and led them through the town.

Houses closed their shutters as they walked past, people continued to give them strange looks, and they felt extremely conspicuous. The small streets of Vemesia. They had small alleys twisting off of them all over the place, and cats had invaded them. They finally came to a run-down, thin building, the sign of which painted with a fading green paint, with flowing, faded red letters spelling out "The Vendredi Rouges." The door was framed with red woodwork, and red window bracings. The bracings and decorative wood had just been repainted, and the sign looked odd next to them. Fleur turned the doorknob and walked in. It was dark inside, like most wizards' buildings, lit only by windows and dim torches. There was a big book sitting on a podium, with a quill sitting next to it. There was no one at the front desk at the moment, and Fleur looked questioningly at the two men.

"We're meeting my brother Bill here. We had been trying to find this place ever since we came into the city." Charlie quickly explained their business.

"Right." Fleur went behind the desk and dipped the quill in the ink. She scribbled something into the book, then put a ribbon back in to mark her place, set the quill back in the ink bottle and came toward them, indicating a small doorway behind her. She immediately put a silencing and stifling charm on the room, so as not to be bothered. They took the hint and followed her.

* * *

Harry dipped his quill in his ink, and scrolled across the page in spidery, yet easy-to-read writing.

You Are Wanted!

All those seventh year students who would like to be able to do something instead of study for their NEWTs are wanted to sign up for the sylvan and dwarvish training regime! A plan against You-Know-Who has been drafted, and it calls for military action. However, as our number of willing allies grows thin, we will need volunteers of the wizarding type to be trained by certain delegates from dwarvish and sylvan backgrounds. There will be a short meeting on November the 21st about what exactly enlistees will be going through. All Hogwarts seventh year material will be gone over at the training camp, and you will count toward graduation. We need those of you who are slightly interested to sign your name below in the provided space. Further information will be mailed to you within the next week of your enlistment. It is not permanent. You can back out at the last moment. Come to the informational meet on November 21st for more details. There is one bit of information that will be given to you now, and it is this; you will be traveling outside the country. If you do not have both a muggle and wizarding passport, you will need to report to Mr. Percivald Weasley in the International Cooperation of Wizards department of the Ministry of Magic. When you sign up, please indicate which type of fighting you would like to learn under.

Thank you for your cooperation, Liamh, Monarch to the Sylphs

Harry checked it over for errors in spelling and/or grammar. He couldn't find any, and quickly got up from his chair. He didn't fold it, rather let it flap loosely at his side as he walked briskly from the room. The parts of his hair that were down blew behind him as his steps carried him to the bulletin boards where the students had signed up for the Dueling Club back in his second year. First he travelled to the Gryffindor Common Room, where the overly large lady let him in with a giggle. After he left, she ran out of her frame to visit her friend, Violet. Harry had made three copies and went to the other Common Rooms. After all these were distributed, he went back to the sylvan area of the castle. He greeted Triskele as she passed him, and smiled. He went out to the small balcony they had, knowing that Nikiatom had followed him.

"Le arato denie Lumenn eth Harry said to him. (You are the champion of lament. lin nainie. Ngwaw et." The hour draws on.)

"Tari iaur pata nazg guin-mene macar Nikiatom answered. (The queen of bereth iar bad cor cui-mene vagor." swordsmen lives for a thousand years.)

"Le tul bragol si morgul Harry told him. (You will summon her sorcery soon.) cu talian gul."

"Im utuv-uva yes Nikiatom pledged. (I will find it done.) hir n-ithri."

Harry smiled, teeth glistening in the light. Nikiatom's hair shone in the light of the sun like white gold. They stood together a long while, neither saying anything to the other. It was simple and pure; the emotional support. Harry looked out over the same lands that had been his only home for so long. There was not one thing different. There were the same plants outside Hagrid's hut; the same birds flew in the sky, the same forboding forest, brooding on the edge of the grounds, the same dog, Fang, running around after something, the same figure practicing on the Quidditch pitch . . . The figure. Harry snapped out of his daze, quickly backing up and looking around.

"Raen Si?" Nikiatom asked. (Leaving? Now?) ran?

"Im nev tel faroth mando Harry stuttered, turning around. (I need to finish dil dur nil nur mbando." a friend's prison.)

Nikiatom let Harry go, knowing that this was important. He no longer flitted about the halls carelessly. He was determined, his face serious and his jaw set. Students that had a pass out of class stared at him and hurriedly got out of his way. His bare feet would have surely made resounding noises against the ancient stonework had they been shoed. He felt a slight chill as he walked, and pulled his fall cloak tighter around his shoulders. He passed a hurrying McGonagall on his way to the front doors of the castle, but he didn't wave, and neither did she. He got to the front doors and flung them open, not bothering whether the whole school knew where he was headed in his rush or not.

The birds that hadn't flown south yet were still twittering in the trees, and the sunlight still caught the reddish highlights in his hair, making it look purple. He couldn't keep his cloak from billowing behind him, and anyone who had cared to look would have thought he was a small version of Snape, with longer, washed hair. His bare feet weren't noticeable in the grass, and the only indication that they were otherwise was the fact that they were, indeed, naked was the slight silver flash of his silver toe- ring.

The pitch was starting to loom up ahead of him as he marched nearer to it. He was closest to the Ravenclaw stands, the blue color calming to see. The figure who was flying started a spectacular dive, and he moved faster. There was no one standing at the refreshment stand, no loud screaming of the crowd. There was not a game going on at the moment. It would just be the flying forgotten and him. He knew that he had not really spoken to this person in all the days since his return. In fact, he had never really seen him since the Welcoming Ball. His more than perfect eyesight caught a glimpse of green among the blackness of the robe. Harry pulled open the door to the Ravenclaw stands, and started to walk the patchwork of the interior of the pitch. He climbed the staircases, letting his feet slap the surface, as a sort of warning to his solitary pursuit.

He stepped out into the sunshine again, eyes nearly immediately adjusting to the brightness of the sun. He watched the figure cover some laps before formally announcing his company. He really was a good flyer. Of course, restricted to use the broomstick, so he of course would look awkward to the sylvan eye. Harry smiled when he remembered how he had been on the broom. His firebolt. He had been fast, but had never really had the grace his companion did. He had always been awkward, though he didn't know it. His body just couldn't get used to the idea that it had to rely on something else. Harry figured it was time to call in the flyer.

"Hello out there!" He shouted, his cupped hands forming around his mouth.

The boy looked startled, then looked over his shoulder dumbly. Harry smiled and waved in large circles. The boy shot towards him, jetting through the air. Harry walked down to the front row to meet him.

"What are you doing here?" The surprise had shot what was normally in Draco's voice out of it.

"I wanted to watch." Harry said, a slight air of quiet surprise in his tone.

"If you came here to watch, why did you call me back to you?" Draco asked, the usual drawl not there. Harry smiled.

"You really are smart, I hope you know that." Harry sat down in the stands, and motioned for Draco to do the same. "So why exactly is it that you're out here while everyone else is inside in class?" Harry asked innocently. Draco went a bright red.

"I - um, that is -"

"It's okay, you can tell me. I'm not an angel, you know."

"I'm skipping out on Transfiguration." Draco explained, staring at his hands.

"I don't care. She can be very strict and boring most of the time. Although, I must admit that I would have skipped Snape's. But, she is, after all, the Head of House for Gryffindor. I can see the reasons for that." Harry nonchalantly reassured him. Draco visibly relaxed.

There was a small silence as Draco pondered what exactly he could say. He had felt his father's presence leave his head; the shock must have been too much for him. Harry liked that idea.

"I don't know what to say to you; we've never met like this before." He finally said.

"Perhaps you could say something you've never said before." Harry suggested, looking out over the field. They were sitting in the stands.

"I'm sorry."

Harry looked at him, his lips twitching upward in a small smile.

"Tell me something I didn't know already." Harry's voice was deep and beautiful to listen to, like a clarinet playing it's lowest notes.

"How can I? I don't know what you do know; but I can tell you things I know you already know, so that you know I know them too. Did you catch that?" There was a glint in Draco's eye.

"Of course I did. Carry on."

"I know that your friend, Ron Weasley, I know that his family is doing great now that his dad got the job of Minister. I know that he is a very good Keeper and should try out for the team, something he never did while you were still here because he didn't have the confidence to be on the level of Keeper that was the same as you with Seeker. I know that his older brother Charlie is being estranged from the family because he chose to be one of the Grey Wizards. I know that I feel empathy for him. I know that Ron's not so bad as my father makes him out to be. And I know that he and Granger weren't a good couple, but shouldn't have broken up."

Harry nodded for Draco to continue.

"I know that Hermione Granger is extremely smart, but won't get a lot of credit for it simply because her family isn't pureblood. I know that she misses Ron, and can't help but think about them getting back together. I know that she never really fit in with the other girls because she was too practical for makeup and hair secrets. I know that she wishes she had more female friends than just Ginny, and I know that she's closer to Ron than she had ever thought she would be. I know that she is changing as she gets older, boys are realizing that she is a girl, and that she doesn't know what to say to them when they start hitting on her out of the blue. I know that she was your mental and emotional comrade, simply because she was more in tune with things like that than Ron has ever been. I know she missed you terribly while you were away, and that she waited too long for your letters. I know she was in danger, I know that you knew she was in danger. But there's one thing I don't know." He paused, wondering how to say it. "I don't know why you called on me to save her."

"I have to tell you some things that I know now." Harry looked at his hands, then turned his magnificent eyes to Draco. "I know that you have never been able to have your own opinions. I know that you are a fighter for the one thing you believe. I know that your mother was never really the sheltering type. I know that your father was never one to hit you for punishment; I know that you never needed to be punished. I know that you have always done what he has told you, and I know that you wish you could be any other way.

"I know that he controls you.

"I know that you don't know why you can talk to me like this today." Harry finished, a piece of hair coming out of the braided hairstyle he wore today. Draco tucked it behind his pointed ear.

"I know that you know more than people give you credit for." He whispered to Harry.

"I know that you are never what you seem." Harry breathed.

"I know that I'll miss you." Draco whispered again.

It was one of those moments that artists will always wish they could capture. Harry's eyes were warm and understanding; his beautiful skin glistening in the sun, hair shining a slight purple. Draco's eyes were soft, and thoughtful; his pale skin shone like a pearl, hair reflecting an icy shade. It was one of those moments that was wonderful and crushing. It was one of those moments when the world didn't seem to care that these two were "sworn enemies." It was not to last.

The coldness came back into his eyes and Draco jerked away from his companion and - dare I say - friend. He narrowed his eyes.

"If you will excuse me, I have to be doing something much more important to do than sit here and talk to you. I'll go and do some more pointless laps, and then I have potions to attend." Draco stood, his nose in the air, and mounted his broom.

Harry quickly got up and started the descent to the ground. It didn't seem to take as long as the journey upward did. He had an appointment to get to soon. There were things he needed to set in order.

* * *

Harry quickly walked down the dimly lit hallway. Whenever he had been in the Ministry building, he had never seen good lights. He actually preferred it that way. It was harder for the wizards to watch him. It also didn't bring out the slight imperfections of his face. It was more idealistic to have dim lighting than florescent lights. It gave the building an earthy, rich feel. He was flanked on both sides by Eldrid and Lemagne. They had both never been in here, and were discreetly observing everything as though they had a curious interest, but it wasn't as great as it really was. They were carrying a sign up sheet, each armed with a quill pen and ink bottle. Harry pushed open the doors to the auditorium, and felt all heads turn to him in interest. He walked to the podium, Mr. Weasley having just given the introduction speech. Mr. Weasley smiled at the trio, and started to politely clap as Harry stepped onto the stage, his entourage standing quietly behind him, trying desperately not to draw the attention of the audience (the sylphs found the rapt attention of the more mortal wizards disconcerting.) Harry decided it was wise to begin soon.

"I know none of you know who I am; I also know that every one of you knows who I am. That is not what is important, simply because of the fact that infamousness is not the reason I came here. I will not introduce myself, Arthur already did that job well. I am not one to beat around the bush; I must get down to business. I am here to talk to you about what exactly it is we are going to do about the Dark Lord.

"Every single person in this room, apart from the Ministry officials, my companions and myself, is either an Auror or an Unspeakable. We have called you to an act of duty; of course, not all of you will be needed, there must be someone to stay on the home front and protect the people. We will only be needing four of you. To be precise, we will be needing two Aurors and two Unspeakables. You will only be chosen if you volunteer. We do not wish to force you into anything. Most of you will want to join us, however, I must express to you the gravest of warnings.

"I will not express what it is we will be needing of you. Secrecy is the only way to success in this plan. Only a handful of people know exactly what it is that you will be doing; I am one of them. None of these select few know, except me and my council, and so why would you think that we would decree this information to a full room of people, only four of whom will actually be privy to the plan. Through your training you will know that information is the thing that could make a plan fall through the sewer. So I don't think that it's really important for you to know the gruesome details.

"There are a few things you must know before you leave this meeting. You will need to audition to make it through the cut. Aurors and Unspeakables will be interviewed on different days, as well as audition on two other days. There will be several openings, the Aurors will be interviewed on one day, the Unspeakables the next, then there will be another set of days for interviews. Those who made ti through the interviews will receive a day for an audition. You will be excused frorm normal duty for the days. You will all wait in the hotel Racue, auditions could take as long as a month, or as short as four days.

"I should introduce my associates. On your left is Lemagne, and your right is Eldrid. They will be the people you sign up with at the back, and I will also have another set of days and interview slots. I encourage all those of you without family to sign up, and those of you who have family to consider this thoroughly. When you have made your decision, if you decide to go for it, you will find sign up sheets on the billboard closest to your wing. Your only deadline is October 25, the week before your interviews begin. Remember this, but I understand that some people are slightly absentminded, so we have posted the information I have just told you on the sign up sheets. We will contact you if you have made the cut. If you don't, have this reassurance. You have been lucky enough to be allowed to live that much longer, and brave enough to give it up. Thank you, give us a minute to set up."

Harry led Eldrid and Lemagne to the table set up for them at the back as a murmur arose from the crowd. They were glad there was not a mob trying to sign up, it made their job slightly easier. There weren't too many wizards keen to sign up for something they had no idea of the effort it would take. But they got at least 50 Aurors and at least 20 Unspeakables right off the bat (there were fewer Unspeakables total, simply because Aurors were the more public of the two defensive groups; few wizards knew what an Unspeakable did, so the Unspeabables that were hired and trained by the Ministry were the most expert and intelligent of the lot.). There was definate hesitation in those who did sign up, and only a few were confident. The sylphs made notes in their mind about these people; they weren't cautious, and caution is something that must be commended in spies and war heroes. They returned to Hogwarts satisfied with the amount of people they had, knowing that it would be a hard job, figuring out who it was they would need. It would be worth it in the end.

* * *

"So? What is it that calls you here to France to meet this brother of yours? Last time I checked, you were both living in England. And why would you dress in such a controversial manner?" Fleur asked, after she had made sure there was no possible way anyone could eavesdrop.

"I'm getting very tired of hearing about our clothes. What do they have to do with anything?" Charlie had to grind his teeth to keep himself from snapping.

"Do you not know?" Fleur looked astounded.

"Know what?" Sirius asked.

"Oh, dear, you don't." Fleur covered her mouth.

"Stop beating around the bush and spit it out!" Sirius ordered.

"A few weeks ago, the week of November fourth, actually, the Veela guard was attacked." Fleur looked at her pale hands, not wanting to have to take the patient stares of the traveling men. "It is said that the Veela guard had retreated to their camp to train new recruits. A group of wizards came in the night, all dressed in grey, one sentinel said. The wizards were said to be a part of the Clan of the Grey Wizards. They slaughtered them in their sleep. There was not one survivor."

There was a moment of silence. Then, when Sirius spoke it was in a deadly whisper.

"Ms. Delacour, the reason we have come to France is the fact that our leader, Mr. Dunhall, was found murdured here the week of November fourth."

"So you are of the Grey Wizards?"

"Yes, we are." Charlie said, resting his hand on Fleur's. But Sirius had an idea, and there was no room for emotion.

"Who has more evidence of the truth?" He asked, sharp black eyes piercing the Veela's younger, blue ones.

"How are we to know?"

"I'll ask you a few questions, and you answer to the best of your ability." He said, slowly so she'd understand him perfectly.

She nodded her head in assent. Sirius prepared his questions.

"How much would you say you know compared to the general wizarding public?"

"A lot more. When you own a hotel and pub, you hear things, a lot of things, that other people aren't privy to."

"Did the sentinel have a story as to how he escaped when no one else did?"

"If he did, it is not clear to my memory."

"Would your customers have talked about the story?"

"Yes, and I was confused when they didn't."

"Did the sentinel say he saw these grey-clad wizards?"

"Yes."

"Was the sentinel in uniform?"

"Yes, a very tattered uniform. I remember that clearly."

"Was the attack at night or during the day?"

"Night."

"If he was able to see someone thoroughly dressed in camouflage greys in the middle of the night, is it possible that they saw him in his full red Veela uniform?"

"Yes."

"If you were to attack the Veela guard with the intention to kill, would you kill the sentinel you know saw you?"

"Yes."

"How were the bodies attacked?"

"With short swords."

"About how many men did the sentinel view?"

"Around twelve."

"About how many soldiers were in the Veela guard?"

"Around 300, including recruits."

"Was the water heavily guarded?"

"No. It was the reunion of many soldiers and everyone was in a good mood because they were back together and welcoming new recruits."

"Would it not have been easier to slip poison into all the water the day before, so that poison would be in all foods made?"

"Yes."

"Could they defend poison easily once administered?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The one thing the Veelan guard lacked in was medicinal strategies and nurses."

"So they would have been pretty much defenseless?"

"I guess so, yes."

"But the sentinel was sure it was short knives?"

"Yes, he said he heard the screams at his back as he ran until daybreak."

"If the first to die had screamed, how long would it take the guard to arm themselves?"

"Ten minutes at most."

"So it would have been around 250 (not including the new recruits) to between twelve and twenty?"

"Yes."

"The sentinel was sure he was the only survivor?"

"Yes."

"Was the crime scene ever publically photographed?"

"No."

"Interesting." Sirius rubbed at the stubble on his chin. Charlie took all this in stride, analyzing it quickly and efficiently for future reference.

"How does that compare with your version of things?" Fleur queried, openly curious. She had never heard this side of the story, and was eager to be informed. This was the most delicious conversation she had had in a long time. It was intense with import, giving the air a taste of despiracy she had never felt before. The graveness of the things she was being told made her spine tingle in rapt attention. She had the feeling she was part of an epic.

"Our leader, Mr. Dunhall was found strangled the very same week that they claim the Veela guard was slaughtered. We all saw the body, we all saw him creamated. We all saw the blue veins sticking out around the edges of his skin, telling us that he was strangled in his sleep. We all saw his lifeless eyes, we all saw the stillness of his chest. We, that is, three hundred people saw it. Is there any evidence to the aliveness of him? No." Sirius said, taking Fleur into gossip heaven.

"And you will not repeat anything we told you to anyone else." Charlie repremanded sternly, recognizing the gleam in her eye.

"Of course not. You have my word. Besides, it is not wise to anger traveling spies. I will do as you wish, or rather, not do as you don't wish." She grumbled, looking down at the table.

They were all surprised by the squeaking of the door, but before Sirius and Charlie drew their swords, they saw tiny fingers curl around the door's edge.

"Mommy, what are you doing in here with these men?" A sleepy little boy mumbled in the sweetest voice possible for someone of his age.

"We're just talking. This is Charlie, I knew him from the days of the Tournament, and his friend Sirius. They just got here and I wanted to talk to them alone for a while so I took them in here." Fleur explained as the boy came into the light of the room, rubbing his eyes and clutching a little stuffed dog. Fleur lifted him into her lap and wiped at his eyes. She kissed his forehead before asking, "Why did you need me? Did the big black bird scare you again?"

"No, mum, it wasn't that. Only the big man was making so much noise that he woke me up from my nap. He was yelling for you and when you didn't come, and when I came down to tell him to stop making so much noise, he woke me up, he started yelling at me that he wanted you. So I said I'd go find you, and when I couldn't find you in any other room, I thought you'd be in here, so I came in." The boy said, telling his story in quiet little French.

"Oh hon, I'm sorry, it shouldn't happen again, these friends are really important for me." She smoothed his chocolate hair away from his face, kissed his forehead, and excused herself from the two stunned Grey Wizards and rushed out to the hall.

"I'm sorry. I just met up with some very old friends, and we didn't want to be bothered, so I put silencing and stifling charms on the room. It wouldn't happen again; I only get to see them very rarely." She babbled in French to the grim, angry man who was waiting for her.

"I don't care. I just want to get checked in here as quickly as possible. I don't need to sit here and listen to your pathetic excuses about 'old friends' and I don't need to hear 'it won't happen again' because I won't be checking in here again after the poor service I have received thus far!" He snarled, teeth gnashing together in a nasty way.

"I said I was sorry, and that is no way to treat a hostess, mister." She reprimanded him, by now opening the guestbook and grabbing the quill out of the ink.

"YOU, young lady, could hardly be considered a hostess, you are far too young to be a madame, and your poor little illegitimate child shouldn't have to make up for your laziness. I'll have to stay here for one week at the latest, and I will not be here very often. Not that I'd want to be. This is a cheap place for the amount of repute it has. I am disgusted that I have to stay here with people like YOU." He growled, dropping his suitcase with a loud thud.

"I need your name, sir." She said quietly, not wanting to get dragged into an argument in front of her son, who was still rubbing his eyes.

"Jacob Randall. And another thing, has anyone told you that the rustic look is out of style? This place is hardly up to par with the great hotels like the Leaky Cauldron and the Concierge. I don't understand how you could possibly maintain your guests with this place. It's filthy. A dump. Oh, wait, I know, you use that veela attraction, don't you? That's great, just great, not only is this a dump, it's a brothel as well. I'll advise you to be careful with your sexual exploits because, madamoiselle, you wouldn't want to have to look after another babe with the slow income you must be living off of. I feel sorry for you. You can't update things as they are, simply because you need all the money you can get to feed the two mouths you're looking after as is. God, you'll be out of business by next fall." The guest ranted on, oblivious to the elongating of her nose into a menacing beak, her eyes turning from their sapphire blue to a deep, enraged red.

"Why are you even HERE? I apologize to you, and all you can do is insult. You say you HAVE to stay here, but I suppose you don't HAVE to, if I THROW you out myself! What is with you? You act as though you owned the world, assuming what you will about me! Half of it is true! My son is illegitimate, but as I was RAPED I don't suppose you could have any sympathy for me! Oh no, I am a cheap slut that will do anything just to get my paws on more cash, to add to my million dollar bank account, just so that I can feed myself and my son! I am sick to death of your complaining, I can't stand it, and if you don't like this place so much, I must ask you to leave!" The man looked as though he was going to start stuttering. "LEAVE!!" she screamed, thrusting her hand to point to the door. "OUT! GET OUT, NOW, BEFORE I CALL FOR THE POLICE!"

The man held up his hands in defense, his shoulders coming up to meet, his neck, his mouth open, and with that, he took one step back.

There was a silence as he stayed. Fleur came back to her human form, taking deep breaths to calm herself, her fingers curling on the podium. The man was going to speak again.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know . . . I'm sorry . . ." His shoulders started to shake, and he broke down in front of the three stunned adults, the child had run away a long time ago, seeing his mother turn evil. "I've just had the roughest day. I'm bitter even when at my best, and I'm not now, I'm the worst I've ever been. Do you know that I've had three airport delays in the past week? I've been waiting to fly to France for two weeks, and when I finally got here, they had lost all my baggage in a mix up with a flight to Peru, it was raining in Paris, and I had to walk all the way here because cab drivers wouldn't take a foreigner this far. That's it! I'm quitting my job! I can't do this; I can't write travel articles, I can't review hotels and food and restaurants and museums and tourist attractions! I just want to move back to Chicago and curl up in bed and never get out!" He sobbed.

Fleur extended her arms to him, cooling down quickly. She hugged him, and whispered something in his ear, calming him down.

"Please know that tomorrow I will probably love this place. You won't have to be around me for long, I write for travelors, you know, the stuff in travel pamphlets? I write that. So I'll be gone for long periods of time during the day. You won't have to put up with my mood swings." He muttered into her shoulder.

"Don't worry. I suffer mood swings myself. I know how to handle people like that." She smiled at him as he looked up at her. "Now why don't you come with me, and I'll show you to your room?"

He smiled slowly, his face cracking around it. "I'd like that."

* * *

Sirius and Charlie sat in the pub part of Fleur's motel. Around them, at least thirty current guests and residents of the city had gathered. They laughed loudly together, ignoring the two grim men sitting together in a booth. They were silent, watching as Fleur gave ale after ale to Jacob Randall, and they watched as he became more and more at home with the intoxicating Veela. Her little dark haired son walked around, watching the older guests, picking out the ones that he thought his mother should watch out for. They found out his name was Bo, and he was a solemn little boy, who was always watching out for his mother. They didn't have a reason for this activity. They didn't know why yet, but they were drawn to the boy. He was too tired, too adult, and too wary for a normal child. Even the little boys of the other Grey Wizards were more exciteable than this. He couldn't be older than two, but, as Fleur explained, he had her gift for language. He was always trying to learn new words, and when her guests got drunk, he learned words that weren't nesessarily what she would want him to know. They watched him through the night, and only went to bed when they could no longer keep their tired bones sitting up.

* * *

Fleur disappeared immediately the next morning with Jacob. She wanted to show him around. In her place, she left a young waitress. Sirius and Charlie decided it was best to disappear as well, so they could look for their good friend Bill.

The market was set up again. It was the first thing they saw when they stepped outside. Sirius went back to the music craftsman's stand, to see if the little flute was still there. To his annoyance, it wasn't. He grumbled to himself, and the only words Charlie could discern were "little children" and something about "no experience." He smiled. They idly wandered the small wizarding town, taking in what little sights they could see and watching the few people that took notice of them. When the people noticed them watching them watch them, they quickly covered their faces and scampered off. Sirius would smirk, and Charlie would laugh.

All of a sudden, they heard a great commotion near the gate.

"But you know that my brother and Sirius are here! You let them in!"

"Ah cannot let you iin iif you can't tell me ze 'otel zey aare staying at!"

Charlie and Sirius pushed through the crowd, moving toward the old gatekeeper.

"Excuse me, sir, but you must remember us, you let us in only yesterday," Charlie demanded as he came up to the old man, "this is the brother we were talking about! You must let him in!"

"Oh! You are ze brothair? ZE brothair?" The old man questioned sinisterly.

"Yes, I'm the brother. I'm THE brother!" Bill shouted from outside.

"Ah will nevair undairstand you Eenglish. Come iin." The gate was opened, and a very frazzled looking Bill stood there. He quickly walked in, just in case the barmy old man changed his mind.

"You won't believe what I've been through." He muttered as Sirius and Charlie took him back to the Vendredi Rouges to check in. "I feel like I've been through a hurricane!"

It was at that moment that a white snowy owl flew down and delivered a letter to Sirius. He looked at his two companions, they nodded, and so he opened the letter.

To Sirius and Charlie,

I need to meet with you. In fact, I need to meet with all of your people. Can you gather them from the eight corners of the earth by January 17th, the next year? I will meet with them on the Northern island of the Scottish Outer Hebrides. It is too dangerous to explain what will be done in this letter, for fear of interception. All will be explained on that date.

Thank you, I know this is semi-late notice, Harry

Sirius looked up.

"Boys, we've got our work cut out for us." He said solemnly.

*********************************^*********************************

A/N: Whew! I finally finished it! I'll probably go back and rewrite this chapter, you know, add more of Harry's end of the story, but for now, it's okay. I'm very proud of myself. I wrote Sirius in character! For a whole bunch of pages!

Anyway, in light of coming events, i.e., the fifth book FINALLY coming out, this story is now officially changed to AU (not that it wasn't almost there anyway . . .). I will keep writing this, even though everything that happened in the chapters thus far is, indeed, not true due to the actual fifth year being published. I don't want to give this story up quite yet, and it's not through with me either, so we have come to the mutual agreement that this will remain a work in progress. Thank you very much. On to the reviews!