Chapter 9 - A Reunion of Sorts

Arry… His plan shattered before his eyes.

They were frozen in time, swimming in a pool of moonlight. For a heartbeat he thought they were back in Grimmauld Place, lost and broken, separated by their secrets. I guess we really haven't changed all that much. Harry could feel the stirrings of a strange laughter within him. Those few steps felt like worlds between them, yet her voice still carried over that immeasurable distance. Arry… Her voice, it was a poison, one that seeped its fluid fingers into his mind, sapping his strength.

Their gaze had yet to break, and she hadn't spoken again, despite her tone ringing sharply in his ears. Minutes must have passed by now, surely, though he could not be sure. He was a mess. Maybe she didn't say my name… maybe I just heard what I wanted to hear. It was a thought he could grasp onto, one that could keep him afloat in the storm that was raging within him. Here, amongst the Abraxans, was the only place he dared let himself dream. To hear her say my name again…

Her lips parted for what looked like breath, but something else escaped instead. "Arry."

My name. She knows my name. He refused to speak, a hint of panic taking hold of him.

Fleur shifted in place. It looked almost a shiver, but she didn't appear cold. Doubt flashed over her face like a shadow, and for a moment he was certain she saw Alic. Portly and blonde and utterly unremarkable, it was a mask none could see through. But you did, only you… Her eyes sharpened. "It is you."

Words failed him under the thundering of his heartbeat. A sudden dryness filled his throat making each breath like swallowing sand. "I…" He almost coughed. I can still get away. "I think you're mistaken, my name is Alic… just Alic." Harry wasn't sure if he could have sounded any less sure of himself. The ground was not quite as sturdy as he remembered it to be, nearly tripping on his own feet as he made to leave.

She stepped forward looking to catch his arm, but Harry flinched away. Her eyes are shining, he thought to himself staring up from his crouched position. They were stars reflected on a sheet of ice, melting down the pale skin of her face in long silver tracks. She's crying. Though time had healed his many wounds, Fleur still ran raw. It had been so long since he'd last seen her, but this sudden meeting was uncanny to the ending of their last.

A part of him longed to take her in his arms. But he was Alic, and the closer he drew, the more it felt as though his mask was failing. I need to get away from her. "I'm sorry," he said without thinking, picking himself up and hoping to return to the safety of Beauxbatons. But Fleur choked, and he stopped, and a rush of anger came over him. Sorry… His apology hung in the empty air. And the meaning behind the words exposed something Harry had long kept hidden in a place he dared not touch. Something deep and black and ugly.

"Do not run from me, 'Arry. Please… not again."

A sudden gust of wind burst overhead, blowing the stringy blonde hair out of his face. "Don't. Say. Another. Word." Each utterance was split as if by an axe, and a wet warmth was sticking between the clenched fingers of his fist. How dare she. It was the only coherent thought he managed to put together. The rest were dark urges of violence and rage that rattled within him. After all she's done. I'm the one who apologized…

"I know it is you." Her voice was soft, but still it managed to cut through the rushing air. "You don't look it, 'Arry, but I know."

Stop saying my name! He wanted to scream. "Shut up!" He yelled instead. It was something Alic would never do, but he didn't care. Alic was gone and Harry was lost, leaving him unsure as to who stood there in that moment. His hand shot up to his forehead despite knowing the scar was not there. Moving his fingers, he smeared something, and he half-expected it be melting skin from the intensity of the burning. Can Voldemort feel this? If it worked one way, why not the other.

Neither spoke for quite a while. Harry was too uncertain to move, torn between conflicting desires; and Fleur stood still, simply staring at him with unquestionable certainty. "Three weeks ago I received a letter from Gabrielle about a new friend, young and British. For a moment I thought… but then I read his name was Alic," she said, taking a careful first step forward. "But still, each time I received a new letter there was a part of me that wished the name would change. When I received word of the assignment to Beauxbatons I had thought to speak to this Alic, if only to put a stop to my foolish hope." Harry felt himself shift back as Fleur drew closer. "When I arrived, Viktor told me of a boy who was almost laughing at all the attention he was getting, and later Gabrielle said it was you. I am the sister she rarely gets to see, but it was you she couldn't stop talking about: studying in the library, your French lessons, how much you like the horses, and the hours she has spent with you playing with her toy snitch. The only person she had ever spoken about in such a way was 'Arry." Mere inches separated them now, and the scent of lavender came washing over him. "But still… when I saw you leaving the grounds, I had doubt. You don't have his eyes or his glasses or his smile. When I look at you, I don't see the boy who escaped death in that maze, and the strength that held him together. This Alic is no powerful wizard who could stand against Voldemort." He watched as her hand reached to touch his neck, but it came away with a small scaly pouch. "That was until I saw this."

In all of its usefulness, Harry had forgotten why he initially had come to wear it. But now he remembered. He looked again to the pouch held in her fingers, and then to the starry cloak fluttering behind her shoulders. He wore her gift, just as she wore his.

"I asked you to come away with me to France." The soft flesh of her hand was cupping his face now, and he could feel himself lean into her touch. "You left, but now you are here… why?"

If only for a moment, he wanted to tell her everything. About the vampires and werewolves, Remus' family, Nurmengard, Grindelwald and Flamel and the Horcrux within him. I can't trust her. And that ugly feeling inside him stirred. He'd trusted her once – loved her even – and it was all a lie. She used him. Just as she used Bill and the rest of the Order. But she loved you…

Harry tore himself away from her, the mokeskin pouch shrivelling and slipping out of her grasp. "You know why I won't tell you anything." The words came out as a snarl.

Fleur would not let him get away, filling the space that opened between them. "We are not in Britain anymore. This has nothing to do with the Weasleys and the Order and Hogwarts. That war is lost and in the past."

"The war isn't over as long as I'm still breathing." Harry shouted couldn't stop until Voldemort was dead.

"I know you, 'Arry. I know that you will fight no matter the odds, but Britain is lost." It almost sounded as if she was pleading with him. "Without you they have no hope."

"They have me!"

"Do they?"

The question was a perilous blow to his already unstable state. I left them. I packed up and ran and left them to die. There was a sad and knowing look on Fleur's face, and it only served to further fuel his self-loathing and anger.

"I won't abandon them," he said, though whether for his own sake or for Fleur's he wasn't sure. "Not like you. I won't let Voldemort win."

"He won't win," Fleur said. "He can't as long as you are living, and I will not let him kill you." Her eyes were piercing and threatened to steal his breath away. "But you must understand that there are larger issues at hand. Gellert Grindelwald escaped prison, and the ICW doesn't have nearly as horrible a history with Voldemort. Their priorities are much different."

It all comes full circle in the end… "You're choosing them again." He spoke dull and flat, trying to rein in his emotions, but the words still hurt far more than he thought they would.

"I'm not choosing anything!" He could hear the frustration in Fleur's voice as she threw her arms up in the air. "Can I not care for you, and do my job at the same time? I am no longer a spy, 'Arry. I have nothing to hide from you anymore. I wronged you and those who cared for you, and I will never forgive myself for that, but don't throw away your life. Let us help you, and in time we will beat Voldemort together."

Harry paused, letting her words fully settle. "At this point, it's not their help I need." He had long thrown in his lot with crazy old men. What did the ICW give him? Countless highly trained individuals, surely, but they hadn't managed to stop Voldemort now or before. He would be submitting himself to some governments whims, something he had staunchly refused in the past. What guarantees did he have that he wasn't walking in on another Fudge or Scrimgeour? They might not even let him fight. That was something he could not let stand. Nor could his wand – he could feel its displeasure at the thought without even touching was the only man alive who knew what it was like to hold the elder wand, and the ICW wanted him captured or dead. It's one or the other, and I'm the one who broke him out. It's no true choice.

Fleur took his head in her hands again, and this time he let her. Smooth, her thumb brushed down the plumpness of his cheek, and he felt himself relax under her warmth. "What has happened to you?" Her breath was a whisper. "Why do you hide under this face I do not recognize…" Cheekbones, nose, and lips, she traced them all with the point of her finger. "The world is less without you in it. What is holding you back?"

Harry wasn't sure what it was – a bout of madness, or a moment of vulnerability to which Fleur preyed upon – but he found himself opening up to her. Like a fool, he wanted to trust her. "To win this war, to kill Voldemort… I need to die."

A tuft of his golden hair was almost torn out from the jerking of her hand. "You what?'Arry… you can't… if you die –"

"Stranger things have happened," he finished. His life was in the hands of an ancient alchemist.

"Alic!" The sound of his alternate name brought Harry back to the reality of the outside world. He stepped away from Fleur. "Alic!" The voice called out again, and Harry almost laughed with the happening of his arrival. Shuffling faster than he had any right to, Flamel came around the bend of the path, his white robes radiant in the night.

"Monsieur Wulfric?" The look on Fleur's face was almost comical, if not for the situation they had just been in.

It took a moment for the old man's wheezing to subside and catch his breath. Physical activity clearly wasn't something Flamel had taken to over the centuries. He looked between the two of them with some interest. "Ah, Madame Delacour, a pleasure to see you again. Unfortunately, I have need of my assistant, Alic. Our work awaits us." He gripped Harry by the arm.

"Is it not a strange time for research?"

"History never sleeps, Madame. Especially for enthusiasts such as us. Come, Alic." He dragged Harry away before either of them could react. Or perhaps they were too shocked to do so. Fleur looked horribly lost with Wulfric's unexpected arrival and their departure. A frown creased her brow, and she opened her mouth as though she wanted to stop them, but couldn't piece together a reason why. Suspicion lurked in the depths of her eyes, trying to fit together two pieces that seemingly should not have any connection.

A cloud of dirt and dust rose around them as Flamel raced down the path with Harry alongside him. There was a lot whirling about Harry's mind in that moment, and Flamel's strange behaviour only added to the mess. "What do you mean we have work to do?" Harry said, trying to stop, but was pulled along further.

"I've found it!" It was the most excited Harry had ever heard the old man. And turning his head to take a closer look, Flamel looked almost manic. "You said something in regards to the third stone, 'a doorway between the physical and spirit.' It is a simple way of describing the nature of what we face, but not every problem is in need of a complex solution. I searched my notes and records in the hope of finding something to which you described, your words felt oddly familiar, but nothing presented itself to me. That was until this." He raised his hand, and Harry could see there was a slip of parchment in it. "A stone of life, a wand of death, a cloak of truth… the answer lies in Albus' riddle."

"The hallows?" Harry asked. He could feel his breathing coming in short.

"I never quite understood the meaning behind his words. Though now it seems so laughably simply." Harry could hear a strange scratching sound from his side, and it was seconds before he realized it was Flamel laughing. The man was shaking, and breathing heavily from their fast pace, and someone else watching would likely think he was having a fit. "One word." He said, managing to calm himself down. "One word was all he changed, and it sent our heads spinning. A stone of life, he said, not death. A stone that bridges between this world and the next – the physical and the spirit."

This time Harry did stop, and Flamel with him. They stood in the front gardens at the foot of the grand fountain named in honour of the brilliant man in front of him. Water rushed through the air, twisting like dancing shadows in the darkness. "The resurrection stone," Harry said.

Flamel nodded, a queer grin splitting his face. "A legendary stone that is said to slip into the realm of spirit. One with enough power to destroy both Voldemort's soul and your mother's protection."

Harry could feel his heart in his throat, a small semblance of hope lighting the end of the dark tunnel of his life. "Do you think it will work?"

"Given its properties and the manner in which it fits my earlier calculation, I would be tempted to say yes. Though I can't be sure until we have acquired it."

Acquired it. Harry froze. I already have it. Suddenly, he could feel the weight of the mokeskin pouch around his neck, and something else inside beating with life. In front of him, Flamel was jittering impatiently in place. "I have it." The alchemist's eyes widened considerably, and he stilled. "Dumbledore gave it to me," he said. Reaching to his neck, Harry pulled out the snitch and opened it with a touch of his lips. The stone floated out, finely cut like a black diamond, swallowing the surrounding darkness. Flamel's white glove caught the stone, his eyes glazed and staring in wonder. The air filled with an unseen presence, as though it had been empty before.

"I… I've never used it before. I don't think Dumbledore did either."

Flamel swiped at his face. "No. Albus might have been tempted, but he would have wanted to join his family properly. Had he used it… I don't think he would have ever been able to stop." His stare never broke from the stone in his hand as he spoke. "Not every man is so strong…" Harry caught his whisper.

"How soon?" It was an abrupt question, one that broke the quiet night.

"How– I'm not sure…" Flamel jolted to attention, gripping the stone. "There are many things I must first check. But soon."

Harry could almost kiss the man, but he looked so frail in that moment, and the shock might be enough to kill him. He wanted to sing from the mountaintops, and hear his joy echo through the passes and into the valley below. I have a chance. It was a small thing, but enough to send him smiling and laughing and crying. I have a chance.

Just off into the distance, and over the soft splashing of water, the sound of scuffing brick caught their attention. Exiting a hedge-lined path with silver hair flowing behind her, Fleur looked both beautiful and terrifying. But more importantly, she was angry. And for a heartbeat, Harry could see a hint of a resemblance to the Veela at the World Cup.

"It seems Miss Delacour has regained her wits." Flamel slipped the Resurrection Stone up one of his large sleeves.

"She knows." Harry said in a half whisper.

Flamel hummed. "She always was a bright witch. What gave it away?"

Harry bristled. "I didn't do anything."

"I said what gave it away, not who." Fleur could see them now, and her pace only picked up.

"My pouch," he said, though he was busy watching Fleur and wondering how she could look so elegant while stomping. "It was a Christmas gift from her."

"Perenelle once brought me a mummy from an excursion to Egypt. It was a fascinating subject. She told me it had once famously slaughtered an entire team of curse breakers."

"Lovely. I'll be sure to ask for one next year." Harry said drily. They were whispering now.

"Perhaps you should, that way you wouldn't feel obligated to wear something that wasted the time I put into crafting Alic. Ah, hello Madame Delacour, did you happen to lose your way?" He smiled kindly after transitioning seamlessly. Harry almost laughed.

"Non… I – What is going on here?" Fleur recovered quickly from being wrong-footed.

"I was explaining to Alic the properties of the pool, here." Flamel cupped a hand into the dark waters and brought it to his mouth. "He doesn't quite believe in the stories. A British thing I presume."

"I am not speaking about the stupid pool," Fleur snapped. All patience had been lost. "This man is not named, Alic. He is Harry Potter!"

Shout it louder why don't you, Harry thought.

"Of that I am aware, Madame."

The three of them looked at each other in silence.

He couldn't take it anymore. "Oh for the love of Merlin! Can you just tell her already? Before she does something that ruins everything we've done."

Flamel looked almost disappointed that his charade was ended. He stuck out a white gloved hand. "A pleasure to meet you Madam Delacour, Nicolas Flamel. Though at times I do prefer Wulfric."

Maybe that wasn't the best idea… Harry reconsidered his words. Fleur was in a state, even more so than before. Her eyes were wide and white like Trelawney's crystal balls, and she kept blinking without speaking as if her brain had short circuited. "I went to school with Nicolas Flamel… and never knew." She was speaking mostly to herself in French. She gasped. "Your fountain… I did not mean to call it stupid."

He waved his hand. "Perenelle was much more partial to it than I ever was."

"What are you doing here with him?" She rounded on Harry, tangles of her hair flying loose and framing her face.

Harry didn't answer. He could see the hurt in her eyes.

"Research and discovery, Madame. There is always work to be done, and these matters do not stop and go on the whims of the rest of the world." Flamel spoke for him.

"'Arry… please. Speak to me." Her eyes searched for his own, but he kept his on a spot just above her shoulder. "I want to help you, don't shut me out."

"I feel as though it is best if I leave." Flamel interrupted, though neither of them turned to pay him attention. "Alic, I will begin our work at once."

He left the two of them by the fountain, the shuffling of his footsteps muffled by falling water before disappearing completely. They were alone again. Though this time Harry felt as though he had the upper hand. It was Fleur unsure before him, and he who would dictate the direction of their conversation. "I can't change it," he said finally. Fleur looked at him, not knowing what he was referring to. "My face. This. Alic. It's some alchemical thing. I can tell you don't like it."

A small smile quirked at the edge of her lip and she sniffed. "Non, he is quite plain – a bit piggish, really. He is not you."

Harry laughed. It was only slightly false. "Reminds me a bit of my cousin really." It was only passing, but the blonde hair and plumpness was enough. "Makes it hard to look in a mirror sometimes. I think I had nightmares as a kid where I would wake up as him." My nightmares now are a lot worse.

"Was he really that bad?"

"Horrible… at least when we were kids. His favorite game was to terrorize me, but I think it was because he was too thick to think of anything else to do." Harry scratched at where the burn should have been along his chin before meeting Fleur's gaze. It was warm, and for a moment it was easy to forget all that they had been through. "He's not so bad now. I stopped by my old house before leaving Britain, and scared the magic out of him – if he had any I mean. Helped me brew a potion too. I think he's grown up."

"I'm glad," Fleur said, and she pulled her loose hair back over one shoulder. "Some people get better with age, others… get worse." It wasn't difficult to know who she was referring. It always comes back to this. Why can't we just forget the past? He knew why.

"Listen, Fleur. I… I don't know what you want. But if it's forgiveness, I'm not sure I can do that." He puffed out a breath of air trying to gather his thoughts. Why was this so hard? "What happened. What we – what you did, I don't know if I can ever move past that. It's just too much. I lo…" The word was stuck in his mouth. He changed course. "After all that, I don't know if it will ever be the same. You're fighting on the same side as I am, against Voldemort. I know that, and I know you're not evil. I can try to trust you, but… I can't make any promises."

There was a familiar sheen over her eyes as she digested his words. She swallowed several times before she spoke. "I can live with that. I wish… I wish that it didn't have to be that way – that we could go back… but I understand." She sniffed and straightened her shoulders. "I want you to trust me, and I promise I will earn it." A moment went by as she paused in thought. "I think a good first step would be talking to Viktor. After you left… I didn't speak of you. It was too difficult, I couldn't. The world thinks you are dead, and Viktor was especially hurt. He doesn't make friends easy, and he considered you one after the tournament."

Harry remembered the harsh scowl that often hid the kindness underneath it. He took Hermione to the Yule Ball. Speaking to Viktor couldn't be too bad. And it would bring him one step closer to trusting Fleur again.

Beauxbatons was a maze just as Hogwarts was, but Fleur knew this one much better than he. Its hallways were narrow, and at times he felt as though they were closing in, but she led him through its twists and turns without hesitation. She told him this was the guest wing of the palace, and that the members of the ICW would be staying here for the time being. She pointed out her room, the first in a long row that stretched almost endlessly before they reached the last at the end. There weren't any doors, just small golden knockers that were embedded in the wall. Fleur hit it twice with her wand and waited in silence. It was half a minute later that Harry heard a sound, and the wall around the knocker gave off a golden glow, leaving a door in its place. The door swung open.

"Hello?" It was a curious greeting, and Krum looked at him with suspicious dark eyes. "Vat do you vant?" It was directed at him, but meant for Fleur to answer.

"Can we come inside Viktor, it's important." Fleur spoke quickly.

He looked between the two of them again and shrugged his sloped shoulders before grunting in acquiescence. The room was much larger inside, Harry noticed, as they followed him in, but it was almost expected after living in the magical world for so long. It was decorated as elaborately as the rest of the palace, more fit to be a royal bedchamber than a guestroom. Tapestry's and muggle paintings sat unmoving on the walls, and a gilded chandelier hung high from the ceiling.

"Vat is it? Vy did you bring him?" Viktor sat himself on a very uncomfortable looking chair. Harry settled for the couch, and Fleur took her place beside him.

Fleur looked around carefully, trying to find the right words. "You mentioned noticing him in the dining hall –"

"Yes. Vat of it?" Krum's dark gaze was focused on him again.

"Well…" Fleur paused. "It turns out that he isn't exactly who he says–"

Harry didn't have the patience for this right now. No matter how Fleur managed to put it, it was going to sound ludicrous and unbelievable. "I'm Harry Potter." He went for it. "It's good seeing you again Viktor."

Nobody moved. Viktor didn't show any outward reaction, he sat still and roved his eyes over Harry, and then to Fleur and back to Harry. "You didn't die?"

Harry shook his head, as if it was a significant amount of evidence to prove their story.

"Good." Viktor said, and he smiled.

A man of few words.

In a flash, Harry was pulled into the tightest embrace he had ever received. It was a wonder his spine didn't snap. He could hear Viktor's rumbling laugh, and couldn't help but smile himself. "Ve all heard that you died? How are you alive? And vy do you look like pig boy?"

"Easy Viktor," Fleur warned from the side, seeing the slight pain Harry was enduring.

A great rush of air filled Harry's lungs upon release, and he took a second to rub his side. "One at a time," he chuckled lightly. "I don't know why they say I'm dead. I managed to get out of Hogwarts during the fight. And it's a disguise."

"Vy the disguise?" Viktor asked curiously.

"I didn't want Voldemort finding out where I went." It was a small lie. I didn't want anyone to find out where I went… or who I went with.

"Does he know about the rumours?" Viktor looked to Fleur, who was more pale then a moment ago.

"What rumours?" Harry was looking at Fleur now as well.

She rubbed at her face, extremely reluctant to speak. "There are rumours from Britain that Dumbledore… isn't dead." Harry was certain the world stopped spinning. "We don't know who started them, but there are whispers."

No. Impossible. It can't be. He ran a hand through his annoyingly thin hair. "I… that doesn't make sense. I saw the curse. I saw him die." His voice was high and almost panicked.

"We think it is just your Ministry's last attempt to fight back," Fleur said.

"They say that they never found a body," Krum spoke this time, and Harry looked to him. "No body?" He said, disbelieving, and Krum nodded.

"From what we've learned, the last few moments of the battle were confusing. People saw you fighting Voldemort just before Dumbledore appeared. The stories of what was said between you are numerous, varied, and contradictory. All they have in common is that there was a killing curse and a massive rush of flames, and when they were cleared you and Dumbledore were gone." Fleur looked to him with pity.

No, I saw the curse hit him. He spoke to me his last words… But did he? Harry didn't know what to think. It was all rumour and half-truths and none of it made any sense. Could he be alive? It was almost too painful a possibility to ponder. "But they think I'm dead?"

"We don't know why, but yes."

Viktor spat. "All I know is that vith Dumbledore gone or hiding, Voldemort is the least of our problems. Grindelwald finally decided to escape. The coward vaited for him to die." He spat again.

"I… I don't…" Harry was lost for words.

Viktor turned to him again, and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. "Ve are lucky ve found you Harry. The vorld is at var, and I vill need my friends to fight."

"Viktor, Viktor!" Fleur called pulling the two of them part. "Let Harry think, this is a lot for him." Viktor let him ago, and he bowed his head in apology.

"I am sorry. I do not know vhy I acted this vay." He sighed heavily and collapsed into his chair, rubbing at his face. "There is a lot of stress. Every day I get owls from my coaches, vanting to know vhen I will return. My mother says there is hate mail sent to my house for quitting Quidditch." Taking out his wand, he filled a glass with water and took a deep drink. "They do not understand vat this means to me." His fist tightened as he spoke. "Vat Grindelwald did to my family, and the vengeance ve vant. My father is not a strong vizard, and var does not suit him. I tell him, 'I go to var every time I climb my broom, let me fight.' My mother vas not happy, but I did not make this decision to make her proud. I did it for blood of Bulgaria and blood of my family."

Fleur refilled his glass. "These last few days have been difficult for Viktor, especially with what happened at Durmstrang."

"Ve got call from Headmaster. He told us school vas under attack. Durmstrang is big school, strong. Many have attacked it in history. Vhen ve arrived, I did not believe vhat I saw. Valls vere missing and school vas on fire, and I could hear shouting and screaming from students running to the field. Ve heard the name Grindelwald." In a shocking rush of rage, he took his glass and threw it to the floor where it shattered. "Some boys and girls vere smiling." He spat. "Others vere crying. Ve saw him, fighting the teachers and Headmaster, laughing, but too late before he left." His voice was tight, and he reached for his glass only to remember what he'd done with it. "Nobody knows vhy he came, but Headmaster says he snuck into school."

Why? What were you doing there? Harry couldn't understand his motivation. Where did you go?

Fleur walked over and gently touched Viktor's arm, but he shook her off and knelt in front of Harry. "I vill find Grindelwald, and vhen I do, I vill kill him."

Harry swallowed, a chill running down his spine as he stared into the murderous black pits that were Viktor's eyes. And what about the one working with him? He couldn't help but wonder.

AN:

I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. I apologize (kinda) for the cliffhanger, but at least I didn't leave it for too long. There's quite a few pieces in motion right now, and they'll each be playing their own important role in what is to come.

Let me know your thoughts. The reviews and feedback I receive are invaluable. Thank you.