A Beautiful Lie - Home

Gellert Grindelwald hadn't much changed in the months they had been apart. His grey-blue eyes remained cold and calculating, and his head was still shaved, revealing the ancient lines that like the rings of a tree betrayed his age. From absconding into the night, abandoning him without a single word, to swooping in on the back of a winged horse, he was still the evil man he'd broken out of Nurmengard.

Harry thought he'd come to kill him. He very nearly did, he reminded himself. He could still taste the salt and smoke on his tongue, and see the flashes of flame in his mind's eye. It was the wand. It saved me again…

There was hardly a moment where he was without the Elder Wand. Both night and day, the wand was sheltered in his grip. It had become almost as much a part of him, as he was of it. And he's come to steal it from me. Suspicion itched within him over Grindelwald's motives. Had he come to help him? Or to steal the wand from him? He could have taken it from me a thousand times over if he wanted, he thought to himself, twisting the wood between his fingers.

Night after night they came to the grove to duel, or as Grindelwald liked to say, for 'tutelage'. He'd fought Death Eaters, Acromantula, Vampires, Werewolves, Inferi, and even Voldemort himself, yet nothing proved to be half so grueling as what Grindelwald did to him.

"How…?" he remembered asking, spitting up phlegm and blood, before coughing through the pain of what he later learned to be a broken rib. "How did you lose?"

The old warlock stood a dozen feet off at the center of a crater they had torn into the earth. He stilled, and for a moment Harry thought he might not have heard. But then he spoke, a soft whisper than rose over the smoke in the air. "Anyone can lose," he said.

"But how? Harry was insistent, and grunted as he stood to move closer. "You had the wand. How did Dumbledore beat you?" For every spell he cast, Grindelwald had a counter. Every trap he thought to have cleverly laid, another had been set for him to walk willfully into. He'd only ever felt so small and completely lacking in the presence of Dumbledore. Knowing what he did, it sent a shudder of fear down his spine to think of how far they would have pushed each other if not for their falling out.

Half-seen, shrouded in smoking mists, Grindelwald had looked old and worn for the first time in their many evenings. "Duels are not won by spells alone, and there are other ways to victory. True magic is esoteric and beyond our comprehension, but if there was someone who could gleam an understanding of it all, it was Albus. And that is what made all the difference in the end."

He still could not make sense of it all. Grindelwald was powerful, more powerful than he'd imagined Dumbledore to ever be. How did he lose? The question continued to burn inside him. The wand was his now, its strength had joined with his own—a connection that ran deeper than his old Holly wand. If Grindelwald lost, did that mean he could as well? Looking down its length and the elderberries that sprawled along its spine, Harry wondered, is this not enough to defeat Voldemort? It was possible, and that terrified Harry. Grindelwald worked him to the ground each evening, and was always careful not to disarm him. Voldemort would not be so considerate.

Squishing a green, spotted mushroom beneath his heel, Harry watched its acidic juices squirt over the grass, eating away at the greenery until there was nothing left but sand. It had been a spell taught to him by Grindelwald, one that had roots in the magic of druids. Slowly, their order had gone extinct, and those that remained were increasingly hermitic, but the magic lingered and it responded very well to the Elder Wand. Perhaps it was its origin and the tree it had once belonged to, but the wand commanded nature as if it was its own.

That didn't stop Grindelwald from besting him once again, though much closer than it had once been. It took nearly being blinded by the juices of one of the fungi for the duel to be brought to a close. His clothes were dotted with holes, burnt through to show yellow, blistered skin beneath, and he didn't want to think of what it could have done to his eyes.

Under his breath, he muttered the counter curse, the words coming out in an endless stream. Across the grove they had sprouted, on rocks, on trees, and some several feet into the air, so large their caps could be used as a seat. As fast as they had proliferated into existence, they now shrunk, pulled into the earth and out of sight. Good riddance, Harry thought, rubbing tenderly at his damaged skin. This will be a tough one to explain if the Dittany doesn't work.

Just off in the distance where the trees thickened into the forest, Harry could see the faint light of Fairies twinkling amongst the branches. The area had come to be so saturated with magic that creatures came to feed off the land. Now, it was a common occurrence to see Pixies buzzing in the sky, pulling at each other's ears, and gnomes tumbling about their holes. One afternoon, there had even been an ill-tempered Bowtruckle that poked him rather unforgivingly for treading too close to his tree.

Resting gently against a stump, Harry's left hand fiddled with his watch. The silver glowed in the night, its dials telling him the sun would rise in the coming hours. It was heavy in his hand, a constant weight, just as it had been since learning its grim history. He thought of Viktor. His friend had visited a week after his birthday, coming to apologize for his behavior that night, and not a second went by where Harry's nerves weren't on edge thinking that somehow Viktor would know that Grindelwald was there; that his guilt would be spelt across his forehead for the Bulgarian to see. He couldn't remember speaking the entire time, so fearful that the truth would come spilling out his mouth the moment it opened.

"Why are you always holding that?" Grindelwald's voice came from the direction of the pool. It wasn't the wand he was speaking of. He knew why Harry kept hold of that.

"A gift," Harry responded.

"I gathered that, yes. But what does this gift signify, so that it finds your hands at every opportunity? Was it from that lovely French girl of yours?"

Harry gave a short nod. "In part," he admitted. He was too tired to fight Grindelwald's games.

"Ah… then it's not a token of everlasting endearment." Grindelwald seemed amused. "Perhaps it's a symbol of a promise that must be kept?" Harry shook his head. "A simple gift then?"

"I don't think it was given with any particular meaning behind it," said Harry.

"But you hold some, that is obvious enough." He crossed his legs on the grass and sat across from Harry. It was strangely casual.

There was a pause. "You killed the person who owned this watch before me."

Grindelwald smiled, his teeth sharp and white in the moonlight. "Does that mean anything to you?" he asked.

Harry did not want to answer, and deflected instead. "Does it mean anything to you?"

"It's a funny thing, really," the old wizard started after a long draw of silence, "when you kill a man, that is. I've killed worse before, women and children, but it's always the men that cause problems. There's always a hint of heroism that people like to believe in, but the truth is, men rarely die bravely." He closed his eyes in that instant, leaning his head back as if to savor the moment. "Most die cowards. Screaming for their lives—to take another's instead of their own. Or pleading about their families, and crying to their mothers for some sort of mercy. It's all very messy. Then there are those who swear to be loyal, to join your cause and forever be faithful, forsaking everything they ever stood for. Those deserve death the most. I've seen all manners of deaths. The rarest of them all is when a man shows true courage and stares death in the face, accepting what has come."

In the silence that followed, Harry wondered if that was how his father had died. He'd always been told so. Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off… He could still hear the voice of James Potter through the dread of the Dementors. To stare death in the face with courage… And what was Voldemort if not death?

"But sons… they always look for the hero in the stories of their fathers. Grasping onto the belief that they sacrificed their lives for another and fought valiantly to the bitter end. When you kill a man, sons will spit on you for generations, and your name will be enough to inspire murder over some old man they never met. Kill a man, and you become a symbol. For them, it's everything… but for me? I don't even remember their faces."

"He says he'll kill you," Harry replied.

"Who? This Viktor Krum. Let him try." Grindelwald laughed, old and deep and loud. "It's always personal for them, but it never was for me. It's war. His vengeance is empty, and the sooner he realizes that the better for him."

Grindelwald moved as though to get up, when Harry spoke suddenly. "He says he wants kill both of us."

That stopped him, and he turned back with a look of deep interest. "He said he wanted to kill you?"

"Not directly," Harry corrected himself. "He said he would kill whoever was helping you."

"And this bothers you? I suppose you think he will uncover the truth."

"It's inevitable." The truth made Harry sick to his stomach.

"It's not so uncommon as you think, friends wanting to kill each other," Grindelwald said, staring up beyond the trees. He appeared to be lost in thought, as silence settled over them for some time. "The matter is whether they can follow through with their desires." He broke the silence, and picked himself up off the grass.

With his mouth, Grindelwald made an odd whistling sound, and through the trees his white Abraxan emerged. Trotting tall and proud, it nestled against its master's side. He turned back to Harry a final time. "It's time we return to Britain."

Harry stepped back in surprise, the pace of his heart starting to pick up. "When?" he asked, unable to keep his voice level.

"As soon as we can," Grindelwald replied, settling on his mount. "Wallowing in this place does you no good. Our time here has passed. You must grow, and that can only be done by facing that which forced you to flee." With two mighty bursts, the Abraxan took off and sailed away in the morning sky. Splashes of yellow and orange could be seen mixing with the black, and Harry knew it was past time for him to return. And say my goodbyes it seems, he thought.

Beyond anything, Harry felt relief. Relief that he was no longer running away. Relief that the time had come for him to act. A fire burned deep inside him, a combustion of excitement and anticipation. The Elder Wand hummed pleasantly in his hand, and Harry readjusted his grip, pulling it closer to his body. It was time, finally, to come home—leaving the one he'd found for the one he'd lost.

He would see his friends again, the ones he loved so dearly. Ron's bright eyes and freckled face floated in front of him, and he could smell the ink that stained the tips of Hermione's fingers. The twins' laughter echoed across the open meadow, while the dirt beneath his feet shifted with each step, reminding him of the dark stains Neville could never seem to get out of his robes. And as the moon faded away, he could see Luna's pale eyes, dreaming of things unseen, and the rising sunlight streaked red, like Ginny, across the sky. He'd missed them terribly, and only now on the brink of his return, did he understand just how much.

But something cold took hold of his heart. Nothing was the same. He wasn't the same. It was war… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… The fateful words whispered in his ears, as he reached to the spot of his scar, tracing the faint line that remained. I'm marked, he told himself. I'm not returning for them. I'm returning for him. The wand burned hotter.

Harry felt oddly light on his feet as he returned, the weight of knowing where his future lay taken off his shoulders. He'd always known his destiny, but now the first steps of the path were clear.

The orange glow of lights shone through the windows of the Delacour home as he approached. It must have been an early morning for Laurent. Taking off his cloak, Harry slipped into the house, looking to briefly greet the kindly man before quickly changing and catching a few hours of sleep. The house was as still and silent as it always tended to be when he returned from the grove. However, something stopped him as he padded down the hallway. Sniffing the air, he realized that he couldn't place the familiar burn of Laurent's coffee. Checking the kitchen, he found it empty; the kettle was off, the table was cleared, and he could see the chairs tucked in around the room… and that was when he knew the room wasn't as empty as he thought it to be. Sitting in the corner, weighing him with her eyes, was Fleur.

"Where do you go?" she demanded.

Harry didn't answer. In the low light, she cut a disarming figure, with long legs peeking out beneath a loose robe, the folds parting high up along her thigh. She was dangerously beautiful, and with her pale eyes shimmering like ice, he knew that was never more true than now. The wings of butterflies fluttered against his stomach as a sudden sense of nervousness came to life within him. How do I tell her? He wondered, still taking in the sight of her.

"Every night you leave, do not think I don't notice," she said, uncrossing her legs and standing. The gown nearly fell off her shoulder.

"I'm only going for walks." It was a half-truth. He hated lying to her. "It helps clear my head. I don't sleep well."

For a heartbeat he thought he saw her eyes soften, but it quickly gave way to suspicion. She walked steadily towards him. "Then what is this?" she asked. One hand reached out to his chest, while the other clutched the fabric of her gown together. He looked down in time to see her finger move across a burn under his collar, the skin beneath already starting to peel. "Why do you do this to yourself?" Her voice was so soft.

"I need to train," Harry said, stepping away. He re-gripped the Elder Wand along his side. Fleur's eyes followed his movement.

"Why is your wand out?" she asked, and a look of concern took hold of her face. She stepped forward once again. "'Arry, what is wrong?" Her hand reached out for his.

The wand burned, and Harry snatched it away from her. "Don't." His voice was rough and low. A second passed, and the rush of anger he felt disappeared, leaving him contrite. "I…" he paused, trying focus himself. "I need to go."

"Go?" Fleur looked taken aback, her features scrunched up in confusion. "I don't understand…" Her arms fell to her side, and the fabric split, revealing the soft skin of her cleavage.

Harry swallowed. I have to tell her. The words were stuck in his throat. He tried to clear it, but that did little to help. I don't want to leave her, he realized. For so long, they'd danced around one another, never committing to this indescribable thing held between them. It hung in the air, building like static, and now all he needed to do was reach out and take it, but he couldn't. I have to leave her. "I'm going back." He finally said. "Back to Britain."

Fleur didn't move, her body frozen in time. "But Britain is dangerous."

"And that's exactly why I need to go. This needs to end." He'd made his mind in that moment. Grindelwald had been right, this place did him no good. The world around him blurred, and his mind took him back to a similar time. A time where he had left her before. "You always knew this was coming." He felt the need to explain himself.

Fleur shook her head, and brushed wisps of silver hair out of her face. "I thought you'd come to realize what you had with us. What you had with me. You don't need to leave, you never do."

"I do," he said sadly. Harry settled himself and breathed deeply. "The prophecy says that it's either him or me. I didn't lie when I said it broke, but I did when I said nobody heard it. It has to be me to kill Voldemort. It can only be me." Dumbledore had died with the secret; it was time another knew. He would come face to face with Voldemort either way.

"And he can kill you."

"He'll never stop trying." Harry sighed. "I can't hide forever, Fleur. He knows a part of it, and that is enough for me to always be a threat. He can't live with that. Neither of us can."

"When are you leaving?" She asked, defeated. Her face had fallen, and her arms shook, her emotions finally breaking through.

"Today. Tomorrow. Soon is all I know."

Fleur nodded.

"Why don't you come with me?" He couldn't help but ask, the last kindling of hope lighting his voice.

"'Arry…" Fleur brushed at her face again, and her hand came away with a sheen. "I want to, 'Arry… so badly… but I can't." Gooseprickles ran down her skin, and Harry wanted to reach out and touch them. He wanted to take her in his arms, feel her skin and body through the thinness of her shift, and kiss away her tears. But he didn't. He couldn't change her mind like that.

"I understand," said Harry. There wasn't much else to be said. They'd made their choices.

"At least we are leaving on better terms this time." Fleur tried to smile, but the tears streaming down her face were anything but jovial.

He looked at her again, up and down. She was so beautiful it made his heart hurt. "And this time you'll know where to find me. I won't be hiding."

"I know you won't."

Harry wanted to leave, but found he couldn't, not yet. A certain madness took hold of him, one that couldn't bear to have her learn of this without him saying something. "Fleur, I… I've done some things- some bad things. Things I'm not proud. That make me sick. But I've done them."

"'Arry, what are you trying to tell me?"

"I can't say. Not now. But if things go the way I think they will, then I think you'll find out anyway. Please, Fleur, when you find out, promise me…"

"Promise you what?" She sounded concerned, her body tense and unsure.

Harry could feel a pressure building behind his eyes. "Promise me… Promise me you won't think I'm a bad person. Just know I didn't want to hurt anybody."

Fleur grabbed him and placed a tender kiss on his cheek. "'Arry, I could never think you are a bad person." She kissed him again, on the corner of the mouth. "Never. You were always the best of us. No matter what it is, I am yours."

Harry swallowed thickly, and nodded. He needed to leave, but found himself saying one last thing. "Tell Viktor, I'm sorry." I'm so, so sorry. I hope one day you can forgive me.

He left after that, and went up to his room, leaving Fleur in broken solitude. He ran Dittany over his wounds and watched as they closed, but found that a sharp pain remained long after they healed. He'd slept well in those few remaining hours, and woke to a day near as splendid as the rest. The mokeskin pouch fit snuggly around his neck, holding the entirety of his worldly possessions. Apolline greeted him as she always had, book in hand and with a dazzling smile, while Laurent spared him a moment to chat before heading to his work. He'd only just caught Gabrielle in time before she ran up to her room to do summer homework so that she could go flying later in the day. Fleur was nowhere to be seen.

It was another hot day, cloudless and blue, and the fresh air did well to fully wake him. He climbed up and down the green hills before reaching the Lavender field. Its sweetness filled the air, forcing a smile to Harry's face, but the longer it lingered, the scent left him with sorrow. He bent over, and picked a single flower, placing it gently in his pouch. Behind him, it gradually disappeared into a purple line on the horizon as he walked towards the grove. The magic of the air caressed his skin, and at the center, beside the pool, stood Grindelwald and his faithful steed.

"You came," he said, his hand running through a snow white mane.

"You told me to," Harry said.

"I thought you might have needed more convincing." His keen eyes watched him closely.

"I don't have any more time to waste."

"A wise decision." He nodded sagely, before a smirk spread across his lips. "I do wonder, though, how your beauty took it."

Harry shot the old man a glare, and clenched his fist around the Elder Wand.

Grindelwald threw his head back in laughter. "Well, it is past time I made my return to British soil. So much history there. And such sweet memories."

"Are you going to fly there?" Harry asked.

Grindelwald looked over to the horse. "I think so," he replied, "I've grown quite fond of him. I'll allow you the time to reacquaint yourself with your comrades."

Harry nodded, both surprised and thankful. He needed a few days, at least, to come up with some sort of plan of action.

"The question remains where we shall meet on my arrival? I would hope you know of some safe places," Grindelwald added.

Harry could have laughed. For the first time ever, I might just be able to get one over him. "I know just the place," he said with a mischievous grin, and with a spin, he was gone.

AN:

I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter, it seems that I'm back in the swing of things now. This was the end of the mini continent arc, and now we're heading back to Britain for the home stretch. There's still quite a number of chapters left (I have no estimate other than a lot), but things are gradually going to build towards the end now.

Do let me know your thoughts! Your reviews are much appreciated, and help keep a writer motivated.