NOTE: There have been a few minor alterations/additions to the previous chapter for story/quality reasons, so check it out! (More to be said in the AN at the end)

A Familiar Face

He hadn't initially meant it, but the next day he went to see Fleur again, the day after that too, and then two days following that as well, until before he knew it, two weeks had passed by, and he'd nearly gone to see her every other day.

At first, he'd told himself it was to discuss the Horcruxes and plan how they might get a hold of Hufflepuff's cup, nothing more, but there was no denying that with each subsequent visit, his motivations changed, and so too did his intentions. For the slightest moment when returning that second day, he wondered if he was being a fool, repeating the same mistakes he had in the past, but the sight of her smile and the blush of surprise which colored her face when he arrived unannounced at the empty bar washed those doubts away. He couldn't help himself, there was just something so wonderfully infections about Fleur. It felt right—for the first time he could remember, it just felt right.

Each time it came to leave, when the sun dipped beyond the horizon and he knew he'd been gone already too long, it became increasingly more difficult to do. He no longer wished to return to Grimmauld Place—not that it was difficult conclusion to come to, mind you. Nothing pleasant remained there; nothing but cold stares, contempt, and a reluctant peace held together by the simple fact he owned the house and the secret, their greatest protection.

Even the return of Heath and Tonks from their time away wasn't enough to tempt him to stay. In the scarce moments of snatched conversation he had managed with them, they'd been tightlipped and hesitant to discuss anything beyond their visit to her parents. They were so busy with work for the Order that Harry hardly ever saw them anyways, and a part of him had the sneaking suspicion this was done by design. Mad Eye watched them like a hawk whenever they were around, and Doge, lurking, with his poisonous words, was never far behind. It was a sad reality knowing he was the one Harry saw most often. Hermione continued to shut herself away in the library, and most of the Weasley family had up and disappeared. On occasion he would catch Bill glaring at him from dark corners around the house, but he spent the majority of his time in hushed conversation with Charlie in his bedroom. He'd heard that Mrs. Weasley had returned to the Burrow and refused to leave, and Harry had still not seen Arthur.

Hogsmeade was an escape, and those stolen hours spent with Fleur in the cramped attic-turned-bedroom of the Hog's Head Inn were as precious as any treasure or secret he could think of.

Landing outside in the slumbering twilight of Islington, obscured beneath his invisibility cloak, Harry could still feel the way his head spun in delight, the scent of lavender only now being carried away by a light breeze. He walked up the steps, removed his cloak, and pulled open the front door. Inside, all was silent, and at the end of the hall the door to the dining room was closed.

Another meeting, Harry figured. They'd had several of them in a row now—full meetings, each evening, which lasted from anywhere between thirty minutes to a few hours. He could only wonder what it was they were discussing.

While making his way towards the staircase, he could hear voices raise in a dull crescendo through the wall. Suddenly, without warning, the door burst open and Bill rushed out red-faced and stricken. From inside, troubled eyes peered out anxiously.

Bill froze at the sight of Harry, whatever it was distressing him quickly forgotten, as his expression contorted into something grotesque.

"What are you doing here?" The words came out with the venom of a basilisk.

Harry chose not to answer. There wasn't anything he could say to appease Bill, so it was better off not trying.

"Listening in, were you? Wanting to hear all about what you've caused?"

Harry frowned. "What—"

Before he could say anymore, Charlie rushed from the dining room and to his brother, his body situated between the two of them.

"Bill, you've got to calm down," Harry could hear him whisper to his older brother. "Come back inside, the Order is trying to help. This isn't going to help us solve anything."

Bill pushed free, ignoring his brother, and took a step forward. "No—not eavesdropping… Your coat is still on." He narrowed his eyes, steaming, as though he were a kettle about to boil. "How is she?" he asked cruelly. "What was today's meeting about, the same as the last? Were you there long enough to try on some of her perfume again?"

"What's going on out here?" A sharp voice interrupted.

Harry turned to see Tonks stomping towards them, her purple hair spiked, and face fixed sternly.

"Why don't you ask him?" Bill pointed with a snarl. "He's been off with my fiancé again! Still, shamelessly, going behind our backs. He's got no right to her."

Something terrible burned through Harry then, his hand pleading achingly for him to draw the Elder Wand.

"And what are you going to do, duel him in the middle of the hallway?" Tonks shot back, staring incredulously. "We're not back in Hogwarts, this isn't how we solve problems. Besides, we have bigger issues to deal with than your ex-girlfriend."

Bill flushed; but whether in embarrassment or further rage, Harry couldn't be sure.

"Don't tell me what problems need to be dealt with," he eventually responded, bitterly. "I know them better than you all."

Without another word, Bill barged past Harry and towards the front door, where he stepped out and slammed it shut behind him. With a tired sigh, Charlie summoned two coats from a nearby rack and followed after him.

As they left, Harry noticed Tonks watching them with soft, sad eyes.

"Everything alright?" Fardale's head peeked out into the hall.

"All fine," said Tonks, sending him a grateful smile. "Really glad I never took mum's advice and dated him." She shook her head with a laugh and turned to Harry, suddenly growing more serious. "Were you really out today with Fleur?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but she held out a hand cutting him off. "Actually—no, don't tell me. I don't need to know. It's not my business."

"Tonks, what's going on?" asked Harry.

An uneasy look filled her heart-shaped face. The same look which had been troubling him since her return. But she never had to answer, as Fardale stepped out and said, "Kingsley wants to continue the meeting, love. Mad-Eye's getting pretty impatient too, I can see his eye twitching in its socket."

Sending him an apologetic glance over her shoulder, Tonks followed Heath back into the dining room. The door snapped shut behind them, leaving Harry in the sudden silence of the lonely home.

Voices could be heard again not long after, rumbling on the other side of the wall, this time in a manner much more subdued.

Just business as usual, thought Harry, caustically, as he began to trudge his way upstairs. Reaching the third-floor landing, he paused briefly, staring at the closed door to his bedroom, considering whether to turn in for the evening, before continuing on. He climbed all the way to the top floor, where its dark, cramped hall seemed to close in on him from all sides like a giant mouth and its ladder mocked from where he'd scampered away from Grindelwald's rage.

He wouldn't let that happen again.

In truth, they'd made up since then. Perhaps in a way that wasn't fully expected. Nearly a week ago, after returning from a meeting with Fleur, on a night similar to tonight, a solitary knock had sounded on his door, firm and clear. Harry remembered the way his heart pounded, and grip tightened around the Elder Wand, as the ancient wizard slid into his room. His words, however, bode no threat. "They took away Franz," Grindelwald had said. Harry had almost laughed in relief, if it weren't for the look of utter desolation expressed on the man's aged face. Franz was the name he had given the male Abraxan, which had been his companion since their time at Beauxbatons. It turned out Hagrid had finally come to collect the horse from the attic while he was away, and Grindelwald, with nowhere else to turn, came to him in complaint.

Since then, Grindelwald had taken to sleeping on the floor of the spare room where Franz was once kept. It was for that reason Harry was headed there now.

"Enter," a voice said from inside before he even knocked. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he approached. "Ah, you've returned."

Harry conjured a seat and placed it across from where the man sat cross-legged in the center of the room. Only a shaft of light illuminated the dim surroundings, a pale streak angled from the narrow window overhead.

The old wizard leaned forward, peering closely through his sharp grey-blue eyes. "Another fruitful meeting, I see…"

Harry looked away and Grindelwald laughed.

"There's no use in hiding it, love as fresh as yours cannot be restrained. It is love, isn't? Or has that hurdle not yet been vaulted?" A sly smile crawled along his wrinkled lips.

"It's complicated," muttered Harry.

"Ah! Complicated," he chewed on the word as though it were a particularly tasty morsel of meat. "I wonder, does that result from your collective troubled pasts, or is it a vestige of that poor young man downstairs who's been driven to madness by your betrayal? This affair is near as complicated as Albus' and my own."

"No one's been killed yet, so I think you're still ahead," Harry bit back.

Grindelwald's eyes darkened to steel, and Harry tensed, for a moment thinking he might react.

"No matter…" he continued with an edge, "I believe your meetings would be better suited if there was less batting of eyelashes, and more discussion on ending the war. The sickness of love taints your judgement. Have you at least figured a way to retrieve the cup?"

"We have an idea—"

"An idea! Fantastic!" Grindelwald cut in, mocking. "Perhaps come Yule you'll cobble together a plan, and when the seasons come and go and cycle again, we might just be able to put it to action."

"I understand you've been sensitive lately, but you could at least let me finish speaking," said Harry, annoyed.

"Mention the death of Ariana Dumbledore again, and you will see just how thin my skin can truly be." Grindelwald's voice slashed with the danger of a knife, spasming the many lines of his ancient face. "Ever since you first arrived from that dreadful bar, you've been as insufferable as that miserable man who runs it. Jealousy is a hateful thing, and Aberforth wore it like a second skin whenever in the presence of Albus and I. A terrible influence for you to be around."

Tense silence settled between them, stretching with each heavy breath and shake of the shoulder. Their eyes held a stare, its anger growing weaker and weaker until it broke.

"I'm sorry they took your horse," said Harry.

"I am too," replied Grindelwald. Several seconds went by before he continued. "I apologize as well for my unbecoming behavior. This home plays on the edge of my delicate mind. It is almost worse than my tower at Nurmengard."

Harry nodded. He knew what being confined in here could do to a person.

Something creaked from beyond the doorway, hushing their conversation and drawing both their attention at once. The door sat partly open, only a slight crack between it and its frame, and within that crack, round and pale like the moon, shone Hermione's face.

Grindelwald waved his hand and the door swung fully open.

"I… I hope I'm n-not interrupting something," said Hermione, skittish. She kept to the edge of the room, away from Grindelwald, now and again glancing nervously towards Harry.

"It's alright, Hermione. What is it?"

"I can always come back and find you…"

She was creeping back towards the door.

"My dear, you came searching this part of the house for a reason. You found us. What is it you'd like to say?" Grindelwald wore a smile which was almost friendly.

Harry looked from Grindelwald back to Hermione and pointed, saying, "What he said."

"Well, I've been trying to speak to you for a few days now. I just haven't been able to find you at a good time," she started, fiddling nervously with her hands. Catching herself, she stopped, and looked Harry firm in the eye. "Earlier, from the library, I could hear Bill shouting and figured that meant you'd come back from somewhere. I thought you might have gone to your room, but you weren't there, so I came up here looking. It's important. It's about the—" she glanced in the direction of Grindelwald "—you-know-whats," she finished in a whisper.

"I know all about your little project with the Horcrux," Grindelwald supplied.

She swallowed and turned back to Harry, something gleaming like pride in her eye.

"I think I know how to open it."

Harry's mouth fell open, at a loss for words. "How?" was all he could manage.

"I'd told you about how I was researching the magic behind passphrases, well, I'd nearly given up because I thought I exhausted every option. But then I remembered something—it was terribly silly of me to not think of it sooner—if You-Know-Who was trying to protect something as precious as his soul, it would only make sense for him to use a language only he could speak."

"Parseltongue," breathed Harry.

"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed, a bit of her old self peeking through. "I had to be sure though, so I spent days testing the locket to see if it would respond to spells in any other language. It didn't."

"You think if—"

A grin split her face. "I do."

Before Harry could join in her enthusiasm, a shadow of doubt clouded his mind. "Hermione… I haven't spoken it in years. I'm not even sure if I remember how," he said. Something else struck him then, something terrible, and something he hadn't considered until now. What if he couldn't speak it anymore? What if with the destruction of the Horcrux, he lost the piece of Voldemort which gave him the power to speak to snakes?

He wanted to ask Hermione, but by the time he looked up, she had already reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and gold.

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Grindelwald draw his wand.

"Don't worry about it, Harry. It's always been something you've been able to do in the moment," she said, carefully passing the locket to him.

He took it in his hand, gazing down at the inlaid 'S' of green, glittering stones, and felt the heaviness of the chain wrap around his fingers. Spinning it over and over, uncertain within his grasp, it gleamed with a tantalizing allure, almost whispering for him to come learn its secret…

Tearing away his eyes, Harry dropped the locket to the floor where it fell with a dull thud. Immediately, it felt as though his mind had escaped a thick fog.

"We can't open this here," said Harry, with a sudden clarity of mind.

Hermione looked to him with great disappointment.

"I see you haven't lost all your good sense," Grindelwald said, while slowly lowering his wand. Harry hadn't noticed until now, but it had been pointed at him. "Such hideous magic is not to be taken lightly. To open such an object on a whim is foolish beyond belief. Especially when what resides within remains a mystery. It is best to be dealt with only when necessary, and even then, in as controlled a manner as possible."

"I'm sorry, really, really sorry," Hermione said quickly. "I didn't mean…"

"No harm was done, my sweet," said Grindelwald, levitating the locket from where it had fallen to the floor. "A curious mind is not something to be shameful of. It is only natural for one to wish to witness the fruits of their discovery."

Hermione reached out, uncertain, to where the locket hung twisted in the air like the body of a golden snake. Grindelwald's eyes lit up, and Harry could tell he was reveling in the fear Hermione held for him.

"Hermione," Harry said, turning her attention towards him. "Thank you. I couldn't have done this without you."

Her soft brown eyes reached out to his and melted, and at the edge of her trembling lips shined a grateful smile.

"I'll give the locket to Kreacher to keep safe," she promised. Stopping in front of the open doorway, she looked back over her shoulder. "I trust you, Harry—I know others don't, but I do. You came back for me when no one else did, and that means something, more than making choices people don't understand and agree with. Friendship and bravery. You're a great wizard, you know."

The door clicked shut behind her.

"A brilliant young witch, if not a bit naïve," Grindelwald said, piercing the quiet.

"She's been through a lot. I'm just glad she doesn't hate me," said Harry, thinking of how much Hermione had come to mean to him over the years.

Grindelwald laughed. "Idolizes you, more like. I know what it is like to have won undying loyalty."

"Please don't compare my best friend to one of your sycophants."

"Everyone is a sycophant when you wield the power we do." Grindelwald's lips peeled back into a terrible smile. "Either that or an enemy."

Feeling sick, and much too tired to entertain Grindelwald's disturbed ideals, Harry excused himself for the evening.

The house was shrouded in a slumbering darkness, not a movement nor sound encountering him as he made his way to his bedroom. Inside, he quickly changed and climbed onto his mattress, closing his eyes and willing sleep to come with its freeing embrace. Five minutes passed, then ten, then thirty, his eyes staring open at the blackness of the ceiling, unable to rest. His mind was troubled. Despite understanding that their decision had been the correct one, a lingering disappointment hung over him, wanting and wishing, rather selfishly, to know what hid within the locket.

For a single moment of unbridled madness, Harry considered calling Kreacher. But the thought passed as quickly as it came, and Harry knew it was as reckless as it was fanciful. Perhaps once he might have done such a thing, but not now.

In either case, it did little to settle his restlessness.

As the minutes continued to pass in an infinite crawl, another notion came to mind; one far less risky, attainable, and something he had put off for long enough.

Jumping from his covers, he took his wand and flicked a globule of light into the air, where it hovered a foot off the ceiling. Underneath his pillow, he reached and removed his mokeskin pouch from where it was kept. If I can't open one locket, I might as well open up the other one," he thought.

Silver and amber glowed in the hazy white illumination which had been cast over the room. Daphne's gift stared up at him, as it had on countless other occasions. All those other times he had been cowed, by fear, by pain, and whatever else lurked amongst the emotions of the past, but not this time. Feeling his thumb bump along the etchings carved along its metal edges, he twisted the latch and opened the locket. Decorating one half was a jeweled mosaic of emerald, jade and green diamond, sprinkled amongst stones of aquamarine and sapphire. On the other, in the place of where a portrait might be, sat an empty black frame.

Turning the locket back and forth in his hands, examining its every inch both inside and out, he searched for any secret compartment, but found none. He wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting, but that was all; it was an expensive, albeit empty gift. He couldn't understand why she wanted him to have it, and why Astoria had asked if he'd kept it.

Just as Harry was about to put it away, even more disappointed than before, something caught his eye. It had been a flash of blue, like two lightbulbs situated within the frame he had previously thought to be empty—a pair of eyes, he thought.

"Daphne?" His voice came out strange.

Nothing stirred within the darkness.

Maybe I just need some sleep. I'm starting to see things, he dismissed.

"Hello?" he tried a final time, and that was when he saw it.

Two eyes, owlish, blue and blinking, stared back at his own. With them came the visage of an older gentleman, with inky black hair and a set of square shoulder. Not Daphne, but a face that carried familiarity all the same.

The painted man cleared his throat. "Harry Potter, I presume? We met once before, but it is rather dim on your side of things and I struggle to see you clearly."

"Sorry, er, I was about to go to bed." He brought the floating light closer to his face. "Better?"

"Yes, very," the man said. "An interesting time to choose to first reach out. We'd thought you might have lost the locket."

"We?"

The man stared at him strangely. "Daphne did give it to you for a reason, did she not?"

"It would help if I knew what this was," replied Harry.

"I am Everard Greengrass," the man introduced proudly. "This is a locket I had commissioned for my darling wife Anna, within which contained my portrait. I have various other portraits which I travel to between estates, as well as a special position within Hogwarts, where I have a certain amount of influence over the other portraits. It is also where we were first acquainted."

Harry's eyes widened, now recognizing the image of the man he'd once spoken to in Dumbledore's office.

"So, you're a way of communicating?" figured Harry.

"I am also an esteemed gentleman who gathered the most impressive collection of artwork in all of Britain," the man said affronted. "But yes, that is mainly what my existence has become: a way to communicate within and beyond the walls of Hogwarts. Or at least, that is what Daphne has repurposed me to be since happening across my locket as a young girl. However, my pride outweighs my offense in her case, she is as cunning as any daughter I wished I had."

"Is this how she knew everything going on in the castle?"

Everard averted his gaze, his face resembling that of a beet.

"To my great shame, I will admit to being a tool used in schoolyard gossip."

Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"But enough of that," the man snapped, trying to gather the remains of his dignity, "Are you telling me Daphne never explained the purpose behind the locket?"

"No, she never did," Harry said, frowning at his final memory of her. "She left in a hurry and without explanation."

"My goodness," the man exclaimed. "Here I am thinking you to be a scoundrel, abandoning her out of cruelty, when it is nothing more than a case of her Greengrass pride."

"Why? What's happened?" asked Harry.

"Nothing," Everard replied quickly, "nothing for you to trouble yourself over." The old man stretched within his frame and let out an exaggerated yawn. "You might have simply been preparing for bed, but I had already been sleeping. If it's not too much to ask, I would like to return to my gentle slumber while I still can. I anticipate Daphne will be pestering me with questions come the morning."

"Of course not! I won't keep you," said Harry.

Everard smiled. "Excellent. Daphne has instructed me to follow whatever orders and answer whichever questions you might have. All I request in return, is to please be reasonable at the times you call upon me in the night. Goodnight, Mr. Potter, I am glad to have spoken to you."

"Goodnight," said Harry in turn, shutting the locket. Dispelling the ball of floating light, he lay back in bed and closed his eyes. All thoughts of his earlier disappointment had vanished, and the heaviness of sleep fell over him not too long after, leaving him with dreams of lockets and love and old memories brought anew.

AN:

Here is the new chapter, which was originally meant to be the second part of the previous one. I hope you all enjoyed!

I made some small alterations to the last chapter, as I mentioned in the note at the start. They're not major enough to go into a lot of detail over (you honestly might not even notice them), but the changes were meant to add a bit of depth where scenes might have felt a touch flat, as well as just to improve the story.

Please let me know your thoughts as always! Your reviews and PMs are greatly appreciated, as are your opinions and constructive feedback. Thanks.