Harry sat and sipped from a piping cup of tea and watched as the sun rose in a pale, waking sky, warming his cramped corner of the table. He'd woken early, hoping to enjoy a moment of peace in the infancy of the day.
It had become a routine of sorts, rising before all the rest. He'd never been one for sleeping in; though now, instead of starting early to get ahead on a list of chores or because of troubled dreams, it was to avoid any unwanted confrontations. It was better that way. The Order was doing valuable work, he was sure, and it was for the best if he didn't complicate matters any more than he already had. They worked separately for now, but he would speak to them again when he was ready, whether they were receptive or not. Until then, he had the Horcruxes to deal with.
Picking up his cup, Harry stirred in a pinch of sugar. He took another sip and frowned. Voices could be heard coming down from the stairs.
With a sigh, Harry drew his wand and set the kettle to boil.
"Oh! Morning, Harry!" Fardale walked in, rather chipper. "Wasn't expecting anyone down here so early."
Tonks plodded in after, looking the opposite to her partner. Her eyes were half-shut, her hair disheveled and a mousy brown, and she grunted a greeting before plopping into an empty seat next to him.
"It's quiet," Harry said, gesturing around the room. "Or… was."
Fardale cringed. "Sorry."
"No worries, I don't mind good company." Harry laughed easily. "So, what are you two doing up at this time?"
"We've got an appointment at the Healers," answered Heath, who glanced over to where Tonks looked to be sleeping.
"For this one," she said, patting her belly.
Harry couldn't hold back the smile on his face.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I want to hex you just for asking me that question," she replied, still not opening her eyes. "I feel like I did after one of my old quidditch captains morning practices, and every time I try change anything other than my hair, I need to run to the bathroom."
"I've been doing the heavy lifting for the Order lately," said Fardale. "Tonks has been my… cheerful support."
The shrill whistle of the steaming kettle pierced the air and Tonks groaned.
"It's for you," said Harry, nodding towards his own cup.
Fardale sent him a grateful look, before quickly filling a pot and floating it over to the table. They sat in silence as Tonks waited impatiently for it cool. "Screw it," she eventually said, throwing caution to the wind and filling her cup. She cursed in pain after her first sip, but with her second, a shiver ran through her body and Harry thought he might have heard her purr.
"Better, love?" Heath tested the waters.
"Much," she responded, cupping the tea in her hands as though it were Felix Felicis or the Elixir of Life itself.
"Have you told anyone else yet?" Harry asked sometime later.
The couple exchanged a furtive look before answering.
"No," Fardale said slowly. "We don't think it's the best time right now."
There was something about his voice that bothered Harry; something which suggested he wasn't saying everything. It was in the caution behind his eyes and the way Tonks buried her face in an already empty cup of tea, and how together, they tried to shift away from the topic immediately.
"Have we told you about the names we've come up with? We've been brainstorming them for a while now. Tonks is refusing to listen to any of her mum's suggestions after the whole 'Nymphadora' thing—"
"What's happened?" Harry interrupted, pointedly ignoring their misdirection. "I know there's something you're not telling me."
They looked to one another again, uneasy.
"Stop that! You've been acting strange for days now. What's going on?"
"Harry," Tonks sighed. Her eyes were sad. "We want to tell you…"
"Why don't you then?" he pressed. "Just because I'm not here as often doesn't mean I don't notice things. The Order is meeting every night for some reason, and no one is saying a thing about it. Everyday Bill is a half-step closer to biting my head off, Doge is cursing me more than he ever has, and I haven't seen Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in weeks!"
"We're not lying to you Harry. We'd tell you if we could, but we can't. It's complicated," insisted Fardale. He paused for a moment, as though debating something with himself. Tonks squeezed his hand beneath the table. Seeming to have made up his mind, Fardale leaned in and continued in a hushed voice. "Moody has changed the Order's rules on privacy. He's made us promise not to tell you anything. It's non-binding, but it's sort of like the oath they make Aurors take."
"He did this for me?" Harry managed to ask amidst his bewilderment.
They both nodded.
"And there's no way around it?"
He never got an answer, because just then, someone else entered the room. It was Fardale's eyes that tipped him off, widening a touch, and staring at a point just off his shoulder where the door was. Harry turned to see Bill Weasley standing at the entrance to the kitchen, his face blank, watching the three of them carefully around the table.
"Good morning," he said, oddly pleasant, "Glad to see I'm not the only one who couldn't sleep in any longer." He walked over to the kettle, and feeling it was still hot, poured himself some tea.
Harry wondered how much he'd overheard.
"It's times like this where I miss Mum's cooking in the morning," Bill continued, taking a seat and joining them as if it were perfectly common. The air was stiff and strained and uncomfortable, and no one seemed know how to act, except for Bill, albeit strangely. "Sometimes I consider waking up and going home just for that."
"Why not do it?" Harry asked, unable to help himself.
Bill's eyes snapped to him, lingering, emotionless, for several seconds without saying anything. He shrugged. "It wouldn't feel right."
Confused, Harry glanced to the young couple beside him, whose gazes flicked uncertainly between him and Bill.
"You remember those days, right Harry?" Bill smiled, but only with his lips. "Back home, with Mum and Dad, Fred, George, and Ron and Gin. I think Christmas was the last time we were all together like that. Hell, even Charlie came home that night, and Percy showed up for a bit."
Harry nodded slowly, unsettled by Bill's flip in personality.
"I'll never forget those days…" Bill's voice was thick, and it sounded as though he was speaking mostly to himself at this point. He swiped at something rolling down his cheek. "Everything was so peaceful, so perfect."
A sharp rapping on the window cut through the tension and drew the attention of all those at the table. Pecking furiously against the glass was a large, greying barn owl, with a small scrap of parchment clutched within its foot.
Heath stood and opened the window, where it swooped to the table and hopped towards Harry. It bowed, stuck out its leg, and dropped its message.
A pregnant pause filled the kitchen, and Harry could feel three sets of eyes burning into him. Silently, he unfurled the parchment and its hurriedly scratched script, and read:
I believe I've found a way to reach the cup. Come see me as soon as you can manage.
A jittering excitement rose within him, so much so that Harry could feel the parchment shaking in his grasp. His mind burned with the possibilities of what this could mean. What could have happened since I left? he wondered. It was only yesterday when he'd last seen her, and they'd been no closer to figuring out how to get the cup than before.
In front of him, the barn owl screeched, upset by the lack of food on offer for its services. It hopped around some more, screeched again in distaste, and then flew back out the open window.
The sound pulled Harry back to the scene around him. Lifting his eyes from the note, which he quickly stuffed away in his pocket, he could see Heath and Tonks staring at him with a mix of both great interest and suspicion. He braced himself, expecting something from Bill—an insult, a caustic remark, a jealous accusation—but nothing came. Instead, the red head sat eerily calm, a strange gleam to his eye.
"I… I need to go. It was nice seeing you, but—"
Harry never finished, pushing up from his chair and standing to leave. He didn't look back either as he rushed upstairs, his mind solely focused on what Fleur had sent him. He went straight to the attic, stomping two steps at a time, likely waking up half the house in his frenzied enthusiasm, but he didn't care.
He knocked on a door and entered before hearing any response.
"I'm going to see Fleur," he blurted out.
The wand that was hastily pointed at his nose, relaxed and lowered.
"Yes, you have my permission if that is what you're seeking. Though if you are going to ask for my blessing in other accounts, I would like to at least meet the girl first," Grindelwald's voice danced with a dry humor.
Harry felt his cheeks redden with heat but pressed on. "She thinks she's found a way to get the cup."
"Ah, I mistook your sudden bout of excitement for that of another kind. Apologies," he said with a smirk. Walking to the edge of the small room, he peered out the slit window near the ceiling and looked outside. A ponderous expression took hold of the lines of his aged face. He twisted around to face Harry. "And she is sure of this? You are meeting her today?"
"She didn't say much. I was about to leave to find out more," said Harry, pulling the parchment from his pocket and handing it to him.
Grindelwald skimmed it once-over and snapped it to dust. He turned back to the window. "When you return, find me. Perhaps we will finally have enough information to take steps in ending this conflict of yours."
Harry nodded and left, heading downstairs and stopping by his room. From his trunk, he pulled out his invisibility cloak and stuffed it in his coat. Next to his bed, lying on the floor from where it must have been knocked off in his sleep, was his mokeskin pouch, and beside it, partially cracked open, was Daphne's locket.
Picking them up and slipping the pouch around his neck, Harry was about to put away the locket when he stopped. On its inside, sprawled against the miniature frame, and snoring rather loudly, was Everard Greengrass.
"Good morning Everard," called Harry, jolting the man awake.
"Who's there?" mumbled the elder Greengrass. "Harry, is that you?" He blinked slowly. His eyelids drooped and heavy bags hung from his painted eyes. "It is, I see that now. Apologies for my current state, I had a late night. The portrait in my locket is rather reclusive, and I thought I'd try to hide away and catch as much sleep as I could."
"What happened?" asked Harry, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.
"It involves Daphne, as it nearly always does," he said, while rubbing at his face tiredly. "She is well, in case you were wondering. Since I brought the news of our meeting, I haven't seen her so… full of life."
Harry felt himself smile, but his feelings were muddled as it often was when he thought of her, and he didn't quite know what to say. Perhaps noticing this, Everard cleared his throat and continued.
"In any case, it was not her wellbeing I was tasked to look after, but her sisters."
"Did something happen to Astoria?"
"Nothing terribly serious, no," replied Everard, his voice more weary than concerned. "She is, however, finding herself in a good bit of trouble these days. At times I question how she was sorted into Ravenclaw, when she has the propensity to act with the same mindless bravery as those Gryffindors she runs around with."
"Gryffindors?" Harry shot to his feet. "Do you know their names?"
The old man frowned and shook his head in apology. "Unfortunately, at this time I cannot remember. Perhaps they will come to me when my mind is less cloudy." He stopped and scratched at the side of his head, before pausing, and suddenly snapping his attention back to Harry. "Two of them have bright, red hair—a boy and a girl. I remember that from following them through the halls last night."
"Ron and Ginny," Harry said aloud.
"Yes! Those are their names!" Everard pointed his finger in the air in excitement. "Astoria has been consorting with them and others at all hours of the day, meeting and planning and causing all sorts of wrongdoing around the castle. They would have been caught several times over and severely punished, much to my dismay, if not for another. I haven't seen him nearly as much. He's a bit shy, but clearly a boy of good stock. I believe Astoria has taken quite a liking to this fellow."
Harry had to hold in his laughter at the sly smirk curled along Everard's lips. Family meddling knew no bounds, even generations apart and through the medium of enchanted artwork.
He shook his head, clearing all thoughts of matchmaking from his mind, as more importantly, during Everard's tale, a thought had come to him.
"Are you able to help them in anyway? Communicate with them, even?" Harry asked with great interest.
"I suppose it would be possible…" the man pondered. "But not every portrait is capable of speech and some are less cooperative than others even with my influence. If it were the right subject, in the right part of the castle, at the right time, then yes, I could get a message across."
Harry nodded eagerly. "Is your portrait still in the Headmaster's Office?" he questioned further.
"Of course, it is! I see no reason for why anyone would want to have it removed!" Everard sounded insulted by the very thought. "Why are you asking me this?"
"I need you to get a message to my friends," said Harry, not delaying any further. "I need to know if there's any way they can meet me."
Everard looked to him meaningfully, a seriousness falling over his expression. "I warn you, Mr. Potter, it is a tall order you are asking."
"I know," said Harry, just as serious, "but it has to be done."
"If that is what you wish, then I will have your message passed on. I believe I have an idea on how to do it already."
"Good, then I'll let you go. I have things I need to do today." Harry paused just as he was about to shut the locket, hesitant, before adding in a low voice, "Tell Daphne I'm glad she's doing well."
Not needing to say anymore, they exchanged a quick goodbye and Harry put the locket away in his pouch. He headed downstairs, passing by the kitchen on his way to the front door, and slowed at the sound of a pair of conversing voices.
Peeking inside, he could see that Tonks and Fardale were gone, likely having already left for their appointment, but Bill remained, and standing hunched over his shoulder, speaking in a fervent whisper, was Doge. Something twisted with discomfort in Harry's stomach at the sight of them together. He didn't linger long, however, turning almost immediately to leave. He had far more important matters to attend to than listening in on whatever they were speaking about.
A gentle morning mist had settled over the narrow lane which housed Grimmauld Place, as well as the quaint Muggle park across the road. It hovered over the grass and shrouded trees and streetlamps, and in the sky, the sun glowed as a hazy orange orb. Harry tightened his coat around his shoulders, feeling his stomach flip and flop while watching out from the front step. Meetings with Fleur often brought nervous flutterings to his stomach on their own, but these were of a different sort.
With a twist he appeared in the empty, grey street in front of the Hog's Head Inn. Checking quickly over his shoulder, and not seeing anyone, Harry pushed through the front door and into the closed-down bar.
Everything was largely where it had always been in the times he'd come before. Different bottles might have been scattered in various corners of the room, chairs and stools overturned in changing positions, but it all felt very much the same and as it should be. The only difference today was Aberforth. Rather than his characteristic, though secretly good-natured frown greeting him behind tangled brows and knowing eyes, he wore a look of irritation.
The barkeep pushed to his feet from where he'd been sitting behind the counter, polishing glass no one was putting to use. "What are ye doing, coming in 'ere like that?" he shouted.
Harry was startled by his aggression. "I don't know—"
"Don't give me that innocent shite! I heard ye apparate outside my door, and yer not even wearin' your cloak!"
Aberforth stomped past him and pulled open the door, stuck his head out, checked up and down the lane, before slamming it shut again. "Yer gettin' careless Potter. It's not for the first time either. Remember, this is my bar yer comin' to, and it's my neck stickin' out for ye. I know ye love the girl but have some sense when yer comin' 'ere for Merlin's sake!"
"Listen, Aberforth, I'm sorry. It won't happen again," said Harry placatingly. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he hadn't been as careful as he could have recently. "But I checked, and no one was outside—you saw that too. And the only reason I came straight in is because I got a letter from Fleur this morning saying she needs to see me as soon as possible."
The anger slowly faded from his eyes. "Did somethin' happen?"
"I think so," Harry said. "It seems urgent."
"Upstairs." Aberforth indicated with his thumb, though Harry already figured as much. "Just be more careful next time," he added, turning back to his counter and picking up a cloth and a dirtied glass.
With a short nod, Harry made his way to the back of the bar and up the staircase. He knocked on the door to Fleur's room. No answer came. He knocked again, louder this time, but there was still nothing. Grabbing the knob, the door opened to the sound of a stale creak, and the floorboards groaned as he walked inside.
Fleur sat at a small table pushed to the corner of her bedroom. Her back was set to him and her face was buried in a mess of papers strewn in front of her. She didn't hear him as he approached, so engrossed in whatever it was she was reading. It was only when he took the seat across from her that she stirred, sensing his presence.
"'Arry?" She looked up, blinking. A pretty flush came over her at being caught so off guard. "You got my message?"
Harry smiled. "I did. I came as soon as I could."
"That is good. I was worried you would not receive it. I do not trust the owl Aberforth owns, it likes to drink nearly as much as he does," she said, while gathering the papers in her arms. "I hope I did not steal you away from anything."
"Only a charming breakfast with Bill," he replied, and Fleur laughed.
"That is very much unlike him, non?"
"I don't think he knew I was going to be there when he came down," Harry said with a shrug. "Your note saved me."
Fleur peaked through a tussled curtain of her silver hair and winked. "That was not its original intention, but I'm glad it worked out in such a way."
Harry closed his eyes, simply enjoying the feel of her presence. "What changed?" he opened them and asked, suddenly serious.
From the top of the stack of papers in her grasp, Fleur handed him a neatly printed page with the official seal of the ICW stamped onto its left lower corner. Looking it over, Harry couldn't quite make out what it was, beyond a formal request for documentation from the secretary of some administrative office he knew nothing about. At the top, spelled in bold red ink, it read 'Designated for Rapid Return and Resubmission'.
Harry put the paper down and passed it back across the table. He looked to Fleur in question.
"I received it last night, several hours after you had already left," she started to explain. "I was confused when I first opened it, as I'd already sent in similar paperwork only a few weeks ago before leaving France. I assumed it was some sort of mistake in the mailing system, but then I noticed this…" She pointed to the red lettering at the top of the page. Her eyes then flicked up to his, brimming with excitement. "There must have been an administration error."
"For what?"
"My leave of absence."
"What does that mean? Do you still work for them?" he asked, not fully understanding.
"Yes, I do. My request was never fully processed. They must have finally noticed, which is why they sent it back. Because of that, I am technically still an official agent of the ICW."
She was smiling now, bright and bold and beautiful, and a realization was slowly beginning to dawn on Harry as to why.
"Of the many ways we thought of reaching the cup, there was one I could not consider given my belief of the self-termination of my employment… I could simply ask to see it."
"But what about the Goblins?" Harry interjected, feeling his heart skip. "Wouldn't they say no, because—you know."
"I no longer work under them. The liberties they took with me as an employee would not be tolerated on an independent agent. I could say I was sent to check on the artifact they initially wished to have investigated." She paused for a second, a slight crease forming along her brow. "But I see how they can be more of a hindrance than a help. I will need to think on this."
"Write to them anyway," said Harry. "We need to act fast."
"Why is that?"
"I have a plan."
It was the first time Harry had vocalized it, the idea long having lurked murky in his mind, and instantly he could feel nerves begin to crawl along his insides and intensify. Too much time had passed without anything being done, allowing Voldemort's terror to sink deeper, root and spread unchecked. He needed to act before anything happened to compromise the little control he had.
"Is it not risky to act so soon?"
"It's me or him. That's what the prophecy said. I won't be doing anyone any favors if I wait months to do it. It's why I came back. It's why I'm doing all of this," replied Harry, perhaps a bit sharper than he had intended.
Fleur leaned forward, her eyes seeking his with their warmth. "You won't be doing anyone any favors if you die too soon, trying before you are ready."
"I know," Harry said softly. He held her gaze and swallowed. "But I'll never be ready. It has to be this way. I can feel it. We might not get another chance."
Something soft pressed against his cheek, its wetness lingering long after Fleur peeled away.
"We will be ready," she promised in a whisper. "Tell me what needs to be done."
"I need to get into Hogwarts," he replied without hesitation.
There was a moment where neither of them said a word. Fleur watched him keenly and eventually nodded, trusting. "I imagine getting inside the castle is not as easy as it once was."
"It's why I had E—" Harry stopped himself, remembering he'd never told Fleur about Everard's locket, nor of its connection to Daphne. He coughed awkwardly. "I had a message passed on to my friends, asking to see if they knew a way to meet with me."
Fleur frowned, and for a moment it looked as though she was going to press him on the matter. "What do you need from Hogwarts?" she asked instead.
"I need to steal the Sword of Gryffindor," said Harry. "There are only a few ways to destroy a Horcrux. Basilisk venom is one, and the blade of the sword is imbued with it."
"And you know where the sword is?"
"I do. It's kept in the Headmaster's Office."
Snape's Office, Harry suddenly remembered. The thought of that man in the place where Dumbledore had once stood twisted dark and ugly within him.
He took a deep breath and centered himself.
"Once we have the sword, we can finally deal with the locket and the cup."
"We'll be that much closer," Fleur said earnestly.
Harry grinned. The nervous buzz about him from earlier had taken over the entire room, crackling like static.
"There might be someone else who knows how to find another—"
A loud crash could be heard from downstairs, cutting him off immediately. Aberforth's voice, distinctly raised, followed in a muffled tirade, as did what sounded like several chairs being knocked over and a scuffle breaking out.
Then there was a deafening silence.
Harry could hear his heart pounding like a drum in his ears, and felt Fleur stiffen with tension next to him. On the seventh beat, footsteps could be heard stomping up the steps outside. He reached for his wand just as the door flew open.
Aberforth burst through with the force of a storm, his eyes blazing. He heaved something large and heavy to the floor, where it fell with a human sounding moan.
Fleur gasped and Harry tightened his grip around the Elder Wand.
"Found this one tryin' t'sneak in the back," he spat.
A very red-faced and panicked Bill Weasley looked up at them.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Harry.
Bill scrambled to his feet, not caring to brush the dust off himself. His eyes flicked from Aberforth to Harry to Fleur, where they remained fixed, agonizing in their desperation. Seconds went by before he tore his gaze away, unable to bear anymore.
"You need to leave," he said to Harry.
The anger Harry had felt burn through him at the sudden intrusion was washed away by the urgency in Bill's voice. "Why?"
"I'd like t'know as well, this bein' my bar an' all," Aberforth added, crossing his arms. His hulking frame nearly took up the entire doorway.
"I… I made a mistake. A terrible one. I don't know what I was thinking, but… but I want to fix it," Bill stuttered helplessly.
"William, please, calm down. Explain what has happened," Fleur's gentle voice cut in. She looked at her former fiancé sadly, but he could not meet her eyes.
Bill nodded with a choppy jerk of the head. His body was almost trembling. "I went to the ICW. I went to Krum," he said, barely above a breath.
"YOU DID WHAT!?" Aberforth roared, taking two intimidating steps forward. Bill scampered away, putting the bed between the old man's rage and his safety.
"Aberforth stop," Harry ordered, and the man, surprisingly, yet grudgingly, listened. He felt his jaw tick with his own fury, but he bit it back. "What was my price?"
"My father," Bill answered. "He had my dad Harry… my dad."
"Who did? Viktor?" Fleur inquired.
Bill nodded again, looking broken.
"How long?" It was all Harry could manage to ask amidst his shock. Mr. Weasley… taken, he never imagined Viktor would stoop so low.
"It's been weeks. One night he just didn't come home from the Ministry. It wasn't long after we found out about…" Bill trailed off and glanced between him and Fleur. "Mum called us in a panic, and it didn't take long to learn what happened. The ICW took him straight from his office. Thank Merlin it wasn't the Death Eaters."
It was all beginning to make sense in his head, the pieces and small suspicions which had troubled him as of late: Why Mrs. Weasley refused to leave the Burrow, why he hadn't seen Arthur in weeks, why Tonks and Heath looked so torn over what they couldn't tell him.
"That's what the Order's been meeting about then," Harry said. "What Moody made you keep secret from me."
Bill looked on guiltily. "It was my idea, actually," he said. "I blamed you for what happened and played into Mad-Eye's paranoia. I didn't want you to know what happened to him."
"I love your dad as if he was my own father," snapped Harry. "You don't think I would have done everything I could to help!"
"I know," Bill said with great shame. "But all I could think about was what you did for Hermione, and how I couldn't do the same for Dad. I felt helpless, weak. I'm not the same wizard you are, and it ate at me every single day. And then I got a letter in the mail—an offer."
"So, you decided to take matters in your own hands," Harry said, his voice turning a shade darker.
"The Order wasn't doing enough," said Bill, shaking his head bitterly. His normally vibrant red hair hung sweaty and limp. "Charlie kept telling me to wait, that eventually we'd find a way to get Dad home, but they were taking too long. Only Elphias seemed to understand. He knew all Krum wanted was Grindelwald, and to get to Grindelwald he needed you." Streams of shining tears ran down his pale cheeks. "I swear I didn't want to turn you in, Harry. I swear it. I didn't lie when I said I saw you as a brother. But with Elphias whispering in my ear and you seeing Fleur when I still lo—" he choked on the word, unable to force it out "—and… and weeks going by without hearing word from Dad and the offer just sitting there, waiting, tempting… I saw you get that owl this morning and knew you were coming here from following you before. I couldn't wait anymore. I had to do something. I'm sorry, so sorry."
A calmness had come over Harry, leaving him numb. He didn't feel anything; not pain, not panic, not betrayal. There was no use in working himself up, he realized. He couldn't change what had already happened. Bill had made his choice.
"Why are you here then?" he asked, looking at the eldest Weasley, emotionless. "You didn't have to come. You could have left me without warning."
"It was Mum," he admitted weakly. "I went to see her at home after I told Krum. I told her Dad was coming home, that I found a way to get him back. And then she asked me how…" Bill's eyes drifted off to some point beyond the ceiling, vague and defeated. "I've never seen her so mad. I broke her. She couldn't understand why I did what I did."
His face contorted into something heart wrenching, and he clung to the bedpost with a white-knuckled grip, as if he were about to fall over. Harry almost pitied him.
"That's when I realized what I'd done. What Dad would think when he learned how I bought his freedom. How wrong I was. So, I left, because I knew I had to do something, or at least try. I went back to Headquarters, and when I got there Tonks and Fardale were already looking for me. They asked me what was wrong, said they left their appointment early because they felt something wasn't right. I told them, and they went off to warn the rest of the Order. I couldn't face them, not if anything happened to you, and I knew time was running out, which is why I came here. You need to leave," Bill pleaded, with wide watery eyes, "They'll be here any moment now."
"What did you tell them?" Harry asked. His mind was desperately sifting through the possibilities of what to do next.
"Only that you went to a bar in Hogsmeade," answered Bill. He looked out the corner of his eye and his face flushed in embarrassment. "I didn't say anything about Fleur. I didn't want her to get hurt."
"Well, at least you thought of that," said Harry sharply, and Bill winced.
"Didn't think about me, eh? The poor bastard bartender. They'll lock me up jus' for bein' a Dumbledore," Aberforth cursed, staring daggers at Bill across the room.
"You'll be fine, Aberforth," Harry said. "Your bar's been closed for weeks, and you don't have ties to any of us. Besides, they're only here for me. They won't care for anything else once they get what they want."
"'Arry, you can't seriously be considering—"
"I can, and I will." Harry looked at her without compromise. "Take my invisibility cloak," he said, reaching into his pocket and giving it to Aberforth. "The three of you won't fully fit underneath, but it'll be enough to get away unnoticed. Leave, go out the back and don't stop or turn around if you hear anything. I'll be fine."
"I am staying," said Fleur, staring back at him with pursed lips and a stubborn frown.
"You can't. They'll know you're back and that you're with me. It'll ruin our chance of getting the cup," he reasoned.
She was torn, and he thought he could see her lip tremble.
"Go!" Harry shouted, making the decision for her. "I won't let any of you get caught here with me."
"Harry, I'm—"
"Just go, Bill! Take Fleur with you, keep her safe. Go back to Grimmauld Place."
The redhead looked him square in the eye and nodded. He waited by the door as Fleur quickly gathered her things, spelling them into her trunk and shrinking it down to the size of a matchbox. She set the ICW papers—the catalyst of all that had happened here—alight and vanished the ashes; and just as she was about to leave, she stopped and spun around, shoving something desperately into Harry's hand. It was the cloak he'd given her for Christmas.
"Take it," she said hurriedly. "Just in case."
Harry tucked it inside his coat, and by the time he could look up and ask why, Aberforth had already escorted them downstairs. He closed his eyes and listened to their fading footsteps as they vanished to the sound of the backdoor snapping shut.
It felt like eyes were all around him, burning from every corner, ever watchful. They were here, he knew it, even if only a specter at the back of his mind at present. His only comfort was knowing Fleur had gotten away safely. The pit in his stomach told him all he needed to know of what was to come next.
Finding a seat at one of the tables on the main floor, Harry brushed its surface clear of dust and lay the Elder Wand near its edge. His hand burned for its violent touch, but he ignored its call. Its time would come soon enough.
Minutes passed in what felt like an eternity, and the feeling of being watched did not leave. He continued to wait, rubbing at the scar along his jaw, and watching the front door.
Suddenly, the air went stiff. He breathed in fine, but the world pressed in around him, trapping him in its unyielding grip. He recognized the sensation of anti-apparation charms being put up.
Something moved outside, nothing more than a shadow creeping past the boarded window. His hand twitched closer to his wand. Another shadow slipped just beyond the light seeping in beneath the doorway. His fingers hovered over the elder wood, fighting its magnetic pull.
A breeze whispered, a foot crunched, a chair groaned, and then a door opened to the sound of a bell's rusted ring.
"Hello, Viktor," said Harry.
It was difficult to make out from the way the darkness of the bar met the morning light, but he recognized the stocky figure who stepped in to join him. Two others followed, flanking the ex-Quidditch star, dressed in the green robes of the ICW.
The door shut behind them, and instantly their features came into better view.
Viktor never answered him. His hooked nose and narrowed eyes pierced like those of an eagle. Two men were with him: one blonde, whose eyes were passive and had a face as blank as a canvas; and the other was dark and fairly handsome, if it were not for his terribly unkempt beard, who glared at Harry in revulsion.
"Vhere is he?"
"Who?"
A vein twitched along the length of his temple and he took a threatening step forward.
"Do not play stupid games vith me. Vhere is Grindelwald?"
"I don't know."
"Vhat is he planning?"
"I don't know."
"You vhere meeting someone here. Vas it him?"
"I only wanted a drink. It's a shame the bar was closed, because I've only heard good things."
"Enough!" Viktor shouted in a fury. His wand shot out and a table to Harry's right snapped with a horrendous crunch.
"Viktor, please, just have a seat and let's talk," Harry offered, indicating to the chair sat across from him. Viktor simply stood and ignored it.
"I do not share a table vith my enemies."
"I'm not your enemy," he said softly.
"Any man who allies himself vith Grindelwald, murderer of my people, is my enemy," Viktor spat. His lips twisted into an ugly grimace. "But ve vill talk. I vill ask questions, and you vill give me answers."
Viktor nodded to his right and the blonde man stepped forward, pulling from his sleeve a vial of crystal fluid.
"Don't move," Harry threatened, finally gripping his wand which sat on the table. A hot flash surged through him, and it sung pleasantly in his hand. "I have no intention of drinking that, so don't even try. If you don't want to sit at my table, then fine." He kicked the chair out where it scraped several feet across the floor towards Viktor. "But we're going to talk."
He watched the three men carefully. As Viktor weighed the chair in front of him as though it were particularly challenging puzzle, the blonde slipped the vial back into his robe and retreated. The third one continued to stare at Harry with clawing eyes and a disgust that threatened to burst.
Viktor eventually took the seat. His face was a stony mask. "You are a vanted man, Harry," he started. "Vanted by many people."
"Some more threatening than others," Harry replied.
"And not all as forgiving as I am," Viktor countered.
Harry shook his head and sighed. "I know what you want. I can't give him to you—and even if I did, I'm not foolish enough to think you'd just let me go."
The scowl Viktor wore dug deeper, and his hand tightened around something at his side. "You vill give him to me." His voice was as stiff as an iron rod.
"I need him Viktor. I'm fighting my own war. A war far more personal than you can imagine, and one that's killed far more in recent time than an old man who was locked in a tower, forgotten, for fifty years."
"Forgotten!? His horrors will never be forgotten!" The short man with the tangled beard exploded. He had a strange accent. "I've had enough of this, Viktor. I'll kill him myself."
"Silence, Andres," Viktor snapped.
"I won't be silent. Not after what he helped Grindelwald do to Annabelle."
Harry felt his heart lodge itself in his throat.
"You remember her don't you," the man said cruelly. "Red hair, young, beautiful. What did she do to deserve what you did to her?"
Nothing, Harry knew, she was innocent.
"Was tearing apart her mind part of your war? Is that what you were seeking when you freed Grindelwald?"
Harry didn't answer.
"I said silence, Andres!" Viktor roared, shooting to his feet, and sending his chair clattering across the room.
The man reluctantly listened, but he held his wand in the open, pointed at Harry's chest.
Viktor turned back to face him, panting. There was no tolerance in his expression. "Give me Grindelwald and ve vill take you peacefully to answer for your crimes," he breathed dangerously.
"You're fighting the wrong war, Viktor," Harry warned.
"I vill not ask again."
A sad smile sat on Harry's lips. "I'm sorry."
Dipping down, Harry grabbed the leg of the table and flipped it on its side, just as three spells crashed against it.
"I vant him alive!"
Before another round of spellfire could come at him, Harry banished the table towards the men. He could hear shouts of alarm and the sound of splintered wood as he ducked behind the bar. Peaking from behind cover, Harry saw Viktor marching towards him, unfazed. Summoning another table off to the side of the room, he directed it towards the approaching man, only to have it redirected and sent crashing to the wall. He threw a chair, and it was crushed, then a stool, and it was fractured in midair. Bits of wood and fragments of furniture exploded outwards with every item he used to his advantage, but Viktor kept walking on.
Covering his eyes from the flying debris, Harry cursed and blocked a spell near his head. He was running out of space at the back of the bar and wouldn't last long if they kept him pinned.
A gust of wind burst out the end of the Elder Wand with the force of a gale, knocking his attackers off balance. In the second he had, he hit the shattered leg of chair with a deceptively tricky charm and watched as it sparkled and began to rattle across the ground. Spells flashed and he shielded the oncoming rush once the men recovered, but he made sure to keep his eye on the wooden leg. From one broken piece to the next the leg darted and danced, joining and dragging them along in a building heap which resembled a spiked snowball. It rolled towards Viktor who slashed at it, but the chunk he broke off immediately rejoined, pulling other fragments with it. Panicked, the other men threw spells at it as well and it only grew larger.
The floor of the bar shook with a thundering rumble, and the wooden sphere broke through the front of the inn, taking half of the storefront with it.
Dust and debris hung thick in the air, as Harry climbed out the gaping wound of the building. He blinked several times clearing the harshness of the sun from his eyes. Once finally acclimated, he took a step back and let his wand hang in full show at his side.
Dozens of green-clad ICW agents lined the road opposite him. Viktor stood at the front, his robes torn, and lip bloodied. To his side, the bearded man, Andres, stood over the blonde wizard, who lay with his leg twisted in an unnatural angle.
"I don't want to have to fight you all," Harry called out. His voice echoed in the hollow stretch between them. All he could see was the haunting image of Annabelle in the face of every witch and wizard who stood against him.
I don't want to kill you. Any of you, he thought tortuously, Not like her…
"I varn you Harry, do not try," said Viktor, keeping his wand steady at his side.
Harry tightened his grip around his own, feeling it itch in anticipation.
A sharp CRACK pierced the air behind him, and Harry twisted his neck to see who had arrived. A single man, well dressed in a tailored suit, with dirty blonde hair pulled into a waist-long braid stood in the middle of the street. He wore an unsettling smile, and his eyes gleamed at the sight of Harry.
"Well done, Krum. The Ministry will take over from here."
Viktor did not look pleased. "Harry Potter is coming vith us, Yaxley."
The man shook his finger with a tsk. "That is not the agreement I remember us coming to." He laughed coldly. "You brought your men to take Grindelwald, and Potter was to be left for us if I'm not mistaken."
"But Grindelwald vas not here," Viktor said through clenched teeth.
"That's not my problem, now is it? You may continue your search for him another day, but hand over Potter."
"No."
Yaxley's lips pulled back into a snarl. "Be wise with your decision making, Krum. Refusal is not an option."
"I am not afraid of your veak villed Minister," he opposed.
"It is not the Minister who you should be worried about."
Just then, a series of other figures apparated into the clearing, donned in black robes and wearing bone-white masks. They spread out in formation behind Yaxley, facing off against the ICW. Harry stood in the center of them all, surrounded.
"Now then," Yaxley said, holding out his hand, "Mr. Potter, please."
Harry could see Viktor's face darken.
"I do not vork vith terrorists."
"Not terrorists, Krum." Yaxley laughed again, appearing to find this all so very funny. "We are the Ministry. But you already knew that didn't you, when you chose to come here in your hunt for vengeance. Getting soft hearted at the sight of your old friend already? Potter was always part of the deal. Don't pretend like the terms have suddenly changed."
"Viktor…" Harry spoke up, "You're making a mistake. This isn't how it has to be."
"Do you want Grindelwald or not?" Yaxley snapped impatiently. "Give us Potter and we will help you as promised!"
No one could breathe, the air so thick with tension.
Viktor shook his head. "I vant both."
The breeze shifted, sending a chill down Harry's spine, and in that moment of stillness, the hair on the back of his neck stood on its end. He ducked just as a jolt of electric energy escaped Yaxley's wand and crashed into Viktor who was forced to block.
Chaos broke loose and he was at the center of its storm. Lights and colors burst all around him, spinning his head, as screams tore through the air and its brutal buzz of battle. Harry ducked and dodged, weaving his way between fallen bodies and fighting parties, only to trigger their violent intentions towards him.
He was dueling, ceaselessly, but with who he didn't know. Black and green blurred together and the faces were all the same as they came and fell and rose again.
Pushing though the surging crowd after confunding two ICW agents into stunning one another, Harry nearly stumbled when a sickly shade of green flashed nearby.
Something fell at his feet.
Lying, lifeless, and staring blankly up at the sky, was the wizard Andres. Yaxley stood not a dozen feet away with his wand pointed at Harry.
A curse came flying his way in an ominous purple streak, and Harry tore up a chunk of the earth, absorbing the blow. In response, he sent a ribbon of dark magic back, which caught the man in the thigh. He thought he caught a flicker of fear in the Death Eaters eye, who doubled over, reaching for the gash.
He raised his wand again, but before he could finish Yaxley, he dodged a spell which nearly hit him in the side.
The eyes of the ICW were solely on him, and with a body at his feet he knew what the situation was painted to be.
"Murderer!" screamed Yaxley. An awful grin twisted through the pain on his face.
A fresh barrage of spells flew at Harry, forcing him to step away and shield himself from all sides.
Seeing this, Yaxley pulled himself to his feet and hobbled to where the Death Eaters stood. They faced Harry, united with their foe from not seconds ago.
The Elder Wand seared in Harry's palm, fueled by a sudden burning rage, and from its tip crawled shadows which yipped and howled like a pack of wild beasts. The shadows sprang out in a malicious darkness, licking greedily at the blonde man.
"Dark wizardry," jeered Yaxley, who snuffed the shadows with a bright flash of light the moment they were about to strike. "Has Grindelwald been educating you?"
"I stole that from your master," Harry spat back. "Where is he? Too afraid to face me after failing time and time again."
"Be careful what you wish for, Potter," the Death Eater sneered.
From the side, Harry could hear the shuffle of bodies, and parting the ranks of ICW agents was Viktor who stepped forward. His visage was consumed in a scowl. "You've pushed too far, Harry," he announced into the cold. "I can no longer offer you protection."
"So that's it? You've rolled over for Voldemort as well now," said Harry.
Viktor looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"A wise decision, Krum," drawled Yaxley, still leaning heavily off of his injured leg. "I knew you would come to your senses eventually."
"You'll have to kill me then," challenged Harry, twisting the Elder Wand between his fingers.
"Ve von't," Viktor said rigidly.
"Because you can't."
"Perhaps… but ve must capture you all the same."
He drew his wand and snapped it towards Harry, where a glowing red lasso shot out its end and curved through the air.
Harry knocked it away with a flick, but rather than dissipate, it looped back around towards him. He deflected the magical snare again, just as another soared overhead, narrowly missing him and singing the side of his face with an unbearable heat.
More and more of these flaming whips came sailing through the air, trying to trap him. One nicked him in the leg, burning through his pants, and another scorched his arm with a glancing blow. For every one he blocked, dozens more came around. He shielded, conjured barriers, and swept them away in the wind, but still they came. It was like trying to wrestle a giant squid who kept on growing new legs.
Whilst trying to tie several of the whips in the sky, Harry swore at a sudden pain around his ankle. It gripped like a flaming hand and tightened with his every attempt to free it. Someone pulled, and he nearly toppled over, and looking up, he could see even more raining down.
Instinctually, he reached into his coat and turned his back. As he did, he threw Fleur's cloak around his shoulders in desperation. He closed his eyes and braced for the searing pain to come. But there was nothing. All that came, was a vicious hiss and a boiling steam which stung his face.
He opened his eyes and they widened in shock. The cloak had transformed itself into a watery cape, swallowing the fiery fingers as they attempted to wrap around him and belching them into a harmless vapor.
Taking the cloak by the hem, he flung it through the air and watched as it rippled and swelled, and then spouted a curtain of water some thirty feet in the air, consuming all in its path.
A choking mist suffused the world, thick and impenetrable. The air rank of salt and sweat and smoke. Not ten feet could be seen in front of oneself; everything shrouded in an ever-expanding canvas of grey. Barks of commands could be heard strangely distant, trying to lift the veil which had fallen over them.
Harry froze. He thought he could hear something. Something overhead. Something like the sound of beating wings, large and powerful.
The shouts he heard through the mist were no longer the same. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they turned panicked. He could hear terror in them now. The air almost seemed to shake as a looming presence pressed all around them. Lights flashed through the fading mist, crackling like fireworks, and casting them in a haze of greens and blues and crimson.
"He's here!" someone screamed. "He's here!"
Bursting through the mists and beating them away with noble white wings, was a giant Abraxan. Franz, Harry recognized. From its back, as young and powerful as Harry had ever seen him, leapt Grindelwald, who swept his wand and collected the lingering mist into a maelstrom, which he sent upon their attackers.
The tide of the battle had changed completely. Harry could taste the fear in the air, and so could Grindelwald, whose teeth gnashed with a primal hunger as he pressed forward. They were formidable together—a force of nature which could not be stopped. He threw a curse which tore an abandoned cottage from its foundation, taking several Death Eaters with it. The Elder Wand hummed in his hand, filling him with an insatiable thirst for the power at its core. Scanning the battleground, he looked for Yaxley, wanting him dead next. He found him hiding next to a pile of upturned dirt near the Hog's Head Inn.
As if sensing Harry's intentions, the man's eyes darted towards him and recoiled. Shaken, he looked around the battlefield, watching in disbelief at what had unfolded. He was vulnerable, hardly able to stand, and alone to Harry's wrath. But before he could take a step closer, Yaxley took out his wand, twisted on his heel, and disappeared.
At the first sign of retreat, the Death Eaters followed, and so too did members of the ICW. Battling in a frenzy at the frontlines, sending curse after curse at Grindelwald who batted them away with ease, Viktor looked up to see their depleting numbers.
"Stand vith me! Ve do not retreat! Ve fight!" he shouted desperately over the spellfire, trying to rally those who stayed.
It was futile, however. Only a handful remained standing by his side.
"Viktor Krum, is it?" Grindelwald inquired. He weighed the Bulgarian up and down with his eyes. "I've long been wanting to meet you. It is an honour."
"I do not make pleasantries vith the devil," Viktor replied, pointing his wand straight at Grindelwald's icy heart.
"From what I've heard, what you wish from me is anything but pleasant." Grindelwald smiled coldly. "I always got a kick out of those stories in the paper. Young man, sports icon, international celebrity throwing away his riches in his quest for heroic revenge. It must sell incredibly well."
"I vill kill you," said Viktor with murder in his eye.
Grindelwald flashed his teeth. "I imagine you will try."
"You killed my grandfather."
"I don't remember him I'm afraid. A true shame, really. I would have liked to recall his final moments to you." Grindelwald stalked closer, without a care or worry in the world. "Though, I'm sure you will die very much the same."
A pale, yellow spell sped towards the dark lord, before fizzling out into nothing. Grindelwald stared at the end of Viktor's wand where it trembled in his hand.
"You're scared." He laughed, low and mocking. "You should be."
Another spell shot towards him, and Grindelwald didn't even need to move. A third came, then a fourth, and Grindelwald kept laughing as they missed their mark. Nothing could hit him, and all the while the pitch of his laughter only grew.
Harry could see the sweat dripping down the hook of Viktor's nose, just as he raised his arm a final time and shouted, "Avada Ke—"
In that moment, quicker than imaginable, Grindelwald chose to strike.
The air shifted, and the wand was torn from his iron grip, and then there was a gruesome crunch. Viktor screamed. His hand hung limp, twisted horribly in a manner where his fingers and bone stuck out like the broken bristles at the end of a broom.
"I told you they all die in the end," said Grindelwald, sounding almost sad. "It's rather disappointing."
"No!" Harry yelled.
Tracing his wand through the air, a luminous barrier materialized around his friend just as Grindelwald's next spell crashed against it. A shock of displaced air shot out in a blink, knocking everyone several feet back.
"Go! Get out, now!"
Viktor looked to him, confused, his face paralyzed with pain. A heartbeat later, he scrambled for his wand and fell back, disapparating with whoever was left.
Silence descended over the carnage of the street, the final ring of battle only just clearing from his ears.
They stood in front of the Hog's Head Inn, which miraculously stood on its last legs. Above the front door, the rickety old sign still hung crooked and swung lazily in the air.
I hope Aberforth doesn't mind the redecorating, Harry thought.
"You came."
Grindelwald slowly turned and regarded him carefully. "You thought I wouldn't? It is as I told you, we are partners."
Harry nodded, and slipped the Elder Wand away in his sleeve. He walked over to where Fleur's cloak glistened along the ground and folded it away carefully. It saved him.
"How did you know to come?" he asked.
"Quite a commotion was stirred by that Metamorphmagus, so much so that I could hear it through my meditation. That red-haired woman, your friends' mother, also finally returned, shrieking like a Banshee. It didn't take much for me to overhear you were in danger."
"In that case, what took you so long?"
"I had an important stop to make beforehand. Some… property which needed returning you could say."
Harry looked over to where Franz was gently picking through rubble of the cottage he had destroyed earlier. He shook his head, trying to smother the amusement working its way onto his face.
"You seemed to be handling yourself alright," Grindelwald continued.
"I'm not really used to being outnumbered thirty to one," Harry replied.
"Aiming to maim and kill is a good place to start."
"I didn't want any more dead."
The image of Annabelle, vacant, in her green robes floated through his mind again.
"Clearly," said Grindelwald pointedly. "Did you learn what you wanted?" he asked after a pause.
"I did."
"And what comes next?"
Harry looked out to where the mass of Hogwarts climbed into the sky, seated expectantly upon its hill with its piercing towers and rigid walls, and all the answers which lay within.
"It's time I finally come home."
AN
I hope you all enjoyed the latest chapter! It took a long time to write given everything coming together. We're getting closer and closer to the end, so hopefully I'll get the next chapter out soon and the momentum can be carried on.
I've noticed as of late that FFN can glitch when importing new chapters in, so please do let me know if you notice any strange grammatical errors like missing words or chunks of sentences. I skimmed the chapter over and didn't find any, but it's possible I might have missed something.
As always, please do let me know your thoughts and any opinions you might have with the latest update! It was a big one so I'm expecting there will be some reactions to it. Your reviews are always greatly appreciated, as are your PMs. Thanks.