Author's Note: The longest chapter yet, enjoy!

Thanks to GoSnOgGaTrEe, 123315, msjasonhook, Taeniaea, Vampirehelsing, driccillamalfoyrox, Tomanak, Wolven Spirits, Kates Master, Wolf's scream, and BexyLou for your reviews!

Disclaimer: The only way anyone could ever mistake me for Ms. Rowling is if she was in a very serious accident and sustained extreme brain damage. As I do not believe that is the case (it had better not be—I want to read the seventh book!), it can be safely assumed that I am not, in fact, J. K. Rowling. No matter how much I wish I were.

x x x x x

Ella pouted. She had been curled up on the hard, uncomfortable floor for more than half an hour and had not learned anything at all about Harry Potter, who seemed to be very good at evading questions. All she had learned was that Remus had known that Potter was at the wedding. Whoop-de-do. Information like that was absolutely worthless unless she wanted to blackmail Remus, which would probably be a bad idea since he was the Minister of Magic. Besides, she had been instructed to say nothing about Potter's presence and though she was devious, she was not disobedient. Most of the time.

She highly doubted that anything of great importance would be revealed, so she stood up and began to dust off her dress. Trying to see if the back of her dress was clean, she barely heard the footsteps from inside the room nearing the door. Her eyes widened and she looked around frantically for some place to hide, sure that her mother would not like that she had been listening. Unfortunately, the Grangers had a very open hallway, offering no convenient place to conceal herself. Bloody dentists. She supposed that the real reason that Hermione was so good was not that it was her natural disposition, but that she never had the opportunity to make mischief as a child. Poor deprived Hermione.

Forcing her mind back on to more pressing matters, she saw the door handle turn and gulped. This was it. She braced herself for her mother's reaction.

Fleur stepped out and did not seem the least bit surprised that her daughter was standing there, looking rather like she had just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Far from being angry, though, Fleur gave Ella a small nod of approval. Ella's behavior reminded her so much of something Bill would have done that she couldn't be properly angry. Ella looked relieved, and she gave her mother a winning grin.

Turning around to look back into the room which Harry was still standing in, she said, "'Arry, did you bring your wand?"

Seeing him shake his head, Fleur smiled and got a wicked glint in her eyes. She closed the door, and Harry heard a small click that indicated it had been locked. Harry cursed.

Fleur smiled primly. "Do not bother to try to disapparate, 'Arry! I 'ave put a spell on ze room, so it is like your 'Ogwarts. You cannot disapparate." Fleur looked immensely pleased with herself. "I will be seeing you soon, I expect." She gave a throaty laugh and turned towards her daughter, who looked delighted at her mother's actions.

"Ella, stay 'ere. If 'e somehow gets out—'e will not, my magic is too strong—stop 'im any way you can, and zen come get me. All right, chéri?"

"Yes, mama," Ella replied obediently. Fleur smiled at her daughter and went down the stairs.

Ella sighed. Once again, she was sitting on the hard, uncomfortable floor of the Grangers' upstairs hallway. This time, though, her mother wasn't here. Ella smiled to herself, thinking that it might not be so bad as last time. After all, she might just get to have her own conversation with Harry Potter.

x x x x x

Dancing and laughing, people flitted about the Grangers' back yard, still celebrating Ron and Hermione's wedding. Remus looked on warily. When Ginny woke up, hysterical, Tonks had decided it would be best if people left the room. She had recruited Emma, Percy's wife, and had told everyone else, in no uncertain terms, to leave. Remus hadn't questioned the wisdom of this at the time, but now, watching Fred and George exchange mischievous glances, thought that letting them loose was just asking for it.

Sincerely hoping that the reception wouldn't turn out as memorable as Percy and Emma's (many people had ended up as canaries), Remus turned to find a seat. He nearly ran down Fleur. Far from looking upset about it, though (which, upon later reflection, Remus thought should have tipped him off), she merely smiled.

"I am very sorry, Remus," she began. "Excuse me, I should 'ave been watching where I was going." Later, Remus would sternly berate himself for not realizing something was going on. Where Fleur was concerned, she was never at fault. At the time, Remus didn't have time to think about the implications of Fleur's behavior, as she firmly steered him towards a chair and sat across from him.

"Enjoying the party?" she asked politely.

No. "Yes," he said, ignoring the pounding headache that had started when Fred and George stood next to the punch bowl for five minutes.

"Was it not a beautiful ceremony?"

No. "Yes," he said, trying to forget that he had nearly been forced to sedate Fred and George.

"I 'ope Ginny recovers soon. I wonder why she fainted. Don't you?"

No. "Yes," he replied uncomfortably, "I do."

"And 'er shouting 'Arry's name! Zat was truly puzzling, was it not?"

No. "Yes," he agreed. Fleur raised an eyebrow.

"Unless, of course, it was because she saw 'im."

The effect of that statement on Remus would have been extremely amusing, were the situation not so serious. A muscle in his neck began visibly twitching, and his face changed shades faster than Tonks' hair.

"Well," he said uneasily. "That's absurd," he scoffed.

"Yes, it probably is," she agreed. "But zen," she added, assuming a thoughtful expression, "why would 'e be locked in a room upstairs?"

Remus spit out the sip of champagne he had just taken.

"What?" he exclaimed. Fleur smiled in a disgustingly self-satisfied way. "That's impossible," he said, his breath still coming in shallow spurts.

"No, it is not," she contradicted him. "I could show you, if you like," she added helpfully.

Remus stared at her for a long moment, and then he put his head in his hands, fervently wishing he had had more champagne.

x x x x x

She locked him in. She locked him in. Harry cursed again.

He had trusted her, and she had locked him in the stupid room. What. The. Hell. Harry was not having a great day.

Maybe she was frustrated because he had refused to say why he had left in the first place. Maybe she was angry that he had tried to deceive her. Maybe she was hurt because he tried to leave the reception early. Maybe she was hungry. He had never understood women.

He suddenly stopped pacing. Maybe she had been bluffing. Maybe he could disapparate. Concentrating, he tried. And tried. After trying for several minutes, he opened his eyes slowly, desperately hoping to find himself anywhere but the Grangers' home. Spotting the familiar armchair, he realized that his efforts had been in vain. He snorted. Why not? Weren't they always?

He let out a grunt of frustration and sprawled across the distressingly uncomfortable chair. Closing his eyes, he wished lots of pain on Fleur.

Harry nearly fell out of the chair when he heard a tap at the door.

Scrambling to get up, he found himself ardently hoping that Fleur had decided to show mercy and had come back to free him.

"Yes?" he called.

"Hello," a cheerful voice replied. Harry cursed when he heard no trace of a French accent. He groaned and fell back into the chair.

After a moment of silence, the voice spoke again.

"It's really much more polite to talk to me, you know," the girl said reproachfully. Harry rolled his eyes.
"I'm only six and I know how to have a proper conversation," the girl called with more than just a hint of frustration. Harry no longer cared if Fleur let him out or not; he just wanted her to come back long enough to remove the child.

Seemingly sensing that Harry wouldn't talk to her unless forced to, the girl called to him tauntingly. "Fine," she said, "I won't bother you anymore. But I will go see Uncle Fred and Uncle George. Who knows, maybe they will help me if I tell them to come open a room for me. They won't mind if it's locked."

Harry, utterly shocked that a six year old was blackmailing him, sat in silence for a moment. It was then he realized that the girl must be Fleur's daughter. Contemplating this, he wasn't surprised at all anymore.

The realization also served to remind him that she knew he didn't want to be found by anyone else, and he knew if she threatened to do something, she probably would. Like her mother, Harry suspected she was no fairy princess.

Sighing in resignation, he decided there was no course of action but to talk to the girl. If Fred and George found him, they would probably write a song and perform it at the reception that was still going on, while bewitching him to dance to it.

"Hullo," he said tonelessly. The girl giggled.

"Well, it's no good if you act so gloomy about it," she said. "I'm actually really nice," she said. But Harry was not fooled. This was the daughter of the woman who had locked him in a room. If he wanted to be gloomy, he would. He did not recognize that he was acting much less mature than the six year old he was talking to. But then the image of himself dancing to a horrible tune created by Fred and George floated into his mind, and he decided he would be nice.

"I'm sorry," he said, though he didn't sound sorry at all.

She giggled again. "That's alright," she said. "I'm not actually here to exchange pleasantries." As Harry had guessed, the girl was obviously part of a conspiracy to torture him still further.

"Who are you?" she asked. Wow. Apparently the girl was much less intelligent than he had thought.

"I thought you knew," he replied smugly.

"I know you're name," she said, obviously exasperated, though it was difficult to tell through the door. "I want to know what the big deal is about you. You didn't look like you could have done anything terribly important."

Harry was now a bit more than slightly annoyed with the girl. In less than ten minutes, she had irritated him, blackmailed him, and insulted him. She was clearly not going to have any friends when she went to Hogwarts. Harry felt strongly that it would be no more than she deserved.

"So, what's going on?" she prompted.

Pride hurt, Harry replied a bit angrily. "I defeated the most evil wizard that ever existed!" he shouted, feeling that he deserved some credit.

"And then you ran off." Ella sounded very much like she was rolling her eyes.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Ella was convinced she had finally made some progress, and Harry was a bit miffed that he was being reprimanded by a six year old. And, though he would never admit it, he thought she might have a point, though she didn't realize how appropriate her statement was. What he had done completely overwhelmed the importance of defeating Voldemort. For he had become just as bad as those who followed Voldemort—just as horrible, even, as Voldemort himself. He felt his eyes burned as he re-lived that terrible moment, and the horrific feeling of realizing he had made a ghastly mistake.

"No one talks about you, you know," Ella informed him. It was amazing how good she could make a person feel. Realizing that her statement sounded awful, she quickly amended it. "Not in a bad way," she said. "Just…Whenever someone accidentally mentions you, everyone goes all quiet. They change the subject. And they get really, really sad. Aunt Ginny cries a lot," she said sadly. "They all miss you. Aunt Ginny most of all."

Harry couldn't stop hot tears from forming in his eyes. He hastily wiped them away, refusing to think about what Ella had said. Harry knew he had hurt them; it had hurt him, too. But he had to leave. He couldn't bear it if they ever found out…

"You love her, don't you? And she loves you?" Harry barely managed a smile. Ella was weirdly perceptive, and she was almost disturbingly smart.

"Loved," he croaked.

"Then why are you crying?" she asked plaintively. How did she know that?

"I can hear it in your voice." That was just creepy.

"Harry?"

"How is Ginny?" Harry asked, ignoring the girl's question. On the other side of the door, Ella smiled sadly.

"She's doing well," Ella said. "She's been happier since—" Ella quickly stopped herself. She had been about to say that Ginny had been happier since she got engaged. But would Harry really want to hear that? He clearly still had feelings for her. Ella bit her lip and hoped Harry hadn't noticed.

Harry noticed. "Since what?" he asked, slightly afraid of the answer.

"Since…Ron and Aunt Hermione got engaged. I don't call him "Uncle" because he doesn't like me to; he says it makes him feel like a Prefect again, and he didn't like that very much. Uncle Fred and Uncle George like me to call them that though; they say it makes them feel like they have power they can abuse," she prattled, as she always did when she was trying to hide something. "And Uncle Percy—"

"Eleanor?" Harry cut her off.

Ella cringed slightly at the use of her full name. "It's Ella," she said exasperatedly, though she didn't actually care all that much. She just desperately wanted to distract Harry.

"Fine, then. Ella!" he called as she began the story about how they had chosen her name.

"Yes?" she asked in a very small voice.

"Why is Ginny happier?" he asked, clearly expecting an honest answer.

Ella visibly deflated, though Harry couldn't see her. In a defeated tone, she said, "Since she got engaged."

Author's Note: Please review!