Daily Challenge: In case you missed it, I am posting too fast for any of my betas to keep up with me and I'm still dyslexic so there will still be lots of mistakes.

WARNING: So this turn in the fic made it vastly unpopular with more than half of the reviewers. Yes, this fic gets darker. I time travelled Harry and a Dark Lord, shit is going to go down.

Chapter 10 - Together Again

"Try harder, Potter," Moody growled.

A tidal wave rose in his mind. The war inside him creating a cacophony, push harder, pull back, too much, too little. Not good enough.

"Not good enough, Moody echoed his thoughts. "You're enemy won't be so soft on you."

"Professor-" George warned.

"Stay out of it, Weasley."

"Sir," Fred tried.

But whatever he was saying was lost on Harry. He couldn't see, well, he could physically see but he couldn't focus on the images around him. He was lost in the power roaring in his mind. A symphony, a stampede.

A soothing touch, a wildfire.

Consistent, irritating.

Steady, out of balance.

He fought himself, fought against whatever it was that Moody was using on him. It wasn't the Imperius, but the magic felt dark, oily. He didn't want it touching his senses. But whatever it was, was strong and cloying. It made his magic both want to sync with it and repel it.

"You're not even trying, boy."

Harry lost the fight. His magic lashed out from him.

And for a moment, he saw Moody as the imposter, even if he knew for certain that Crouch Jr. was dead.

Snape had triple checked it.

Everyone in the room was thrown to the ground. Moody on his wooden stub hit his head on his way down. Every single window in the room blew outwards. The instruments and objects on Moody's desk dented and shattered.

Someone screamed.

Harry ran, his magic following him as if he were the eye of a hurricane. The windows in the hall blew out as he passed them. He saw a group of people coming around a corner, headed in his direction.

No! I'll hurt them, I'll hurt them!

So he took the only logical avenue available to him.

He jumped out one of the windows. And it was just his luck that he had jumped from the side of the castle that had the longest drop.

For most people, plummeting a couple of hundred feet was terrifying, but Harry was a Seeker and rather used to the experience. The wind in his face actually cleared his mind. With a guttural shout, he directed his magic in front of him. The air buffed against him, he slowed, but he flipped over and over, like a twirling leaf. He had to create a constant force of air around himself, directed the wind with his wand. He barely had enough time to pull it off, it was as if he was using the wind to fight gravity. His glasses were ripped away and judging the distance to the ground became impossible.

Not that he had to wait long to find out.

When he hit the ground it did hurt. Landing hard on his side, he groaned, knowing that he would be a mass of bruises. But he hadn't felt anything break, he didn't even feel a sprain. He rolled onto his back. He summoned his glasses, clumsily putting them on his face. He looked up and up at the window he had jumped out of.

I should be dead, he thought, and his next thought was, I better get back to the castle or Hermione is going to kill me.

He got to his feet, feeling exhausted and each and every bruise, but his mental magic had receded to a manageable press. He sighed, not even this incident had drained it completely. He made the long trek to the side entrance. His tired legs making each step feel like twenty.

Professor Flitwick found him first and directed (ordered) him to the hospital wing.

Madame Pomfrey was beside herself. "I should just keep you here, or at the very least get you your own bed."

Hermione did indeed chew him out for getting himself hurt while Ron looked as if his eyebrows were trying to merge with his hairline as Harry encountered the events.

Fleur found him sometime after his friends had left for the night. He was changing into his pyjamas, or, he was attempting to get his shirt back over his head.

Her gasp of horror made him flinch. Logically, he knew she was likely reacting to the truly spectacular array of bruises along his side. Dark blackish, purplish, bluish blotches coloured his pale skin along his left arm and ribs and torso, the edges of which were a lovely shade of yellowish-green. But the unlogical part of him he had thought he was overcoming, believed she was repulsed by the burn marks on his other side.

He turned his back on her.

Fleur being Fleur, just marched into his line of sight. He thought she might comfort him with cooing like Mrs. Weasley sometimes did, but she didn't.

Fleur's eyes were very serious, very steady as they caught his gaze. "You could have died," she said gravely.

He closed his eyes in an attempt to shield himself from the simmering emotion behind her grave tone. "I could have killed someone. Multiple someones, it was only dumb luck that no one but me got hurt."

She touched his face, "Look at me, Flyboy."

He opened his eyes warily.

"You are not allowed to die on me."

He sighed, the tension left him exhausted and aching, "I'm not good at staying dead, don't worry about it.

"You nearly killed yourself!" she retorted.

He said nothing

"Arry…" she sighed, "It is not your responsibility to save everyone."

"No, it isn't. But I am responsible for the choices I make," he countered, "I am responsible for my lack of control over my magic. I am better than this."

"You're only fourteen."

Harry almost told her, if they were going to continue down the path they were going, then he should tell her.

But then he would have to explain the war, explain that his magic was screwed up because he had been playing host to the Dark Lord.

So he settled with, "You can't understand."

He regretted it the moment after the words left his mouth.

In one moment, Fleur stood before him as cold and impenetrable as a block of ice, and in the next, he found himself surrounded by an inferno, the flames were hot, and far, far too close.

But before they could scorch his skin they were gone, like someone had blown out a candle rather than a wildfire about to eat the room they were in.

She took another step toward him, he refused to be intimidated by her height, or let her see how unnerved he had just been, "I know what it means to be out of control. I remember what it was like, I see what my sister is going through now, and you might think you're special, Flyboy, but remember this; you aren't alone, and you're not the only one to struggle with their magic."

He looked away, ashamed, but he asked, "What was it like growing up with Veela powers?"

She sighed, her anger passing easily, meaning she hadn't been truly angry, "It can be quite dangerous. Our parents had to flame retard our rooms because Gabrielle and I would start fires in our sleep. The allure is difficult in other ways. People think it is such a boon to be able to seduce men with a turn of a head, but in reality, when you are little-" she swallowed hard, "When you're eight and catch the eye of an old man with minimal self control and-" she cut herself off.

"Fleur," Harry said, not sure what to say, not sure if she would want him to touch her.

She shook her head, "Nothing happened, Harry, nothing. I swear it. My father wasn't that far away, but that day was a cruel wake up call. I was so young, but I'll never forget the way that -le bête looked at me, nor will I forget my parents' explanation of why he had been trying to lead me somewhere out of sight. There are truly evil people out there, and magic can be a lot more unpredictable and much more indifferent to the danger we find ourselves in than most people would have us to believe."

"I'm sorry for losing my temper," he said softly.

She shrugged, making the gesture look graceful, "Pas de soucis, I lose my temper all the time. Now, do you want help putting that shirt on?"

Harry looked down where his long sleeve shirt was part way up his forearms. He grimaced, "Please?"

It was embarrassing to have her help him. It was hardly the most painful wound he had ever received, but the bruises were sensitive and made him feel like his left side was trying to secede from the rest of him with every heartbeat.

"Thanks," he said after she had gotten the shirt on him with the minimal amount of pain that was possible.

"De rien-"

Madame Pomfrey pulled back the curtain back, "Potter. Bed. Now."

Harry huffed but did as ordered.

Madame Pomfrey turned on Fleur who glared at the older witch, "I'm not leaving, don't waste your breath trying to tell me otherwise."

"You must let him rest."

"It is the middle of the day," he protested.

"He can rest just fine with me here," Fleur said, ignoring him.

"I feel like an invalid," Harry quipped.

"Parce que tu es un," Fleur said, turning to glare at him over her shoulder.

He grinned at her, not understanding the individual words of what she had just said, but he got the idea.

"If you stay then it becomes your responsibility that he rests and doesn't sneak out."

Fleur nodded solemnly, "This es acceptable."

Madame Pomfrey made an erm-hmm noise before marching off to her other duties.

Fleur pulled back the curtains and climbed onto the small bed with Harry, she was above the covers, he was beneath them. He was resting on his right side, and his left was so bruised she couldn't so much as rest a hand on his side without causing him discomfort.

They ended up holding hands in the limited space between them.

He must have been more tired than he had accounted for because in between staring into Fleur's blue, blue eyes and blinking he was having trouble keeping his eyelids open.

"Arry," she murmured so softly he wasn't sure if he had dreamed it. His eyes flicked open and he fought to focus on her, she leaned closer, sharing his pillow, their foreheads touching. "You're the greatest thing to happen to me since my sister was born."

Sleep claimed him before he could respond, but he fell into his dreams with a smile.

Kingsley was beyond frustrated, with both Dumbledore and Fudge. Between them, he wasn't entirely sure who the biggest idiot was.

Because Fudge was one of the most incompetent politicians he had ever had the displeasure of working with. But of course, that described most politicians.

While Dumbledore refused to believe that the Order of the Phoenix had a spy.

"We shouldn't be meeting at the Weasleys," Kingsley argued with the man.

Minerva watched him pensively, "Do you really believe we have another spy in the Order?"

There was a reason Severus Snape wasn't present for this meeting.

"Yes," Kingsley said, "because there is no other way they could have known where are muggles were."

"Kingsley, please, have a seat," Dumbledore coaxed.

Kingsley pointed at him, "You think this is a game? The disappearances have begun, Headmaster. And those muggles were under my protection, they were key witnesses, and now they are dead because I confided in the Order of the Phoenix. There is a spy and you are putting all your members in the gravest of danger."

"Severus is-"

"Severus isn't who I'm worried about!" Kingsley exclaimed, "I don't know everyone in the Order well, but until you stem your leak, I shall not be providing the Order with any more information."

"Be reasonable-"

"Five people are dead because of me!" Kingsley roared, turning on his heel and headed for the fireplace.

The war had begun, and Kingsley was afraid that the Dark Lord would start open warfare.

As it was, he didn't think the British wizarding world could rise to the occasion.

Dumbledore was too old.

And the Boy Who Lived, champion or no, was too young to lead the resistance.

Kingsley felt acutely that they were all too probably doomed.

Harry felt a sense of foreboding. It wasn't quite the same as it had been with the Horcrux in his head, that sense of Voldemort's emotions, his rage, his happiness.

No, Harry had the spine-tingling sensation, like the feel of lightning on the breeze that Voldemort was close.

Too close.

He managed to convince the Room of Requirement to come up with a task that would keep Fred, George, Hermione, Fleur, and Viktor, busy on Saturday for a Hogsmeade weekend.

The room delivered, digging up an obscure text on Charms in Bulgarian that had everyone hanging over Viktor's shoulders as they pestered him for translations.

However, Harry was unable to convince Ron to stay in the castle, so he went with him and Ginny to the little village with his heart heavy with foreboding.

He would regret for the rest of his life not telling Ron and Ginny the truth, for not doing everything in his power to keep them safe in the castle.

Ginny was thrilled beyond belief that Harry was joining her and Ron on their outing. Harry still wasn't technically dating Fleur, which seemed bonkers to her because it was obvious to everyone that Fleur was into him.

But it worked out for Ginny, it meant she still had a chance.

Except the day didn't at all go as she had intended, because Harry wasn't paying attention to her or Ron.

He kept looking over his shoulder and scanning the rooms and streets.

"What's wrong with you, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head, his pinched expression disforming the white lightning scars on his face, "Nothing, are you two done? I want to get back to the castle before dark."

"Seriously," Ron said, sipping his butterbeer, "What's your problem?"

"Nothing," Harry repeated, glaring out the window.

Ginny's heart sank when she realized that it was probably Fleur he was so eager to get back to. Crushed, Ginny excused herself before she began crying in front of the object of her affections and Ron who she had gotten closer to this year, mainly, as it happened, because of Ron and Harry being at odds.

She should have run the minute she realized there was a man in the girl's lavatory. But the black cloaked man was eerily familiar.

The door locked behind her, and the man looked up from his hood, eyes red and his features instantly recognizable.

She would never forget that face. "Tom," she gasped, reaching for her wand.

He rushed her, on of his hands covering her mouth, silencing her scream as cold searing pain was stabbed upward into her ribcage.

Tom Riddle whispered into her ear, handsome as he was monstrous, his voice honeyed poison, "You will die in a pool of your own filth, little blood traitor."

He pulled back from her and she collapsed to the tile floor, gasping for breath, her lungs burning as she began to cough up blood.

The jagged dagger in Voldemort's hand turned into a skull mask in a blur of black smoke, as with his spar hand he flicked his bone white wand at her, silencing the sound of her choking on her own blood.

Voldemort watched her in sick fascination as her blood seeped onto the tiles as she tried to hold her heart in.

There wasn't a magic in the world that could save her now, if help came they would be too late. It tore Ginny apart to think what her death would to do her parents, her brothers…

As if reading her thoughts, Tom crooned, "They are already dead, girl. Your mother screamed like a stuck pig, and your father was nothing, his death was less notable than your own. As for your brothers, they will be joining you shortly."

Her hand was slick and sticky, but she was losing sensation in her limbs, her mind going numb, the pain fading as the end near.

She wanted to fight. She wanted to cry out, but she couldn't draw breath.

All she could do was bleed.

"He loved you once," Tom said, "He thought of you in the end, in another life, in another time."

She couldn't understand his meaning, no one outside her family loved her. Tom's smile was stopped her dying heart.

"Harry Potter loved you, Ginevra Weasley, and your death will destroy him. Your death is his fault," the Dark Lord said, settling the mask over his features and stepping over her like trash on the sidewalk.

No, Ginny breathed on her last fraction of broken breath. Her last word made no sound, as her death alleviated her of the guilt Tom had bestowed upon her.

In death, she could let go. Her last thought was that she was glad her parents had died first. They wouldn't know the pain of losing her and they would be together again soon.

AN: I'm writing between 2 to 5k words a day, please review with your thoughts on characters and the story?