Crossing Ways

Chapter 5: Between what's right and what's easy…

"Remember Cedric Diggory."

The words echoed inside Fleur's head as she tried to sleep. It was not the handsome boy she had pursued before the Yule Ball that was troubling her; he was but part of the problem. This was her last night at Hogwarts, and Professor Dumbledore had told everyone in the Great Hall about You-Know-Who's return. There was no point in denying that knowledge now, or to hope fervently that it all had been just a big misunderstanding.

The Dark Lord had returned, and had probably summoned his faithful Death Eaters.

Fleur felt coldness washing over her at that thought. Over the years, she had grown up to learn that her father, who had bravely joined in the war against You-Know-Who, had been killed by a married couple of Death Eaters.

The Lestranges.

She loathed that name with every fibre of her being, and felt a guilty pleasure to know that they had been rotting at Azkaban for the past thirteen years, with the rest of them. The rest of You-Know-Who's supporters or, as they were called, Death Eaters.

They were the ones responsible for her father's death. He had died, unfair as it was, because he had decided to do the right thing. But he shouldn't and wouldn't have done otherwise. And Fleur knew that, wherever he was, he would expect no less from her. He would expect her to do the right thing.

That didn't stop her from being afraid. Nor did her fear made her back away from what she knew she should do. She knew her decision would be the same one as her father's. Professor Dumbledore's words that night had only served the purpose of strengthening her resolve. It had given her an idea of what she could do to help.

Besides, she had always wanted people to regard her as Fleur Delacour, the witch, and not Fleur Delacour, beautiful and empty-headed Veela. This was her chance to prove herself.

Or rather, her second chance to prove herself.

Fleur sighed. She had always liked challenges, especially those that relied upon her intelligence and skills rather than her beauty. One of the reasons she had wanted so badly to join the Triwizard Tournament. She saw that as her chance to prove her value as a witch. She even thought that her will to prove herself had been what had tilted the Goblet of Fire towards choosing her as Beauxbatons' champion, since all the other Beauxbatons students were as capable or even more capable than her.

In the end, she had failed in nearly all the tasks at the Tournament. Harry Potter, the little boy she had refused to believe being even capable of competing in the Tournament, had won it. Not only that, but he had also saved her sister when she hadn't been able to during the second task.

She had made with Harry the same mistake people often did with her. She had underestimated him, like people always did with her. Everyone underestimates her intelligence simply because she is part Veela, or simply because she is pretty or blond. Like her good looks prevented her from being intelligent and capable of taking care of herself.

Or maybe everyone was right and her good looks did prevent her from taking care of herself.

Fleur knew a fully-fledged Death Eater had attacked her at the Third Task, and that no one expected too many people to be able to deal with a Death Eater. But she still thought she should have been able to defend herself. She knew she could if she worked hard enough.

Gulping down the lump that had formed in her throat, Fleur came to a decision. She would join in the fight against the Dark Lord, like her father had done before her. If little Harry Potter could face the Dark Lord and survive, so would she. She would prove to all those who doubted her abilities that she was a very capable witch. Not just a Veela.

She couldn't help but snort. A Veela feeling the need to prove herself? That should be a first in the magical community's history.

She knew her mother would be against her joining the war. She knew her mother would cry, fuss, threat, and do everything else all mothers do to prevent their children from doing what they think is wrong for them. Fleur couldn't blame her. She would probably be too scared to lose another loved one to the Dark Lord.

But Fleur knew she had to help in the war. She owed it to her father and, in some way, to herself too.

Therefore, she needed to come up with a fair argument to convince her mother that she was doing the right thing by joining the war. As she was unable to, her head began hurting.

She had almost given up when an idea popped into her mind. Perhaps if her mother didn't know what were her true intentions...if she thought Fleur was staying at England just to improve her English or something else...

With those thoughts in mind, Fleur finally fell into slumber.

***

It was a rainy morning on late July. The chilly wind that whipped at their robes seemed out-of-place in a summer's day, but matched the mood of the people gathered for the funeral.

They were huddling together under umbrellas, since magic was not allowed in a Muggle Cemetery. If it was for fear of the rain or in search of human heat Bill didn't know.

The only person who didn't seem to care how wet his robes could get under the rain was Mr. Diggory. He was staring down at the coffin containing his only son, about to be lowered into his last resting place. His face was emotionless, as if carved in stone. But his eyes betrayed the pain he was struggling to bury deep down.

His wife had been quietly weeping next to him, supported by a woman who could only be her sister. At least until a raven-haired girl had appeared in the middle of the priest's speech commending Cedric's soul to God. She had walked quietly to Mrs. Diggory, and when the woman had looked up to face the owner of the slim hand that had come to rest on her shoulder, she had engulfed the girl in a tight hug. When they had parted, Bill noticed that the girl's eyes were red, her hair was in disarray, and that she seemed to be forcing herself to stay there, standing next to the grave. She was not able to look at it, though.

Next to them stood the Diggory's relatives, some family friends and quite a lot of Cedric's classmates. The other side of the grave was occupied by the Weasley family and Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Sprout. The three of them had been able to attend because the summer holidays had already begun.

Bill was glad to note that Rita Skeeter wasn't there. She would make sure to connect Harry's absence with the fact that he had been the last one to see Cedric alive. The boy didn't need that kind of stuff hanging over his head right now and Rita's articles would only make things worse for Harry.

When the priest had finished to say his words, the only thing they could hear was the rain splattering on the earth. Cedric's coffin was lowered, and as the first shovel of dirt hit the wood, Mrs. Diggory's desperate wails increased and almost drowned the sound of the light rain falling on them.

Her husband seemed to be shaken awake from his stupor by that and reached out to her, embracing her. She instantly relaxed a bit. Bill couldn't be sure, since Mr. Diggory's face was completely wet with rain by that moment, but he thought he had seen a couple of tears streaking down his cheeks.

"Arthur, I know this is not the most appropriate time, but I'd like a word with you." Dumbledore softly spoke to Mr. Weasley, who was standing right next to Bill.

"Sure. You can come to our house; we'll talk there. And Molly can make some hot tea while you wait for your travelling cloaks to dry before leaving."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows politely. "I don't want to impose on you more than necessary."

"Don't worry. You won't." And those were the last words spoken in the cemetery, as the crowd gathered there slowly began to part and leave.

***

When Fleur arrived at Hogwarts' gates, she had been prepared to find no one there except the groundskeeper, who hopefully would know where Professor Dumbledore was. It was not usual, after all, for any Staff to stay at the school during the Holidays.

But when she approached the gates and tried calling out to someone, she found out the school had been completely empty.  That was weird.

She was about to turn and go to the nearest town to try and gather some information on where she might find Professor Dumbledore during the holidays, when two witches wearing heavy and drenched raincoats had Apparated next to her.

One was short, with wavy grey hair and hands dirty with earth. The Herbology teacher, most likely. The other Fleur recognised as Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. She was taken aback to find Fleur there. Fleur couldn't blame her.

"Bonjour, Professor McGonagall. I was 'oping I could talk with Professor Dumblydorr, do you know where I can find 'im? I really need to talk to 'im."

"Professor Dumbledore is not here at the moment."

Fleur smiled. A somewhat haughty and slightly petulant smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I know zat, but where can I find 'im? Does he live around 'ere? It's important."

Professor McGonagall pursued her lips and quirked up one eyebrow. "What I meant was that he is not here at this exact moment, but he should be back by dusk. If you so desperately need to talk to him, you can come inside and wait." With that, Professor McGonagall took out her wand, muttered a series of spells and charms, and opened the gates to Hogwarts. When the other Professor had entered, Professor McGonagall stood to the side of the gate. "Well? Are you coming in or not?"

Fleur took hold of her trunk on the ground and followed inside.

***

Professor Dumbledore only got up to leave the Burrow many hours later. He, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Charlie and Bill had spent the afternoon talking about what Mr. Weasley had accomplished at the Ministry, how many people were aware of the Dark Lord's return, and how many were willing to cooperate with Dumbledore.

That was not a very promising number.

Bill felt angry with that. How could people be so selfish as to pretend nothing had happened only because they didn't want to jeopardise their perfect little lives? Didn't they see that they were risking exactly that by not preparing to face the Dark Lord?

The moment Professor Dumbledore got to his feet, Bill blurted out. "May I accompany you outside, Professor?" eliciting a raised eyebrow from his old Headmaster, but Dumbledore didn't voice his surprise. He merely nodded and followed Bill outside the Burrow.

Once they were out of his mother's earshot, Bill turned to face Dumbledore, a resolute expression on his face. But his words failed him. He didn't know how to approach the subject.

"Did you want to talk to me privately about something, Mr. Weasley? I could have Disapparated from inside the house, you know?" Dumbledore said chuckling, but Bill saw no amusement on his inquisitive eyes.

 "As a matter of fact, yes, Professor. I know my Mum will fuss about this, but it's my decision to begin with. That's why I wanted to talk to you in private." Bill raised his chin as a sign of bravery and resolution. "I want to help in the war."

"You already helped by bringing my message to your father, and you are still helping by being here for them." Dumbledore replied quietly.

 "I mean really help. To actively help in the war. If the Ministry had started to prepare for the war, they would be recruiting people to become Aurors or such, like my father said. But that's not the case." Bill said, unwillingly raising his voice. "So," he continued in a more controlled tone, "I don't know what else to do, or who to turn to but you, Professor. I don't want to keep still, watching and waiting until someone in my family gets hurt."

Reaching up to gently place his hand on Bill's shoulder, Dumbledore said. "You are a true Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. Just like every member in your family. Right now, there is not much we can do. But I will contact you when the appropriate time comes about your offer. Be prepared."

And with that, Dumbledore Disapparated.

***

When Professor McGonagall left her alone at Dumbledore's office, Fleur surveyed the objects scattered around the room. Professor Dumbledore had always seemed quite an eccentric wizard to her, and his office reaffirmed that. But it also revealed a bit more about his character.

A phoenix was sleeping just to the side of the entrance door. Fleur was instantly amazed at the bird's plumage, mesmerised by its colour. None of the drawings and depictions she had seen of phoenixes so far had made the species any justice. She had been looking the bird at close range when it opened its eyes and stared almost enquiringly at her. She smiled friendly to the bird and reached out carefully to pat his feathers. That simple action seemed to calm the bird down, and soon he was resting on his perch again.

Surveying the rest of the room, she had noticed that musical instruments similar to some of her grandmother's took a large portion of it. It seemed that Professor Dumbledore shared her grandmother's interest in music. Fleur didn't remember the names of the instruments, though.

On the office desk there were some quills, an inkbottle, a copy of the Daily Prophet, and some papers standing in a neat pile on the corner, that Fleur didn't look at closely because she didn't want to pry on Dumbledore's business. Recognising the headline on the newspaper, Fleur refrained from taking it. She had read that report this morning, and the picture on the main page was very unsettling to her.

Her eyes trailed to the shelves around Dumbledore's office, where she found a large collection of books, on all kinds of serious subjects, looking brand new. The ones that looked quite worn-out bore titles such as "Muggle sweets: is there magic behind those?" Perhaps Professor Dumbledore only charmed the more important books to last longer.

Choosing one of the books he probably wouldn't mind much to lend to someone, Fleur sat at one of the chairs facing his desk. The book was called Hogwarts, a History and seemed quite an interest reading for someone who knew nothing about the castle.

Hours later, Fleur put the book she had just finished reading back on place and looked around herself once more. She had been waiting for quite sometime and was mostly impatient at the moment. She started pacing up and down the office, feeling her legs numb after staying seated for so long, and was just about to go looking for Professor McGonagall when Professor Dumbledore came through the door.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle Delacour." Dumbledore circled his desk and sat at the chair on the other side. "Professor McGonagall just informed me you have been waiting for me. I'm sorry about that, but you could have owled warning us about your impending visit, you know?" He said with a twinkle in his eyes indicating the chair Fleur had been sitting for the past hours.

Fleur sat down again and began wriggling her hands together. She knew why she had come here. She had thought about her decision over and over again, weighting everything that needed to, but now that it came to her actual actions, she felt nervous.

"Do you want to tell me something, Mademoiselle Delacour? I don't think you came all the way over here and waited for so long just to read Hogwarts, a History, did you?" Laughter could be seen dancing in Dumbledore's eyes.

"No. I came over 'ere because..." she hesitated. Looking up to Dumbledore, she sighed. "At ze end of ze school year, weeks ago, you said zat in ze light of ze Dark Lord's return, all ze wizarding community had to stay together and be strong. You also said zat everyone would be welcome at Hogwarts if they chose to visit." Looking straight to Dumbledore, her chin raised in defiance, she finished. "I came 'ere today because I want to help in ze war against ze Dark Lord."

 "Are you sure you are prepared for it?" Dumbledore asked seriously. "You are very young, and you've just graduated from Beauxbatons."

"Yes, I am sure." She added, a yellow Veela-ish glint on her azure eyes.

Seeing the determination on her face, Dumbledore nodded. "Fair enough. I can't stop you from doing what you feel is right. But I can make sure you are ready for it."

***

When Bill returned to the kitchen, he found his father waiting for him with a serious look on his face. "You asked Dumbledore to help in the war, didn't you?"

Bill knew he could tell his father the truth. As a matter of fact, he would need his father's help in making Mrs. Weasley understand. "Yes. He says he doesn't know when he will call me, but I did offer my help."

Mr. Weasley approached his son and gave him a big and very tight hug. When they parted, Bill noticed that his father's eyes were a bit wet. "I'm very proud of you, my son. And I'm sure your mother will be, as well," he chuckled. "But that won't stop her from fussing and worrying about you, as well as doing everything in her power to stop you. You know that, don't you?"

Bill nodded. "I know. But I've made up my mind and nothing will change that."

Arthur cuffed his son's shoulder. "Well, we'll just have to figure out a way to postpone giving these news to her for as long as possible, right?"

Bill grinned at his father. "Or figure out a way to distract her from my news. Remember what Charlie did when he told her that he was going to work with dragons?"

Arthur chuckled. "I don't think I've ever seen your mother that mad with the twins...Well, until that whole deal with the Weasleys Wizard Wheezes joke shop, that is."

"I don't think Fred and George have quite forgiven Charlie for setting them up that time."

Arthur laughed out loud. "Ah, your brothers can't hold a grudge against anyone for too long. They had forgiven Charlie by the next day and actually complimented him on his well-thought plan before he headed to his dragon's camp. Of course, he didn't notice that they had sneaked a dungbomb into his trunk..."

It was Bill's turn to laugh out loud. Whipping tears off his eyes, he asked. "Well, as funny as that was, I don't think Mum would fall for something like that again. She is too clever for that." He continued seriously now, as his father reached down on the floor for something with his brow furrowed. "What would be a good diversion?"

Arthur straightened himself up and surveyed what Bill recognised as the Daily Prophet. During the riot that had issued in the Burrow this morning before they left for the funeral they must have missed the newspaper when it was delivered by owl. Mr. Weasley blanched as he read it.

"Dad, what is it?"

"I don't think we'll need to come up with something to take your mother's mind off you, son," and he extended the newspaper to Bill.

At the front page, Bill read the headline Retired Auror Found Dead at Home. The article stated that Alastor Moody had been found dead alone inside his house, apparently of natural causes, and was followed by a picture of Moody.