Chapter 54 – Awaiting News

The reports came in fast and furious after the initial account of the additional attacks. Not only had the residences named in the initial report been hit by Death Eater attacks, but it seemed like every moment word of some new target had come pouring in. Once the Floo had been restored, Albus was on the device, making calls to those who he knew would be involved in these attacks, verifying for himself that those under his protection were safe and had survived their ordeals without injury.

The first ones to be confirmed well were Molly Weasley and the Grangers. While Arthur was gone, Albus had been able to Floo Grimmauld Place and confirm that Molly, though certainly shaken by the experience, had recognized the danger and had portkeyed to safety. With her were the Grangers, whose house had been targeted by Death Eaters while they had been home eating lunch before returning to their practice which, he was told, was situated close by. They too were frightened and worried about the state of their home, but also simply glad that they had taken his advice and kept their portkeys to hand and had maintained the presence of mind to use them when the Death Eaters had burst through the door to their home, wands blazing with spells. Even so it had been a near thing.

Thus, when Arthur had stumbled back into the Ministry with a story of the smoldering ruins of his former house on his lips, Albus was able to give him the news and calm him down.

"Safe at Grimmauld?" he asked, his face lighting up with hope.

"She portkeyed out as soon as the wards reported trouble," Albus confirmed.

Arthur sagged down into his seat, his face giving way to exhausted relief. "Thank you, Albus. I do not know what we will do now, but at least Molly is well."

"For starters, you can take up residence at Grimmauld for the time being," Albus replied. "I am certain Sirius would be happy to host you and your wife, as well as the Grangers. We can sort everything else out in the future."

A wan smile met his reply and Arthur nodded his acceptance.

As for the Rookery, Xenophilius Lovegood had not been at home—he had been out on one of his expeditions to look for fantastic creatures, and while his itinerary was not known, he was not expected back until close to the end of the school year. His daughter would have to be told that her home had been destroyed, but at least she still had her father. At Longbottom Manor, as well as a few other Pureblood homes, the Death Eaters had run into more sophisticated defenses, as those homes were old and well warded. Several had been destroyed, but there had been no fatalities to report. Madam Longbottom herself had been at the Ministry at the time of the attack, and although she had suffered a minor injury, she would quickly make a full recovery. And finally, Madam Delacour had, by all accounts, escaped to France through their Floo connection back to Chateau Delacour, though most of the guard detail at the manor had been killed trying to hold the Death Eaters off. The Minister had received a communiqué from his French counterpart informing her of Apolline's escape, and two pieces of news of a more chilling nature—it seemed that Voldemort had put in a personal appearance at the manor, and he had been aided by one of the French Aurors who, it appeared had been a Death Eater. He had obviously seen Jean-Sebastian as the threat he was, and had attacked to either persuade the French Ambassador to rethink his alliances, or hold his wife and daughter hostage, ensuring his compliance.

The most disturbing, however, had been the homes of Muggleborns which had been attacked. By and large, Muggles had little defense against wizards casting killing curses, and there had been several deaths reported by the Auror teams investigating. However, one plucky Muggle had seen the Death Eaters approaching his property and, knowing of their reputation, had met them with a loaded firearm, killing three before the rest had retreated in disarray. Albus doubted that Voldemort would take that particular setback with any degree of equanimity.

All of this was continually being heaped on the heads of the harried Auror staff, and little by little the true scope of the day's events was becoming known. There were several implications of what had happened which Albus did not like at all.

Sitting in the conference room Madam Bones had taken over until her office could be put to rights, Albus's conversation with the Minister and Arthur Weasley was interrupted by a grim-faced Kingsley Shacklebolt who entered with Gawain Robards in tow.

"Minister, I believe you need to see this," he stated without preamble.

"What is it, Kingsley?"

In response, Gawain set a small stone covered with runes on the table in front of the three occupying it. "A runestone. It's only a small one and likely would not have held up for long, but it served them for the purpose of a short attack. We found it in the back of a cabinet in one of the offices in the administrative section. Several more have also been found on both this floor, and down on level two."

Furious, the Minister stared up at the Director. "How in Merlin's name did the Death Eaters manage to set up portkey wards without our knowledge?"

Kingsley shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't answer that, Minister. But it appears like this attack has been planned for some time—several months at least, I would say. First, they set up wards rendering our portkeys unusable, and then they brought the Floo system down in an attempt to isolate us. But for Albus," Kingsley flicked a glance in Albus's direction, "they may ultimately have succeeded."

"There's more, Minister," Gawain spoke up for the first time. "Not only did they manage to set portkey wards up under our noses, but most of them escaped using portkeys themselves. We all know that no one other than a department head is able to authorize portkeys to and from the building."

"Are you telling me that we have a rogue department head?" Amelia demanded.

"It certainly appears that way," Kingsley confirmed. "Given this," he indicated the ward stone, "our conjecture that they managed to bypass portkey wards seems to be false. We've always known that we're dealing with an enemy who has many in his employ who are moving among us—this serves to illustrate that fact rather effectively."

Silence descended over the office and Albus reflected over what had just been revealed. That Voldemort had moles working among them was unsurprising—it had been difficult to determine friend from foe in the first war, though Voldemort had never attempted such an audacious attack as this. Would this war turn out to be even worse? Not with Amelia in charge, he hoped—there were ways to fight against this which neither of her predecessors had ever used. Now was the time to do so.

"We also have an enemy who brands his followers to ensure their compliance and their responsiveness when he calls," Albus reminded them. "I believe that we should begin to sweep the Ministry for Death Eaters and sympathizers."

The Minister nodded. "See to it immediately, Kingsley. But be cautious—we can't afford for them to go to ground before we are ready to move on them."

"I will draw up some plans immediately, Minister." Kingsley fell silent for a moment and exchanged a look with Robards. "One more thing," he continued, looking Minister Bones in the eye. "It seems as though Voldemort has increased his number of followers by a substantial amount."

The Minister gazed at him through narrowed eyes. "Explain."

Kingsley held up a single finger as he made his first point, and as he continued, he raised another for each subsequent point. "The exact number of Death Eaters who participated in the assault on the Ministry is unknown, but we can reasonably estimate that it was more than one hundred, probably substantially more. Then there were at least ten separate attacks on various targets of a magical nature, each with at least three or four Death Eaters involved. The attack on the Ambassador's Mansion involved Voldemort himself, as well as at least five more Death Eaters. And finally, the families of at least ten more Muggleborns were targeted, again, each with at least three or four assailants, some with more. And Bellatrix, who is now the only known high level inner circle member left, was not even seen during the course of the day. This is significant because in the past she would almost certainly have been leading one of the assault teams; today, the teams were led by others and even if she is still recuperating from her injuries sustained at the Ministry, that she was not needed is telling. When you add it all up, that brings the tally to over two hundred Death Eaters involved with the day's attacks. And to be honest, I consider that a conservative estimate. Finally, the attacks were all carried out by Death Eaters—no werewolves, vampires, giants, or Dementors were involved."

A shocked silence met his declaration. "At the height of the previous war, it was estimated that he only had perhaps sixty or seventy wands," the Minister stated. "Now you're telling me that he has perhaps tripled the size of his forces?"

"At minimum," Kingsley confirmed.

"Do we know how?" Arthur asked. "Pureblood bigots are plentiful, but those willing to kill to spread their philosophy are not."

"Not at present," Robards replied. "We have taken a few Death Eaters into custody—we should be able to get some answers from them."

"Make it a priority, Kingsley," the Minister instructed. "We need to know exactly what we are facing."

Bowing his head, Kingsley nodded before he and Robards departed. Noting the fact that most of the revelations for the day had been imparted and that he needed to return to the school, Albus once again stood.

"Minister, I truly must return to Hogwarts."

Amelia waved him off. "I understand. Keep in contact, Albus—this whole situation is troubling, and I'm sure we will need your wisdom in the coming days."

"We will all need to work together," Albus agreed, before he bowed and strode from the room.

As Draco had expected the wait for the Dark Lord to summon him was long and excruciating, with no company to keep him occupied, and without any indication of the passing of time. He was not even afforded some healing for his shoulder, which throbbed fiercely and made him wish for the attentions of Madam Pomfrey. There were sounds of others moving from place to place through the walls and door of his room, as well as the low murmur of conversation on the occasion when someone passed by.

For the most part, however, all there was of Draco's world was silence, memories, and the thoughts of what he would say to the Dark Lord. And in the cold light of the small room in which he waited, Draco had to admit that regardless of how the events had played out, the fact was that he had failed to carry out the Dark Lord's orders. That would have to be acknowledged and understood if he wished to have the Dark Lord's mercy bestowed upon him. It galled him, to be honest—after all, a Malfoy did not bow to anyone. But the Dark Lord was different, he supposed, and the normal rules did not apply. Then once the fact that he had not succeeded had been acknowledged, he would have to convince the Dark Lord that he was still useful to him. This was not as much of a concern, thankfully—he was still a Malfoy, after all, and heir to all his father's holdings, beyond his own personal skills and knowledge which would be of use to the Dark Lord.

That settled, Draco returned his thoughts to what had happened with Granger and Potter, how he hated them both above anything else in the entire world, and just exactly how his revenge upon them would play out. When he had made his move against Granger at Hogwarts, the thought of delivering the girl into the hands of the Dark Lord, coupled with the knowledge of what she would suffer at the hands of his men, had been enough for Draco, even though he had known that he would not be able to participate in her… education himself. Now, however, he burned with a desire for vengeance upon her. No longer was he satisfied to allow others to make her pay for her crimes—Draco would personally see to it that the Mudblood suffered by his own hand. Of this, he was determined.

His thoughts of vengeance, and his planning of just exactly what he would do to Granger once he got his hands on her, dominated Draco's thoughts, allowing him to focus on them rather than the coming audience with the Dark Lord. Thus, when the door opened, he was startled from his pleasant thoughts of imagining Granger's screams. He looked up to see the impassive face of Bellatrix Lestrange looking down at him.

"The Dark Lord has returned and has requested your presence, Draco."

Nodding, Draco rose and followed his aunt from the room, matching her pace as she strode down the hallways. She said nothing throughout the journey through the house—which was rather large, Draco thought idly—to the large room that the Dark Lord had set up as his own audience chamber.

When they entered, the Dark Lord was pacing at the far end of the room, clearly deep in thought, and not as sanguine as Draco had hoped he would be. Draco had hoped that the Dark Lord's own mission would have been a success, putting him in a forgiving frame of mind, but given the worry lines on his face, that clearly had not been the case. Draco's heart sank at the cold gaze of the Dark Lord when it alighted on him almost as soon as he had entered the room—that was not a look of one seeing a faithful follower. It was more the look of a man about to squash an insect, or a wolf stalking a fat deer.

Doing his best to ignore the scrutiny, Draco proceeded toward the Dark Lord until his aunt stopped, at which point he dropped to one knee and steadfastly settled his gaze upon the floor, waiting for the Dark Lord to speak. His wait was a long one, undoubtedly magnified by the discomfort of knowing that those serpentine eyes were fixed upon him the whole time he knelt. Draco forced himself to stay still and to await the man's pleasure without fidgeting.

"So, you have joined us," the Dark Lord finally said. "However, you appear to have come empty-handed, and without the prize I instructed you to deliver to me. Perhaps you would care to explain yourself?"

Knowing that this was not a request and that the Dark Lord would not take kindly to his sugar-coating of the events of the previous morning, Draco spoke up with all the deference he could muster. "I apologize most fervently, my lord. The plan appeared to be working as intended, but Potter somehow discovered what I was doing and he caught me before I arrived at the ward boundaries."

"Draco. Arise. Look at me."

Though he felt like his bones were made of lead, Draco did as he was instructed. He met the Dark Lord's eyes, noting the impatience and displeasure, but also seeing a hint of curiosity.

"Now, explain to me exactly what happened."

Hesitantly, but gaining confidence when the Dark Lord did not react with anger, Draco detailed what had happened, from his planning, using the Imperius curse on the two younger students, waiting in the hallways and his capture of Granger, to the journey down the passageway toward Hogsmeade. And though he was loath to say much which could even obliquely be taken as a compliment to Potter, he forced himself to describe the confrontation in the passage as clearly and honestly as he remembered it. He did avoid mentioning the battering he had taken at the hands of Longbottom—there was another who would warrant his personal vengeance—though he did discuss Professor Snape's actions to help save Granger, making sure that the Dark Lord understood his outrage at the fact that one of their own had sullied his hands in saving a Mudblood. Throughout the entirety of his recitation the Dark Lord said not a word—which was not exactly encouraging—though his facial expression did not change—which was.

When he fell silent after explaining all he could remember, Draco forced himself to maintain his composure, though he was distinctly uncomfortable under the Dark Lord's scrutiny. At his side he could also feel Bellatrix's eyes upon him, which did not help in the slightest.

"I believe that Severus is correct," the Dark Lord finally said, as he turned and settled into his throne. It was set upon a dais which, although he was now seated, still gave him the advantage of height and forced Draco to look up at him. "You do have an unfortunate tendency to underestimate your enemies."

Draco longed to retort that Potter was nothing but a pitiful Halfblood, but he held his temper in check—it would do no good to lash out in front of the Dark Lord.

"Good," the Dark Lord continued with a nod of approval. "You can hold your tongue when you choose. That is a necessary skill, young Malfoy, and you would do well to remember it."

"Yes, My Lord," Draco replied. "But I'm concerned." The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow, and Draco took that as sufficient encouragement to continue. "It's Professor Snape. I don't think he's being faithful to you, My Lord."

"And why do you say that?" the Dark Lord asked. His tone was mild, but there was a hint in his eyes of displeasure and, perhaps, impatience. Still, Draco had already started to speak of this, and now he had no choice but to continue.

"He helped heal the Mudblood when she probably would have died. He's also been easier on Potter this year. I just don't think he's as loyal as he wants you to believe."

"Is it not Slytherin to try to play both sides in order to come out on top?" the Dark Lord asked rhetorically. "If Severus is doing this, then I can only commend him for his cunning and his resourcefulness. If all my followers were so capable, we would have routed Dumbledore and the Ministry long ago.

"However, in this instance I can assure you that Severus is doing precisely as I have asked. What you do not take into account is that Severus is in a very difficult position; he must act like he is in Dumbledore's camp, feeding him disinformation where necessary, while in actuality, he reports on every move Dumbledore and Potter make. Though saving the Mudblood was undoubtedly distasteful, if he had refused, it would have incited Dumbledore's suspicions. I suspect that is also the reason for his changed treatment of Potter. He hates the boy even more than you do, Draco, and you would be wise to remember that."

Draco bowed his head, aware that the Dark Lord had spoken and would brook no further discussion on the matter.

"What we must concentrate upon now is the prosecution of the war," the Dark Lord continued. "And make no mistake—with our actions this day we are now in the opening stages of war against the Ministry and Dumbledore. He and Potter must both be handled very carefully."

"But surely Potter is no match for you, Master," Draco blurted, unable to hold himself in check any longer.

"A match for me?" the Dark Lord said with a derisive snort. "Of course he is not. Beyond the fact that he is a lad of fifteen, very few can even pretend to be a match for me. But that does not mean that I underestimate him." The Dark Lord's eyes were piercing and his gaze was focused. "Harry Potter has defied me on several separate occasions, and though he has been able to escape with a judicious amount of luck, he is certainly not to be taken lightly. Your own experiences with him should have told you this."

Draco bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"And what of your companions, Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle?" the Dark Lord asked.

Though somewhat taken aback by the sudden change in subject, Draco gamely met the Dark Lord's eyes and replied, "They went after Potter by themselves. I told them to stay away and not do anything, but apparently they didn't listen. I told no one of what I was going to do, as you had instructed."

"Yes, they told me much the same thing," the Dark Lord responded. "I have already questioned them and they have received their punishment. As they are no longer welcome at Hogwarts and are thus, of no further use there, they are now part of my regular forces, though they will both need to prove themselves to me before I honor them with the Dark Mark."

"They're here?" Draco asked.

"They are," the Dark Lord replied. "But you do not need to concern yourself with them. I have another assignment in mind for you."

"Anything, My Lord," Draco replied fervently.

"If nothing else, I've never had to question your eagerness," the Dark Lord replied, this time with a hint of amusement staining his voice. "I must admit—that pleases me.

"Now, from this time forward you will receive your aunt's personal instruction, as well as my own. When the time is right, I shall tell you of your mission. If you are successful, you may have your vengeance upon not only the Mudblood, but also on Potter."

"I would like that very much, My Lord," said Draco, unable to contain the excitement in his voice.

"Very well," the Dark Lord said as he waved a negligent hand at him, apparently ending the interview. "Bellatrix will assign you to your quarters. Learn everything you can from her, Draco—the time will soon be right for us to make our move."

Bowing, Draco once again followed his aunt from the room, elated at this chance he was being given to prove himself. Potter and Granger would rue the day they were born before he was done with them.

At Hogwarts, the wait after Jean-Sebastian's return was perhaps even more excruciating than it was even before when there was no news whatsoever. Whereas that had been difficult, still, the lack of news either way allowed one to at least hope that the Death Eaters were being beaten back, though not knowing did allow the imagination to run wild. The news Jean-Sebastian had brought with him had helped in that it had reassured them that the Ministry had beaten back the attack, but almost as soon as he had arrived, other information began to trickle in, and though it was not much, it was enough to begin building a picture of what had happened that day.

It quickly became clear that the day's events had been the start of a major campaign against magical Britain, a campaign designed to gain a quick victory over the Ministry's forces and bring about a shift in the balance of power. The attack at the Ministry had obviously failed in its ultimate objective to oust the Ministry from the building, take over the various tools the Ministry used in its governance of the country, and capture the Minister herself. However, on another level the attack had been a complete success—there was now a level of uncertainty, accompanied by the whispers and hushed conversations, not to mention the feelings of outright fear betrayed on the faces of many students in the school. Harry could not help but imagine that the scene was being replayed all across the country, as news of the attacks spread.

And Harry did not miss the looks of smug satisfaction on the faces of several of the Slytherins, though he thought, somewhat sardonically, that it really was not Slytherin to allow one's emotions to show so openly. It was only the Malfoy Slytherins, he supposed, who were easy to read in such a manner—the rest of the house betrayed nothing, though many were caught up in the speculation with the rest of the school. There were undoubtedly sympathizers among them, but it was much more difficult to determine who they were.

By the time Harry returned to the Great Hall after Jean-Sebastian's arrival, it appeared like word of the French Ambassador's arrival at the school had made the rounds, an the speculation over what it actually meant was rife. The fact that Harry had spoken with Professor McGonagall and had subsequently lessened the number of patrols had been telling. The members of the club were then allowed to rotate through the Great Hall to allow them to get some dinner, but the rest of the student body was still kept in the hall, as they did not know for certain that the danger was over. It was midway through the early dinner the house-elves provided when another unexpected arrival startled Harry.

They were summoned to the anteroom off to the side of the hall where he had gone the previous year the opening night of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and when he arrived there, his face lit up with pleasure.

"Remus!" he exclaimed, catching his unofficial uncle in a bear-hug. "When did you get back?"

Pulling back from him, Remus peered at him, making Harry uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "You've changed, Pup," the man replied.

For Harry, that brought back the memory of the exact reason for Remus's recent absence, and it sobered him. "Did you find something?"

"We did," he replied, motioning to Tonks, who stood off to one side, gazing at Harry fondly.

"Hey, Harry," Tonks greeted him.

"Anyway, I'd prefer to avoid having to explain it more than once. We'll all get together after Dumbledore returns. Until then, I think Tonks and I would prefer to get a little rest. It's been a long day."

Awash with curiosity—after all, this was his very life they were discussing!—Harry nonetheless realized that Remus had a point, and so resolved to be patient. Very soon after, McGonagall had made arrangements, and Remus and Tonks left, while assuring Harry that they would speak again later that evening.

It was soon after their arrival that a company of Aurors arrived to take over the security of the school, and with the Deputy Headmistress's approval, the remaining club members still out on patrols were called back, and very soon thereafter, the students were allowed to leave the Great Hall and return to their common rooms.

Harry ate his dinner in the company of Hermione and his other friends, but though he ate a hearty meal, he could not have said later just exactly what it was he had consumed. The food was good as it always was, but his mind was on the fact that Remus had returned. He would soon learn if he would ever be rid of this piece of Voldemort's soul stuck in his head, and the waiting—which he had not even noticed when the duo had been away—was causing him to be somewhat irritable, though he was careful not to take his poor mood out on his friends.

After eating his dinner, Harry decided that he would take his mood away from the rest of his friends and he, along with Hermione, made his way toward the hospital wing, hoping to take his mind off of things. Unfortunately, things were every bit as unsettled in the hospital wing as they had been in the Great Hall. As they were approaching the familiar doors, Harry heard raised voices issuing from the room and, with a glance at Hermione, they hurried forward, wondering what the ruckus was about.

"I tell you I need to get out of this bed!" Jean-Sebastian was saying, as he struggled against both Fleur and the matron, who were trying to hold him there.

"You cannot!" Madam Pomfrey replied in the shrill voice of someone who had already repeated herself several times. "You need to remain here overnight or you will do yourself further harm!"

"Papa, I'm sure Maman and Gabrielle are fine," Fleur exclaimed, though her expression was tight with worry.

"What has happened?" Harry demanded as he stepped into the room.

The struggle ceased for a moment as all three occupants of the room turn to look at the newcomers. Harry ignored their expressions and stepped forward, a ball of worry forming in the pit of his stomach.

"What's going on?" he asked again.

Jean-Sebastian settled back into his bed with a pained grimace, and Fleur turned to Harry—it was only then that he noticed the tears staining her cheeks. "The manor was attacked," she replied, another sparkling tear running down her face. "And even worse—Voldemort was there."

Harry stared at her in consternation, thinking of the fate which Hermione had been spared, knowing that if Gabrielle and Apolline had been captured that they would share that fate. The thought of it was almost more than he could bear—Apolline had become a treasured mother figure to him since the summer and Gabrielle was the irrepressible little sister they all wanted to protect. The thought of them in the hands of those monsters…

"Are they okay?" Hermione asked into the silence.

"We don't know," Fleur said, sitting heavily down on the side of the bed. Galvanized by his love's look of utter desolation, Harry quickly moved to Fleur's side and put an arm around her shoulder, offering her whatever comfort he was able. She shuddered, but leaned into him, and bringing herself under control, added, "The Auror who told us didn't have any details—just that there have been many attacks today. That Voldemort had the audacity to attack a foreign ambassador's residence…"

"I'll hang the bastard by his own entrails," Jean-Sebastian snarled as he once again attempted to rise from the bed, only to sink down again with a groan when he moved something in the wrong direction.

"And that is what I've been trying to tell you," Madam Pomfrey said, waving her wand over her intractable patient, "you're not in any shape to do anything about anyone's entrails, and if you aren't careful, I'll have to put your own back into you!"

"Madam, I have to see to my wife," Jean-Sebastian said with some affront.

"Let the Headmaster handle the situation—you are in no condition to do so at the moment."

Jean-Sebastian allowed himself to pushed back onto the bed, though not without protest, and Fleur turned toward Hermione, an apprehensive expression of concern on her face.

"That's not all," she said. "The Auror also informed us that the Weasley home, Luna's home, Neville's home, and the homes of many of Voldemort's enemies and some Muggleborns were also targeted."

"My parents?" Hermione breathed with dread coloring her voice.

"Yes," Fleur replied simply.

"But… but…" Hermione tightened up as tears welled up in her eyes as she fought for composure. Then she seemed to latch onto a hopeful thought and she blurted, "Professor Dumbledore made sure they had portkeys!"

"We hope they escaped," Jean-Sebastian spoke up from where Madam Pomfrey was still working on him. "But we haven't had any confirmation yet."

Now with two upset witches to console, Harry tightened his grip about Fleur for an instant. He looked down at her and, perhaps sensing his question, she smiled tremulously and motioned him to go and comfort Hermione as well. Not needing a second invitation, Harry disengaged himself from his betrothed and gathered Hermione up into a tight embrace, which she returned with equal fervor.

"We need to tell the Weasleys," Harry said over Hermione's head. "Neville and Luna also need to be told."

"Maybe we should wait until we have more news?" Hermione said, gaining control over her emotions, but still sniffling.

Harry shook his head firmly. "They would want to know," he replied simply.

"Dobby!"

The hyperactive house elf popped into the room, but for once he appeared subdued, as though he knew and understood what was happening. Rather than almost maul Harry with his enthusiasm as he normally did, he stood there regarding them all with an atypical gravity.

"Harry Potter be's calling Dobby?"

"Dobby, can you ask Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom and the Weasleys to come to here, please?"

"Dobby be's doing it." With that, he popped out.

For the next hour, the group waited for news, and though the situation was uncomfortable, they took comfort and strength in one another. Their friends arrived in the hospital wing soon after Dobby had left to fetch them, and though they were all distressed by the news, they assured Harry that they preferred to know, rather than to hear it after the fact, especially if there were any injuries or, Merlin forbid, fatalities. Neville and the Weasleys took the news stoically, though with a certain level of worried concern, perhaps more on the part of the Weasleys than Neville—Longbottom Manor was an old residence with robust wards, after all, while the Burrow was not nearly as well protected.

Luna took the news with the most serenity. She sidled up to Neville and put an arm around him in a gesture of support, but when she spoke to the group, she merely said, "Daddy is away in Slovenia searching for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. I do hate to lose my home, but at least it can be replaced."

That sentiment voiced the feelings of the rest. The Weasley siblings knew that it was likely that only their mother was at home, though their father had almost certainly been at the Ministry that day, while Neville was not certain what had been on his grandmother's agenda. Hermione was aware of the fact that her parents often took lunch at their home, as it was very close to their dental surgery, but she also knew that they had been serious about carrying their portkeys once the danger had been adequately explained to them, so she was hopeful that they had managed to escape in time. But though the Ambassador's Manor should have had been protected with some very strong wards, the appearance of Voldemort was the wild card. Apolline was a very capable witch in her own right and she had not only portkeys, but also the French Floo at her disposal as escape routes. She should have been able to escape quickly. It was the unknown factor which weighed upon them all.

They waited in this attitude, offering each other support and comfort, until after the normal dinner hour, each anxious for news, while understanding that the events of the day were such that news might be a while coming. Thus, when Professor Dumbledore entered the room, the tension had risen and it was hardly a surprise when he was accosted by a number of voices, all clamoring for information on their loved ones.

"Everyone, please calm down," Dumbledore replied to the deluge of voices. "Though there were bumps and bruises, no one—other than our inestimable ambassador—was injured to any great extent."

More than a few sighs of relief. "Thank you," Dumbledore said as he pulled a chair close to where the others were situated around Jean-Sebastian's bed. "If you will all give me a moment, I will tell you—briefly—what has happened today.

"First, Ambassador, Fleur, I can tell you that Apolline and Gabrielle escaped through the French Floo to France. Your Minister has been in contact with Minister Bones and has reported that they are safe, though Apolline did emerge a little bruised from her encounter."

"What happened?" Jean-Sebastian demanded. "Those wards should have been able to withstand an attack long enough for them to simply escape. What happened to the security detail?"

"Unfortunately I do not have much information," Dumbledore replied. "The most troubling aspect of what I do know is that one of your Auror escort was working for Voldemort, but I have no further information than that.

"What?" Jean-Sebastian exploded in anger. "Who was it? I'll have the bastard's head!"

"Unfortunately, I cannot tell you that," was Dumbledore's mild response. "The Auror department is investigating now. I will let you know the moment I receive any information."

Turning to the Weasleys, Dumbledore continued, "Your mother was at home during the attack, but she escaped to Grimmauld Place using her portkey. I can also tell you that your father emerged unscathed at the Ministry."

"And Percy?" one of the twins asked.

Dumbledore frowned. "I have not heard a thing about Percy, though I believe he was not among the dead or injured. I will inquire to the Minister and let you know."

The Weasley children nodded, while Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "As for your parents, my dear, they also realized what was happening and were able to portkey to Grimmauld. They are currently there with Mrs. Weasley."

A deep sigh of relief left Hermione's lungs, and Harry squeezed her to him in support, bringing both of his girls in close to him. A part of him could not help but recollect that his parents had not been so lucky all those years ago, but he could not help but be happy and thankful that neither girl had lost anyone close to them.

"And finally, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore continued, turning to Neville, "your grandmother was in the Ministry today down in the courtrooms. The Death Eaters essentially ignored the lower levels, as they concentrated on the Administrative section and the Auror office. Madam Longbottom is safe and well."

Neville said nothing—he merely nodded his understanding, while holding Luna closer to him. Dumbledore smiled kindly at the two, and turned to Luna, "I believe you are aware of your father's location?"

"Well, not his exact location at this very moment," the ethereal blond replied. "I would hope that he's managed to find a Snorkack by now, but I'm sure if it was necessary, he would let me know exactly where he was."

Harry noticed a few stifled chuckles at the blonde's rather literal reply, but Dumbledore only smiled and nodded to the girl. He turned back to the entire group and for the first time, Harry noticed exactly how tired he appeared. He was not a young man any longer, and the day's events had obviously taken their toll upon him.

"As for what happened at the Ministry, I am afraid a brief mention of it is all I am able to impart at this time."

With that he launched into a description of the day's events, focusing on what he had found upon arriving at the Ministry, the fight to take control back from the Death Eaters, and a few of the discoveries they had made once the battle had been won. He did not go into any great detail—not that they would have expected him to as, undoubtedly, there were things which would be considered confidential—but he gave them an overall picture of what had happened.

As he listened to the professor's tale, Harry felt a somber mood fall over him. There had been so much destruction, so much loss of life that day, and all because of a megalomaniacal criminal with a delusional vision of the world and a need to impose his wishes upon others. Never had Harry hated another person like he hated Voldemort at that moment.

"There is one other thing of which I need to inform you," Dumbledore said, his voice as grave as it had been at any time during the tale. "Draco Malfoy has escaped."

Harry felt a surge of anger—he should have simply done away with the ferret when he had the chance! His anger, however, was instantly cooled at the gasp Hermione made by his side. The boy who tormented her, kidnapped her, and had ultimately attempted to kill her was now again at large.

"It would not do to worry over much, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said kindly. "Mr. Malfoy cannot enter this school again, so you are safe from him. We shall apprehend him when his master is brought to justice. You may rest assured of that."

Though obviously still a little shaken, Hermione nodded her head gamely. Professor Dumbledore moved on to other things and within a few moments, when he had finished his recitation, he smiled tiredly at the group before offering a little perspective. "I know this day has been hard on us all, but try to remember the bright side; the Dark Lord's forces were largely beaten back, and none of you has lost loved ones this day. That is something to be grateful for.

"Now, if you will all excuse me, I believe I require sustenance, after which, I still have much to do."

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry spoke up. "What about Remus? He said he had some information."

"Ah, Harry, I had hoped that Remus had arrived without your knowledge so that you would not be worried. I am sorry to make you wait but I believe that we must table this discussion until tomorrow evening. There is still much to do, and putting the Ministry to rights must take precedence."

Harry was disappointed, but he knew that the Headmaster was correct. A few short words later, and Dumbledore left, after which the rest of the group began to break up. Harry shared a few words with Fleur, who indicated that she wanted to remain with her father, before he followed the Weasleys from the room, in the company of the ever-present Hermione. They walked in silence for several moments, Hermione seemingly introspective, while Harry fumed at the wanton death and destruction meted out that day. He was also a little upset that he and the club had uselessly patrolled against a phantom attack, while others had fought, bled and died that day. It all seemed so useless.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione said from where she walked by his side.

He turned to her and explained his thoughts, thinking, a little ruefully, that Hermione had always been able to read his moods.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said to him, slipping an affectionate arm around his waist. "You can't do everything, you know. We played our parts the best we could today. There's nothing else we could have done."

"I know that, Hermione," Harry said. "But I just can't help but think how meaningless this all is. Voldemort's out there killing, and we're stuck here. I just wish that I could face him and have it all done with, you know?"

"I know, Harry. But keep up your spirits. After all, we're the good guys—we're supposed to win, you know?"

Chuckling, Harry pulled Hermione close as they continued down that hall. How lucky was he that he had such a wonderful girl—two wonderful girls!—to keep him grounded. He would not trade either of them for anything.

Fleur watched as Harry left the room in the company of Hermione and the intense feelings of jealousy which she had been suppressing once again flared into being. Harry was so close to Hermione, they were so in tune with each other; it was almost like they were two people sharing one mind. How was she to fight against that?

It was made worse by the fact that Fleur knew that she really had nothing to be jealous of. Harry esteemed her and loved her—of that she was certain. But every time she was forced to witness their interactions with one another, she could not help but compare her relationship with Harry to the one he shared with Hermione, and invariably, hers simply did not measure up. And furthermore, she was coming to the opinion that whatever Harry felt for her, it would simply never equal what he felt for Hermione.

And that was the entire crux of the problem; she loved Harry—she truly did. The serious, sincere, fiercely protective, and genuinely loveable boy had wormed her way into her heart. In fact, there had been no worming at all—he had blazed into her life with the force of a falling meteor, effortlessly grasping her love and taking it for his own, as though she had no choice whatsoever in the matter. But the question she had asked herself over and over again in the past day and a half—had it truly only been that long?—was whether she could live in a relationship where such a disparity of feelings existed. Could she forever be bound to Harry, knowing that he loved another more than he loved her? Would her own love for him be enough to offset the feelings of jealousy which would always be a part of her?

Fleur had no answers. In fact, she was rapidly coming to fear what she suspected the answers to be. For the first time since the previous summer, she cursed her impulsive decision to allow Hermione a place in their family, even though it had been done with altruistic intentions. If she had never asked Hermione, and even if she had had to ultimately share Harry's love with another, at least the other might not have been Hermione—she might have started on an even footing with whoever it was. Even Ginny Weasley would be an improvement on the situation, as Harry had certainly not been in love with her when this contract had been enacted.

"You have become rather quiet now, my dear," her father spoke, startling Fleur. She looked up to see her father watching her with a shrewd eye, and though his tone was light, he had a knowing look about him, one which she knew well—it generally meant that he knew that something was bothering her, and that he was willing to help her through her troubles if necessary.

A trifle embarrassed, and not wanting to reveal her thoughts to her father, Fleur merely smiled wanly and attempted to deflect his observation. "It has been a hard day for us all, Papa."

"It has," her father agreed. "But I think that is not what has been occupying your attention." His gaze bored into her and Fleur felt like a small child who had been caught in the candy jar. "What is bothering you, Fleur?"

"It is nothing, Father."

Jean-Sebastian regarded her for several moments before he spoke. "Fleur, if you truly do not want to speak of it, I understand. But I have often found that it is helpful to speak to one sympathetic rather than try to work through all of our problems on our own. Perhaps I can help you."

The idea that leapt to her mind of how he particularly could help was unexpected, as Fleur truly had not thought of if before, at least consciously. Unfortunately, the idea issued from her lips before she could truly consider it, or consider the effect it would have on her father, or indeed on her own life.

"Maybe it would be better if we ended this marriage contract."

Her words settled between them like a dead weight, and Fleur could feel the weight of her father's gaze upon her.

"Why would you want to do that?"

Struggling to rein in her thoughts, Fleur looked away and attempted to backtrack. "I shouldn't have said that."

"But you did," her father said quietly.

"It's nothing, Papa. Please—"

"No Fleur. I want to know why you feel this way. Come—tell me what has happened. I had thought your relationship with Harry was progressing nicely."

Sighing, and well aware that she could not put him off in this matter, Fleur explained, "It is. Harry is a wonderful young man, and everything I could ever want."

"Then why would you want to end your betrothal?"

"Because he doesn't love me as much as he loves Hermione."

There. She had said it—given words and life to the fear which had gradually been building within her since Harry had hared off from the Great Hall to save Hermione. Would he have done it for her? The answer was that, undoubtedly, he would have. But would he have been as single-minded or as focused? And had she died, would he have felt the same level of sadness and despair he would have felt for Hermione had she died? Fleur was honest enough with herself to admit that she was not certain. However, she was very much afraid that she knew the answer to both questions, and that neither would be in her favor.

"I was afraid of that," her father said into the silence. "I believe, my dear daughter, that you bit off perhaps a little more than you can chew."

Jolted out of her own thoughts, Fleur focused her attention on her father. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you should have worked on building a relationship with Harry before you got anyone else involved. Your relationship with Harry was too uncertain to bring in even more uncertainty."

"You knew?" Fleur asked.

"Your mother told me," was her father's simple answer. "I was worried that something like this might happen."

"So you knew and you didn't say anything?" Fleur was beginning to get a little cross.

"By the time I knew, you had already taken the step forward," her father replied. "And besides—you are now of age and capable of making your own decisions. Of course I wish to protect you and Gabrielle—even from yourselves!—but you also both need to learn life's lessons on your own."

He fell silent again, and Fleur was left to her own shame—she should not have spoken to him in such a manner. He was right. This mess was one of her own making, and she was cognizant of the fact that in hindsight, he was completely correct. She wished now she had gone to him for advice, or at least had taken the time to think about it in a little more depth. Now, it seemed, she would be required to pay the price—perhaps for the rest of her life.

"How long have you felt his way?" he asked.

"Since yesterday," Fleur admitted. "I started wondering if he would ever feel for me what he feels for her when he raced off to save her."

"That's a remarkably short amount of time to leap to such a conclusion," Jean-Sebastian commented. "And a remarkably emotional and exceptional situation on which to base your feelings, Fleur."

Fleur acknowledged his reproof. Unfortunately, it did not sway her in the slightest. She recognized that subconsciously she had thought of this in the past, and though she had ruthlessly suppressed all such feelings, they still existed. The fact of the matter was that she was now afraid—very afraid—and she was not certain what she could do. The idea of giving Harry up was painful, but the thought of forever being second in his heart was intolerable. It seemed like an awful choice was before her, and she did not know what she should do.

"Let me tell you a story, Fleur," her father said, once again interrupting her thoughts. "When your mother and I began to become serious about our relationship, do you know what she did?" When Fleur shook her head he continued, "She urged me to consider taking a second wife as well."

Though she had not known this, Fleur was not exactly shocked—her father would have faced the same choices that Harry had, after all.

"I admit I considered the idea for some time, and even made a few half-hearted attempts at getting to know other women. But I decided in the end that I just couldn't do it. You see, by that time, I loved your mother and could not consider the possibility of loving another as much as I did her."

Fleur frowned. "Are you saying that Harry should love only me?" she asked. "Or are you saying he's wrong for agreeing to my suggestion?"

"Not in the slightest." Her father looked on her with some compassion. "Every one is different, after all, and what may be good for one person, is not necessarily good for another. Harry is a wonderful young man who is very good for you, I believe. But you have to contend with something your mother never had—Harry already had a love in his life when he met you, whereas I have never loved anyone other than your mother. And then there is the contract to consider…

"What I am trying to say, Fleur, is that I don't necessarily understand the pressures you face, not having faced them myself. But I can tell you that whatever you have conjured up in your fear, that Harry is not indifferent to you."

"I know that," Fleur said. Even to herself she had to admit that her response seemed to be a trifle sulky.

"Then what do your vaunted Veela senses tell you?"

Sighing, Fleur turned her head away from him. "That he loves me. That he loves Hermione. What I can't determine is the degree he feels for each of us."

"Has he told you he loved you?"

"No."

"And Hermione?"

"I…" Fleur paused, considering the situation. "I think so, but I'm not sure."

"If he has, it's only to be expected. He has a longer history with her. But that does not mean that he cannot love you like he loves her."

"I know." Fleur felt tears rolling down her cheeks, but she ignored them, focusing instead on her roiling emotions. "But I'm so very afraid he won't."

Sitting up a little, her father grasped her arm and pulled her to him, cradling her to his chest. Though Fleur's tears continued, she forced herself to continue to consider the matter in a rational manner. Her father was correct, and she knew that Harry did love her. Did it truly matter if his love for her equaled his love for Hermione in every respect? Was she truly making something more of this than she needed to?

"Fleur," her father spoke up again. "I am going to give you some advice that I hope very much you will follow."

Though she did not speak, Fleur nodded her head, waiting for him to continue.

"First, I want you to speak with your mother about this. You are of age, of course, but your mother has many more years of experience, not only life experience, but also experience with these powers of yours. She can help you."

"I had already decided to ask for mother's help," Fleur replied quietly.

"Good. Second, and perhaps most important, I want you to speak to Harry before you decide anything. He's a good young man and I believe he values your happiness. Speak to him. Tell him what you are feeling. Show him what he means to you. I don't think you will be disappointed."

"I will, Papa," Fleur agreed.

She drew away from him and gave him a tremulous smile as he wiped the tears from her cheeks. "How could Harry not love you?" he asked affectionately. "You are a wonderful young woman, Fleur. Any man would be fortunate to have your love."

Fleur blushed and looked away.

When her father spoke again, his voice was serious, though pensive. "You are aware that it is possible to end the contract, and if it's really what you want, I will speak with Sirius. We are, by now, tied together closely enough that the betrothal is no longer required to keep our alliance intact, and it has served its purpose in allowing me to take guardianship over Harry.

"But I want you to be happy, and I'm convinced that you will be happy with Harry. Give him a chance, Fleur. I do not think that you will be disappointed."

Feeling lighter than she had all day, Fleur smiled and thanked him for his words of wisdom. After a few moments she departed the hospital wing, leaving him to rest. As she made her way to the common room, Fleur thought about the things her father had told her, determined to follow through on her promises. Furthermore, she meant to find a certain green-eyed betrothed of hers and spend some time that evening in close proximity to him. She would not speak to him just yet of what she was feeling—she would wait until after speaking with her mother—but there was nothing stopping her from expressing her feelings, and receiving his in turn. Just maybe she would be able to puzzle it all out for herself. At least if her head would stop warring with her heart.

Updated 06/02/2014