Hermione made herself comfortable behind a large desk at the back of the Room of Requirement. She had an hour before the next DA meeting, which by her own well-honed calculations, was just enough time to review the list Madam Pomfrey had given her.

Viktor's injuries had been playing on her mind, and while she wasn't able to do anything about them at present, it didn't mean she couldn't make herself prepared for the future.

Harry had inadvertently given her the idea when he said that Professor Snape believed he had covered the 'basics' of Occlumency. Hermione had been considering looking through a few books, but it made her realise that the school nurse would have a much better idea of how to put some structure around her learning. Few people could have tackled more Quidditch injuries in the course of their professional career than Madam Pomfrey.

The nurse had been very helpful, even going so far as to tell her about a series of certifications available that Hermione thought sounded similar to a Muggle First Aid course. They had agreed that for this year, with Umbridge roaming the halls, she should do nothing to draw attention to herself. Madam Pomfrey promised she would help her with the preparation for the level one certificate next year, as long as it didn't hinder her regular schoolwork.

For now, Hermione was familiarising herself with what made up a Medi-witches standard kit. A lot of it was more basic than she would have thought of, and that meant it might have been overlooked. Given their work in the DA and the general propensity for injury amongst her friends, it seemed like a good idea to start putting something together.

Hermione reviewed her text and made notes for the next Hogsmeade weekend. There was a long chapter on the various types of compresses, and she wondered if the Muggle ones she had would work or whether magical ones were treated in some way that made them more effective?

Thinking of the pack of plasters her mother packed for her, currently stored in the bottom of her trunk, made Hermione think of Viktor's letters again. She had searched her room from top to bottom. In fact, she'd made even more of a mess than Malfoy had. Hermione had been sure there would be something that would shed some light on what the hell was going on. But there was nothing. Was it too much to ask for him to drop in a short note explaining himself? Apparently so. After thirty minutes of throwing clothes, and ten further of seriously debating breaking some of the trunk apart, Hermione had admitted defeat.

She looked up at the clock and saw that time had once again evaporated. She made a quick note about disinfectant potions before hurrying her books into her bag and willing the room to switch into its usual form.

Hermione walked into breakfast as late as possible, but it was for nothing, practically, the whole school was there. Feeling her heart sink down to her shoes, she shuffled towards her usual seat and sat down before her shaky legs gave out beneath her.

The space opposite was empty. Harry had not made it down, Ron neither.

Hermione looked up at the teacher's table to another empty space, Dumbledore's. How had it all gone so wrong?

She reached forward and grabbed herself some toast, buttering it robotically and then willing it to go down her throat with copious amounts of orange juice. She ate as much as she could, all while the empty spaces felt like they were expanding around her, pushing against her arms and legs like they wanted her to fold in on herself and disappear.

Hermione's eyes had begun to water when she felt the bench flex next to her. Neville sat beside her, so close she could feel the heat of his thigh against her bare leg.

"Morning," he greeted quietly and then fixed himself a cup of tea.

"You're late today," Hermione managed to choke out, and Neville smiled wanly.

"I've already had mine," he replied as if telling her a secret. "I was sitting further down the table."

Neville pointed at Seamus and Dean, who both looked bleary-eyed. They waved at Hermione when they noticed her looking, and she tried to return their kindly meant gesture.

"You looked like you could so with some company."

Hermione swallowed what felt like an unimaginably large piece of bread and then sucked in a breath. "Thank you," she replied earnestly, "though I'm not sure I deserve it."

Neville dropped his hand over hers, just for a moment and then he picked up his mug again. His fingers were warm; Hermione could still feel them after he moved away. His kindness was so thick it dropped over her like a cloak.

"It's not always your fault Hermione," he said, half sympathetic, half admonishing. Hermione sighed. She wished she could believe that.

"It was my sign-in sheet."

"Yes, but that wasn't the only thing that got us here. Everyone in that room chose to be there, and Dumbledore knows what he's doing."

Hermione pushed her orange juice away, having had far too much of it already and poured her own tea from the still brimming pot in front of her. There was a low-level chatter in the room, much as there always was at breakfast, people were far too sleepy to be as exuberant as they were at dinner, but she could still detect the odd gaze towards the top of the room that told her that more people knew something than she had expected. You really couldn't keep anything quiet in a boarding school.

Hermione looked over towards the Slytherin table, wanting to see the little gang that had been involved in their capture last night, but her gaze was caught by Cho Chang, who was sitting alone on her house table.

The Ravenclaw's expression was noticeably frosty, and she maintained blank eye contact with Hermione for a few seconds before looking away without acknowledging her.

"Marietta is still in the hospital wing," Neville said, clearly having seen their interaction. He made a rough gesture across his forehead, and Hermione nodded in understanding.

"I wish I could say I feel bad about that," Hermione replied softly, and Neville coughed out a laugh.

Hermione's first thought when she heard about the boils was that she was proud of herself that the spell had worked. It had been a bit of advanced magic, more sophisticated than she had thought she was capable of, not that she would have shared that tidbit. Her second thought was that she had wished she had hexed the parchment with something worse. That was the part of her thinking that worried her.

"Neville?" she asked, turning towards him as the remaining upper years started to filter into the hall. "Am I nice?"

Neville blinked at her before stuffing a crispy bit of bacon into his mouth. "Of course you are, you're one of the nicest people I know." Hermione raised a single brow, and he grinned. "Then again, you're on my side."

Any further conversation was cut off by Umbridge, making one of her affected 'announcing sounds' that made all of the hair on Hermione's neck stand on end.

"Here we go."

When Viktor entered his parent's home for his next scheduled visit, the atmosphere was very different from the carefree joy that had rung through the air the last time. There was a distinctly unfamiliar stillness, and after waiting in the kitchen for ten minutes and still seeing no sign of anyone, he went off in search. He didn't get far. There were raised voices coming from his father's study.

Viktor had never been one to stand around outside doors as a child, though, in fairness he had grown up in a home where he was very rarely closed out of anything. His mother must have been out, there was no way she wouldn't have come down to greet him if she was here, and even from metres away he could tell his father's tone was clipped. His father simply did not speak to his mother that way, ever.

Viktor debated with himself, but then he stood outside the door. Not exactly pressed up against it but not far off. Something was telling him he should be there, in case he was needed.

There was a crunching sound, like paper being balled up, and then he could hear his father, as clearly as if he was in the room.

"You purport to be an unstoppable force, and yet you cannot even track down a man that has spent the better part of the last two decades languishing in academia."

An unknown voice scoffed. "Karkaroff is dead. He got what was coming to him. The same fate awaits anyone that doesn't fall in line."

Viktor's heart began to beat faster in his chest.

"Really?"

His father sounded uncommonly mocking. "You expect me to believe that he is dead? You caught a man who has been fleeing your ranks for near a year, and there was no news of it? There have been no sightings of your skulls in the skies."

"You're questioning the word of the Dark Lord?" the other man's voice was disbelieving. It simmered with arrogance and poorly concealed rage. Viktor quietly hoped he was the only other man in there. He imagined he would have heard if there was anyone else by now.

"I'm questioning the account of a bragging adolescent that has entered my house uninvited."

"You watch yourself, Grigor. I was sent here as a mark of respect, not that you've ever done anything to deserve it."

"Then state your business, and then be on your way."

There was a shuffling sound of feet against the floor, and Viktor willed himself to breathe more quietly.

"I am an emissary being dispatched to the old families. The Dark Lord wanted to impress upon you the rewards available to those that join him of their own volition. After all, nobody is interested in spilling pure blood. At least, not unless we have to."

The man's voice positively dripped with smug superiority and Viktor itched to reach for the door handle. But he stopped himself. He tried to keep a calm head and think of his lessons, to think in the logical way his father had encouraged him to since he was a child. He took a step back from the door and looked back and forth down the corridor. He hadn't so much as heard a House Elf since his arrival. They must have been keeping themselves out of sight.

His father had known he was coming home at this time and this man, this Death Eater, had obviously shown up unexpectedly. If his father had wanted him in there with him, he would have left the door at least ajar.

Viktor knew his father wanted to protect him, to keep him from this as much as he was able. But who would be there to protect him if Viktor did not? His father could be implacable, but he was fair and just. These people did not play by the rules.

Viktor heard a familiar creak, and he knew his father was sitting in his chair behind his desk. It calmed him a little; people didn't usually sit before people they felt intimidated by, at least not willingly.

"If you are on such a quest, let me save you some time," his father replied in a bored tone. "My house affiliations have been far from secret since long before the days of my grandfather. Me and mine will not join your… organisation."

"You forget yourself, Krum," the unwanted guest seethed in return. Viktor could hear his fury, even though the door it sounded as if he was baring his teeth. "The extended hand is symbolic. You are being commanded to appear."

His father scoffed, and the sound sent a shiver down Viktor's spine. "You hold no power over me."

"They said you were soft," the man taunted. "They said that your family didn't even lift a finger when Grindelwald…"

Viktor flinched as he heard something smash against the wall. It must have been glass. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Viktor spared a moment for prayer. He hoped for his father's sake that it wasn't the crystal decanter that had met an untimely end. His mother had brought that a long time ago, and if he had broken it in a temper, her response was not something his father would be sitting down for.

"Do not speak that name in this house, boy. You have no idea what you're talking about."

There was a disturbance, and Viktor heard a few things hit the ground, then his father's voice again.

"I see, I imagine you think being given a brand and a costume makes you a part of something? Shut the door on your way out. You're wasting your time here."

"He won't be happy," the man protested.

"Then let him come to me."

"He told me to get you to kneel."

"If he truly believed I would do so, he would not have sent you, a mere child playing at the games of men."

Viktor jumped when the handle in front of him moved, but then, before he could try and make himself scarce, it snapped back into place. Relief flooded his chest only to snatched away a mere moment later.

"Speaking of boys. How old is your son, Grigor?"

There was a pause, the longest one yet. Viktor could hear the large clock in the entryway counting down the seconds. He could feel the heat rising on the back of his neck. He sucked in a breath, as quietly as he could and stood stock still as he stared at the door in front of him.

"You should have learned who you were threatening before you came here."

Viktor shouted out in shock when he felt a slim hand wrap tightly around his upper arm. Thankfully his mother had already hit him with a silencer before she appeared next to him without a sound. Her eyes were wide and fearful, and she urged him down the corridor before they ended up at the very back of the house.

"I apologise," she said as she released him from the spell. "I didn't want you to reveal you were there, and I had tried to get your attention several times without success. Casting on you might be my least favourite thing in the world."

His mother stretched out her fingers as if she wanted to wash them and Viktor pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"I am glad you did," he said, hoping she took it as absolution, and then his gaze moved in the direction of his father's study, still occupied by an unknown interloper.

"Should I not go back? That man, he sounded like he had plans."

"I am sure he does," his mother agreed, her mouth set in a firm line. "But your father can handle himself. He sent me a note when he arrived. I am sorry it took me so long to get here."

Viktor nodded and eventually sat into one of the chairs fiddling with the end of his long shorts. "Father he.. he sounded, so unlike himself."

Sofiya sighed and sat down on one of the sofas opposite him, rearranging the small collection of cushions and pressing a concealed switch to call the kitchens for tea.

"Being a head of house is not always easy, Viktor, you have to make tough decisions and protect you and yours. It requires… behaviour at times that you would not readily associate with your father. Grigor has never bought any of that home with him. Not the politics, or the arguing. For which I am grateful."

"That man… he is a Death Eater?"

Viktor already knew the answer, he had heard enough to confirm it, but for some reason, he needed to hear it. His mother nodded.

"Yes."

The word was heavy between them. Viktor was filled with the urge to know exactly where this person had been, so they could make sure the place was thoroughly clean. He had brought Hermione here only last Summer, back then it had felt like the safest place in the world.

"He wants to recruit father?" he pressed, and Sofiya smiled softly as a tea tray appeared.

"Yes," she replied simply. "But, we suspected this might happen. It did during the last war. Mainland Europe is not so far as everyone seems to think and their Dark Lord, as he calls himself, will likely be working on several expansion plans."

"He said no," Viktor said quietly. "Strongly."

His mother raised an eyebrow. "That cannot be unexpected, Viktor, as I think you already know, your father would rather die than be part of something like that."

"It erm," Viktor swallowed harshly. "It sounded like that was the choice they were giving him."

"I thought as much."

His mother's eyes searched his before she moved down the sofa and patted the seat next to her. Viktor dutifully complied.

"You are worried about him, of course you are, but you must let him handle this Viktor. He does not want you to become involved in this war."

"I just want… to protect him."

"I know, and so does your father. We are both incredibly proud of the man you are becoming, my love. But you are our child, let us keep you away from it as long as we can… I'm afraid, I do not believe it will be for as long as I would like."

Viktor sat forward and poured for them and waited.

Hermione was as sure as she could be that if Milicent Bulstrode didn't lose her grip, she was going to lose consciousness soon. Her eyes went wide, and she flapped about until Milicent seemed to notice and released her enough so that she could at least breath unhindered. Hermione was surprised for only a second. It wasn't as if she actually believed the Slytherins were capable or willing to kill any of them. It was almost as ludicrous as suggesting that they harboured those sorts of thoughts towards them. Though, apparently, that caring for your fellow human thing didn't extend to being 'roughed up'.

Neville was already sporting a black eye and was looking at Crabbe with a sort of relaxed menace that would have made Hermione laugh if she wasn't very sure they had landed themselves into some truly hot water.

Unsurprisingly, Ron was still fighting back the most. Even Ginny had given up once she had been pushed back into the wall a third time. Ron never did know when to quit. Hermione could hear his feet scuffling against the floor of Umbridge's office, trying to get more purchase as he shunted and shoved at his detainer, but nothing worked. There were too many of them.

Hermione glanced across the room, now that she could move her head a little, to where Malfoy was standing, staring down at them with a look of pleased accomplishment that made Hermione's blood boil. It was the closest she had been to him since he had barged his way into her bedroom, loomed over her and removed her letters, letters that were now back. For some reason the unexplained return made Hermione feel worse than the alternative. She couldn't figure out what his plan was, which made her feel exposed and vulnerable. Yet, he never so much as glanced at her. Though he looked around now and again, Malfoy mainly watched Harry. There was a familiar smirk pulling at his lips as Harry was held down by Umbridge and Professor Snape acted out whatever part he had invented for himself in this pantomime.

Hermione stared at Malfoy, willing him to look horrified by the turn of events. He must have thought this was as beyond the pale as the rest of them? Even Pansy Parkinson was starting to look dubious. Sure, Hermione had called him a cockroach before, she had even meant it, but she now knew she hadn't truly appreciated before just how on point her assessment had been. Whatever Malfoy felt, if he felt anything apart from a burning desire to see Harry hurt, was expertly masked. He would do whatever he needed to ensure his own survival.

Finally, she turned away from the lingering risk in the room and moved her attention to the real threat. She saw Umbridge's eyes glisten and her stomach lurched. That bitch was actually going to do it. She was going to torture him, with an Unforgivable curse, right in front of all of them.

Hermione twisted herself upwards so she could partly pull herself out of Milicient's loosened gaze.

"Please," she began, looking at Umbridge, but her words were less begging and more prayer.

She bloody hoped this worked.

"Was that…. Was that planned?"

Harry looked at her incredulously, stuck somewhere between awe and disgust, and Hermione tried to unstick her tongue. She shuddered as Umbridge's yells reverberated from somewhere in the distance and then turned to her friend with a blank expression.

"Not really," she replied softly. "But… sort of."

Harry looked at her hard and Hermione shrugged.

"I thought of Gawp at first, but the Centaurs… I hadn't planned on them. They got here first."

Harry sucked in a deep breath and seemed to shelve what had happened away. "We can worry about it later," he said finally, decisively. "We have to go now. We have to get Sirius."

Hermione wanted to protest as much as she had earlier, but as time went on, she was getting worried herself. Professor Snape hadn't seemed remotely bothered by Harry trying to give him a message and if Sirius really was on his own who knew what could have already happened.

She breathed in through her nose and then, much like Harry, she filed all of her doubts away. Harry was going; there was no changing that fact. And she wasn't going to let him go on his own.

They'd made it almost wholly out of the forest when suddenly they met up with the rest of their ragtag crew who spun a rather fantastical tale of how they had got out of Umbridge's office. Ron was jubilant after landing a 'considerable' hit on Goyle and Ginny was happy to have escaped without so much as a hair out of place.

It was only when they finished speaking that Hermione realised that their number had grown by one. At the end of the line, almost entirely obscured by Neville, was Cho.

Sensing the direction of her gaze, Neville stepped aside and pushed Cho forward. "Cho helped," he said grinning widely. "She was brilliant."

Hermione didn't doubt it; she had seen Cho's work in the DA. Though she hadn't expected Cho to want to help out after… everything.

"Well… thank you, Cho… but we have to, we have to go," Harry gritted out, his awkwardness around his once crush wrestling with his growing impatience."

"Harry, we're coming," Neville insisted, and Harry shook his head.

They were all somewhat desensitised to Harry's refusals by this point, and they moved forward, but, to Hermione's surprise, Cho moved with them.

"Cho," Harry said, and his eyes softened a fraction. "Please, no. I don't even want the others to come. This is my fight."

"It's my fight too, Harry," Cho demanded in a harsh whisper, and there was quiet for the longest time. Harry tried to formulate a response, some counter-argument to convince her, but on some level, he must have already known he'd lost.

In the growing silence, Luna quietly moved from her place to stand behind Cho, and after a heartbeat, Hermione followed suit.

"I'm with them," Ginny said, crossing her arms and nodding her head in the direction of the cluster of girls and Neville matched her posture.

"Me too," he agreed.

Harry began roughly brushing a hand through his hair, and Ron stepped forward to grip his shoulder.

"Harry, best will in the world, you can't do this alone mate."

Harry stared at him for an age, and then he clenched his jaw. "Fine. But we have to go now. No more distractions."

Fleur looked over her neatly ordered desk and considered the five scrolls that were left on its surface. She'd done an excellent job of getting the more complicated tasks off her list earlier in the day, even if she did say so herself. Now all that was left were some relatively straightforward administrative tasks. Dreary as they were, there was at least some satisfaction to be had in getting them complete and posted into the shoot with all the other outgoings.

She'd been working at Gringotts for over half a year, and while in the beginning, it had felt like she would never grasp everything she needed to know, she had gotten there. Piece by piece, her role and duties had fallen into place, culminating in last week when one of the more senior Goblins had come by her office to congratulate her on a job well done. His toothy smile had made her beam, and given Fleur real hope that by the time she finished her training year, there would be no problems with getting her full-time role approved.

Just as she was weighing up whether she wanted to tackle this week's filling or get into the inventory lists, Fleur's tidy order was interrupted by Bill rushing into the office. He barely looked up at her as he crashed through the door and before she could interrupt, he was stomping over to his desk where he pulled out draw after draw and rummaged through the contents.

"Bill?" she asked, bewildered as she noticed his dark cheeks and anxious expression.

He looked at her like he had only just realised she was there.

"Is everything okay?" she pressed, and he shook his head.

"No," he stuttered out, and he ran his hands through his hair. In the office, he didn't bother with the leather strap keeping it in place. "Ron, Ginny and the others, they've got themselves into some sort of trouble… big trouble. I've got to get to Headquarters."

He opened another draw, finally finding his keys and tucked them into his pocket. "I'm sorry, petal… I've got to..."

"I'm coming," Fleur interrupted, standing from behind her desk and grabbing her things before he had a chance to protest. When she made it to the door, Bill just looked at her; he said nothing, then he gripped her hand in the way that made Fleur feel like she could take on anything.

-/-/-/-

Fleur had heard a lot about the Order of the Phoenix; they had been mentioned in a few books her mother had given her about the wizarding war, texts that she had thought might be useful when Fleur had first mentioned going to Scotland. Fleur's knowledge had deepened and expanded now she was living in London, and the group became less of an abstract notion in her mind, morphing into a living breathing organisation.

Bill had spoken of the association and its members in the highest possible terms. While her boyfriend was given to being polite, even when the situation did not call for it, he hardly ever gave praise where none was warranted. His matter of fact manner had been attractive from the off, and Fleur had been pleased to discover over their many months together that it was a deeply rooted character trait.

Bill hadn't let go of her hand since they had left the bank and had only spoken enough words to let her know where they were going. This was going to be Fleur's first time in the Headquarters for the Order, and she wanted to be impressed.

She wasn't.

Fleur entered the shabby kitchen of the run-down townhouse to find the most unlikely looking group of self-appointed soldiers all shouting over each other. A dirty looking man Fleur figured was Mundungus Fletcher, from Bill's descriptions, was insisting that he wasn't risking harm for 'some idiotic kids' and most of the other's indistinct voices seemed to merge into one sound.

A tall, forbidding and yet incredibly charismatic man in Auror robes eventually boomed over the top of the rest of them and got them to shut up long enough to listen.

"Severus reported that Harry believed Sirius had been taken and they've left Hogwarts. They must be heading to the Ministry."

"Prosperous," Molly Weasley countered with a scoff. "How would they even get there?"

"Didn't Ron and Harry fly a car to school in their second year?" Tonks replied, and Fleur looked down to hide her smile. It was as she shifted her stance that she noticed Sirius was there. The careworn man looked older than his years and was positively frightening to observe as he paced back and forth like a caged bear, apparently ready to tear his hair out as the nosy infighting continued.

"Why are we still talking about this," he roared when the noise level started to creep up again. "We have to go now."

It went on like this for what felt like hours until they finally seemed to notice they had a 'stranger' in their midst. Moody, who Fleur had unfortunately met before, appeared out of nowhere, brandishing his wand with a minacious look. Before he could get close enough to do anything she would make him regret, Bill stepped out from her side to shield her and instinctively Fleur put her hands on his back.

"She's here with me, okay?" he bit out. "She wants to come."

Moody scoffed. "This isn't a social outing."

"I think you know we're aware of that," Bill snapped and Moody sneered.

Fleur watched him, almost uncomfortably awestruck. She had seen Bill like this a few times when they were working in the field, and things got rough but never in such a setting. Typically, being defended like a damsel, or spoken about as if she wasn't there would have 'yanked her chain' to use a British expression she had come to enjoy, but at that moment she let him do so. These were not her people.

Instead of jumping in, Fleur let her fingers linger on the tatty denim jacket Bill was wearing and was soothed by his vigorous defence of her. She remembered how excited and hopeful she had been on their first 'sort of' date, a few drinks after work. More dates had followed, becoming less and less ambiguous as they went. Bill was now staying over at her flat at least three nights a week, and Fleur had surprised herself when she realised she had begun to miss him when he wasn't there. Even though he tended to leave his clothes on the floor and presumably assumed her coasters were decorative objects without any real purpose. She still missed him. It was a wholly new experience for her, and one she was enjoying tremendously.

"Fleur wants to come," Bill said again with a note of finality. "She's an asset. We've worked together in dangerous situations, and she's brilliant."

"Far be it from me to disagree with you, dear," an all too familiar voice began, "but I think Alastor is right. She's not in the Order."

Fleur was glad of Bill masking her from view as it meant most of the room missed her eye roll as Molly Weasley simperingly gave her opinion. As if that act fooled anyone!

Fleur took a steadying breath and then stepped out of Bill's shadow to face her biggest detractor head-on. Molly smiled sweetly, and Fleur tried not to grind her teeth.

How many lunches had she sat through now? How many times had she been a guest at that woman's table in her ridiculously cluttered kitchen as she shoved her imagined prowess as a wife and mother down her throat and forced Fleur to endure her dislike? Indifference or sneering would be fine, but it was the fact that Molly Weasley somehow seemed to think that she was beneath her son that rankled.

But, while Molly's opinion of her was based on Fleur's appearance and a projection of her own insecurities, Fleur's mutual ill opinion was based on cold, hard facts. Viktor's letters had been of more use than just friendship to her over the last year. From them, she had learnt that while Hermione was close to the Weasley family, Molly had still readily believed hearsay during the tournament and mistreated Hermione for it. Sofiya Krum had been only too delighted to put the matriarch back in her place the first chance she got. Fleur wished she had been there to see it. It wouldn't have meant anything to her then, but now it would be a happy memory to recall and enjoy from time to time.

Fleur had skipped the last two meals she had been begrudgingly invited to, and she'd been saddened by the dimming of Bill's eyes when she had invented some reason as to why she couldn't make it. She didn't like lying to him, especially when it was so obvious she was doing so. But there was only so much she would put herself through in the name of love, and it was best he learnt early on that she wouldn't sit back and endure endless verbal attacks, not even for his sake.

Molly looked at her in an oddly pinched way, and Fleur got the distinct impression she didn't care for her robes. Fleur wasn't sure if it was the modern cut or the expensive fabric that got to her, though it was probably a combination of both. She didn't let her anger show. If it hadn't been the way she dressed, it would have been something else. Like her heritage or Merlin forbid her accent. Fleur said a silent oath that if she were ever blessed with a son, she would never behave like this.

"It's just," Molly began again, "I'm not sure this is for you, dear. These situations can be tough, believe me, I've been there."

"Really," Fleur replied airly. "How many dragons have you all fought?"

Fleur heard a slight intake of breath and a suppressed scoff that made her feel slightly buoyed. But Molly was distinctly unimpressed.

"Yes, I imagine you do have some experience of combat. In that competition last year, when you were fighting against Harry."

"Mother," Bill blurted out in protest and the sound of one raised voice was all it took for the room to descend into chaos again.

Before Kingsley could intervene, Sirius charged from the corner and smashed a chair over the table, glaring at all of them as if daring them to say anything about it. He banged one of the broken legs against the wall, shut them all up and commanded they listen to Kingsley before he started throwing people out of his house.

After a seconds bewilderment, Kingsley called out ten names. One of them was Fleur's.

"We leave in five minutes," Sirius threatened as if he could maim all of them as easily as he could blink, and then he stalked from the room, Remus Lupin hot on his heels.

Fleur used the distraction to slip out of the kitchen door and walk into one of the dusty receiving rooms she had seen on the way in. While she could hear scuffling about in the other room, she grabbed a hair tie from out of her bag and pulled her long blonde locks up into a high pony.

Bill entered a moment later and shut the door behind him, before making quick work of the space between them and pulling her into his chest in a crushing embrace.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against the top of her hair as he pulled off a leather jacket and pulled on a formal-looking robe.

"It's okay," Fleur replied and dropped her bag to the ground, seeking to lighten herself up if she was going to be as useful to the Order as Bill's arguing had made her sound.

"It's not," he urged. He reached down to cup her chin and looked her steadily in the eyes.

"I know things have been… I know it's been difficult, and I need…" Bill gripped Fleur's hand and stared down at her milky white fingers. "I need to talk to you about that because it's not fair on you, and I will sort it. I promise."

Fleur shook her head. She understood how close the Weasly clan were and although Bill was fully aware that his mother was overbearing, his method for dealing with it before now had been avoidance rather than any sort of challenge. Molly was not going to look kindly on him defending her honour.

"Fleur," he said, using the voice he sometimes used when they were at work to denote something was serious, and she needed to pay attention. "I'll talk to her."

"You don't have to do that for me, Bill," she assured him quietly though she was secretly pleased that he was going to. What future could they possibly have if he didn't?

"I think you'll find I do," he reiterated and then stepped back to regard her. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

She nodded. "I don't want you to go in alone, and I'm pretty good at this stuff… in theory."

Bill smiled wanly. "What useless piece of advice do I give you every time we go out in the field?"

Fleur reached up to cup his cheek. "Be careful."

"That's my girl," he praised before kissing her softly. "Don't let anyone get a hold of you. I couldn't…. This is terrible timing but… Fleur, I'm in love with you. I would be… just don't get hurt okay, petal?"

"I will try," she replied, wondering when someone had stuffed a coat hanger into her mouth. "And though you are correct your timing is terrible, everything else about you is very nice, and I love you too."

"I had a hunch," he replied with a smirk, and Fleur grinned at him.

"I can't wait to tell my mother you told me in a dirty old sitting room."

"Please don't," Bill groaned. "One mother against us is about all that I can handle right now."

"Bill," Fleur said, reaching for his hand. "Your brother and sister are going to be fine."

Bill sucked in a breath and kissed her palm. "They better be."

-/-/-/-

Somehow in the pandemonium that was their departure from Grimmauld Place, Fleur was given a borrowed robe to wear and a quick demonstration on the spell they used for 'battlefield arrivals'. Fleur's heart had started to race as Tonk's had shown her the wand movement a second time.

This was really happening.

The Auror that she had eventually been introduced to as Kingsley had some sway in his position, meaning that they could get straight into the Ministry without setting off any of the high-level security protocols. Fleur was under the impression that such things were probably not entirely above board, but in that instance, it didn't seem to matter. The ends more than justified the means.

On the whole, Fleur regarded herself as a more than competent student, but she was also one that liked to practise. As she had never used the hastily taught spell before, she stuffed her entry and appeared before and slightly away from the others. Which, although infuriating, gave her the advantage of watching them all arrive.

At first, she could barely see, it was so dark in the room and then as her eyes adjusted, she could make out dim reflections off the murky green tiles. Whoever had designed the place certainly hadn't had usability in mind. Fleur could hear running in the distance and the odd crash, and yet although it wasn't silent, the room still felt eerie in its stillness.

Then, there was light, balls of it that swept around and illuminated the dank nothingness and dropped Order members as it went. While she had thought the ragtag group were a little underwhelming, seeing them all arrive like that was impressive, to say the least. It almost counterbalanced the memory of them squabbling like children, almost.

The room shifted when they appeared and the Death Eaters that were very much there, and very much indiscriminately attacking the children, scattered.

Fleur ran past Tonks who had grabbed Luna and was on her way to the side of the room. She could see Bill rushing off in the distance, presumably hoping to find his siblings. Sirius was with Harry, having pulled his Godson away from Lucius Malfoy and hidden him behind a rock. The rest of them were engaged in combat.

Remus Lupin was like a different man. If it weren't for the easy to spot tatty cardigan, Fleur would have been convinced she had seen someone else. He moved around with grace and poise and always seemed aware of where the next attack would come from.

Sirius had apparently convinced Harry to stay out of the fray and was back in the centre duelling with Malfoy. He was unbelievable; there was no other word for it. Fleur was sure she had never seen anyone move like that on a duelling platform. He wasn't graceful, not as such; it was like his entire body had become a conduit for the rage he had simmering under the surface. It was as if he didn't need a wand at all. Fleur thought he looked like he could command magic to his purpose through sheer force of will alone.

Fleur took off once she realised no one needed her immediate help. A few more students were missing by her estimation.

Once she put the clearing with the large archway behind her, Fleur started to walk amongst the corridors of racking that went up as far as the eye could see. Her way was illuminated by light bouncing off hundreds upon hundreds of glass orbs. It was far from an ideal place to try and find people, and she was beginning to feel out of her depth. When they did fieldwork out of the office, it would always come after at least one whole day's research and no less than half that time would have been dedicated to mapping out their environment and making contingency plans. There had been no time for any of that.

Fleur had never been in a real combat situation. The Triwizard's artificial circumstances notwithstanding, but she was a passable dualist and more than capable of defending herself against a decent target. One look at the brief skirmishes she had already seen told her that her best might not have been good enough, not on this occasion. However, she had one power up her sleeve that no one else present could draw on, and while she intensely disliked using it, pride was for a time when you didn't have a desperate need to heighten your odds of survival.

When she was sure she was not being observed, Fleur stooped behind one of the few racks that remained entirely upright and raised the most durable shield she could manage. Then she closed her eyes, regulated her breathing and focused hard on the magic within herself until she could visualise a deep blue, glowing ball of fire. It was slumbering as she approached, peacefully licking at the silvery chains that she had wrapped around it.

Her Veela self, and the key to her allure.

Fleur may have only been a quarter Veela, but her allure was strong. It was enough to draw people's attention, to compel them to look at her, to make them want to please her and to get her way.

Her hands clenched into fists as she mentally removed the chains and the ball of fire glowed white for a fraction of a second before it roared into life. Hot blue flames spat out as the orb twisted more violently, shaking with a speed she could feel reverberating in her magical core.

When Fleur opened her eyes, she felt more in control. She stepped out from her temporary hiding place and had barely gone three paces before she felt eyes on her. She made short work of taking down a man that was running between the racks towards her.

Fleur mentally assessed the space as best she could in the meagre light and divided it up into quadrants. She raced off to the back left to search there first. It was the furthest away, meaning it would be the hardest to get anyone from that was injured without incident.

As she moved amongst the rubble, Fleur occasionally caught sight of the faint glow of her fingers or the newly pointed edges of her nails. It had been a long time since she had fully let this part of her out for any length of time. Bill had asked her too once, early on in their relationship. They'd been having breakfast together while she had been sharing some of her family histories. She'd told him about the shackles she kept around herself and - as a Cursebreaker - naturally he was curious about it. Fleur had known Bill well enough to understand that he was trying to find a way of knowing every part of her and against her better instinct, she showed him.

Fleur had been beyond relieved when he didn't seem overly struck by it. He didn't tell her she looked more beautiful or become silly in her presence. He simply regarded her for a long moment before mentioning that her eyes were 'intense'. Her mother had explained that it had a weakened effect when you spent a lot of time with someone.

Fleur nearly tripped over some shattered glass and turned a corner, running straight into a masked figure with his back to her. Acting on instinct, she leapt forward and pressed the tip of her wand to his throat. He spun in her grasp, and Fleur just managed to keep up her aggressive stance.

"Hello, pretty," he drawled thickly, as his eyes roved over her body. His arm jutted out and grabbed her hip with bruising force, and Fleur's eyes blazed. Even with a wand at his throat, he still managed to think with his dick. It was disappointing. She was so fucking sick of people underestimating her.

She immobilised him without a word leaving her lips and never broke eye contact as she wrapped him up in conjured ropes before taking off in another direction.

-/-/-/-

Eventually, after having traversed two-thirds of the all but destroyed room, Fleur came across some figures that were not her enemy.

There was a boy, who looked to have taken a few heavy punches to the face, standing over two girls in a protective stance. He was barely understandable, let alone recognisable, and Fleur directed a minor pain relief spell at his face that made him sigh. She would have tried to heal him more fully, but there wasn't time, and bones were notoriously tricky.

Fleur realised it was Hermione on the floor as she began thinking about the best way to get them all moving. She wasn't moving, and there was debris in her curly hair. Her eyes were closed, and if it weren't for their surroundings, Fleur would have said she looked peaceful.

The brunette that was crouched over her looked up as Fleur reached for Hermione's wrist with shaky fingers. Cho… Cho Chang. Fleur remembered her from sitting on the Ravenclaw table last year. Her lip was bleeding, and she had a pretty nasty looking cut on her leg, but otherwise, she seemed unharmed.

Fleur let out a shaky breath as she felt Hermione's heartbeat flutter against her fingertips, and Cho studied her intently.

"She will be okay, won't she?" she pleaded. "He just… he shot her down like she was nothing."

Fleur didn't know what to say. She wasn't good enough with healing to even understand what was wrong. "We need to get you all out of here," she said instead, as authoritatively as she could manage.

Cho nodded. "I was… I was so cross with her."

Before they could get moving heavy footfalls sounded from a short distance away, and Fleur sprung up so that she was standing between them and the approaching danger. Though it wasn't a bloodthirsty Death Eater that turned the corner, it was Remus Lupin.

"Come on, we have to go," he commanded, and Fleur stepped back from where she had been standing.

Remus' eyes widened when he realised what was happening in front of him. "Shit."

He darted forward and picked up Hermione, putting one arm under her knees and holding her small body to his chest. "We have to get out of here."

Fleur nodded and gathered up Cho and dragged the boy along, following in Lupin's wake as he carried Hermione like she was a doll. Fleur had already known he was a werewolf, but she wondered if his monthly transformations affected his strength when he was still… himself? He seemed so much stronger than his wiry frame would suggest.

Finally, they got back to the centre where everything was in disarray, Harry was screaming, and several Death Eaters were making hard work for the Order members hellbent on incapacitating them.

Bill was over on the far side with one hand resting tightly on Ginny's shoulder as he brushed the hair out of her face. The fact that the typically incredibly independent girl was allowing it was a testament to the night they had all had.

Across the room, Remus had stepped over to Tonks, and they were preparing to be the first to leave. She watched as he cradled Hermione and how she never moved. Fleur couldn't even see her breathing.

Viktor was going to be out of his mind with worry, and he probably didn't even know any of this had happened yet.

When Hermione came around, she didn't know where she was. It was dark, and so were all of her memories. She wanted to move, to get herself up off the floor in case she was in danger, but her chest felt too heavy.

She screwed her eyes shut and tried to concentrate. She could hear fragments of the noise all around her—squeaks and mumbles and clinks of glass. There was a sterile smell to the air and the feel of starch beneath her fingers. But more than that, there was the feeling that she was safe, that she was in one of the many places she was lucky enough to call home.

Hermione opened up her eyes and tried to focus on the ceiling. Her vision didn't come clearly at first; it was like she was looking up at the sun through a foot of water. She could see it eventually, the engraved wood up in the vaults—the hospital wing.

Her heart began to race; her body was alerting her to danger before her mind could catch up. Where was everyone else? Were they okay?

Hermione tried to wrench herself up again, and this time she managed to get her neck to cooperate, though only enough so she was angled to see the end of her bed.

A figure sat there, hunched in the shadows. Her movement seemed to have awakened them, and they sat forward with a start.

He hunched over, pushing the hair off his smudged face and getting a better look at her.

Brown eyes connected with grey and Hermione didn't realise she was crying until fat drops of water started falling along the crease of her lips into her mouth.

"Sirius?" she croaked, as loud as she could manage.

He stretched out until he could reach her bed and then placed one of his large hands on her ankle, gripping her tightly through the bedspread as if she would float away.

"Hello, poppet."

A/N: It's been a while since we've had a really long chapter and this one felt like it needed it. I hope you are all happy with how the DoM battle ended. The inevitable fall out, and the end of Part Two in the next chapter :)