When a Veela Cries

by E.C. Scrubb

A tale of rage and revenge, of loss beyond what any person should have to bear . . . and a tale of love, Harry's only hope out of the darkness.

18. Contemporaneity

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Chapter Eighteen

Contemporaneity

Harry closed his book, lifted his arms straight over his head, and stretched. A satisfying series of pops ran down his spine. He really did like this school, but the chairs here were as hard as the proverbial rock.

"Think you can do it?" Azzurra asked.

The book she had given him contained wards and charms above any that he had yet attempted, and things were going very well so far. In the month since he returned from break, his ability to create wards and cast charms had grown exponentially. He had even re-read the books from the Hogwarts library and began to understand how some of the darker curses worked, and how they would affect him if he used them. In truth, the only thing he was really struggling with magically or intellectually at this point was that Shelley poem, and he decided just to give up on it.

He was also curious why everything was easier now, and asked the Headmaster. Professor Sirko thought the growth was due in equal parts to Harry being able to control his magic, and the new emotional maturity that came out of the love he was developing for Fleur—and others, though in different ways.

And that last part confused him. Not totally, since he somewhat understood his love for the Delacours and those he left back in England. He may not have understood it all that well, but he could at least accept the fact that they were family. What really hexed his wand was his inability to explain the way he loved his Veela chicks, or Marcus, not to mention Paige and Susanne and Danielle and all the rest of the cousins. Was his heart even big enough to return the love he felt from all of them? Was it even possible to love that many people?

"Harry? Are you in there?"

He blinked away the thoughts and answered a bemused Azzurra. "Sorry, um . . . yeah, let's try it."

He walked to the center of the room and started a complex series of wand movements. The first was a slash down in a circular motion. He whispered, "Praetego Prōpugnāculum," and a ripple, like heat from the pavement on hot day, rose from the Floor in front of Harry.

Then he circled himself with his wand and raised it into the air as he chanted, "Valida Abuto" to ensure an unwelcome response to anyone trying to enter the ward. The third part was the most difficult, and the most important. The first created the protective walls, the second set the curses, but the third established exactly what was being warded against. He waved his wand in an intricate pattern and cast the charm. "Magicae Hominis."

"There, I think I did it."

Azzurra looked up from her book, and then picked up her own wand and cast a spell to reveal the ward. She whistled.

"The first layer is almost perfect; on your first try, too. I'm impressed." She pushed herself off the teacher's desk she was sitting on in front of the room. "Maybe I should test it to make sure the second charm is right."

"No! Don't," he warned.

"Not so sure of yourself now?"

"That's not it; I just don't want you to get hurt."

"That's sweet, but the wards shouldn't discharge yet. Besides,"—she pointed to herself—"I'm Veela."

Harry scrunched his eyebrows together. "What does that have to do with my wards, and what do you mean they shouldn't discharge yet?"

"Our bodies and physiology are slightly different, which means Veela are susceptible to some things normal humans aren't, and we can also endure certain things that normal humans can't."

He smirked. "Different? Don't tell me you actually have a gizzard!"

Azzurra made that cute noise in the back of her throat, crossed her arms, and cocked her head to the side. "A gizzard, Harry?"

"Bugger off, it's the best I could come up with at the moment."

A big smile spread across her face and she started to say something else when the door opened. "The two of you finished in here?" Marcus asked.

"Almost," Azzurra said. "Go stand next to Harry."

Before Harry could protest, Marcus took a step toward the center of the room and straight into the ward line. It discharged, tossing Marcus back through the doorway like a rag doll. He landed in a crumpled heap in the hall.

"Marcus!" Azzurra yelled.

Harry barely had enough time to remove the ward before Azzurra tore past him, then he followed her.

"What the hell was that?" Marcus asked.

"Your witchfriend is teaching me wards," Harry answered.

Azzurra's features froze somewhere between confusion and astonishment. "I didn't teach you that!"

"You just did!" Harry argued. "I did exactly what the book said."

He turned to a first year sitting with his back against the cold wall and eyes the size of regulation snitches looking at pieces of something in his hand.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

The first year sniffled and lifted a broken vase for the gathering crowd to see. "My daddy gave this to me. He made it so I'd have place to put my wand at night because I keep losing it."

Harry couldn't help but think of Neville chasing after Trevor his first year. And to think, now half of magical Britain is chasing him and the bounty on his head. He shook the thought away and extended his hand. "May I see it?"

The boy handed over the broken pieces.

Harry set them on the ground and whispered, "Reparo." The vase snapped back together and he inspected it, then handed it back to the firstie. "I think that should do it."

If it were even possible, the boy's eyes grew wider.

"When do they teach Reparo here?" Harry asked.

"Second year," Marcus answered. "First year is all basic spell casting. Why? When did you learn it?"

"Hmm, I don't remember, come to think of it." He looked back at the first year and caught sight of something running down the side of his neck. "Turn around."

Harry inspected the boy's head and found a half-inch gouge just behind the ear. "I think we should get you to the Infirmary and let Healer Glasov take a look at you."

A cute second year witch with an impish grin and blushing cheeks stepped out of the crowd. "I can take him." She snatched his hand and led him off. Half way down the hall, the boy looked up at the girl, then back at Harry. His eyes had to be twice their normal size.

Markus and Harry both chuckled. "Welcome to the mysteries of life," Harry said.

"Yeah, and good luck," Marcus added.

Azzurra cleared her throat. "Will the two of you knock it off, we're not that bad."

The two wizards looked at each other.

"If either of you want to experience Veela-fire tonight, just keep it up," she threatened.

Harry bit down on his lip and watched as Azzurra checked the other two first year boys who were knocked over by Marcus. By the time she was finished, they were glassy-eyed and sporting stupid grins. He couldn't help but laugh.

Azzurra rolled her eyes and motioned for Harry and Marcus to step back into the room.

"There's no way you're getting me to step foot in there again," Marcus said. "I think I'll go check on the little guy and make sure that second year isn't taking advantage of him. Harry, I'll see you at dinner."

"Afraid?" Azzurra teased.

"After being flung back into the hallway like that? Absolutely," Marcus answered. "And I'm not stupid, either."

He kissed Azzurra and walked off, then Harry followed her back into the room and closed the door. She picked up the book and read the ward that Harry had just cast. "Come here," she instructed.

Harry walked over and settled into a chair.

"You cast all three charms?"

He nodded.

"The instructions say to cast only the first and second charm, then rest. The last charm is supposed to be too difficult to cast in succession until you're much more advanced." She put the book back on the desk. "How did you do that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I just did it, and I knew it was right, too."

"Was that's why you didn't want me to test it?"

"Why would I want to see someone I care about get hurt?" He thought about his words for a second and blushed. "I don't mean care about you like that, but, but—"

Azzurra grinned. "And blushes, too? You are in trouble," she repeated from the first conversation they ever had. "Stand up."

She put a hand on his cheek and gently pulled his head down, then kissed him just off the corner of his mouth. "I might not be Jaleena, but I can feel just how much you care for me—for all of your 'Veela-chicks.' And yes, we—Médée, Jaleena, and I feel the same way about you. We told you that before Christmas, and now that you and Fleur have established your relationship, we can be even more open with you about our own feelings."

"Fleur mentioned something about that the day after I got back," Harry said. "But I didn't fully understand it."

"Your little sister must not have put that part in the memories of Christmas break she sent us," Azzurra teased. She ignored Harry's whispered threats against Gabrielle. "The mark on you has changed. You've accepted it and it screams to every Veela that you have chosen to be Fleur's and Fleur's alone. So now, we can be more open with our own feelings and not worry about how you would take it."

"I still don't understand," Harry confessed.

"When Veela love someone, regardless of how we love them, it is a very deep, passionate love. It would easily confuse a wizard if he wasn't sure of his own relationship, which is why Veela often don't have close wizard friends who aren't marked by other Veela. But once you're marked and you've accepted it, then we're able to display the depth of our love, without worrying about you confusing it with the type of love you have with Fleur."

"Oh. I uh . . ." He fell silent, completely out of his depth on this particular topic.

Azzurra touched his cheek again in a show of sympathy. "It's okay. You don't have to understand why, just accept that we do."

He nodded.

"Oh," she added to lighten the mood. "It also means that you shouldn't taste as bad now, maybe I should get Médée to see if that's true?"

Peals of Veela laughter bounced off the walls at Harry's deep blush and two-fingered response.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

The audit happened once every five years and ranged from indexing every pen to explaining each Knut and Sickle spent. It meant an ungodly amount of paperwork for the entire French magical government, and that included Fleur, who, since she was still a Ministry employee, had to put her trip to the archives on hold until it was over.

She tossed a file on her desk. "I'm headed to lunch."

The other assistants dismissed her with a wave, too buried in their own work to do much else.

Three weeks! She opened the door to the cafeteria. I've been stuck here for three weeks and there's no end in sight! She thumped a beet salad and a fresh baguette on her tray and carried them to the spunky old witch working behind the cash register today.

She cast a measuring eye on the tray of food. "You need to eat more."

"I couldn't, not after last night." Fleur handed over a Galleon. "A few of my cousins and I went to that new restaurant across from the Floo center downtown. I ended up eating way too much."

The witch's lip pulled up slightly. "When I was young, a group of witches 'eating too much' meant we were so hung over we could barely stomach the smell of food the next day."

Her pluck humored Fleur, who found herself grinning. "Well, I was completely sober. My cousins, on the other hand, I bet they all called in sick this morning."

"Ah, then they don't work for the Ministry, do they?" The witch handed Fleur her change. "Calling in sick is almost a fireable offense during audit season."

"It is?" Fleur raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I have a way of skipping the audit after all."

The old witch chortled. "Enjoy your lunch, dear."

Fleur made her way to a small, round table next to a window in the cafeteria that looked out over the city. She ate while re-reading the letter that Harry had sent the day before, and snickered at the part where he made good on his promise to Ilija. Poor boy, she thought to herself. He probably froze in that snow, too.

Harry also threatened all types of revenge on Gabrielle for supplying his Veela-chicks with the Christmas memories. It seemed they were doing a thorough job of 'taking the mick out of him.' Fleur smirked, thinking back to the letter that she had signed her sister's name too. Gabrielle was going to be surprised the next time she saw Harry. Let that teach a barely pubescent Veela-smartass to embarrass her big sister.

A shadow crossed the page and she looked up. "Uncle Anselme! I haven't seen you all week."

"Audit season." He had the same red eyes and tired look as her father, and ink spots dotted his otherwise clean but wrinkled dress shirt.

"That bad?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered. "Speaking of which, how's your father coming along?"

"The same as you and Uncle Philippe, if the looks and the swearing I keep hearing from the three of you is anything to go by."

He shook his head. "Getting mouthy in your old age, aren't you? What's gotten into you, anyway?"

"Just 'Arry."

He guffawed. "Don't say that around your father."

"Uncle!" She swatted him on the arm. "Did you interrupt my lunch just to torment me?"

"Of course not, but it's a nice side benefit." He pulled a chair over and sat down. "I wanted to ask you a couple of questions. First, what happened to my Aurors last night?"

Fleur blinked, then blinked again.

They tried it? They actually tried it? I'm going to kill them! "Um, you'll have to ask Paige, Susanne, and Brianna. The four of us went out for dinner and when I left, they were arguing over who could best Obliviate an Auror with just a kiss."

"Huh." Uncle scratched his head. "The only thing I could get out of my Aurors this morning was 'beautiful Veela goddesses.' Then one of them mentioned you."

Fleur smiled. "That was probably Jean. He's three years older than Paige and me. He's the only reason I felt comfortable leaving three drunken Veela-sluts unsupervised in a restaurant full of wizards.

"Veela-sluts?" Uncle repeated. "Since when have you been calling them that?"

"Since our first year at Beauxbatons when Paige and Brianna were caught with two fourth years—by Jean, come to think of it. Rumor has it that a couple of professors had to wrestle Jean's wand away before he did serious damage to the boys, too.

"Really?" Uncle asked. "Wonder why they didn't just disarm him."

"Don't know, but I'm not surprised that he became an Auror, probably'll be a good one too. After that incident, he always watched out for us . . . and kept Paige out of a lot of wizard-trouble, if you know what I mean."

"From what I remember, that's a pretty impressive feat. I'll have to keep an eye on Jean's career. And thanks for telling me, I was worried that something had happened, which leads me to my second question."

"What?" she asked.

"I want you to promise that you won't leave your house alone. We've been getting reports of Death Eater activity across the continent."

Fleur paled. "They're here? In France?"

"Not yet, but there's been sightings in Italy, Germany, one in Belgium, a couple in Bulgaria and Estonia, and a few other places. When are you seeing 'Arry's Bulgarian Auror friend again?"

"I'm not sure," she answered. "I'll probably go back with him for a day or two after spring holidays, why?"

He lowered his voice. "Could you pass a message along to his father? I don't want it to go through the official channels, but the Zashtitnik need to know."

She shifted closer. "Sure."

He looked around to make sure no one else was close enough to overhear what he had to say, then started. "We think Death Eaters are recruiting in prisons again. Australia, South Africa, and two or three South American countries have all reported prison breaks that fit the profile. A few of the Asian magical communities are also in an uproar over a new group of wizards that showed up in Silver masks and black robes."

Fleur gasped. "In Asia, are you serious?"

"Unfortunately, yes. If we're not careful, it's going to blow up into a Wizarding world war. That's why you and 'Arry need to be careful. There isn't a country that's safe now, and that includes both France and wherever Durmstrang is, do you understand me?"

Fleur nodded.

"Good," he said. "So, how's the research going? The repository clerk said you've worked through just about half the files."

She shrugged. "I've spent every afternoon in there and still haven't found a single thing. I need to go to the Veela archives, but until the audit's over . . . how long does it normally take, anyway?"

"The last one was short, and it took just over five weeks. I'd guess—"

"Five weeks?" Fleur's voice shot through three octaves. A group of snobby secretaries a few tables away turned and looked down their noses at her. She glared back at them until they turned around again, then modulated her voice and continued. "I can't stay that long. Every day I sit here counting paper clips, that thing in his head gets stronger, it's only a matter of time before . . ."

"Before what?" Uncle asked.

Fleur shook her head, not wanting to experience the emotions that came with admitting what would happen if she failed, but Uncle wouldn't have it.

"Before what, Fleur?" he asked again. His voice resonated with authority.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Before . . . I lose him."

Uncle leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Listen to me. Sometimes, circumstances overwhelm us; but more often than not, they overwhelm us to make sure we're in the right place at the right time."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do," he said. "Well, that, and it makes me sound really smart."

She huffed. "It makes you sound like a fortune cookie. You and Uncle Philippe always talk like that after you eat at that Vulgaire Chinese restaurant down the street."*

He chuckled. "We only do it to wind up your papa. It works rather well, too." He stood up and moved the chair back to where he got it. "And don't worry about losing 'Arry, when the time comes, you'll do exactly what is needed, just like last time. And that brings something else up that I wanted to tell you. We ran 'Arry's memories through another set of enhancement spells."

"And?"

"And we found something. It was faint, but we were able to capture it. I think you should come hear it for yourself."

~ . ~ . ~

An hour later, Fleur sat at a table in the repository, surrounded by stacks of old files and books covered with dust that made her nose itch. At the front desk, the only other person in the dreary room scratched a quill across parchment, probably working on an inventory list for the audit, Fleur thought.

She ignored the noise and concentrated on what she had heard a few minutes ago: "Your beloved flower needs time to recover." That night, her wand felt so heavy, and her legs trembled with each step she took in the graveyard. It was a miracle that she had gained enough strength not to splinch herself or Harry when they Apparated.

But it wasn't a miracle, was it? Harry had kept the connection; he gave her the time she needed. After everything that he'd been through, he still fought so she could recover, or at least begin the process. In all honesty, it took most of last fall to recover, and not just from the battles that weekend, but also from what she'd become over the years at Beauxbatons.

Wait a second; is that what that voice meant? It couldn't have, she argued with herself. There's no doubt I needed time that night, but . . . could it have meant both? A double fulfillment? That wasn't unheard of, but "your beloved flower needs time to recover" wasn't exactly a prophecy, either.

Or was it?

Fleur rubbed her nose and pushed the books farther away. Alright, if it was double fulfillment, then since I needed time to recover that night to save him from Voldemort, that meant I needed time last fall to recover to save him from . . . what?

Voldemort? Again? Can't be. Harry's the one that has to kill him.

Maybe the 'Orcrux? It can't be that simple, can it?

She slapped the table in frustration. What does saving 'Arry from a stupid Dark Lord have to do with saving him now? What am I supposed to do? Save him from another one? Just how many are there? I mean, before 'Arry turns into . . . one.

She sat up straight in her chair. Sweet Alcyone! That's it! That's what it meant! I'm supposed to save 'Arry from himself! Not from the 'Orcrux!

But then, what will happen with that? Is there some another plan that none of us know yet? And how can I save him from himself. What does he need from his Beloved Flower?

She rubbed her nose and shot the books a dirty look, then pushed them even farther away. Your beloved flower, she repeated to herself, your beloved flower, your be—Fleur sneezed—loved. . .

Sometimes, it's the silliest little things that illuminate the hardest answers.

Harry needed to be—loved! That was it! If there was one thing a Veela could do, it was bathe a wizard in an ocean of love! And that was what she'd have to do, even though it would take her to levels of emotional vulnerability of which the very thought was causing her stomach to tie up in knots. And to do that, she knew she had to commit herself fully to embracing every part of her Veela Heritage.

Fleur shook her head at the irony. All that time learning how to be a beautiful human, and now she had to learn how to be a true Veela. Of course, if it helped 'Arry, then there was doubt she'd do it. Maybe that's why she needed all of last fall in the first place? Maybe she had to learn how to be a beautiful human so that she could really, truly love him as deeply as a Veela could, like Azzurra, Jaleena, and Médée loved their . . . Harry.

Her jaw slowly dropped at the newest realization. It wasn't just her love of her mate that he needed; it was the love of friends that his Veela-chicks could give him, and the love of family like Gabrielle, and their maman, and even their cousins! That's why he'd been surrounded by Veela! And the one thing that was more powerful than the Dark Arts, the one thing said to be able to save the blackest soul, was love. So if anyone had succeeded in defeating a 'Orcrux or the draw of the Dark Arts, it had to be Veela, and if they did, then it would have been recorded . . .

. . . In the Veela archives!

Fleur grabbed her bag, jumped out of her seat, and smacked into the bottom of the table. It flipped over sending the books and files sailing across the room.

The clerk jumped at the noise. "Mademoiselle Delacour, are you okay?"

"Yes, I mean No, I—"

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I did, but not here, I mean, here, but not in the—oh, never mind!" Fleur bent down and gathered the nearest mound of files. "This is going to take forever!"

The sound of heals caught her attention and she looked up.

"It's okay. I'll take care of this," the clerk said.

"Really?"

The witch raised her wand and grinned. "I'll use magic." She cast a spell and the books and files raced about the room before settling back into their proper locations, then she winked at Fleur. "You should try it sometime. Now go, take care of whatever it was you needed to do."

Fleur thanked the clerk and sprinted out the door. She barely made into her father's department a couple of minutes later before yelling out, "Papa!"

He looked up from the desk of one of his assistants. "Fleur? What's wrong?"

"I need to go to the Veela archives!"

He gave her a second look, then took three quick steps to his office door. "In here."

The door barely clicked shut before he spoke. "Tell me you found something."

She related everything to him: the voice in the memory, her thoughts about love, and even her idea about Veela driving out Dark Arts with their magic.

When she finished, he interlaced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed.

Fleur recognized the look and tried to give him time to process his thoughts, though her fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on a stack of folders lying on his desk.

"I just don't know," he finally said. "Prophesies are notoriously hard to interpret and these kinds of events, even more so, then to add the issue of a double-fulfillment . . ." he fell silent again.

"But I can't discount it, either." Papa sat back up in the chair. "I hope you're right Fleur, for the both of you."

"Then can I go?" she asked.

"Why the rush?"

"The longer that 'Orcrux is in his head, the harder it'll be for him to resist the Dark Magic it contains. Please Papa!"

He sighed, then nodded. "Go, and save 'The Boy who Lived.'"

Fleur jumped on his lap and flung her arms around his neck. "Thank you Papa!"

He pulled her in tight for a second, then kissed her on the cheek and let go. "Take my Floo—it's open, and probably will be the rest of the month since I'm stuck in my office, buried under all this paperwork you're leaving me with," he teased.

Fleur skirted over to the fireplace. "It could be worse, you know."

"Oh?" He gestured to the mountain of folders. "Enlighten me."

She grinned and threw a handful of powder into the fire. "What if I was saving 'The Boy who Shagged Me?'"

"FLEUR ISABELLE DELA—"

The whoosh of the flames silenced her father's voice. A few seconds later, she bounded out of the fireplace in the smaller sitting room at home, still laughing.

"Maman," she called out.

Her mother rushed down the hall and stuck her head into the room. "Why are you home so early? Is everything—?"

"I'm okay, but I have to go to the Veela archives. I'm almost positive that if there's anything that'll help 'Arry, it'll be in our history."

"Our?" Her mother gave her a quizzical look and sat down on the couch. "I think that's the first time I've heard you really claim our heritage as yours, and why the sudden rush to go the archives?"

"The way most Veela view the Wizarding world, can you blame me?" Fleur asked, then turned to the side. "Froissé!"

The little elf appeared next to her, face dripping with water and a tea towel flung over her shoulder. Fleur knelt down. "Papa still hasn't fixed the faucet in the kitchen, has he?"

"Monsieur Delacour be busiest wizard," the elf answered.

"Maybe," she allowed. "But Froissé takes good care of us, so he shouldn't be too busy to take care of Froissé, should he? I'll remind him tonight." Fleur gently dried the elf's face and arms with the towel, and ignored the wide eyes and straight-tipped ears that betrayed the elf's shock. "There, all dry. Would you pack a trunk of clothes for me that I can wear in the Mazkānāka?"

The elf nodded, her ears bouncing back and forth. She took the towel back and disappeared with a slight pop.

Fleur sat down next to her mother and continued. "As Veela, we have the blood of I-don't-know-how-many thousands of wizards on our hands because of our refusal to help them. If I don't want to add 'Arry's, then I need to embrace my Veela heritage, and quickly."

"Why," her mother said. There was a sharp quality to her voice that Fleur wasn't used to, but she ignored it.

"Well, when it's all over, I'm going to need to be the best Veela I can be for him." She shrugged. "Not like he won't deserve it after everything that he's been through, and is going to go through. I figured immersing myself in being a Veela for him is a small price by comparison."

Her mother's eyes grew hard. "You listen to me. I love 'Arry like a son, but I never want to hear a daughter of mine say that she needs to embrace her Veela heritage so she can become a trophy-nurse awarded for offing a Dark Lord. There's a damn sight more to you than being the grand prize in Britain's magical shooting gallery!"

"That's not what I'm saying!" Fleur spat back. "I'm—"

"Don't lie to me!" her mother interrupted. "If 'Arry wasn't around, would you still be as concerned about being a Veela?"

"Probably not, but—"

"But nothing!" Waves of anger roiled off Maman. "Damn it Fleur, you're not some vapid waste of estrogen, so I want to know when you started thinking of yourself as nothing more than some wizard's nightly penis-holster!"

"I—what? You know I don't think of myself like that!"

"I do?" her mother shot back. "When you start spouting off about embracing your Veela heritage for a boy—"

"Man!"

"Whatever, you know what I mean," her mother said.

Fleur caught her next words before they escaped, took a deep breath, then a second one, and tried a different approach. "This isn't about me being a prized Veela. It's about the fact that I've found someone I can be me with. He makes me laugh, he teases me back, and he can love me as deeply as I can love him. So if I have to embrace being a Veela to help him after this war is over, is that so bad?"

Her mother ground her teeth together. "You have no idea—no clue what you're getting yourself into, do you?"

Fleur looked out the window, blindsided by the conversation, and fought to keep control of her emotions. "I thought you liked him, thought you were happy that we put all the drama behind us. Now you're telling me you disapprove?"

Maman shook her head. "I've already told you I loved him as if he were my son. That's not the issue."

"Then what is?" she asked.

"You, Fleur, we're talking about the fact that you're losing yourself trying to be 'Arry's personal savior."

"I am not!"

Maman snorted. "I wasn't hatched yesterday. A few months ago, I heard you talking about being a beautiful human. Now, it's all about being a Veela. What are you going to try to be next month, a faithful House Elf?"

Fleur came up out of her seat. "IF THAT—"

Maman held up a hand, palm out, and cut her off. "QUIET! It wasn't fair, I know. I'm sorry." She took a deep breath, and when she began again, something had changed. "You have no idea what's headed your way, and no concept of the pain that coming along with it. And make no mistake, Fleur, it's coming straight at you like a Vulgaire freight train."

A chill crept up Fleur's spine. She sat back down, pulled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. "What do you mean . . . what's coming for me?"

Maman didn't say anything at first, but the emotions that played across her features unsettled Fleur even more. After a couple of minutes passed, she began to answer the question. "I want you to think about what it will be like if 'Arry isn't the same person when it's all over. War changes people, and it will change him. He will be a shell of the person you love and it might be years before you get your 'Arry back." A haunted expression marred her features. "He is a part of this family now, and we will not turn our back on him, but trust me, the man you find after this war will be very different from the man you knew before it, and you are not going to like what you find."

"But, isn't part of love being there for someone if they're really that broken?" Fleur asked.

"To the point of self-sacrifice?" her mother replied. "Of offering yourself up as a Veela-trophy and healer for months on end, maybe even years; to the point of maybe losing your own soul in the pain that comes with it?" She gazed back at Fleur. "That's not—or at least up until the last few months—wasn't you. Where did you learn that, anyway?"

"From you," Fleur answered in a small voice. "I still remember Papa after the last war; how he'd sit and not say a word for hours on end, and you'd sit with him, your arms wrapped around him in silence; how you were so patient with him even though he shut us all out day after day.

"I also remember you sitting right here in that ugly orange couch we had, when Papa would go out with Uncle Philippe and Uncle Anselme. You would cry so hard that you'd start to gag, but it didn't stop you from yelling out to the gods, asking why they had to ruin such a good man. I remember you being so scared for him, and so hurt, and yet, you never left him.

"Tell me, Maman, when that war was over, did you like what you found?"

Her mother's eyes had grown glassy and unfocused. "Those were awful times. I thought I'd lost him. Night after night, in his sleep he'd kick and punch and scream, and all I could do was wrap my arms around him and hold on, pushing my love into him. I hid so many black eyes, bruises, and broken bones with charms . . . if your father ever learned what he did to me, it'd destroy him."

She turned back to Fleur and a hint of something very dangerous undermined the glassy look. "And If you ever tell that to another living soul, and it gets back to your father, I will pluck-n-pack your Veela-ass before your wand even hits the Floor, am I clear?"

Another shiver ran up Fleur's spine. She nodded.

Maman closed her eyes, and when she opened them, the hint of whatever was that was, disappeared. "You also forget that we were already married. Be honest with me, what are you going to do if he ends up beating the hell out of you every night? What if he blackens your eyes and breaks your bones as he thrashes about, reliving his nightmares, then wakes up in the morning without any memory of it. How long do you think you could live that way?"

Fleur stared at her mother. There had always been a depth beneath the flighty Veela-persona, and an intelligence to match—she had shown the latter often enough, but not the former, not like this. And then, what about her question?

How long could I deal with it? Fleur asked herself. Then, despite everything else, the answer that well up from within almost made her smile. So, this is what it's like to be a beautiful human.

"It doesn't change a thing, just like it didn't change anything with you."

"Fleur—"

Fleur held up her hand this time. "Please, Maman, let me finish. You didn't stay with Papa because you were married to him. You could have left him. You could have walked away and given up. You stayed with him because you loved him, and then you used every Veela- and witch-trick possible to get back the man you knew before the war."

"Maybe," her mother allowed. "But you didn't answer my question. How long will you be able to deal with him beating you night after night? What happens if his magic strikes at you with Pain Curses, or Torture Curses, without him ever knowing? What then?"

Fleur looked back out of the windows towards the peaceful town below. "Papa never hit you, and never cursed you on purpose, no matter how mad he got, and I remember how angry you made him a few times. The same is true for 'Arry, and that'll never change. For the rest—I already love him too much. I'd be hurting him and myself even more by not being there for him."

"And what if he doesn't make it?" her mother asked. "Is it worth going through all this if he's not there when it's over?"

Fleur wiped away the moisture that accumulated on her eyelashes at the thought of Harry being gone forever. "Yes, Maman, it is, because I'll have learned how to love with everything I have, and love unconditionally. Is that so bad? And is it so bad to want to love 'Arry like that?"

Maman's demeanor softened considerably. "No, ma Petite, it's not. I want to say that it is. I want to protect you, hide you away, and keep you safe, but that's not my place anymore."

She gestured to a spot on the Floor in front of them, next to the window. "I used to set you right there when you were young. You had this old, cloth doll that was missing an arm, but you loved it and played with it for hours on end, every day. When your sister came along, I'd put her on a blanket next to you and you'd entertain her with that doll. She'd giggle and laugh, then you'd start laughing and pretty soon, none of us could catch our breath."

She sighed. "I don't know what happened, but, I blinked, and my little Veela-flower grew up. Instead of playing with dolls, now you fight Death Eaters and Dark Lords, dragons, and demons that haunt the young man you love. You've become me, and yet so much more than me, and I couldn't be prouder of you."

Tears rolled down Fleur's cheeks. She used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe them dry. "No, Maman. I could never be more than you."

"You already are, and you haven't even begun to try yet. Remember that. And remember that I am happy for you; you, and 'Arry both."

"Then why?"

"Because I'm your maman, and truth be told, the closest thing 'Arry has to one as well. You have too much to offer to sell yourself short or lose yourself in a wizard. And when it comes to 'Arry, he needs someone who will be there for him when it is all over and not walk away when it gets rough. I got scared for the both of you because I thought you were turning a blind eye to what lay in your future when you started talking about being a Veela-prize."

Fleur puffed out her bottom lip. "I didn't say it like that."

"I know," her mother answered. "But that's how I heard it. So, why don't we start this again, and you tell me what's going on? I promise, I won't say a word until you're finished."

"Really? Madame Veela?" Fleur raised an eyebrow. "Not a word?"

Maman unsheathed her wand and a bit of humor danced in her eyes. "I'll make good on my threat to pluck-n-pack you, child!"

Fleur stared at it for a second. "Um, yeah, you scared the Green Goblins out of me at that point in the conversation, so let's just move on."

Twenty minutes later, she finished explaining everything. Maman asked quite a few questions, then gave Fleur a few insights about Veela magic and how it mixed with a Veela's love, and even pointed her in some other avenues of research that might be helpful.

She stood up and stretched. "I'll contact Anastasie this evening and see if she can take you to the archives. I'd do it myself, but I'm still not exactly beloved there."

Fleur took her mother's hand. "When I have children, I hope I'm half as good a maman as you are." Then she added as an afterthought, "Though, I'll never utter the phrase Penis-Holster to any daughter of mine."

"Don't be so sure of that," Maman warned. "I said the same thing to your grandmother."

"What!"

Her mother snickered, then it turned into a full-blown guffaw at the site of her daughter's shocked expression. "This isn't the first time I've had this discussion, though it is the first time I've been on this end of it. Your grandmother will laugh hysterically when I tell her about it."

~ . ~ . ~

The next day, Fleur found herself in front of the wards of the Mazkānāka on the southern coast of Turkey, about fifteen miles inshore and directly north of Cyprus. The surrounding mountains climbed another thousand feet above the hill on which they stood, and below her, a river meandered around it on two sides.

". . . And remember to keep a low profile," Anastasie said, "If anyone asks who you are, give them only your first name, then tell them you came with me. You shouldn't have much of a problem though, or your trunk of clothes would have been rejected this morning when I sent it on ahead." She looked back toward the Mazkānāka. "You need to transform here to cross the wards."

Fleur obeyed, then took a step and was amazed at power that pulsated through her body. A moment later, she saw the Mazkānāka, or "Elder's Possession," for the first time in her life. Blocks upon blocks of Gleaming white buildings jutted into the air, their roofs built out of a type of red clay. Wide, open archways and recessed windows lined each building.

She looked down the streets that were made of the same clay formed into bricks, and noticed a thirty-foot circle of manicured grass dotting every intersection. In the center of each, a large, well-trimmed sycamore-maple tree provided shade for the few Veela sitting on benches. The main square a few blocks further caught her attention and she groaned. In the midst of it, sat a fifteen-foot wide rock dish filled with water. It rested on three short pedestals.

"Tell me that's not what I think it is."

Anastasie smirked. "Just because we're Zekānōt doesn't mean we don't have a sense of humor. A couple of the American Flock Leaders came up with the idea during the last renovations and we thought it too funny not to incorporate." The older Veela gazed at the massive bird bath. "When you get home, ask your maman about it."

"Why?"

"She should remember it well. Back when your parents got married, it was tradition for Veela to introduce their new mates to the Zekānōt on their fifth wedding anniversary. Let's just say your maman never does anything by half." The smirk grew mischievous. "And do the arithmetic."

"I . . . what do you . . . oh!" Fleur's hand shot up to her mouth. "No! Tell me they didn't! I was not conceived on that!"

"Oh, they did, and the Zekānōt banned her from the Mazkānāka, then you were born nine months later. She wasn't allowed back until it was time to announce your transformation."

Fleur grabbed her Flock leader by the arm. "Please, promise me that you won't tell Gabrielle! She'll take it as a challenge to one-up Maman, I'll guarantee it."

Anastasie nodded. "I think that's wise advice, your little sister's definitely getting to be a handful."

"Getting to be? She already is," Fleur corrected.

"True, it's not hard to tell what nest she was hatched in, was it?" Anastasie gestured toward the buildings. "Shall we?"

They walked down the main street and Fleur took in the exquisite artwork in center tiles on each building. They replicated the greatest of the Veela myths and legends. The one to her left showed a Flock Leader destroying Atlantis. The one to her right was a large picture of Veela protecting young children from an army of invaders. The next building had etchings of battles, and the one after that highlighted different myths of a Veela's beauty. Then there were the representations of legends that she didn't know: Veela armies fighting alongside ancient wizards, Veelas drawn as maenads in the midst of the Bacchae cultic rites, and other scenes that she had no comprehension of at all.

They came to a stop at a building with no windows or archways, and entered through the large set of double doors. Fleur had to let her eyes adjust, and when she could see again, she fixated on thirty plus rows of shelves that stood over a hundred feet high, and almost twice that length to the back wall, and lined with files and books of various sizes and almost every color imaginable. If there were any answers for Harry, they had to be here.

The door opened again behind them. Fleur turned around, and was driven to her knees, her head bowed in front of a Veela elder whom she didn't know. There was no doubt about the pecking order, however.

"Stand," the Veela commanded. Fleur obeyed, but found that her knees trembled slightly in the presence of the powerful Flock Leader. She held out her hand and Fleur laid her wrist in the slender palm. The other Veela was small framed, with flowing locks and an air of softness about her, but there was nothing soft about the iron grip she had on Fleur's wrist.

"You have the smell of a boy."

Fleur stiffened. "No, Madame . . ."

"Albescu."

She inclined her head, "Madame Albescu, not a boy. 'Arry has proven himself a man three times over in battle against a Dark Lord. I hope to one day be his equal, rather than him being mine. As I said, a boy, he is not."

Madame Albescu glanced at Anastasie, then shifted the hold she had on Fleur's wrist and pulled her deep into the aisles of books. They sat down at a low-slung wood table. "Forgive me for asking, but how much do you know about your family?"

The question caught Fleur off-guard and she shot Anastasie a frightened look. "Uh . . ."

Madame Albescu waved her off. "That's what I thought. We'll sort that later. I had an interesting conversation a few weeks ago with a Professor Sorina. Do you recognize that name?"

"I met her at Durmstrang."

"Good. By the way, you can call me Petronela, or Petra if you'd like." Then she smiled at Anastasie. "So, I finally get to meet the audacious Fleur Delacour."

Anastasie patted Fleur's hand at the second frightened look she gave her in the last thirty seconds. "The French government passed on a copy of last spring's battle a few weeks ago. Seems your mother convinced your father that it would be important. Besides, a few of us were already following you in the Tri-wizard tournament."

"That we were," Petra confirmed, then shifted the discussion back to the reason Fleur had come. "While you're here, you can work at this table. The material you seek concerning Horcruxes, if we have any, will probably be in this row." She pointed to her left. "But don't spend all of your time there. On the fifth shelf of the third row behind that one, all the way against the back wall, is a bound set of minutes from a few meetings fifty years ago that you should read. It'll be an interesting family lesson. Take it back to your room when you're looking to clear your mind of the Horcrux stuff."

"Thank you," Fleur said. "But if I may ask, why are you so willing to help me? I mean, obviously you know who I am and my family's name isn't exactly the best around here, nor my Flock's reputation, for that matter."

Petra interlaced her fingers on the table in front of her. "First, Veela should take care of Veela, remember that. Second, let's just say I heard from three young Veela at Durmstrang that I had better help you, or else. I am only doing as instructed." She smiled at the obvious contradiction of someone ordering her around, let alone Harry's Veela-chicks.

Fleur's eyebrows scrunched together. "You're not Azzurra's mother, are you?"

"My last name is Albescu, not Sala, remember? And I'm Romanian. Sophia Sala wouldn't raise a finger to help in your research if it involved wizards."

"But Azzurra—" Fleur began, only to be cut off.

"Is just like her mother, and nothing like her. I dare say she's just as powerful, and just as easily provoked, too, but Azzurra has seen too much of the Wizarding world and cares too much for it."

"Cares too much?" Fleur glared at the Romanian Flock Leader, and any ideas she had about liking the women disappeared. "You agree with Madame Sala, then."

Petra narrowed her eyes and leaned back. "And if I do?"

The muscles in Fleur's jaw tensed. "Then I'd say you're a waste of feathers that prefers to preen herself while humans die, and it's Veela like you that make me ashamed of my heritage."

A subtle glow materialized around Petra. "I'd watch that tongue if I were you, Little Chicken."

Anastasie laid a hand on Fleur's arm. "I think that's enough."

"I haven't even gotten started!" Fleur pulled her arm away from her Flock Leader and turned back to Petra. "Forgive me for my lack of respect, Madame Albescu, but this 'Little Chicken' would rather die like the Veela of old than sit on my cute little ass in a birdbath with the rest of the Zekānōt bemoaning something that happened fifty years ago, let alone pretend we're still the ones who have been wronged by the Wizarding world."

Twin streaks of fire shot across Petra's hands and down to the table where they dissipated. "My mother lost three cousins to Grindelwald. How dare you—"

"Cousins!" Fleur cut her off, her voice rising. "She lost three cousins? Let me tell you about loss! The man I love lost his entire family fourteen years ago. Then last spring, I watched as he gathered the only real family he knew—another family that he lost to the same Dark Lord—and said goodbye to what was left of their remains on a battlefield that was once a school yard."

Fleur fought against the magic driving her to submit to the stronger Veela and willed herself out of her chair. She leaned over the table in front of her. "And for your information, I watched that boy curse Voldemort to save my life, and where the hell were the Zekānōt then? Where were they when 'Arry's parents were murdered, or when families were being torn apart on that damned island, or when a school full of children were slaughtered?

"I'll tell you where they were!" Fleur's voice boomed through the archives. "They were in the same place they were fifty years ago; sitting around here bemoaning the deaths of their mother's cousins or their great, great, grandmother's next door neighbor in the French fucking Revolution you worthless sack of flesh! How dare YOU—"

"FLEUR!" Anastasie rose to her full height. Her magic pounded against the younger Veela, and drove her back into her seat. "Enough! Petra has gone out of her way to give you everything you need. I suggest you remember that, and remember that you are here by my invitation. Everything you do and say reflects on me—never mind that Petra was instrumental in getting the Zekānōt to overlook the fact that you marked a fourteen-year-old wizard. You owe her a debt of gratitude, let alone a very big apology."

Fleur sunk down in her chair and put her head in her hands. Tears welled up, but she refused to shed them, instead waiting until her voice wouldn't crack before speaking again. "After everything I saw, including the bodies of thirteen and fourteen year olds who had run toward their death rather than away from it thinking they were helping me and the other Champions, I don't understand how we as Veela can be proud of ourselves for sitting around and doing nothing."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, then looked at Petra. "I guess I'm wound up a little tight when it comes to 'Arry, I appreciate everything you've done, even if I haven't shown it, and I do ask for your forgiveness."

Too her surprise, Petra grinned. "Little Chicken, after marking a fourteen year old wizard, I'd be more upset if you didn't get emotional over him. At least I now know that I made the right decision about you."

"Thanks . . . but it's not just him, either. He has a friend named Neville whose parents were driven insane with a Torture Curse around the same time 'Arry's parents died. Years later, the same Death Eater murdered Neville's parents and his girlfriend in front of him. Then there's another friend who had to grow up with her aunt because her entire family was murdered in the first war, and I'm sure those aren't the only ones. That's why I don't understand how can we bemoan our past, then ignore worse atrocities that happen to others in the present. I mean, how can we complain that the wizarding world turns a deaf ear to our pleas for equality when we refuse to stand with them against something so evil?"

After a few moments of silence, Petra gestured to the rows of books. "As I've said, make sure you look at the minutes of those past meetings." She stood up and walked away.

Anastasie got up to follow, but Fleur grabbed her wrist. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Her Flock leader cupped Fleur's chin and gazed deep into her eyes. A faint smile broke across her lips and she leaned down and kissed Fleur on the forehead. "Find what you need to save 'Arry, and don't worry about Petra. You did well." She winked, then let go of Fleur and disappeared into the stacks of books.

Fleur took a deep breath, confused by what just happened, and even more confused by her flock leader's last words. No matter what, Fleur thought, this episode was not going to help the Delacour name among the Zekānōt.

It was the last random thought she allowed herself until her head hit the pillow that night, and for the next month, she threw herself into her work. There were murky stories about Dark Magic and saving a wizard that had gone too far down that path, but every story she came across about Horcruxes ended with their destruction, and there were no stories about a human Horcrux. The hope she originally felt dampened considerably, though it wasn't gone.

Petra joined her for dinner the second night, and every night thereafter, they would eat together and discuss how to use Veela magic to heal those they loved for hours on end. Once Fleur came to know the Veela Elder, she felt horrible about that first day, especially after their conversations branched out to the issue of Veela and the wizarding world. Petra was open to listening and debating the points that Fleur had brought up. As it turned out, the Romanian Flock Leader still believed in some separation, but she understood the arguments against it, and even gave them consideration. Fleur also learned that Petra was Azzurra's godmother, and heard a few embarrassing stories about the young Veela as well.

The night before she was to leave, Petra missed dinner, but stuck her head in Fleur's room a little later. "Have you had a chance to look through the minutes I told you about?"

"Not yet," Fleur confessed. "I've been too tied up researching the other stuff."

"That's what I thought, so I brought them to you." She stepped into the room and laid them on Fleur's bed. "Read these tonight and I'll see you tomorrow for lunch. Anastasie is coming back to escort you to France, so the three of us can discuss any questions you might have."

Fleur picked up the first volume a few minutes later and thumbed through it, wondering what was so important about a bunch of minutes from meetings half a century ago. She made herself comfortable on the bed and three hours later, came across something that just about shocked the Veela right out of her.

Jan. 2, 1939:

Zekānōt debated entering war against Grindelwald and expressed worry about Muggle named Adolph Hitler. Opinions strong on both sides. Flock Leader Guillory led the argument to declare an alliance with British and other "allied" wizards. Flock leader Sala led argument against; she stated, "If we must fight, we are better off doing it ourselves than depending on the likes of wizards and witches, or hasn't our history taught us anything." Debate continued for an hour. No vote held.

Fleur was dumbfounded. Guillory? Her grandmother . . . a Flock Leader? Why hadn't she been told? More importantly, why wasn't her mother or one of her aunts a Flock Leader rather than her third cousin once removed, or however that worked? She flipped through the next hundred or so pages, but found nothing for quite awhile. She was almost asleep when she came across the next entry about her grandmother. Thankfully, a series of chain references on the topic started from that date.

September 2, 1939:

Zekānōt debated Muggle war that began yesterday in Europe. Poland was invaded. Two Flock Leaders report seven Veela deaths. No rape indicated. Flock Leaders Guillory and Sala continued debate from Jan. 2 meeting. Zekānōt voted to watch closely and be prepared to move to protect Veela colonies in Poland and other countries if necessary. Flock Leader Guillory left meeting in protest.

She skipped ahead to the next entry in the reference.

May 11, 1940:

Zekānōt emergency meeting. Grindelwald forces invaded Veela colonies in France, Belgium, and Luxembourg. Numerous Veela are missing and feared killed or enslaved. Flock Leader Sala argued that it was evidence wizards could not be trusted. Flock Leader Guillory vehemently opposed, and countered that forces should be joined immediately with England and their new war leader, Albus Dumbledore. Zekānōt voted to recognize a state of war existed, but refused to declare war, or any alliance. According to Flock Leader Sala, "Veela will protect the Veela."

August, 1940-March, 1942 (revision of record):

War update: Zekānōt has participated in thirty-five rescue attempts over the last twenty-two months. To date, eighteen hundred Veela have been saved, three hundred Veela have been lost or killed, and seven Zekānōt have died while on mission. Warrior forms are not used to not alert Muggle forces.

July, 1942; Special Meeting Called by Flock Leader Guillory:

Evidence presented of widespread program to kidnap and "retrain" Veela to be "docile housewives" of Nazi SS with end goal of producing magical Arian children. Zekānōt voted to condemn program—also voted to condemn new Muggle plan entitled "Final Solution." Vote passed. Flock Leader Guillory demanded Zekānōt declare war on Grindelwald, and declare an alliance with the Magicals from the Allied powers. Vote did not pass.

—Supplement to July 1942 meeting. Flock Leader Guillory called out-of-order after vote for refusing to submit to Zekānōt . Continued refusal led to unanimous vote of censure. Flock Leader Guillory mocked vote, calling it "a vote to declare the Zekānōt for Grindelwald." She asked, "When will the Zekānōt be handing over Veela and Jews to the Axis powers." She then accused the current Zekānōt of betraying Veela and Veela history.

Veela Flock Leaders Jaaht, Jamison, Danebur, and Iaet forced Flock Leader Guillory from chambers. Zekānōt voted unanimously to expel Guillory permanently, and refuse Gegenumenou to descendents through six generations including a modification of Veela-magic to deny naturally occurring Full Veela for the same length of time.

The minutes slipped through Fleur's fingers and hit the bed. It explained everything: why she and her sister transformed so fast, why she felt a second transformation beginning within her, and something holding it back, but also why her grandmother didn't hold any hope in any of her family becoming full Veela.

It also explained why she and her cousins were the most powerful part-Veela that she had ever met, and why she was able to force two of Harry's Veela-chicks into submission, and then withstand Azzurra for time she did.

She climbed under the covers and turned out the lights, then stared at the ceiling long into the night, unable to fall asleep as thoughts raced through her mind. The conversation during lunch the next day didn't help either as both Flock Leaders confirmed her thoughts. She also found out that current Flock Leader Sala was the daughter, and Azzurra the granddaughter of the Veela she read about the night before.

Even though she made no more headway on the Horcruxes, knowing about her history had convinced Fleur even more that she could help Harry.

Anastasie escorted her to Beauxbatons where she stayed for a week. There, she grew even prouder of her little sister, who was excelling in every class that had to do with casting spells and defending against them. She also commiserated with Gabrielle when the younger Veela received a letter from Harry laced with cryptic threats of revenge the day before Fleur left for home.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

A little over two weeks later, Marcus and Harry had taken a Portkey to a small, German magical community just outside of Bremen, where they were picking up various potion ingredients that a first-year and two second-years forgot to replenish over the winter break from one of the stores.

"Ready to go?" Marcus asked.

Harry turned away from the wall of German chocolates that he'd been staring at. "Yeah, did you get everything?"

As a response, Marcus picked up a large bag of supplies and they left the store. Behind them, the owner closed the door and locked it.

Harry looked down at his watch. "Does he always stay open this late? It's almost ten."

"Not usually, Professor Sirko probably called ahead." Marcus shrugged. "This is our normal place for restocking student's potion supplies."

"I never knew errand running for forgetful students was part of the head boy's job."

"Neither did I," Marcus answered. "But last fall, I had to buy underwear for a couple first years that forgot to pack theirs. Both sets of parents are Muggle and outside of a dire emergency, there was no way to get in contact with them."

Harry stepped down to the empty street and headed up to the town square. "Some would call a lack of underwear a dire emergency."

"Maybe, but others would call it freedom."

"True." He remembered that first day in France, and his embarrassment at the dinner table over having to get underwear. He did think about going without rather than asking, but the way his body kept reacting to Fleur, it was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

They entered the square and headed to the other side designated for Portkey use. "Explain to me again why we couldn't leave from back there," Harry asked.

"This is Germany, Herr Potter. Everything must be in Ordnung!"

"English, please?"

"Order. And it makes sense, I think. Better than having people Portkey anywhere they want into town."

Harry was about to tell him that it made sense only because Marcus was German by ancestry when he heard a faint scream. He turned to look for the source, and heard it again, this time much louder, and much more recognizable. Someone was begging, pleading, "Take me, kill me instead!" The already chilly temperature of the early April night plunged and a familiar cold swept through Harry's bones.

He been through this before. "Expecto Patronum!"

The ancient Veela progenitor erupted from his wand and in its light; Harry could see ten, twelve, maybe even fifteen Dementors descending on them.

Next to him, Marcus cast his Patronus. A Koala bear leaped forward, bright, fluffy ears and all. The two ethereal animals raced into the sky and put the Dementors to flight.

Harry blinked, and then let out a bark of laughter.

"Shut up, Potter."

"Does Azzurra know?"

"I said, 'shut up.'"

Movement of robes and a flash of silver caught Harry's eye. He dove to his left, and bounced off the cobblestone pavement. Two bright green curses streaked past him. He looked back to make sure Marcus was okay, their eyes met for a split second and they reached an unspoken agreement.

There would be no running, tonight.

Harry put a Holding Charm on his left hand and layered it with an Accio Charm, then got back up. The first target stood fifteen yards away. Behind him, nine more Death Eaters Apparated in.

Marcus moved farther to Harry's left to put more space between them. "I hope you brought others."

"We're enough," a heavily accented voice answered.

A large grin creased Harry's face. "If you think so," he said, and slashed his wand through the air. A familiar squelching noise zipped through the air and in the moment of utter stillness that followed, Harry could see that they never expected their target to cast anti-Apparation wards. Feet shifted and wand hands flexed as the realization hit the Death Eaters: the prey—just became the predators.

A light show exploded in the square. Deathly green and violent red dominated the rainbow of curses that crisscrossed. Harry waved his hand at a garbage can and it streaked into the path of a Killing Curse, then he wand-blocked a hex before Marcus's Shield Charm flashed in front of both of them, reflecting spells back toward the Death Eaters.

Harry's wand was in motion the moment the shield dropped. He set loose a fury of his own, finishing with a silent Denigrationi cladis—a medieval spell that replicated the Bubonic plague.

He reached out with his magic and bent the curse, driving it into a Death Eater that was casting at him. The robed wizard fell to the pavement and a small part of Harry's brain cataloged the effects as he continued to fight.

The Death Eater had grabbed his head, then shook violently and curled into a fetal position before expressing from his two main orifices and falling into a coma. His heart gave out a few seconds later.

The curse was brutal and painful, and it pleased Harry to no end to see a black-robed bastard suffer. He threw open the gates of his hatred and anger and it surged forth, empowering the Horcrux, which in turn fed his hunger for revenge. Harry reached into his well of malice and cast with precisionist abandon. The names of Dark Curses flitted through his mind:

Os Eieci! A death Eater fell, his bones crushed into dust within is body.

Ile Ejectus! A second one fell, bleeding through eyes, orifices, and even his skin.

Retro Conteram! A third one collapsed, his backbone snapped in half.

Intercus Demissus ! A fourth Death Eater crawled across the ground until the last of his intestines had been ripped from the lower half of his stomach and ejected from his rectum.

And yet, Harry's wand continued its dance, striking down another Death Eater before a boulder appeared over the last two.

Harry turned just in time to see Marcus swish his wand again, releasing it.

The ground shook with the impact and Harry fell to one knee. Marcus sliced the air once more with his wand and the boulder disappeared, leaving a paste of fabric and body fluids, broken up by the occasional soft tissue mass or bone.

Only then did Harry notice that he was bleeding from his face and arms, as was Marcus. He looked down at his own body, then at Marcus and shrugged. "I have no idea why I'm bleeding."

Marcus threw his head back and guffawed. Harry joined him a moment later, reveling in the high that came after combat and the joy in finding that they were still alive. Then Marcus pulled out his Portkey and tapped it, murmured something, and tapped it again. "Grab a hold," he instructed. "We should get back under the Durmstrang's wards, just in case."

He leveled his wand. "Accio package!" It shot towards Marcus and he snatched it out of the air at the same time Harry felt the now familiar pull behind his navel.

~ . ~ . ~

"I think the budget can accommodate that," Professor Sirko was saying to two other professors on his finance committee when his body jolted from a shattered Portkey ward. A high-pitched crack that sounded an awful lot like a Muggle .22 pierced the valley.

Sirko shot up out of his chair, wand in hand. The other two other professors in the room joined him, and found themselves staring at two bloodied students with the air of battle magic about them.

"Marcus! Harry! What—"

"Death Eaters," Harry answered.

The Headmaster blurred into action. He yelled out for the head elf and then slammed his hand against a picture of the original Zashtitnik that hung over the low filing cabinets on the back wall.

An elf appeared in front of his desk with a pop.

"Activate the defenses, now!"

The elf Disapparated and almost immediately, a handful of elves appeared outside. New wards screeched into existence and creatures that didn't bear thinking about emerged from hidden places of slumber. Professor Sirko already knew that in every hall, three or four elves stood ready to sound the next alarm and if necessary, throw themselves into battle.

The Hogwarts massacre was not going to be repeated here, not on his watch. He motioned to the other two professors. "Check both of them for Tracing Magic, and be thorough!"

They cast Revealing Charms on Harry and Marcus at the same time that the elf popped back into the office. "We be ready, Headmaster sir."

"Thank you," he replied. "Tell the elves in the hallway outside to expect a group of Aurors to arrive by Portkey." He heard three pair of feet beating a path down the hall and grinned. "And could you open the door before my Head-girl and her two friends rip it from the hinges?"

The elf barely got it open in time. Azzurra shot across the room and into Marcus's arms. "We heard the Portkey ward snap," she said by way of explanation. "And since there were only two idiots off campus tonight, we knew it had to be you."

"There's no Tracing Charms on them," one of the professors announced. "Unless you need us, we need to see to our students."

"I don't, Go!" Sirko glanced towards Harry and noticed that he had his arms around himself and was beginning to shake. Médée and Jaleena stepped over and pulled Harry into their embrace.

Just outside the office, two sets of feet smacked down on the Floor. Then a second, third and fourth set followed. The three Veela in the room went for their wands.

"Stop!" Sirko commanded. He no sooner got the warning out when the image of Marcus, only twenty-five years older, walked through the door.

"Dad!"

His father went to his side. "Marcus, are you okay?"

"I was until this Veela-nut came crashing into me."

Azzurra swatted him on the arm and he grinned, then turned back to his father. "We just had a fun little party, ten Death Eaters and fifteen soul bats to boot."

The older man turned to the Professor. "How many of you were there?"

"Not me," Sirko corrected. He gestured to Harry. "It was the two of them."

The Bulgarian Auror looked at Harry, then back to Sirko. "You're telling me that he and my son fought all of them off, alone?"

"Unless I'm reading the signs wrong, I think they did more than just fight them off." Sirko answered.

"Damn," Marcus's father said, then turned back towards his son. "You're going to Pensieve—"

"PROFESSOR!" Jaleena cried.

Harry had doubled over, his scar ripped apart and the wound pulsating. Purple blood pumped out in beat with his heart and ran down the right side of his face. It wasn't hard to guess what was happening. The Horcrux had responded to whatever place Harry went in his mind to fight the battle, and now, he was paying the cost.

"Take my Floo," Sirko said. "Get Ms. Delacour! Now!"

Jaleena and Médée both started toward the fireplace and away from Harry. He collapsed to the floor, clawing at his head.

"I'll stay!" Médée's panicked voice broke over chaos.

"No," Jaleena yelled back. "You go, French is your mother tongue, and it needs to be explained to Fleur, fast."

Médée acquiesced to the logic, but Harry screamed in pain when she stepped away and she turned back to him.

"Go!" Jaleena commanded her. "I've got him!"

She bowed her head. "Forgive me Jansen, and forgive me Fleur for what I'm about to do." Then she pulled Harry in tight and wrapped him in her arms.

And . . . Oh, right on! Sirko thought. That's exactly how I'd like her bent over my desk. Why haven't I ever thought about getting that lithe little body—

He slammed a hand against something sharp and broke free of the imagery Jaleena was pushing into Harry.

Sirko took a breath, and looked back to notice that Azzurra had joined her next to Harry. Marcus sat behind Azzurra, rubbing small circles in her back to assure her that he was okay with it.

Pictures of Azzurra and Jaleena together weaved their way into Sirko's mind and he raised his hand up again to slam it into something sharp.

"Professor," Marcus's father beckoned from the hallway.

He blinked, then looked back at Harry, realized there wasn't anything he could do for him, and exited his office as fast as possible.

"When you're around Veela, Professor, you should learn to anticipate when they will project their magic," the Bulgarian Auror lectured through a twitching lip. "It's one of the first lessons I teach my Aurors."

"I may have to sit on your class next time."

"That may be wise. Now, I believe we would be better utilized checking out the area where they were attacked, unless you have reason to believe Durmstrang is in imminent danger."

Sirko shook his head. "No, no specific reason, but I wasn't taking chances when they showed up in my office looking like that."

"After what happened in Scotland, no one will fault you for the prudent choice." Marcus's father said. He pulled out five handkerchiefs and laid his wand on them before speaking a spell. Then he passed them out to his Aurors.

Sirko put a second spell on them that would allow them to bypass the ward in an emergency, just as Harry and Marcus had done, then removed another ward that disallowed outward bound Portkeys. A second later, the Aurors were gone.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Fleur lay in her bed asleep, wearing a special Muggle hockey jersey and not much else. A loud pop of Apparition echoed off the walls. Fleur snapped awake and peppered the room with random curses of a semi-painful nature.

"Fleur be stopping that right now!"

She did, mainly out of shock. Froissé never addressed her like that unless. . . She grabbed the little elf. "Take me!"

Froissé Apparated them back to the small sitting room and Médée launched into an explanation before Fleur even realized she was there.

"Wait," Fleur said. "Start again!"

"Marcus and 'Arry fought Death Eaters in Bremen. They're fine, but now the 'Orcrux has been set off, and it's attacking 'Arry. Professor Sirko sent me to get you. We're to go back by Floo straight to his office."

Fleur assumed it worked the same way it did last fall when Harry was injured, grabbed way too much Floo powder, and chucked it into the fireplace. "Special Connection: Durmstrang—Headmaster's office."

As soon as the connection opened, she jumped in and was spit out on the other side, tripping and landing on the carpet next to Harry's other two Veela-chicks. She sat up and looked around to find both Veela pushing images into Harry's mind. The magic in the room was thick, and the air was heavy with pheromones, but it smelled different, a cloying sweetness that didn't belong.

She sniffed again and knew exactly what it was: endorphins. Just how bad was he suffering to push that much into the air?

Fleur crawled over to Harry, sat in front of him, and pulled him into her. She pushed her magic out and as soon it touched Harry, she felt both Azzurra and Jaleena pulling theirs back. She redoubled her efforts and pushed her love out as well, carefully, not wanting to mix it with the other Veelas' magic. Azzurra and Jaleena, along with Médée, moved back behind Fleur, and she felt their magic as it supported her and through her, Harry. It was caring, loving, like what Paige's or Gabrielle's magic would feel like.

Fleur touched Harry's forehead.

"It hurts," his whispered.

She reached deep inside of herself and pushed with all the force and power she had. Harry stiffened in her arms, then began to cry. Fleur dove deeper into her own magic, exploring the sensations and trying to understand what she was picking up from him. The one thing she knew was that the pain she sensed was overwhelming.

There was one way to overcome it, but that meant she had to do something she really didn't want to, and quickly. She sought the strength in her soul, and found it in the answer she gave to a cute little redheaded girl who died to protect the both of them.

Yes, she would be worthy. Yes, she was willing to die for 'Arry, and yes, she was even willing to give up her selfishness that he may survive.

Fleur threw her magic out behind her and embraced the other three Veela, inviting them to come back around the two of them and they did so by instinct, then they also redoubled their efforts to push both images and love into him.

Harry's body jerked. He ground his teeth against the pain and let out a low moan, then clenched his hands into fists, knuckles as white as ivory. A minute later, he slumped against Fleur.

"Mon Amie, how are you feeling now?" she asked.

"A little better," he confessed. "I'm sorry for you having to come here like this."

"No, 'Arry, don't apologize. This is what it means to love, and I will love you the rest of my life."

And hopefully, somewhere in the ever after, a little redhead named Ginny Weasley would agree that she was worthy of loving Harry, and being loved by him.

~ . ~ . ~

An hour and a half later, they were still in the Headmaster's office. The Zashtitnik had returned with a couple of German Aurors and asked for a copy of the memory, which Harry and Marcus both gave.

After a trip to the Pensieve, the German Aurors congratulated them and said that they might be in touch, but the battle was clearly fought in self-defense. About that time Marcus's father, who had finally introduced himself to Harry as Erich Falkenrath, passed on a message from his superiors that Death Eaters had attacked in seven other cities across Europe that evening.

Fleur passed on the message from Uncle Anselme, though it seemed insignificant at this point, then the Zashtitnik team left and the four Veela, plus Professor Sirko, decided to visit the memory in the Pensieve for themselves.

Harry and Marcus sat in the office, waiting for them to reappear. Harry lay his head against the back of the chair and exhaled, then ran the towel over his face again to clean away the remaining blood. He looked down at his clothes and realized that was a lost cause. But why were all of his clothes so bloody? He didn't remember being hit by any curses and there was no way the blood from his scar had reached his socks and shoes, was there?

"You looked confused."

Harry cast a glance at the other wizard. "I'm trying to figure out where the rest of the blood came from."

Marcus snorted. "That's what happens when you wand-block as many curses as you did."

He tried to think back to the battle. "I only remember doing it once, at the beginning."

"Once? Are you serious? You killed one of them with some evil-looking curse, then started laughing and walked down the middle of the friggin' square, wand blocking spells like you were some kind of psychotic god."

Harry shook his head. "I honestly don't remember that. Guess I was a little too focused on my target."

"Yeah well . . . it was probably the most impressive thing I've ever seen, but if you ever do it around me again, I'll curse you myself. I will not be the one that has to tell Fleur you're dead, not to mention Gabrielle and the three Veela currently viewing the memory with your witchfriend. Do you understand me, Herr Potter?"

Harry smiled. Wizards had their own way of telling each other how much they cared, and the feeling was definitely mutual.

"I do, and thanks, KB."

"What?" Marcus asked.

Harry ignored him and wiped his face again, then smiled when he heard Marcus growl at him from across the room.

"Just figure it out?"

"I swear to the gods if you try to hang that on me—" He didn't get chance to finish.

A thoroughly brassed off Azzurra materialized out of the Pensieve, stormed over to Marcus, and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "You're an idiot! A Prat! A stupid child with a wand! You and Harry both! You had the Portkey in your hand. Even after the Dementors, you could have used it to get away. But no, not you! Never you! You stayed there and welcomed the fight, you absolute asshole!" Tears leaked and her hands shook as they held onto his robe.

"It wasn't that easy," Harry cut in.

Azzurra cocked her head and pinned him with an avian glare. "You. Better. Worry. About. Your. Own. Life." She looked past him, and Harry followed to find a pair of eyes attempting to immolate him on the spot.

"Fleur?"

"Don't 'Fleur' her!" Jaleena shouted from her side. He then noticed the two of them holding hands, and wasn't quite sure who was supporting whom. "All four of us—six if you count Gabrielle and their mother—spent five days nursing you back to health only for you to outdo your own stupidity!" Jaleena pointed at Marcus. "And you just had to match his asinine behavior, didn't you, you stupid son of a bitch!"

She turned back to Harry. "This has to at least tie for the most brain-dead wizarding event in the last twenty years."

"Far surpassed," Fleur breathed—her words lacked emotion, and it scared Harry that much more for it.

"I . . ."

"You what!" Médée cut across him. It seemed they were all going to take their shot tonight. "You're stupid idiots, the both of you. But you, Harry, you're a special kind of stupid for what you did. You better be glad you're not my boyfriend, because I'd cut you off for a decade for a stunt like that—walking down the middle of the street. What the . . ."

But Harry could only stare at Fleur as Médée raged on, mesmerized by the cold anger in her eyes. There was something intoxicating about them, almost bedeviling in the power they hinted at—a power over him and him alone. Love. He realized it was an anger born out of love, called into existence because he'd failed her tonight—acted as if his life was his alone to waste, as if she didn't matter. He hung his head, admitted his mistake, and begged her forgiveness.

She knelt and with a fingertip under his chin, lifted his head back up. "I have to be able to trust you, 'Arry. To trust that you aren't going to tempt death to take you away from me every time somebody draws a wand, and trust that you'll make decisions to help you live, rather than help you die."

"I know," he answered. "But it just kind of happened."

She shook her head. "If it was Voldemort, I may have understood. I wouldn't have liked it, but at least I would have understood. But these were just Death Eaters, and you ran off to fight them like you had nothing to lose."

She let her hand drop. "I need to know if that's how you really feel. Do you have nothing to lose by dying?"

He took her hand, touched it to his lips, and closed his eyes as a dull throb pounded on in his head. "I didn't think of it like that. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"You hurt me tonight—" She stopped, then lifted his head with a fingertip again and gazed into his eyes. After a few moments, she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. "But I'll get over it. I'm just scared because I realized how close I came to losing you, and how much it will hurt if I do."

She sat back and smiled at him, her eyes watery. "Then again, maybe you should buy me a chocolate Torsade to make sure I've forgiven you . . . just in case."

He chuckled. "Knowing my luck, maybe that's not such a good idea right now, but I'll keep it in mind."

A little sound of amusement escaped her lips and she rested her forehead lightly against his.

"Fleur?"

"Yes, 'Arry?"

"Maybe I could get you a Koala Bear instead."

"Shut up, Potter!" Marcus said from across the room. "And if I catch you dreaming about my girlfriend tonight after the images she pushed into you, I'll hide your wand and kick your ass Muggle style."

Harry chuckled again.

Jaleena pushed herself away from the desk against on which she was leaning. "Don't worry Marcus, I have a feeling he'll be dreaming about negotiating with all four of us tonight."

Harry groaned and buried his head in Fleur's shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and cackled with the rest of the witches.

"And on that note," Professor Sirko interrupted. "I think it's time to break this up. Harry, we're a few days from spring holidays. Why don't you go back to France with Fleur, just in case you have any more issues with the Horcrux."

"Yes, sir," he answered. The Professor called for a different elf, and a couple of minutes later, all of Harry's possessions were packed in his trunk and sitting before him. Hedwig had just delivered another letter to Fleur earlier that day and was still in the Owlery back in France.

"Ready?" Fleur took some Floo powder and was just about to throw it in into the fireplace when she stopped and looked down at her hand. She cocked her head slightly to the side, then looked back up at Harry. "Take a handful of powder."

He shrugged and did so.

"No wonder you always fall. You only need half that much." She opened her hand to show him the amount, then threw it in and called out her destination, gave him a peck on the lips, grabbed his trunk, and stepped through.

He put half the powder back, then turned around and looked at Marcus, who gave him a faint goodbye nod. They were no longer friends. They had spilled blood together in battle, and that bond always goes deeper than friendship. He felt for his father's ring, still on the chain under his shirt, and nodded back to Marcus with a new understanding of what the rings actually meant to the originally owners. Then he turned to his Veela-chicks.

"You didn't have to," he said just loud enough to hear. "I've know what using your magic like that does to you after you've marked someone else."

Azzurra stepped next to Marcus, who put his arms around her. "Yes, we did. I've told you before that we all care for you."

"Yeah, but, the suffering your magic is going to put you through now . . ."

Azzurra shook her head. "It's not quite the same as if we were using it to lure you into cheating with us on those we've marked, so the emotional backlash will be a little less."

"But still—"

"Quiet, Harry," Marcus said. "Accept their gift for what it is, and stop thinking you're not good enough for it either, or I will beat your ass Muggle-style, okay?"

He nodded, then turned to Jaleena and Médée . "If you want me to send a letter to either of your wizards explaining what happened, just let me know."

"That's okay, but I appreciate it," Jaleena said. "I'll explain it to him and if he has any questions, Marcus can answer them. He and Marcus are close friends."

"The same with mine," Médée added. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Just don't do it again!"

Harry laughed. "I won't, I promise . . . though I did learn one thing."

"Yeah, what's that?" she asked.

"I was right."

Médée tilted her head in confusion and a few locks of hair fell over her face, reminding him of just how sexy the peek-a-boo Veela was. He grinned. "Thanks for the images. You really are too cute with your knees pinned behind your ears."

Médée turned tomato red and Harry let out a whoop amidst the laughter, then threw the powder into the Floo, called out his destination, and stepped through. He came out of the other side without a problem and looked around himself, then hitched a crooked smile and looked up, "Hey! it—"

He was hit square in the chest and almost fell back into the fireplace.

"Gabrielle? Wait, what are you doing home?"

"We made a Floo-call to Beauxbatons as soon as we heard about the attack," Mrs. Delacour answered. "We didn't know what happened and thought the worst." Her voice hitched and she too crossed the room and hugged him.

"Thanks . . . Mum," he answered, and had his breath squeezed out of him in response.

"Is that 'Arry?"

He looked over his newly adopted mum to see Mr. Delacour walking into the room. The older wizard pulled Harry into himself. "Thank God you're okay."

Harry stepped back and let his eyes adjust to the dark room, then he noticed that Danielle was there as well, as was one of the two men Fleur called Uncle; Minister Philippe. When he looked at Fleur, she put his lips next to his ear.

"This is how much you mean to this family." Then, even more quietly, she added, "And how much you have to lose."

Mr. Delacour led him to the couch. "Froissé said that you were in a battle with Death Eaters, but that's all she knew."

"He was."

Professor Sirko walked out of the Floo and held out a vial to Mr. Delacour. "Memories, both of the Death Eater battle, and what happened to Harry in my office after. I thought the Ministry would want the former and you would be interested in the latter."

Then he faced Harry. "Take care of yourself, and I'll see you in a little over a week. Take care of Fleur too, she's very special."

"'Eadmaster," Minister Philippe called before he could get back to the fireplace. "Thank you for providing us with the memory, but if you're free sometime soon, I think we should meet to discuss how Death Eaters found him in the first place."

Professor Sirko drew himself up to his full height. "I would hope, Minister that we are beyond accusations of Durmstrang's associations with Dark Arts and by extension, Death Eaters. I remind you that our last Headmaster died in the battle of Hogwarts right alongside the Headmaster of your own school, as well as Dumbledore.

Minister Philippe inclined his head toward the older wizard. "Forgive me, I did not mean to accuse you of anything. Jacque has spoken highly of both you and your school. I only thought that maybe you would be able to 'elp us understand how your 'Ead boy and 'Arry were found so quickly. I would like to know if that town is a place that students attend often, or if travel to and from your school can be traced. Maybe we can identify a pattern that the Death Eaters found, and if so, make travel for 'Arry and the rest of your students safer. These are the types of questions I 'ope you could work with us to answer."

Professor Sirko glanced down at the floor and scratched the back of his head. "It looks like I've just shoved my foot in my mouth, maybe even up to my knee."

"No apology necessary," Minister Philippe said.

"In that case, how does Saturday evening sound?" Professor Sirko asked. "That is, if we don't make it a formal affair. It is the only weekend in the spring I allow myself to relax with Moose stew and Molson."

Harry noticed a lot of raised eyebrows, as did the professor. "Molson, like all beer, may be an acquired taste, but Moose stew is a gift from the gods. I'll bring a pot and we'll make it a working dinner. We can compare it to your fish stew 'thing' that I hear my students talk about."

Harry bit back his laughter at Fleur's mumbled response to "fish stew thing."

"Why don't we meet here, then?" Mum asked. "I'll take care of the rest of the meal if you'll take care of your . . . offering, Professor."

Harry caught the quick wink Mum gave Fleur and he shook his head. Damn wicked Veela!

Professor Sirko smiled. "Thank you, that's very gracious. I will see you all on Saturday then . . . with my offering." His eyes danced with humor. He tossed the Floo-powder into the fire, called out his office, and disappeared.

---

*An odd fact of history, fortune cookies are actually Japanese, rather than Chinese, and can be found in Japanese literature going back to 1878. Luckily, the article referenced below also referenced Fortune Cookies being found in France – whew! Anyway, for anyone interested in the mysterious past of the Fortune Cookie, check out: Lee, Jennifer B. "Where You Won't Find a Fortune Cookie: In China," The Sarasota Herald-Tribune, Friday, Jan. 18, 2008, Charlotte edition, [accessed 11/28/2012] newspapers?nid=1774&dat=20080118&id=ofQeAAAAIBAJ&sjid=coYEAAAAIBAJ&pg=6416,2304924 It's found on page 2a.