Good Men and Bad Men

The floor creaked at a steady rhythm, matching the clip of his pacing. It was a wonder the wood hadn't worn out beneath his heels. He thought the movement would help quell the deluge of his emotions, but they only swelled and churned and made him walk faster.

"'Arry, you must calm down."

Harry stopped. The air was queerly empty without the sound of his footsteps. Across from him, sitting patiently at the edge of his bed, was Fleur. Her eyes softened with concern over his seemingly erratic behavior.

"I'm sorry," he said, gesturing vaguely around himself. "This… it's just a lot."

Since finding Fleur, Harry's mind had yet to form a single coherent thought. He had only just managed to swear Hermione to secrecy, who'd stumbled after him in a fright after his abrupt departure from the library, before hurriedly bringing Fleur to his bedroom and away from any prying eyes. Nothing had been said until now.

"I should not have come like this," she said, regretfully. "It was a mistake."

"It wasn't, no—don't say that," Harry cut in. He took a step towards her, now only feet away. He could smell the lavender. "It's good that you're here."

She regarded him carefully. "You are worried about the others?"

Harry nodded.

"It's not a problem I'd like to deal with right now," he said. He could only imagine the chaos that would have ensued, had Fleur arrived hours earlier then she did. "I have enough I'm dealing with already."

Something lurked like understanding in her eyes, and she shifted to the side of the narrow bed, inviting him with enough room to sit. Harry joined her, immediately feeling the warmth of her presence steep through him. It was the closest he'd been to Fleur since he left her behind in France.

No, he reminded himself, she chose to stay behind…

But now she was here, and Harry did not know what to think.

They sat in silence, one deafening with words unspoken. At some point, their legs brushed, then a warmth slipped between his fingers and he looked down to see their hands entwined. Her head rested gently on his shoulder now, silver wisps tickling his nose and cheek and along his neck. They were drawn together by something—a force that seemed to have always existed between them.

"I now understand what worried you so greatly…" Fleur said, the soft lilt of her voice floating through the still air. "I do not think you a bad person. I never could."

Harry stared ahead with unfocused eyes. "I've done bad things, Fleur. I've made horrible choices."

"You made choices no one ever could, 'Arry. That is no fault; only a strength of character." She gently squeezed his hand. "One I wish I had possessed in the past."

An impassable silence hung over them again.

"But what about the people I hurt…"

"What else were you to do in such an invidious position?" He felt Fleur's head shift on his shoulder and the pressure of her gaze on his skin. "I do not know the reasons that guided you, but I know you. I know your heart. You would not have acted if it was not what needed to be done."

It felt as though the weight of the world pressed down on him then. He'd waged this battle in his mind so often, yet each time it only returned more vast and powerful; but like a solemn cliff ravaged by the restlessness of the sea, he stood immovable in his conviction.

"It did, we need him… at least I do," said Harry, who then looked to the sweetness of her eyes. In their reflection, he could see his own, green and grim. "But how can you be okay with that?"

"I will not lie to you. At first, I was not… a part of me still is not, I suppose…"

There was a drawn-out pause where Fleur chewed on her fading words, and it appeared she might have finished speaking, but Harry knew she hadn't. A heartbeat later, she continued.

"I was shocked what I had read in the papers and refused to believe a word. Impossible, I told myself, that is not 'Arry. After all, they have lied about you before for their own gain, why not again? But then I remembered the nights you would slip from my home, only to return dead on your feet in the morning…"

"He was there," Harry admitted.

Fleur hummed softly beneath her breath, as if knowing this to be the truth already. Moving from her position, still holding his hands, she turned to better face him. Small, dark bags hung beneath her eyes, and despite her natural beauty, she looked worn and tired.

"I was angry when I learnt this," she said, truthfully. "It is not because I would have done something to stop you—even then, I like to believe I would have trusted you and your reasons above all else—but it was for something more selfish. It was because you did not tell me. That knowledge, realizing I could not be trusted by you, was more painful than I could have ever imagined."

"Fleur, I couldn't involve you—"

"'Arry, you do not need to apologize." She shook her head, and a stray silver strand escaped in front of her eyes. Her hand gently brushed it out of the way. "I understand now that you never could have told me. Not after what I had done to you. I hold no happiness knowing you kept something of such gravity from me, but I gave you no cause to believe I had changed."

Harry looked up, searchingly. Only the odd groaning and scratching of the ancient house could be heard through the hush between them.

"And have you changed?" he asked, intently, doubt lingering over his soul like a shadow.

"It is why I am here."

"What about the ICW? Do they know you're here?"

"I handed in my request for leave," she answered. Her expression was open and honest and warm. "They believe I am at home with my family."

Harry felt a grin urging to split his face, but it was shackled by the bounds of uncertainty. Is it too good to be true? he thought to himself. Perhaps it was too soon to tell.

"How did you get into the country then?"

There was a danger to the sweetness of her smile. "It is often difficult for certain men to deny beautiful women what they want." She laughed at the expression which crossed his face. "Do not worry, my actions were far from devious. It involved little more than a few batted lashes."

As quickly as a cloud passing over the brilliance of the sun, something troubled took hold of her features. Harry leaned closer, concerned.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"It is nothing," she tried to dismiss, averting her gaze. "I was simply thinking how careful we must be now."

Tenderly, Harry reached out and lifted her chin. He caught the worry in her eyes and knew the answer to his question before he even asked. "You never told Viktor?"

She nodded.

"He wants to kill me," said Harry. It come out less a question and more a statement of fact.

She nodded again.

Harry sucked in a heavy breath, and leaned back on his elbows, tracing the lines of the ceiling with close care.

"Viktor is not well," Fleur said. Her voice was flat, and she stared at something beyond the wall. "After the news had come out, he came to see me every day. I understood his pain in the beginning, but I quickly grew to fear his visits. Some days he would arrive as pleasant as he once was, thinking back on memories we shared at the tournament and describing to me his disbelief; whereas other times he would do nothing but curse your existence. His moods swung violently. I could never be sure which version of him I would see. I had him sob in my arms for hours, thrashing at the mere mention of your name, only to switch off a moment later, and sit unfeeling, unmoving, and as empty as stone.

"There was one… incident, only two days ago, where he walked in on me studying my cloak. He must have known it was a gift from you, because he snapped. No harm was done, except to the furniture in my poor bedroom, and my family came at once at the sound of the commotion. Viktor fled and he didn't return, and the next day I heard he had set out to Britain. I followed."

"I know he's dangerous, Fleur," Harry said, long after her voice faded from the room.

She looked at him seriously. Everything in her posture was tense: from the narrowing of her brow and the wrinkle under her nose, to the ceaseless tapping of her foot against the bedframe. "You still see him as a friend," she said. "He is a broken man, 'Arry, and those are the most fearful of men. They have no friendships nor second thoughts; only the perceived righteousness of what they want."

Harry swallowed thickly, his stomach twisting in upon itself, unsettled.

"Where are you staying?" he finally asked.

"In Hogsmeade," she replied. "Do not worry, it is safe—"

Something creaked from out in the hallway, and Harry quickly raised his finger, hushing Fleur. He listened carefully, straining his ear to pick up on the sound, but it did not come again, vanishing from existence like a phantom; though it stuck out clearly in his mind from the rest of the home's discordant noises.

He moved to the door and cautiously took out his wand, thinking perhaps it might be Hermione. Slipping it open, and hearing a different creak entirely, he poked his head into the dim hall. Not a soul could be found.

He closed the door again and strode back over to Fleur.

"I should go," she said quickly, picking up her cloak from the nightstand.

No! he almost found himself saying. "You're right," he did say, instead. He knew it was too risky for her to stay any longer.

Swiftly, he led her through the house, checking around each corner and down every staircase, ensuring their path was clear from any wandering residents of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Thankfully, it appeared to be early enough that many members of the Order had yet to return. Making it to the main floor without issue, and creeping past the portrait of Walburga Black, ensuring not to disturb her slumber, they pushed past the front door and stepped outside.

The freshness of the air washed over his senses, and a chill nipped pleasantly at his skin. The blanket over the sky was no longer grey but flushed with the orange of the sun beginning its early descent. He watched as Fleur threw her cloak over her shoulders, the fabric winking at him in the late light of the afternoon.

It all still felt very much like a dream. There was something different about her, he noticed; something assured and not quite so simple to be put into words. But before he could put anymore thought on the matter, he found himself engulfed in her sweetness.

"I will write to you soon," she promised in a whisper, before reaching up and brushing her lips lightly against his cheek. Their wet warmth lingered against the cold. "Be safe, 'Arry."

Stepping out from his arms, Fleur drew the hood of her cloak, casting a shade over her features, and disappeared with a quick twist of the heel and a crack which echoed down the lonely Muggle street.

He stood there a moment longer, staring at the spot she had just been, before turning back to Grimmauld Place. Strangely, upon entering, the walls no longer seemed so glum, and the oppressive nature which hung over the house like a retched stink gave way to a liberating air.

Harry immediately returned to the kitchen. His hunger had returned with a vengeance. Sitting on the counter were the few remaining sandwiches from lunch and he eagerly shoveled them down, despite knowing it was nearly supper. He'd just polished off a cup of chilled pumpkin juice when the fireplace burst to life from the other room. Following the noise into the hall, he could see Elphias Doge coming down the stairs. Harry ignored him the best he could, feeling the man's eyes following him all the way to the sitting room.

Mad-Eye and Kingsley both stood in front of the fireplace, dressed in dark, oversized trench coats. They were huddled, discussing something in hushed words, when Moody suddenly stopped and tilted his neck so that his good eye focused on Harry. Kingsley glanced over as well, inscrutable.

"Potter," Moody greeted, gruffly.

Harry nodded to each of them. They had yet to move, and it appeared as though they were waiting for something.

"We came from The Leaky Cauldron," Kingsley answered his unspoken question. He brushed a smudge of dust and ash from his collar and continued, "We thought the Weasleys might need extra protection on their trip to Diagon Alley."

Moody's wooden peg clunked harshly against the floor as he hobbled towards the fireplace. He stuck his head inside and began tapping the frame with the end of his wand. Removing it, his tangled hair now smothered in soot, he looked to Kingsley. "If anyone was tapping our Floo, they would have come through by now," he said, pulling out a wrinkled handkerchief and wiping his brow. It only smeared the grit further on his face.

"Go ahead and clean up, Alastor," said Kingsley. "I'll keep watch after Arthur and his family come through."

Mad-Eye grunted and stomped towards Harry. He was reaching for the flask in his coat, when he paused, quirked his mutilated nose, and sniffed the air around the room. His face was scrunched into an ugly imitation of a hunting hound.

Moody's electric blue eye snapped towards Harry. He sniffed again; this time closer.

"New perfume, Potter?"

Harry felt his heart skip.

"I… well, er—Kreacher had me go through a pile of Sirius' things he found in one of the rooms… and there was a bottle of something I didn't see… and I, uh, spilled it on myself. I haven't been able to get it off."

Moody eyed him strangely, and Harry tried to smile in response but felt his lips purse tensely instead. Seconds blurred together as no one said a word, before Moody finally snorted. "Must have kept a trophy from some Hogwarts sweetheart. Black always was a dog."

Not waiting for a response, he lumbered on.

"Good evening, Alastor."

Turning around at the sound of the familiar wheezy voice, Harry could see Doge lurking at the entrance of the room, likely having followed him in.

"Evenin' Elphias. I wasn't expecting to see you tonight."

"In truth, I wasn't planning on staying, but I think it would be pleasant to join you all for supper," the old man answered. Though strangely, his eyes watched Harry keenly the entire time he spoke. "Will you be joining us as well, Potter?" he asked, still staring.

"Where else would I go?"

Elphias shrugged. "I'm sure there are a number of places a busy lad like you could go. You've been on a number of excursions recently, I thought I would ask now rather than find out from the paper in the morning."

Harry gritted his teeth. "I'll be here," he replied, unamused.

"Excellent," said Doge. His pale lips curled into a wormy smile and without another word, he followed Mad-Eye out of the room.

Not long after, Harry could hear the eruption of flames from the fireplace behind him and an emerald glow was cast over the room. Stepping through first was Mr. Weasley, who landed carefully on the carpeted floor, before brushing clean his patched robes and stepping off to the side next to Kingsley. Ron followed next, stumbling out while carrying a large trunk in his arms, with the rest of the Weasleys coming after him, albeit more gracefully. Bill was the last to arrive, appearing through the flames with his wand in hand, and only putting it away after a subtle nod from Kingsley.

"Was everything alright? Nothing suspicious?" the dark skinned Auror asked.

"I don't think people had a moment to breath, let alone have time to give us a funny look," Bill said with a breathless chuckle. "I've never seen Diagon Alley so crazy before."

"Hardly a day's notice… Ridiculous!" Mrs. Weasley grumbled from where she was sorting through textbooks and passing them off to Ginny. "What were they thinking! I'll be sending over supplies with poor Errol for weeks!"

They knew exactly what they were doing, figured Harry. The less notice they gave, the less time there was for people to plan an escape. The looks on Arthur's and Kingsley's faces suggested they thought the same.

"We went through the list carefully, dear," said Arthur, calmingly. "We bought all the essentials. If there's anything the children need after that, they can send us an owl."

"Don't worry about it, Mum. I hardly go through all of my supplies in a year anyways," added Ron.

Mrs. Weasley gave a weak smile, though the lines of her face held a poorly hidden tension. "Alright. Take your things upstairs and pack them, while I go and whip together some supper." She looked to Ron and Ginny and pointed a finger between them. "I don't want to see either of you rushing around forgetting things."

"We promise," said Ron, but Ginny stayed quiet, a thick frown fixed on her brow.

"Ginevra…" Mr. Weasley said, pointedly.

Instead of answering her father, Ginny roughly bundled her things into her arms and stomped out of the room. Harry could hear Mr. Weasley let out a heavy sigh.

"She's been like that all afternoon," Ron supplied as they left the room, and started to carry his trunk together up the stairs. "I think her year has a lot of Muggle-borns, and, well…"

Harry nodded in understanding. "Who did you see while you were out?" he asked.

"Neville was there and that younger Greengrass girl was with him. He said he's coming because he doesn't want to cause his gran any trouble. Luna was there too, and she said something similar about her dad." Ron stopped suddenly in the middle of the staircase, his trunk thudding from where it fell against the wall. He stared at Harry with somber eyes. "Gin was right, we're hostages."

Harry didn't quite know what to say. It was the truth. "You're doing the right thing, Ron," he finally replied.

His friend sent him a grateful look. "Thanks, mate. I'm just worried it won't be any safer in there than it is out here." He then bent over to pick up his trunk again, and they continued their upwards trek in silence.

Eventually, they reached the floor of their bedroom, and waiting in the hallway, outside the door, was Hermione. Her hands were clasped tightly in front her, and her fingers fidgeted within her grip. She sent Harry a quick look, before turning her attention to Ron.

"I heard the news," she said. "It's… it's—"

"Bollocks," Ron finished, "I know. Come and help me pack, I want to show you some of the treasures we had to buy." He pushed through the door, and left it open for them to follow.

Hermione lingered in the doorway as Harry approached. "Is she still here?" she whispered under her breath just as he drew close enough to hear.

He shook his head. "No, she left just before they came back."

"No one…?"

"No one saw anything. I made sure," assured Harry.

"What are you two whispering about over there?" Ron asked from inside the bedroom. He was kneeling at the foot of his bed, his head turned to face them, as he sorted through a large pile of clothing.

"The locket," Hermione answered quickly, before Harry could think of his own lie. "I was telling Harry about some of the research I've done on the locket."

"Did you figure out how to open it yet?" he asked, turning his attention back to the packing in front of him.

"No."

"Stupid thing," cursed Ron, as he fiddled with the locks of the trunk they'd carried up. "It can never be easy, can it?"

Harry laughed. "Never."

From where he was sitting on the floor, Ron waved the two of them over. Taking a seat next to him, Harry peered into the open trunk, where his friend was rummaging through its contents with his hands. Inside were the usual Hogwarts essentials: assorted cauldrons of various sizes, quills, bundles of parchment, robes and texts. "Take a look at this," said Ron, pulling out one of the books. Written across its leather-bound cover in faded yellow letters was: The Practical Use of the Dark Arts and its Common Misconceptions.

Ron tossed it to the corner of the room, where slid beneath a dusty old dresser. "I won't be packing that," he said in disgust. "An absolute waste of 3 sickles if you ask me."

"They can't seriously be teaching you that! What about the curriculum?" Hermione burst out.

"With Snape picking it?" Ron shook his head bitterly. He reached into his trunk and pulled out two more books, which he promptly tossed into the corner as well.

"Ron, I'm terribly sorry."

"For what?" he asked Hermione, confused.

"I—We should be there with you."

Ron ran a weary hand over his face. "It is going to be weird not having you both with me. I know I'll have Gin and Luna and Neville, but… it's not the same."

Harry heard something shuffle across the floor, and he looked up to see Hermione sidle up next to Ron. She took his hand in hers and gripped it tightly. Ron gently eased her against his chest, and after a moment, he reached out with his other arm and pulled Harry into their embrace. They sat there together, in silence, three friends all as one, and for a single beat of his tired heart Harry almost forgot all that had happened.

"We're always with you Ron, even if we aren't there. Always…" Hermione whispered.

Something wet brushed against Harry's arm, and Ron squeezed them all together a final time before releasing them. Harry watched as Ron swiped at his eyes and sniffed.

"It'll all be over soon," Harry said, seriously. "I promise."

Ron nodded, and returned, subdued, to his packing.

Eventually, he'd sorted through his clothing, discarding those old and torn and too small, and folding what he was planning on taking amongst the other items in his trunk. He never went to retrieve the books he'd tossed away. It was a struggle trying to close the lid of the trunk with so much packed inside, but with Hermione's help and a number of expansion charms they managed to get it shut. Just then, someone knocked against the door. It creaked open, and the wide face of Charlie Weasley peaked through. "Mum has supper ready, best to come down now," he said.

Quickly, they stood and followed him out. Voices could be heard chatting animatedly from downstairs, and when reaching the main floor, they turned away from the kitchen and in the direction of the dining room. "There's too many of us to fit in there tonight," supplied Charlie as he opened the door.

Inside, the fireplace was lit, filling the room in a warm glow. The table was laden with a feast, it was clear Mrs. Weasley had gone the extra mile for dinner this evening. Places were set with some of the finer pieces of china which belonged to the House of Black, pitchers of pumpkin juice and bottles of wine and mead stood along the tables surface and surrounding them were covered dishes steaming with a mouthwatering aroma.

At one end of the table Bill and Mr. Weasley were huddled closely together, while Mrs. Weasley bustled around them busily and ordered a reluctant Ginny to help set up the final pieces of the meal; Fred and George could be heard laughing and entertaining both Mad-Eye and Kingsley, having returned from their shop; and off in the furthest corner of the room, out of place and all on his own, was Elphias Doge who watched as the rest of them entered.

"We're all here, Mum," called Charlie, catching Mrs. Weasley's attention.

"Excellent!" she exclaimed, ushering Ginny to her seat and telling Fred and George to do so as well. She untied the apron around her waist and hung it on the back of her chair before joining them. "Well, let's all tuck in before it gets too cold."

Everyone did as told, though they didn't need much convincing. The food was excellent as it always was, and it reminded Harry of times at the Burrow, only without Doge, who'd been watching Harry as he ate as if expecting him to do something. Harry did his best to ignore the man as he usually did and focus on the conversations around him.

"How was Diagon Alley?" Hermione asked aloud between bites of roasted parsnip.

"It was terribly hectic," Mrs. Weasley answered.

"But great for business," cut in George, who winked at Fred.

"Business or not," Mrs. Weasley continued, "I've never seen it so… panicked. Stores were running out of supplies—some children couldn't even get their books! It was a mess! Thank goodness we left when we did."

"Those ICW guards didn't help," said Bill.

Harry perked up hearing this and put down his fork, all thought of food fleeing from his mind. "The ICW was there?" he asked.

"Yes." Mr. Weasley cleared his throat awkwardly. He took a sip from his goblet before turning to Harry. "They were stopping people in shops and around the streets asking about—er—you."

A pregnant pause filled the room.

"Oh," uttered Harry.

"They're a right intimidating bunch, that lot are. All green-robed and angry," chimed in Charlie. "They're worse than some of the Aurors I've met. No offence, obviously." He looked over to Mad-Eye and Kingsley, who simply laughed.

"They must have made note of us, because we were given very special treatment the moment we arrived," said Mr. Weasley with a dark chuckle. "You'd have thought we were trying to smuggle in dark artifacts with the way they searched and questioned us. They would only let Bill go into Gringotts on his own to get our money."

A lull settled over the conversation then, as the sound of words was replaced by the clinking of knives and forks. Harry reached for a pitcher of pumpkin juice at the center of the table, which he poured into his glass and brought to his lips.

"Gringotts… is that not where you met that French fiancé of yours William?"

Harry nearly choked on his drink, his nose burning from where the juice shot up into. He felt Hermione's gaze on him from across the table.

"Um, I suppose—Fleur, well, isn't…" Bill stopped, and pulled at the collar of his shirt uncomfortably. "She worked there, yes," he finally answered.

The room fell quiet again, but the silence was no longer easy, and everyone's attention was turned to Elphias Doge, who hummed quietly beneath his breath.

"Interesting. I remember her quite well—a very beautiful girl, not easy to mistake." Calmly, he took in the table, looking first to Bill, then his family, and finally Harry. His eyes lingering there a moment longer than the others. Harry felt something sick tickle at the back of his throat.

"What happened to her?" he asked innocent enough, but there was an edge to the question.

"I don't know." Bill answered tersely. He was red in the face and looked deeply agitated by the line of questioning. "She disappeared after the battle at Hogwarts." His fist clenched and unclenched repeatedly over the table. "We think she might have been scared off, or…"

"Or that she was spying on us," finished Mr. Weasley, with a hard, uncharacteristic frown.

"Has she ever come back?" Doge pressed on, seemingly ignorant to the shift in mood around him. His beady eyes gleamed with a sort of ill-excitement. "Has she sent word? Have you ever seen her?"

Bill looked to be in severe pain. "No," he answered.

"Where are you going with this, Elphias?" Arthur snapped. His eyes darted to where Mrs. Weasley was now whispering something into Bill's ear. "You're not a fool. You know what happened."

Doge turned away from Arthur then, and looked square at Harry. Like tributaries, hate flowed through the wrinkles of his face and pooled within his lips, which spread into a wide, malicious smile.

As a final plea to stop this before it was too late, Harry reached out desperately with his eyes. The old man must have noticed this, as his grin grew wider and uglier.

He faced Mr. Weasley again, his smile now appeasing. "I just wanted to be sure," he said.

It was then that Harry knew it was over.

"Be sure of what?" Mr. Weasley demanded harshly.

"It's just that, by chance, and nothing more, I saw her here today…"

A series of gasps sounded about the room, and Harry closed his eyes, bracing for what was to come next.

"… meeting with Mr. Potter in his room."

For a moment, in the protective darkness of his own mind, it was peaceful; as if the world had ceased to exist around him. Seconds went by and he breathed easily, several more passed and still nothing happened. What if I just stay in here forever, he thought to himself. It would save him a lot of pain and trouble. But then he heard something creak far off in the vastness of his unconscious. It reminded him of the creak he'd heard from the hallway—of Elphias, he now knew.

He knew he couldn't hide here any longer. He knew, like so many times before, he needed to face the consequences of his own actions.

Harry opened his eyes, and when he did, all he could see was the man who'd caused all this. This was why he'd chosen to stay behind for supper, Harry realized. It was for this single moment of malicious glee, where he could bask in his own victory no matter who he hurt in the process.

You mean, the same people you hurt, a hateful part of Harry reminded himself.

The silence stretched and stretched and stretched, until it had finally stretched too far and snapped to the sound of a chair scraping harshly against the floor. Bill was on his feet, frothing at the mouth, pointing his finger at Doge.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, joking about her!" he shouted.

The old man looked a touch taken aback, but quickly regained his composure. "It is like I said, she's not a girl to be mistaken."

One by one every eye in the room turned its gaze upon Harry, their collective pressure crushing him from all sides. However, there was only one set to which he owed to meet. Trampling whatever hesitance lurked inside him, Harry forced himself to look at Bill.

Wide blue eyes stared down at him through a disbelieving sheen, void of any anger like a baren shore; but just as the tide pulled away to sea, it came rolling back, slowly, inevitably, and filled what it had left empty before. Disbelief gave way to distrust, and distrust to devastation. "Why?" asked Bill, his voice shaking with something. He was leaning heavily on the table, as though he might topple over without its support.

Harry swallowed thickly. He didn't know what to say; what to admit. "I don't know. She… she just showed up."

"And you weren't going to tell us," accused Mr. Weasley, sending a sharp cut of shame through Harry. He'd never been spoken to this way before from the man who had always treated him like nothing less than his own son.

Someone scoffed from the other side of the table.

"So, you've graduated from withholding information, to just outright lying to us." It was Moody who spoke, and there was no mistaking the spite in his voice. He sniffed. "Trying to trick me saying it was someone else's perfume. My nose doesn't lie, Potter."

"What was I supposed to do?"

"You should have told us, Harry. Not tried to keep it secret. It would have been the honest thing to do. The thing I know you once would have done," said Mr. Weasley, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Where is that hussy!?" cried Mrs. Weasley. "I'd like to give her a piece of my mind after what she's done."

"Don't call her that!" Bill snapped sharply. A horrible silence consumed the room again, as the eldest Weasley son fought to reign in his emotions. "Where is she?" he asked quietly, dangerously.

"I'm not sure—"

"Where is she!" Bill shouted. He looked at Harry, a fire burning in his eye.

"What did she want, Harry?" Arthur cut in, as he rested a hand on his son's shoulder trying to calm him.

Harry glanced about the dining room; at the half-eaten plates of food and dug-into dishes which grew colder with each passing second; at the way the light from the fireplace grew dim and haunting, seeming almost to form a spotlight around him; and at the hard eyes watching him from behind masked faces.

"She wanted to warn me about Viktor," he answered. "That's all. There wasn't anything else."

"Then why hide away in your room?" questioned Moody. His magical eye bore into Harry like an arrow.

Harry gestured around him. "For this exact reason."

Looking at the end of the table, he could see Doge indulging in his meal with a newfound vigor—the only one still eating. The man reached for his goblet between bites and greedily chased down his food, trickles of red running down his bloated cheeks with each gulp.

"Why come warn you about Krum?" It was Charlie who spoke up this time, his friendly countenance replaced by a fierce distrust.

"I don't know." Harry could feel his temper start to get the better of him. "Why don't I ask her next time I see her."

He immediately realized that was a mistake.

"You're seeing her again?"

"When?"

"You do know where she is!"

The series of exclamations burst forth so quick he couldn't be sure who they were from.

"For Merlin's sake, I swear I don't! She mentioned something about Hogsmeade, alright, but I have no idea if it's just for one night or if she's changing places or even if she's staying here at all!" The last part was a lie, he knew, but he refused to be cowered by their interrogation.

"I need to see her… I need to talk to her…" Harry could hear Bill rambling madly beneath his breath. "What if she was looking for me…"

With a sudden movement, he tried to rush over to Harry, only to be stopped by the thick arm of Charlie across his chest. Bill's eyes were on his like a desperate animal. "Did she mention me? Did she say anything about me? Did she say if she ever…?"

Harry couldn't meet his eyes.

"Did she know?" Someone asked after a pause. Harry glanced up to see Mr. Weasley looking at him intently. He knew what he was suggesting based on his expression.

"No." He shook his head. "She didn't. I would never involve her with him. I kept it from her, just like I did with you."

Mr. Weasley nodded as though he expected no less. "But you were in contact with her," he said softly. His earlier displeasure was now gone, and he stood there at the head of the table as a father would, watching Harry with sad eyes that were absent of any ill-judgement. "You'd met her earlier, before all this."

Mixed amongst the sound of the dying hearth and Doge's vociferous chewing, the truth hung still in the air. He needn't admit it. It was in the way the light danced across the walls and breaths were held along the table, the way he bore the brunt of the accusations and the certainty behind Mr. Weasley's tone.

"That's what you were doing in France…" Bill's voice was far away. It was as though a switch had flicked, shutting him off. Harry could almost see the dark, twisting path his mind was taking, and the way it wound to thoughts he'd rather remain untouched. "You ran off together," he said strangely.

"We never did," Harry refuted. He didn't like where this was leading. "I saw her before leaving, but we went separately. I only met her again by chance."

"All this time we thought you were dead…" Bill continued, ignoring Harry, "and you were off in France with my fiancé. Myfiancé. How long was it going on?"

Harry froze. "I—We—You can't possibly think—" He fought to keep his face still, but finally it seemed the guilt which he had kept buried for so long had broken free and revealed itself in his expression.

Bill laughed, but there was no humor behind it; only an empty, ugly realization

"Is that why she was really here?" he challenged, while flexing his hand over and over again. "Is that why you were trying to keep it secret?" His voice twisted and tensed like a top which had been wound too far. "Meeting long enough just to rub on some of her perfume…"

"Bill, I would never…"

But you would, a dark part of Harry reminded himself. You did.

Words failing him, Bill let out a beast-like roar and broke free of his brother's restraining grip. Shouts and shrieks erupted, goblets clattered, and the floor shook underfoot as he drew his wand and charged Harry.

Something burned in Harry's hand and he looked down to see the Elder Wand already nestled in his palm, summoned at a thought. Its power surged through him in a hot flash, and in its wake, there was a sense of comfort which settled over him with a numbing touch. He let the Elder Wand hang loosely between his fingers in plain view. The action was enough to halt Bill, who had already vaulted one end of the table and knocked over a handful of chairs in the process.

"Are you going to attack me? Is that who you are now? Is that what hanging around with Dark Lords does to you?" A sheen had settled over Bill's pale eyes as he nearly choked on his emotion. "We let you into our home. I tried to treat you like a little brother…"

He stared at Harry, broken, lost.

"I… I loved her."

No one spoke, no one dared move, until the single scraping of a chair pierced the silence, then footsteps, then silence again. Harry felt the presence of someone at his side. He turned and was met with a sharp pain across his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw Ginny, righteous with fury, holding an open, red hand.

At the other end of the table Elphias Doge still sat, a knife and fork in either hand in front of an empty plate, watching as though he were still hungry.

Harry's gaze was then pulled, almost subconsciously, to one other figure at the table. A sense of foreboding hung over him like a wizard who'd seen a Grim. Seated next to him, staring speechless and as if he'd never seen him before, was Ron.

"Mate… How could you?"

The words broke something in Harry, the weight of it all finally too much. His head dropped, and tumbles of his messy, dark hair fell like a curtain, hiding his disgrace. But in truth, there was nothing to be hidden, as it had all been laid bare. His footsteps echoed hollow across the floor, and he stopped in front of the doorway. He checked over his shoulder a final time, seeing Mrs. Weasley sobbing into her husband's shoulder, while Arthur's eyes followed him helplessly.

Unable to take anymore, he left.

Stepping into the blackness of the hall felt like stepping into an open, awaiting mouth. The walls stretched, the shadows encroached, and the ceiling grew out of sight above. Grimmauld Place swallowed him in its gloom. Had it truly been only hours ago where Fleur's return breathed new life into him? And now it had been snatched away, opening into a pit, which gnawed at his insides.

Carried by nothing more than a desperate need to get away, Harry reached the base of the stairs. Resting on the edge of the bannister, partially unfurled and mocking, was the morning's edition of the Prophet. His hand reached out and grasped his own face, throwing it to the side and scattering white pages over the floor.

He was the enemy now, the Undesirable No. 1 within these walls, just as he was outside them.

The only thing he wanted now was to be left on his own. It was so much simpler that way. I should never have come back, he tried to tell himself, but not for a moment did he believe it. He knew it would be this way, that eventually all he'd done, all the terrible, horrible, hateful choices he'd made would come to haunt him. But that foretelling did not make this any easier.

He took the stairs two at a time, climbing from one flight to the next. Night had fallen and he wanted to watch the stars as they came out. Reaching the landing of the top floor, Harry could hear the scraping of hooves and the whining of the Abraxan from a door to his left. He ignored its call for attention and walked to a ladder at the far end of the hallway and began to climb.

Something slammed forcefully into his side, not three rungs up. He clattered to the floor in a heap, knocking his head on the way down and clouding his vision. Through the haze of his pain, he could make out a tall, thin figure approach. Harry opened his mouth…

"There's no use in shouting, no one will help you," said Grindelwald, his eyes glinting like a pair of daggers. "At least not anymore they won't." He flicked his wand and a pale spell splashed against the wall, filling the room in a brilliant light, which blinked out of existence as quickly as it came. "That should do the trick, just in case."

All of a sudden, the air stood still. The complaints of the Abraxan could no longer be heard. Everything was dampened, as though he were listening to all sounds through a thick oak door.

Harry rubbed at the lump he could feel swelling at the back of his head. Grindelwald's gaze had veered to something at his side, and he followed the line of his vision to the Elder Wand gripped in his hand. A trickle of fear snaked its way down his spine, and he tightened his grip further.

A cold smile spread across Grindelwald's lips. "We don't want to lose that now do we?"

"You wouldn't dare," said Harry, his voice getting swallowed in this strange vacuum.

"Wouldn't I?" Grindelwald took a step closer. "What makes you so worthy, Potter?"

Harry tried to back away but ran into the wall behind him. He scrambled to his feet, cornered. What was once a trickle, was now pouring over him, the fear sinking into his skin with paralyzing teeth.

A spell came hurtling at Harry and he blocked it, only for another to catch him in the knee, buckling him. The lump on his head was growing larger, pulsing to the racing beat of his heart. Two Grindelwalds were now standing in front of him, their wands pointed at his chest.

"I could take it from you, you know?" they both said in the same voice, stalking forward.

Harry shook his head trying to correct his vision, but the world remained split, and everything else began to spin. Bile burned in his throat. He wanted to vomit but fought to stay on his feet.

"I wouldn't even need to try," he jeered. "Just." Grindelwald jabbed his wand forward and Harry dropped to his knees. "Like." He was struck in the stomach, robbing his lungs of air. "This."

A red spell came shooting at Harry's wrist, and with the last of his energy he just managed to deflect it away.

Sprawled across the ground, gasping for air, Harry could hear Grindelwald laughing above him. He pulled himself to his knees and looked up to where the man was smirking down at him, amused.

"You say that…" challenged Harry, pausing to try and even out his breathing, "but why haven't you? I know you can, and you've had plenty of chances, so why not do it?"

The smile on Grindelwald's face withered and died. He stared at Harry for a long time, inscrutable, all of a sudden looking quite old again. He slipped away his wand. "You disrespected me today," he finally said.

"You shouldn't have openly mocked the Weasleys," Harry shot back.

"That is fair," acknowledged Grindelwald with a quirk to his lip. "Though I found the situation far too amusing."

"And why's that?" Harry grunted as he crossed his legs to sit more comfortably. The blistering pain at the back of his head was starting to numb, and the two Grindelwalds had fused back into one.

"When I waged war, I never enslaved children. I have that to my credit at least."

"You still took away their families."

"As all wars do…"

An uneasy silence settled between them, and Grindelwald turned without word and started to leave. But he stopped suddenly and looked back.

"I am not one to be openly ridiculed."

"What could I have done? They hardly listened to me then, and they'll never listen to me now."

"You ignored me," continued Grindelwald, waving away his excuses. "Shall I ignore you? It is a slap in the face of a partner. And do not mistake yourself, we are partners—bound from the moment you freed me from my tower. You cannot simply acknowledge me when it is convenient and toss me away when it is not. I am not your dirty little secret anymore. The world knows it, and so do you."

Harry nodded, yet Grindelwald lingered a moment longer.

"I am not a good man, Potter. Though I am bound to you, as you are me, free men regain their desires. Remember that, and do not test me again."

AN:

Hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter! We're creeping towards the end now, it's in sight and I have it all outlined, so hopefully by the New Year you will all have the ending you deserve!

I'm so glad so many of you have enjoyed the updated version of Arc 1. It really is the same story as before, just cleaned up a ton. Thank you also for all the lovely reviews and PMs, both in general and for the last chapter, they're all greatly appreciated.

As always, please let me know your thoughts and constructive opinions on this latest chapter via review or PM, they are incredibly helpful. Until next time!