Chapter VII
The siege was over. St. Mungo's was lost.
"Out of the way, bitch!"
"Push me once more and I'll shove me wand up yer arse!"
The hospital seemed to have taken with it the last vestiges of resistance from the wizards and witches of Magical Britain. Men and women, many with their entire families accompanying them, pushed and shoved inside the lobby of Gringotts. Alongside the tellers were heavily armoured goblin warriors, the bank just as aware as she was of the possibility the panic and terror could erupt into violence.
"Stop! We must prepare ourselves, organise a defence! If we do not unite, then the Dark Lord will kill us one by one!"
"Oi! You're not in front of me, my family was here first, we were!"
"Please! Listen to me! We cannot give up!"
Her desperate attempts to reason with the crowd were futile. They were here to get what gold they could, deposit whatever heirlooms and belongings they could shrink down, and flee. Pointless, given the Ministry had fallen to the Death Eaters more than three weeks prior, but no one here was thinking rationally.
A thin, watery shout drew her attention, and she saw a tall, blonde man hysterically sobbing to be allowed into his family's vault. She might not have noticed him if he hadn't been bandying about his 'legacy' as an heir to the Founders. An obviously frustrated teller gestured impatiently for the young man to be taken to a cart and then tiredly greeted the next wizard in the queue.
Fleur begged and pleaded, moving up and down the lines, seeking out volunteers to form some sort of militia. With Hogsmeade destroyed, the Ministry and Hogwarts each occupied by a Dark Lord, and now the sacking of St. Mungo's, Diagon Alley was the last remaining refuge for free wizards and witches.
Since she'd arrived on the British Isles, the war had taken one disastrous turn after another. Hogwarts had fallen not long before she volunteered, and the former Minister bowed to public pressure from parents of the students left behind. An ill-advised attempt to seize the castle met not only the Mad Heir, but a force of Death Eaters - with Voldemort at the helm - out to carry out the same mission.
When the Battle of Hogsmeade came to an end, the village was destroyed, more than half of the DMLE was dead, and the Ministry's war ended in all but name. The only surprise was how long it even took to happen.
Fleur looked around the lobby at the desperate people, none of them willing to meet her eyes or answer her call, and tasted bitter defeat. She'd come to this land, seeking retribution, desiring justice for her father's death, but if people who'd lost far more than she were unwilling to stand up, what hope was there? This was their home, and they were turning on each other like drowning men pushing one another beneath the water for a few more seconds of air.
She glanced back towards the tellers, noting the arrival of yet more armoured goblins, along with the return of the pathetic lordling who'd made such a hysterical scene before. Fleur's patience, her compassion, they reached her limits. If these people refused to fight, perhaps someone should make them.
With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, feeling feathers sprout along her arms, harnessing all of the focus and energy she could muster. It was as though an invisible wave swept through the lobby, and just like that, half of the voices went silent.
When she spoke, her voice was melodic, ethereal, an octave higher than normal. "You would not want anything to happen to me, oui? Protect me, please! Draw your wands, and form up outside the banque," she commanded, feeling sweat run down the back of her neck, a migraine already forming from the strain of overpowering her allure in such fashion.
Shuffling away from their loved ones, ignoring their confused cries, every man over the age of thirteen shuffled towards the bank's entrance. Every man, but one that is.
"You… are an unanticipated variable," the spoiled heir said through clenched teeth, the only one to resist her compulsion. "A complication, without a doubt, but one that may well work to our collective benefit."
Fleur pressed harder, the throbbing in her temples accelerating to a crushing drumbeat. Several women stumbled away, abandoning their children and parents, to join the men outside. "Draw your wand, and form up with the others," she ordered again, but still the young man in front of her disregarded her demands.
"Stop that. It won't work, and you should conserve your energy for the others. I have a plan, but it will take some time, and that's a resource we're currently lacking."
Fleur grunted, her jaw set as her will smashed into his. A long moment passed, but he remained where he was. "'ow- How are you resisting this?"
"Are you going to continue to demonstrate your impotence, or will you listen to me?" he asked impatiently, stepping closer to her and lowering his voice. "Bardok is taking me to meet with the bank's manager. I have a plan, but it will all be for naught should Diagon fall before I can put it into place. You must hold the Alley until then."
There was no trace of the snivelling coward from before, crying and begging to be taken to his vault. "Who are you?"
"I am-" he abruptly cut himself off mid-sentence, appearing to give her question serious thought. Eventually, he said, "You may call me Zacharias Smith."
"I've never heard that name before." He'd paused, but did not withdraw his hand from his bag, fingers pressed against the smooth, comforting feel of the leather binding.
"Really?" The spirit floated closer, allowing Harry a chance for a closer, cautious examination. It (he?) looked identical to a human man, barring the translucent nature and bluish colouring. The spirit looked perhaps twenty years older than Harry himself, aristocratic lines on its face hidden by the wild hair and a mustache and goatee. "In this world, James and Lily named me this Harry's godfather. Who was yours, back home?"
"I- I don't know."
"Was it Remus? Frank? If you say Wormtail or Snivellus, I might have another heart attack…"
"I don't recognise any of those names, either." Despite his suspicion rising once more, Harry removed his hand from his bag, ultimately deciding mercy was in order, drawing himself up straight before the undead abomination. "Begone, spirit, and haunt me no longer. Your unholiness taints the site of what is meant to be a sacred ritual."
It laughed, looking amused at his pronouncement. "Alas, your lordliness, this humble 'spirit' has little else to occupy his time. You're definitely the most interesting person to enter this forest in almost a year, and it's a lot to ask me to walk- erm, 'float' away from such entertainment."
Harry gestured to the stag, struggling weakly against the trap's bindings, exhausting itself in an attempt to get free. "I won't let that animal suffer any longer for your entertainment. Leave, or you'll force me to put an end to whatever sacrilege powers your existence."
The spirit looked over at the stag, joviality fading from its features. "Very well. But I'll be back." And with that, it drifted back into the ground, disappearing from the forest.
Harry stared at the ground it vanished within for a long moment, before a quiet mrow from the orange cat pulled him from his thoughts. Securely holding his blade, he returned to the weakened animal, placing a calming hand on its haunch and beginning the consecration anew.
"Do you mind if I sit with you?"
"If you must," Hermione said, setting down her fork to slide the open book to the other side of the table.
Fleur set her plate and napkins down next to her. "Since it seems you are the only person here who will speak to me, you must suffer my company."
"Tolerance doesn't require conversation," Hermione noted, although she closed her book.
After tentatively testing the temperature of the roasted potatoes on her plate, Fleur picked one up with her fingers and popped it into her mouth, looking over at her former ally while she chewed. Despite losing the ability to walk, Hermione remained lean, her frame thin and petite. Her face was more mature from the last time they'd met, a woman rather than a teenager.
Oscar burbled in her arms, and Fleur ended her observation of the other woman in favour of looking at the infant. There was little of his mother in the child, though Fleur knew that may change as he grew. No, right now, Oscar was all Potter.
"What is it? You've been staring at us for over a minute now."
Her eyes stuck on the child, Fleur replied, "I never expected one of the dimension travellers to father a child."
"Is it so wrong he managed to find a sliver of happiness after you stole everything else from him?"
"We were- we are in a desperate situation. I will not apologise for doing everything I can to save this land." She finished eating and wiped her fingers on a napkin. "I am more surprised you responded to his advances. You were close with the Mad Heir, were you not? I remember how uncomfortable you were with the first one we summoned."
"You've started calling him that now, too? I recall you used to say his real name." Fleur didn't answer, and Hermione shrugged. "That was a long time ago, and Harry- Oscar's father, I mean - was different than the first, and nothing at all like the Mad Heir. They're all different people, regardless of their name or where they come from."
Fleur tried to think back on the second Potter they summoned. She mostly remembered feelings of revulsion at the very sight of him, every glimpse of his features transporting her to that night on the coast, when her father and most of the Weasley family were killed in front of her.
Strange, though; she hadn't once had the same sort of flashbacks with her- with this Harry. There was simply no comparison; he was nothing at all like the others, and there was no malice or trauma to be found in him. "I think I understand."
"A creature like you? I doubt it." And just like that, any momentary kinship Fleur might have felt vanished, an effective reminder of where she was and who she was with. "Speaking of, the third day is nearly over. You don't suppose your newest acquisition has slipped his leash?"
"No," she said with certainty. "Harry would never abandon me."
She was through with this conversation. Rising from her seat and offering a nod to her 'host', Fleur walked the short distance to the large tent she'd been assigned to stay in. Susan must've been given the night off, for it was a different young woman that followed her in, taking a seat just inside the entrance with her wand drawn. Fleur ignored the dark-skinned girl, laying out her bedroll and preparing to lie down.
Harry did say he'd be back in three days. Objectively, Fleur knew she should be worried at the length of time he was absent, should be pressing to complete this mission as soon as possible to return to the sanctuary. Who knows what was happening there, without her allure present to calm nerves, raise morale, and silence any uncomfortable questions?
She knew these things, but lying alone, Fleur instead closed her eyes and hoped only that Harry, wherever he might be, was safe.
The consecration ritual completed, Harry hurriedly assembled a fire and began skinning the stag in the dim light. Once that was completed, he harvested the antlers, and then as much meat as he could carry from the carcass, placing his borrowed robes on the ground to drag the skin and meat to the river for cleaning.
Pausing for a brief rest once finished, an unwelcome voice once more interrupted his work.
"Never was much of a hunter, myself."
"Leave me be."
The spirit drifted into his line of sight, looking over the meat and materials. "So what's it like? The world you come from?"
Standing up, Harry began digging a trench, diverting some of the River Wye's water to a shallow pool to soak the deer's hide in while he slept. The spirit was obviously content to wait him out, so eventually he replied, "In many ways, it's just like this one. There are forests, mountains, deserts and seas."
"And in other ways?"
He paused, setting the spade he'd borrowed at the camp aside. It wasn't intended for use of this scale, and digging with it was exhausting. Letting his blistered hands cool in the midnight air, he turned his gaze to the sky, visible here along the river. Astarte's radiance winked back at him, an ocean of twinkling lights laid out among the tapestry of velvet blackness. "In other ways, I find your world very lonely and afraid."
"I understand. After being dragged across dimensions, I think even the bravest man would feel that-"
"No," Harry interrupted, his tone curt. "I think this world is afraid, a fear that stems from a lack of understanding."
They lapsed into silence, Harry staring at the stars, the spirit lingering nearby. After a while, he brushed the mud off of his trousers and stood, getting back to work.
"You dodged the question. Don't think I didn't notice."
His hands were on fire, but Harry grit his teeth and continued. He was nearly done. "Which question?"
"I asked about where you come from. Did you grow up with your parents?"
"For a few years, yes." Sections of the trench were too deep; he wanted clean water running into the pool he'd dug, but not so much that there was a risk it would overflow. "Then I was sent to the Holy City to begin my training."
"They gave you up?"
"No." Finished at last, Harry cleaned off the spade and replaced it in his borrowed pack, settling in next to the fire. He was cold, wet, and hungry. "You don't understand. They offered me the opportunity to serve the Queen of the Heavens, to carry out her will. I've been called here to continue that mission."
"Is that what Delacour told you?"
"That's what I know." And then, in warning: "Speak carefully. I will not tolerate blasphemy."
"I'm not trying to upset you, or ridicule, um, your ways and culture. Believe it or not, I care about what happens to you, kid. Maybe in some way because it feels like you're all the same Harry, that little screaming potato your dad showed me the day you were born. I promised to protect you, to look out for you. It doesn't matter to me where you came from." Harry stared into the fire and did not respond. "How much has she told you about what happened in this world?"
This, at least, he had an answer for. "I know our opponent can't be conquered by death. I know there was a prophecy about the Harry Potter born of this world, and that he was lost before it could be fulfilled. I know that only I can help Fleur attain the power to achieve victory over this… 'Dark Lord'."
The spirit waited expectantly, but shook his head when Harry did not continue. "That's it? That's seriously all she said?"
"I don't need to know anything else. I understand the situation."
"You may think you do-"
The hour was late. Harry didn't even know why he was conversing with this… undead person. "I'm going to bed. If you're here when I wake up, I will exorcise you, spirit."
It stayed quiet, but did not leave while he used the ash from the fire to smother it, arranging his sleeping bag near the smouldering remains for warmth. He placed his hymnal on his pillow and prepared to lie down when it spoke again.
"There is a secret in these woods, one I took to my grave. It's actually still with what's left of my earthly remains. That's what your mistress is searching for, why she brought you to this forest. I'll make you a deal: I'll tell you where you can find it, but you have to listen to what I have to say."
Harry eyed the spirit with a suspicious gaze. Could it be telling the truth? Was this secret that Fleur and he had been seeking? "Very well," he muttered.
The spirit floated closer, hunkering down in the center of the extinguished fire. "Merlin, I spent so long trying to convince you to listen, now I don't even know where to begin! Settle in, I've got a lot to say." It seemed to grasp for the right words, translucent mouth working silently, as though it were trying out various starts. "When people here recognised you as Harry Potter, the fact you travelled between dimensions never came up, did it?"
"I said I would listen, I didn't say I would answer your questions."
The smirk on its face told Harry it had the answer it wanted. "Fine, have it your way. You should know, pulling someone through a dimensional tear isn't something that happens every day in this world. In fact, it's a rather shocking and almost unbelievable event… something you really have to see to believe. And yet, I'd hazard a guess that no one so much as batted an eye at your arrival."
Harry sat silently.
"Thought as much. The reason for that is all of them already saw it happen, already knew several people like you. You didn't really think you were the first Harry Potter she dragged into her war, did you?"
Breakfast was starting when he came back. Back bowed beneath the weight of an overstuffed pack, Harry's pace was slow and plodding, but his head was up, eyes darting over the encampment's inhabitants until he found her.
An uncontrollable smile spread across her face, and she raised her arm to wave in greeting. There was a hesitation, a pause, before he smiled in reply and made his way over to her.
"Forgive me, I didn't intend to be away for so long."
"It is fine. I am glad you have returned," she said, unable to erase her silly smile at seeing him once again. "Can I assist you in any way?"
"You're back," Susan said, coming up to the two of them. "We'd started to wonder."
"I have venison for your stores, as much as I could carry." He slung his pack off his shoulder, opening the flap to reveal wet slabs of meat. "I cured it in saltwater overnight, but you should continue the curing process or find a way to keep it cool."
"We'll put it to good use," Susan said, motioning for a young woman to come and take away the venison, then casting a questioning look between her and Harry. "Will we be leaving today, then?"
"How long will our journey take?" he asked. "I'd hoped to finish drying and tanning the skins I collected."
Fleur hesitated. Nearly a week had passed since the sacking of Outpost Epsilon, and they had yet to accomplish either Hermione's task or their own. "Our journey will be brief, a simple apparition." What followed would be anything but simple, however. "It is no problem if you need a day to rest."
"No, that's not-" he shook his head. "I only wanted to prepare a specific hymn before we set out, but it will be several days before I'm able to craft any vellum."
Glancing around at the various sets of eyes staring at them, at Susan not even attempting to disguise her eavesdropping, Fleur knew she couldn't grant his request. It wasn't safe, staying in such close proximity with people that knew far too much about too many things. "Harry…"
He didn't meet her eyes, staring at her hands for some reason. "I understand."
"No, wait. Come with me." Fleur took his hand, noting for the first time how his fingers and palms were covered in open, painful looking blisters. She led him to her tent, motioning for him to drop his pack and take a seat on her bedroll. She reached into her sleeve for her wand to heal his hands, grimacing in remembrance when it came back empty. "What happened to your hands?"
"I didn't have the proper tools, so I had to make do with what I could."
"What exactly do you need to craft a hymn?" She listened attentively while he described the process of drying, stretching, and scraping the hide he'd harvested from the stag. "And you cannot accept any assistance from a, um, a nonbeliever?"
"It's not that. I already consecrated the remains," he said, gently withdrawing his hand from her grasp. She hadn't even realised she was still holding it.
"I think I can help. I will have to speak with the others, though."
"I'll come with you," he said, moving to stand up.
"Non, I can handle this on my own. Rest, you look exhausted." Not waiting for an answer, she hurried out of the tent, nearly colliding headfirst with Susan. Fleur opened her mouth to question what Susan thought she was doing, then thought better of it. 'As though it wasn't obvious.' "I need to speak with Hermione. Do not disturb him."
Susan parted the flaps, peeking inside as if to verify her words, then stationed herself at the entrance. Fleur, meanwhile, set out for the centre of the encampment.
"I need my wand," she said without preamble upon arriving.
Hermione's eyebrows raised, looking up from the parchment she was consulting. "Well, that's not going to happen. You'll get your wand back at the gates of Hogwarts."
"Harry needs my assistance, and I cannot provide it without my wand."
"He's back, then?" Hermione set down the parchment, pushing her chair back from the large table she sat at before wheeling over to collect Oscar. "I'm sure I'll be able to sort out whatever he needs help with."
Fleur didn't bother objecting. In the end, the sooner the hide Harry brought back was prepared, the sooner they'd be able to leave. Together they made their way back to her tent, where Harry was removing the skins from his pack, laying them out flat on the ground.
"I see congratulations are in order," Hermione said by way of greeting, rolling to a halt just inside the entrance.
"Hello," Harry said in a neutral tone.
"He needs these dried and…" Fleur fumbled for the right word, trying to remember what he'd told her. "Stretched?"
"I think I can help with that, if you'd like?"
"What are you going to do, exactly?" Harry asked, standing protectively over the skins.
"A desiccation charm, for starters. I assume, if you're creating your own parchment, you also need to remove the hair, so I can follow that with a depilatory charm as well."
"And your magic won't change or alter the nature of the hide?"
"Not beyond drying it and removing the hair, no."
Harry bit his lip, shooting a quick glance at Fleur. She nodded in approval of what Hermione said, so he stepped away and allowed Hermione access. The younger witch quickly cast the two charms, waiting while Harry ran his hands over their surface to gauge the effectiveness of her magic.
For the next ten minutes, Fleur watched while Harry directed Hermione's spellcasting, describing what he needed, and her describing various spells to carry those tasks out. In short order, the hide had been dried, bleached, stretched, and scraped.
"Remarkable…" he murmured, holding the finished product and looking over the results of her magic.
"Do you need anything else?" Fleur asked. Harry shook his head, and she turned to Hermione. "Thank you for your assistance, but he requires privacy for the next step."
The other woman looked amused, waiting until Harry himself verified her words before turning her chair and leaving the tent. Fleur watched her leave, doing her best to tamp down the bitterness and envy over how that sequence of events played out. She didn't like how someone else dazzled Harry with their magic, how it wasn't her magic that provided the necessary assistance. She knew it was silly, but nonetheless the feeling remained. The idea that he may not need her, depend on her was deeply discomfiting.
Not because- well, not solely because the resistance needed his cooperation against the Dark Lord. In the two weeks since he'd been summoned to this world, Harry came to occupy the huge, gaping void in her life, the emptiness supposed to be filled with people that cared about her.
"Fleur?" he asked, jerking her out of her thoughts.
She blinked. "Yes?" He was still seated near the skins, rooted in the same spot he was before Hermione left. "Would you- did you wish for me to leave, as well?" He didn't mind the idea of her coming with him on his hunting trip, was this so different?
"About our mission. What are we searching for in this forest?"
"There is an artefact hidden here, one that could reverse the tide in this war. We have come to find its owner."
He nodded, absently running his injured hands over the smooth surface of the deer skin. Unhooking it from the conjured racks Hermione made while accelerating the tanning process, Harry laid it flat on the floor, then placed his spellbook at various spots - mapping out how many pages he could create, she realised.
"You do not mind if I stay while you… work, do you?"
"No, it's fine." Using the dagger she'd transfigured for him, Harry began cutting the vellum into sheet-sized segments. Harry frequently cast glances in her direction, staring at her without any of the reticence he'd previously displayed. "And this demand we are to fulfill, from the people of this village. They want us to do… what, exactly?"
This was unlike him, this questioning. "Is everything alright? Does something about our travels concern you?"
Harry held the first page he'd cut in his hands, staring down at the blank vellum as though it held the answers he sought. Eventually, he came to a conclusion and met her gaze. "No, but it will be dangerous, won't it?"
"Yes, but you do not need to worry. We are to infiltrate the castle and obtain a piece of information. If all goes according to plan, no one will even know we were there."
"But this castle," Harry insisted, shifting in his seat to fully face her. "It is where the Harry Potter of this world lives, is it not?"
A long moment passed, and he waited while she sat, completely still.
"Who told you that? Was it Susan?"
"Is it true?"
Fleur's rose-coloured lips pressed together. "Yes. He is called the Mad Heir in our world."
"Smith told me he was lost, following the Dark Lord's return."
"He spoke the truth. The Mad Heir is not Harry Potter. I knew him and competed against him in the TriWizard Tournament. The boy that came back from the graveyard was not Harry Potter."
"What happened? Why wasn't I told this sooner?"
Fleur did not look away, she met his eyes without hesitation. "He is a difficult topic to discuss. In this country, Harry Potter was a legend, inexplicably surviving the Dark Lord's attack when he was an infant. He grew up in seclusion, and once arriving at Hogwarts to begin schooling, was at the centre of a number of mysteries and adventures."
She paused, biting her lip, and a shadow seemed to fall over her features. "The change, when it happened, took everyone by surprise. The Mad Heir murdered the headmaster of the school and a number of its teachers, and took nearly a hundred students hostage." Here, she paused again, before adding in a quiet voice, "As well as murdering my father before my very eyes."
He had no doubt she was telling the truth. She spoke clearly, her face open and expression transparently honest. "Smith told me that he bore the mark of Ba'al on his brow." She looked confused, so he explained, "A lightning bolt, the symbol of the Lord of Storms."
"Ah. Yes, this is so."
"Thank you for telling me the truth." Harry felt a deep, burning shame at forcing her to speak of such a painful memory.
It was that accursed spirit, whispering its deceit and lies into his ears, who nearly led him to doubt Fleur and the righteousness of her cause. Her reticence was perfectly understandable, all the more so given the desperate situation she and her followers were in. Harry knew, he knew of the duplicitous methods those who followed Melqart employed; indeed, he'd had firsthand experience seeing their villainy at work in the conspiracy that led to his teacher's assassination. And yet, even that knowledge did not stop him from nearly questioning his faith.
'Never again' he vowed silently. "Milady, there's something I must confess."
A bit of her sadness faded, and she smiled gently at him. "What is it?"
"While in the forest, I was visited by a spirit, a foul spectre. It claimed its name was Sirius Black." Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. "It was this spirit who told me of the- the 'Mad Heir'."
"Black is a ghost? Where is he now?" she asked urgently.
"It spewed vile accusations against you, blasphemy of the worst sort. I exorcised the spirit, returning the soul to Melqart's embrace."
"What?!" Her body tensed, frame practically vibrating in distress. "How could- Harry, he is the one we seek!"
Harry lowered his head, trying to convey his apology for displeasing her. "I didn't know that at the time, thus my confession. But, before I cast it out, the spirit told me of a secret, one that it claimed to have taken to its grave. I believe I know where the artefact we seek can be found."
"You- you- tu as fait un très bon travail!" she said, the melodic sound of her joy carrying through her unknown words. "I will need a way to get my wand back, and then we can set out immediately!"
"But… we gave our word that we would assist the villagers," Harry protested.
Fleur was taken aback by his words. "Oh. Yes, I suppose we did promise," she said reluctantly. "And the information they seek inside of the school may well be valuable to our own endeavours. You are right, I was being- I was not thinking clearly."
In truth, Harry was less concerned about the welfare of the inhabitants of this strange camp, all the more so given the way they treated Fleur.
Nevertheless, armed with a new understanding of the situation this world faced, he was determined to visit Hogwarts as soon as possible. The prophecy Smith spoke of, the one that foretold Astarte's rise, appeared to be exactly what he'd first thought.
He'd already encountered this 'Voldemort', who defied death's embrace. He currently travelled with Fleur, whose destiny clearly rested in Heaven's embrace. And now, soon, he would meet the final player in this game of fate.
This world's incarnation of Ba'al Hammon, the Lord of Storms. Otherwise known as The Mad Heir.
His alternate self, the other Harry Potter.
With a small smile, Harry removed a piece of antler he'd harvested, carving and sharpening it into a crude writing instrument with the blade Fleur provided him. The power of the Triad would be reborn.
Soon.
A/N: 5300 words before the author's note.
Woo! So nice to update this story again. I struggle soooo much with the last section of this chapter (basically, from when Harry returned to the camp). It didn't feel like it had the 'oomph' that the close of previous chapters did, but I suppose that's to be expected. Can't drop a 'plot bomb' every chapter, after all.
This Harry's an interesting character to write. I've never written a protagonist who is an actual fanatic before, and it's an odd thing to write someone who isn't rational or, um, let's call it "level-headed". As soon as I decided Sirius was going to reappear as a ghost, I knew Harry would exorcise him. How could he not? Not only was this Sirius 'undead', but he was also telling Harry some uncomfortable information about the woman Harry believes to be his goddess in human form. If a hardcore Christian met who they honestly thought was Jesus Christ in the flesh, and some freaking GHOST started talking shit about him, I can't see any scenario where the Christian would calmly and rationally listen to their points.
And Fleur... oh, Fleur. Sad, lonely, isolated Fleur, who really just wants someone to accept her and be her friend. Unlike this Harry, I have an easy time writing her. Everyone in her life is either a 'frenemy' (Smith/Hermione), an actual enemy (Voldemort/Mad Heir), or a pawn (the rest of the resistance). Unlike Smith, she does actually care about the people she's sacrificing, but loss after loss has drilled into her mind that there's no line too far when it comes to staving off defeat. I really, really love this Fleur.
Okay, that's enough, now that I've spent 1,000 words explaining my thoughts on our main characters :D
NEXT CHAPTER: Astarte's Chosen vs. the Lord of Storm, tune in to A Straight Flush!
Stay safe, healthy, and happy!
~Frickles
