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.

20. The Bottom Rung

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PART III

THE WEAPON

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Chapter Twenty

The Bottom Rung

Fleur heard the door open and shielded her eyes against the light from the corridor. Healer Domenico walked in. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Good, until you showed up."

The Helping-Witch came in behind him and shut the door.

Cheerfulness this early in the morning was just another example of the torture Fleur endured at the hands of these two. It wasn't that Fleur disliked them; in fact, she had grown to admire both, and, she had to admit, the Healer was rather attractive. Okay, very attractive, and he had a pleasant way about him, too.

It was a shame Gabrielle wasn't old enough. He would have been perfect for Susanne, but she seemed to have cared even more for Sirius that she let on. No, what Fleur disliked was that he enjoyed waking her up at the crack of dawn.

The Healer chuckled and pulled up chair to the left of Fleur's bed. "About the same as usual, it seems."

"If you want a different answer, come back when the little hand is on the eight, rather than the six."

The Helping-Witch snorted and covered her mouth. A quick look from the Healer and she tried to fade into the background. It was a difficult chore, considering the austere room.

"I prefer to finish with my grumpy patients first." He smiled and gestured at her leg. "Are you still in pain?"

"A little when I'm exercising."

He glanced at the Helping-Witch. "How far has she progressed that she's still feeling it?"

"We've finished Magical Control and Retraining due to her torpor. For the leg, we're working on stamina over strength at this point."

"How's she doing?"

"I'd put her around ninety percent. She started the last stage a week ago."

The Healer wrote something on the parchment he carried with him. "How does your leg feel now?"

"Fine, at the moment."

He pursed his lips and scribbled a few more lines. "It's progress, at least, and I'm happy with your recovery over all, but I'm not sure why you're still feeling pain. I imagine you know the drill by now?"

Fleur sighed. "Unfortunately."

"Good, I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

She waited until he left, then got up and stripped.

"Comfortable?" asked the Helping-Witch once Fleur was lying down again.

"As much as possible, I guess, though I'm not looking forward to the next few minutes."

"I can't say I blame you, Healer Domenico hates this part too." She waved her wand over Fleur's more private areas. "Obfuscare."

The areas darkened until it looked as though two black sheets lay across her. Two other preparatory charms raised goose bumps on her body.

A soft knock on the door caught Fleur's attention.

"She's ready," the Helping-Witch said and the Healer walked back in. Fleur thought about what the Helping-Witch said and let her empathic abilities loose, curious if she could pick up his dislike.

He settled himself back on the stool and began, passing his wand over her in a slow, methodical sweep, never slowing down or speeding up. "It's uncomfortable lying there so exposed, isn't it?"

"I know the spells block everything, but. . ." Her answer sparked something and she caught the edge of his emotions. "You really don't like doing these, do you?"

He finished the second pass, and then conjured two foot rests. "Can't say that I do, I'd rather stick with Emergency Healing."

"Why's that?"

"Lift your legs, please." He manipulated them into place, bent at a forty-five degree angle and spread farther apart than was comfortable. "I don't like seeing my patients in pain. In Emergency Healing, they come in with pain and we get to alleviate it. Here, I'm the one that causes it as often as not. That, and I despise full body exams; I didn't like them when I was a patient—and I've been one a couple of times—and I don't like them when I'm the Healer, either."

He cast sensitivity charms on his fingertips and rubbed them together. "Okay, same thing as last time: I'm going to check the skin and cut for any dormant necrosis spells that have turned active, then cast another diagnostic charm to assess the wound."

Fleur caught another wave of . . . what? Dislike? No, that was too weak. Revulsion? No, not quite that either. Irritation? That seemed about right. "If you don't like doing this, then why are you still practicing?"

"You're full of questions today, what happened to it being too early in the morning for you?"

She shrugged. "It's your penitence. Your Helping-Witch mentioned something in passing, but I picked up on your emotions this morning, too, so I was curious."

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Veela—empathic, remember?" Or at least she was learning about it.

"Not really," he answered. "You're the third Veela I've seen as a patient in the twenty years I've worked here. We just don't get that many. That's a large reason why we missed your torpor, by the way."

"Paige said she heard someone else mention that as well. Why is that?"

"When was the last time you or another Veela you know was in a hospital?" he asked. "Your physiology is different enough that Veela aren't very prone to injury, and when you do get injured, you're all natural Healers, right?"

"Most of us," she said. "Though not even a Flock Leader could have done what you did."

"I suppose not, but that's kind of the point, the Veela injuries we see are life-threatening and Veela are good at not getting into those situations, or if they do, they come out ahead so they don't end up with some damn fool Healer prodding and poking at the wounds. Speaking of which—" He pressed on the inside of her thigh and she jumped.

"I did warn you," he reminded her, humor danced in his eyes.

She restrained a growl and let herself relax as he worked his fingers over the scar tissue and surrounding area. The tingling sensation his touch caused shot through her body. Over the last few weeks, she'd come to hate that Veela were so tactile—not that the sensations themselves weren't pleasurable—but she'd rather have Harry causing them. Fleur took a deep breath and concentrated on forcing her body to turn them off.

Healer Domenico finished and canceled the sensitivity charms before casting a Cleaning Charm on his hand. "If there's no necrosis by now, I think you're in the clear. Consider yourself lucky."

"Lucky?" Fleur repeated.

"More than you know," he answered. "You were hit with so many spells that it took five days before we could counter them all. At least three were longer acting; brutal, nasty things they were, too."

He cast a different diagnostic charm and watched the colors dance on her skin, then clucked his tongue. "The artery is holding up, but the muscle Leanna had to cut is still a little weak, your pain is probably because of the scar tissue that keeps forming." He grimaced. "Sorry to do this to you, but we have to get rid of it again."

Her stomach turned over. This was not the most enjoyable experience. She shoved the edge of the pillow in her mouth and nodded for him to continue. The spell hit her leg and tears welled up. Fleur crammed the pillow against her face and screamed.

"Fifteen more seconds."

Her back arched off the bed and spots dotted her vision.

"Eight Seconds."

Fleur screamed again.

"Two seconds, one, finished." He canceled the spell and she fell back against the mattress.

"Someday I need to develop a Numbing Charm that won't interfere with that spell." He hit her with a Diagnostic Charm. "Maybe some good news'll make you feel a bit better."

She fought to catch her breath. "That'd be nice."

"I'll shove potions down your throat today and tomorrow, then do another diagnostic next Thursday. If the muscle stays free of scar tissue, I'll let you go home the following day, is that good enough news to make up for abusing you this early in the morning?"

"Home?" Her body tingled for another reason now, hope; hope that she could finally leave and figure out how to track down Harry.

"Absolutely," he answered. "Stay off your feet today, but tomorrow, I want you back with our Physical Healers. Also, I want you to gain at least another eight to ten pounds. Torpor may have saved your life, but your body emerged from it with a vengeance and from what I understand, you were underweight to begin with."

Fleur shrugged again. "I'm eating everything on my plate, including whatever my sister and cousins sneak in."

Healer Domenico lifted her legs from the rests and laid them on the bed, pulled the sheet up over her, then canceled the Obfuscation Spell. "Tell them they don't have to sneak it in, but, if they're bringing anything from Pinot's deli in the magical square, I get first choice."

"You like that place?"

"Yeah, a bit overpriced, but the food's worth it." He got up and walked to the door, motioning the Helping-Witch to follow him. "I'm serious about your weight, if you haven't gained it by the end of June, first of July, I'm readmitting you, understand?"

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

A week later, Gabrielle stepped out of the fireplace into the smaller sitting room and dusted herself off. "Papa? Maman?"

"I'm right here." Papa peaked around the doorway leading to the kitchen. "Your maman's almost finished dressing. How did your lesson go?"

"Fine," she answered, but this wasn't the time for small talk, they had things to do, like bringing her sister home from the hospital! "What's taking her so long?"

Papa shrugged. "You know how she is; everything has to be just right."

"But—" That didn't make sense . . . "Wasn't she already dressed?"

"I was, as a matter of fact." Maman came through the doorway into the sitting room. "But then I decided that I wanted to go on a broom ride."

"I didn't know you had a broom."

Maman grinned. "I don't, that's why I used my husband's."

Gabrielle covered her eyes and blushed. "That's my papa you're talking about!"

"And you're saying that in front of my daughter," Papa added for good measure.

"I know." Maman put a hand on his shoulder to balance herself and pulled on her shoe. She winked at Gabrielle, who was watching through her fingers. "How do you think he became a papa?"

"I. Do. Not. Want. To. Hear. This."

"I thought we were all adults," Maman's smile grew even wider. "Adults talk about these things."

"Not to their children, they don't!" She stomped over to the fireplace, threw in a handful of powder, called out for the hospital, and disappeared.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Fleur was packed and waiting, wondering when her family would show up since the stupid hospital rules wouldn't let her leave on her own. She thought about getting her book out to read, but the door opened and Gabrielle stormed in. Her parents didn't follow.

"Where's Maman and Papa?"

"Some other continent, I hope, far away from here!"

Fleur quirked an eyebrow and patted the mattress next to her. "I know that look. What has our wonderful maman done this time?"

"You don't want to know." Gabrielle hopped up on the bed.

"She has a way of saying things, doesn't she?"

Gabrielle huffed. "I can accept many things. For instance, I'm okay with knowing that we are Veela, and that Maman is older and more experienced. I'm even okay with that fact that we weren't born of a virgin. But I do not want to hear about Papa's broom or that it's the reason Maman had to get dressed twice this morning!" Gabrielle shivered. "I think I'm scarred for life."

Fleur was torn between laughing and feeling sorry for her younger sister. She remembered all too well the things that came out of her mother's beak. "Maybe you could pay a Healer to Obliviate the memory."

Gabrielle bounced a finger off her lips. "You know," she said after a little contemplation, "that's not a bad idea. Have any money I can borrow?"

"I haven't worked a lot this spring," Fleur reminded her. "What happened to all that money you won the night of the party . . . something I still haven't forgotten, by the way!"

"Speaking of which"—Gabrielle took a breath—"I wanted to say sorry."

"For what? I was just teasing."

"For last fall. I was so busy being mad at you that I forgot to be your sister. When we thought that you were, that you had . . . all I could think about was how much I would miss you and how I wouldn't have you anymore, and, and . . . I know I act like a sprite sometimes, but—"

"Sometimes?"

Fleur smirked and Gabrielle's eyes narrowed. "I'm trying to have a bonding moment with you, if you don't mind!"

Fleur's laughter filled the room. "I hope you never change, and I made a lot of mistakes last year, too, including being 'a selfish bitch,' as someone put so eloquently."

"Uh, yeah." Gabrielle frowned. "I should apologize for that, as well."

"Don't, you were right—not that I wanted to hear it, though at least it all ended well enough the night of the Christmas party."

"I'd say. I'd never believe that many cackling hens could be so quiet." Gabrielle tilted her head a little to the side. "Did you really not know he was behind you?"

Fleur shook her head. "Paige and I were in a pretty deep discussion."

"About?"

She smirked. "'Arry, what else? Why do you think I was so shocked when I turned around?"

Her sister giggled. "Not as shocked as when he kissed you."

"You'll never know, but that brings us back to my first question. How much did you make that night?"

"A hundred and thirty galleons give or take a few. I had to wait 'till Christmas to collect most of it."

Fleur's jaw dropped. "You can pay for your own Memory Charm!"

Gabrielle mumbled something and looked away.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Gabby?"

"What?"

"What did you say?"

"Nothing!"

"Gabby!"

She deflated. "I spent it already."

"All of it?" Fleur tried to wrap her head around spending that much money. "What could you have possibly spent that much on?"

Gabrielle handed over her wand. "This."

The first thing Fleur noticed was the surreal quality, there wasn't a visible seam or tool mark to be found on the reddish-brown wand, and that included the four inlaid strips of a light-colored wood that ran down the handle.

"What is it made of?"

"Ironwood, with a Hazel inlay."

"Black Ironwood? Why would—"

"No," Gabrielle interrupted. "Hornbeam, regular Ironwood."

"I guess you're stubborn enough for it. What's in the core?"

"Grandma gave me another Veela hair when I told her what I was doing. It's twisted together with a dragon heartstring."

Fleur laid the wand in her palm and found it superbly balanced, though heavy for her taste, but something niggled at her about the combination. "Ironwood and dragon heartstring; have you mastered the wand yet?"

"Close, but it's been difficult."

"I'm not surprised; it's a very powerful combination." She inspected it again. "Hazel inlay with Veela-hair as a second core, you know what happens when you combine that wood and core, yes? It's the same as Unicorn hair."

"The wand will die when I die, I know. We made sure there was enough Hazelwood to make it happen. It also makes the wand lighter and so I can cast faster. The Veela hair makes for good Healing Charms too." She took the wand back and caressed it. "It fits both my Veela and Human magic, and it'll never work right against me nor can it used for bad when I'm dead."

There was that niggling again. "Why would you be worried about that?"

"It's something anyone should be worried about, isn't it? I thought it was worth the money, anyway."

"I guess." She couldn't put her finger on what was unsettling about the conversation, besides the fact that her little sister was talking wandlore and death, which was disconcerting enough. "Why was it so much?"

"I found out that first wands are subsidized. Second wands can range between forty to sixty Galleons, but Monsieur Ollivander made this one for me from scratch."

"Ollivander? Isn't he the English wand-maker? I remember him from the tournament."

"That's him, and you weren't kidding about his prejudice against Veela hair, either. You should have heard him when Grandma's hair rejected most of the other cores and wood."

Fleur stared at the wand. "What was wrong with your wand? And what is Monsieur Ollivander doing in France?"

"I asked him the same thing. He said the war was getting rough so when his cousin invited him to help with the business here, he jumped at it. As for my wand"—Gabrielle looked away—"I don't know. I needed something that was more in tune with my magic."

The niggling got worse. "Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything?"

Gabrielle plastered an innocent smile on her face. "Because you're afraid of my impish ways?"

She snorted. "Doubt it." She said, then grabbed her sister and started tickling. Gabrielle squealed and slapped at Fleur's hands.

"Ahem," someone said a few minutes later. Maman walked through the doorway, arms folded and wearing a larger than life smile.

One side of Fleur's lips pulled up. "You look . . . freshly plucked. Where's Papa?"

Maman rolled her eyes. "He stopped off to talk to the Healers. Come, grab your things and we'll get him on the way out. I'm sure you're sick of this place by now."

"I have to wait for my Healer to discharge me," Fleur reminded her.

"Then I'll go see where he's at."

They watched her leave, then Gabrielle smirked. "'Freshly plucked?' I'm impressed."

"Thank you. It's a shame you're not a few years older."

"Why's that?"

"Because," Fleur said, her lip twitching. "I think you'd love being plucked by my Healer."

Five minutes later, Maman walked back into the room with the Healer in tow. Fleur glanced at Gabrielle with a raised eyebrow and watched her blush bright pink. Gabrielle excused herself and fled from the room.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

It amazed him how people went about their business in the alley below ignorant that death was so close. He could cast any spell he wanted, kill a third of the people walking by before anyone even knew what was happening. He wouldn't do it, of course; at least not to those who were innocent, though how many people in Knockturn alley could that word be applied to?

Harry adjusted his Invisibility Robe, rearranged himself on the roof, and thought about the last month and a half he spent spying on the Wizarding population—so much for raining blood from the skies upon his enemies, eh? He almost snorted. No, that was still coming, but what he needed were plans to get to Voldemort and that meant he had to start at the bottom and work his way up through his followers.

He took a sip from the bottle of water in his lap and listed off what little he knew: Death Eaters controlled magical Britain except for some small pockets of resistance here and there who were branded as traitors to the magical world; the average wizard or witch didn't like the new situation, but they were too afraid to do anything about it, and with good cause—he'd seen someone branded a trader and led through Hogsmeade, then publicly executed for daring to help a wizard that had fallen under a Death Eater's displeasure; and Voldemort was nowhere to be found, nor were any of his inner-circle. There were still a ton of Death Eaters around, but the higher-ups were playing it smart.

It wasn't enough, which was the reason he was on the roof taking note of people who frequented Borgin and Burkes. It wasn't the type of place nice wizards went for an afternoon of shopping. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like the type of place Death Eaters frequented either, or at least, those that mattered. He did spot a couple that he swore were Crabbe and Goyle entering the store a week ago, and again two days ago, but that was it. He trailed them the second time, hoping that they'd lead to someone more important, but they were a dead-end. Of course, he'd known that since their first year at Hogwarts.

Harry chuckled and took another sip. What bothered him the most was that he still didn't know what he didn't know, and that made anything he did in the future both dangerous and most likely futile. What he needed was a plan of attack, a way to sow discord and fear among the Death Eaters until he could get to Voldemort.

It wasn't much, but at least a vague outline of goals—real goals instead of simple revenge—was a beginning: gain information, create fear, sow discord; that he could do. Of course, with that question answered, two more came up: how long should he remain hidden, and would it be better to let Neville take the credit? He already had a reputation for chaos, but there was the chance that drawing too much attention to Neville would be the same as Harry hitting him with the Killing Curse himself. Plus, if he wanted to sow fear and discord, letting them know that there were two predators rather than one went a lot further toward that particular goal, but not yet. First, he had to gain a little more information, though he couldn't do it passively anymore. He'd learn all that he was going to learn that way.

Harry finished off the water and banished the bottle with a silent spell, then looked at the sun's position and judged the time. If he were honest with himself, his first target was inside those doors across the street. She wasn't a Death Eater, at least, he didn't think she was, but that didn't mean she wasn't helping. Whatever she knew would help him firm up his plans.

Another thirty minutes passed before the witch in question flipped the store's sign to closed. Harry crab-walked to the backside edge of the roof and dropped down to a cement box that housed a skip.

Why would a magical shop have a skip? Did certain things resist being banished?

He put that thought away for later and made sure he was covered by his robe, then lowered himself to the ground and slid along the back wall of the building until he reached the opening between it and the next building. It was just wide enough for him to walk through.

The alley wasn't busy, but there were still enough people in it that he needed to be careful not to bump anyone. He started across when a cat hissed in his direction. He froze, staring at the cat and wondering if it was Professor McGonagall, but the markings were wrong. Harry's heart thumped in his chest. He didn't want to move, but at any moment, someone was liable to bump into him. The cat turned its back to him and walked off. He couldn't help but think of the irony, that stupid cat looked just liked Mrs. Norris.

A ragged witch that he'd seen selling heads of Muggles passed him to his right. He wondered again where she got them, but realized about the time that he was at the front door of Borgin and Burkes that he was better off not knowing.

He also would have been better off knowing that the door was locked before he made it this far. Damn, how could he forget something as simple as that? Harry assessed his options and gave it up for a loss until he noticed the Muggle-head witch walking back up the street, mumbling about something. Whatever the subject was, it had her wound up tight.

Perfect.

A spell shot from under his robe and hit a half-rotten sirrush liver, which in turn, rocketed off the vendor's table and hit the old witch in the back of her head. She spun around faster than Harry thought possible and hexed the closest person standing next to her, which just happened to be a middle-aged hag who drew her wand.

Whatever spell she cast caused the old witch's face to bubble up with warts and the fight was on. People poured out of the shops to watch. Harry had to admit this fight was better than the one yesterday, or the two the day before, all three of which were started by the same cantankerous old witch.

The door opened and Pansy Parkinson stepped out to watch. Up close, Harry almost missed the girl. The last year had been good to her; she'd grown out of her pug nose and short blonde hair. The pleasant smile she sported helped tremendously. He felt guilty for what he was about to do, but then again, chances were she was the same sycophant Malfoy bitch-toy she always was, or maybe Malfoy passed her on to Crabbe and Goyle?

He cursed himself for the picture that thought painted in his brain and slipped into the shop. Pansy walked back in a few minutes later and a tall, middle-aged man with graying hair followed her. She stopped him in the doorway.

"What do you want?"

He peered over her shoulder at the merchandise on the shelves. "I was coming in to look around."

"We're closed." She gestured toward the sign in the window. "The store will open again tomorrow morning at nine."

"I'll just be a minute."

"You'll be less than that." Pansy slammed the door in the man's face, locked it, then cast a spell to keep it that way and made her way back behind the counter. She sat on a stool and picked up a handful of receipts from the glass showcase behind her.

Harry put some distance between them so he could sidestep any spell she might cast—Invisibility cloak or not, he wasn't taking a chance—and interrupted her afternoon. "Rather rude to your customers, aren't you?"

Pansy fell off her stool and receipts fluttered through the air. He had to give her credit for coming back up, wand out, as quickly as she did, but he couldn't allow her to keep it. Harry cast a non-verbal Disarming Spell and her wand sailed through the air. A quick double motion, down and up, resulted in a cutting curse that sliced it in two.

Pansy backed up into the showcase and yelped, yanking her arm away from a brooch that sat on the edge. The smell of burnt fabric and flesh permeated the air.

"It's not so nice when your toys turn against you, is it?"

She ignored him and came around the front case with a walking stick in hand, holding it like a beater's bat. "Show yourself; I'm warning you!"

"Or what?"

Pansy moved to her left, one slow step at a time towards the door. Harry gave her a few more seconds before winding her up some more. "Put the stick down."

She bolted for the door instead, but with a slash and twist of his wand, Harry threw her back across the room and she landed in a heap against the back wall. He waved it again and the black curtains that hung against the windows closed off the view from the street.

"Wha . . . what are you going to do to me?"

"Guess."

She trembled. "No! Please don't!"

"Don't what?" he asked, wondering what she thought he'd do.

"Don't rape me!"

Harry stopped. Rape? Why would she think . . .? His blood ran cold. They couldn't be doing that, could they? Yeah, they could, and would. Madame Bones even warned Fleur about it last summer. "Is that what your Death Eater friends do for fun? Do they come in after their finished and brag about their conquests? Maybe you enjoy listening to them, yes, even laugh when they tell you how the little girls begged them to stop?"

She pushed herself against the wall and pulled her knees up to her chest. "I—I don't laugh!"

A second chill ran down his spine. She didn't deny the rapes, the sick bastards.

"Please, you can take anything in the store, just don't . . . not me!" she continued.

"Then who?" His stomach revolted at the thought, but if she was this afraid, maybe he could get her to talk. "You're the only one here. Sorry, Pansy, but it's been too long since I've had a little flesh."

She stood on shaky legs. "I, there's a store across the street, the keeper's daughter is there. I, I could help you."

He knew who she was talking about, he'd seen the little girl many times playing behind store he was perched on, she was a cute little brunette with pigtails and a cheery smile. He seethed with anger. "You offer up a ten-year-old to be raped?"

"Better her than me!" she yelled back. "Her mother's a Mudblood so it doesn't matter any—"

"You disgusting bitch!" He flung his cloak off and backhanded her. She spun around once and dropped to the floor.

He swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat.

She pushed herself back up and turned to him, her eyes blazing with hate. "Potter?"

"He's dead."

She glanced at his scar. "Then, who are you?"

"The bastard that killed him."

That confused her, but only for a moment before her entire demeanor changed back to the arrogant Slytherin he remembered at Hogwarts. "That's funny, because I thought you were the same pathetic orphan that couldn't rate better friends than a Weasley and a Mudblood, need help casting spells now that Granger's dead?"

She closed the distance between them, the fear in her eyes dissipating with every step. "I'd say get the blood-traitor to help you, but he's dead to, isn't he? Poor potty Potter—"

Harry hit her with a Stinging Jinx to shut her up, then banished all but her bra and knickers. After that, he cast a Sticking Charm on the wall, picked her up, and slammed her against it.

"Get your hands off me!"

He aimed his wand and drew down his magic. The silent Reducto Curse slammed into her solar plexus and she gasped for air.

"You will speak when I ask a question," he said. "Other than that, shut the hell up." He grabbed her wrist and twisted, and she grunted from the pain of the sticking charm that ripped at her flesh, but there was no Dark Mark. Not that he expected it to be there, but it still made it more difficult to know where the line was that he shouldn't cross.

Then again, she didn't know that, did she? He conjured a chair and got comfortable. "I have a few questions for you, Parkinson, and I suggest you answer them honestly."

"Get bent!"

She was either stupidly brave or bravely stupid, Harry wasn't sure, yet, though he was leaning towards the latter. He leveled his wand and the front of her knickers slid down an inch. "Keep it up and you'll be feeling my snake."

"Go to hell!"

"You're making this hard on yourself, aren't you?" His wand came up and her knickers slid down again, stopping just before she was exposed to the world. "That was your last chance. I want the names of the Death Eaters that visited you the other day."

She sneered. "You're filling some kind of perverted fantasy, aren't you?"

"Fantasy? You?" He laughed at the thought. "Don't flatter yourself."

Her sneer froze in place. "Then, what's with all this?"

"Humiliation." He stood up. "Or maybe I wanted a better view of your skin sloughing off if you don't start answering me; tell me about the Death Eaters."

Her eyes went wide and he figured that she was beginning to understand. He wasn't the same Harry Potter she knew at Hogwarts. "Mr. Crabbe, Vinny's father. I have no idea who the other wizard is."

"And what do they want?"

"Nothing, they just come to see if there are any new dark items for sale.

"Pansy"—Harry shook his head—"I don't believe you. Dilatio Serpensortia."

A spout of light hit her about two inches below her navel. She winced, then snorted at the lack of pain, somehow gaining courage from it. "What's wrong, screw up the spell since that Mudblood isn't here to help—" Her eyes went wide when she sensed something was wrong and looked down at her distended stomach.

"What . . . ?"

Harry hit her with a Silencing Spell. "Congratulations, snake, you're pregnant with your own kind. A word of advice, Pit Vipers do not like to be startled."

The blood drained from her face and upper torso.

"If you're good, I'll make it disappear when we're done. If not, well, enjoy giving birth. Now, let's try this again: why was Crabbe coming to the store?" He released the Silencing spell.

"Information is p-p-passed between him and others who aren't Death Eaters. Please . . . make it go away."

Harry watched the Slytherin mask fall away and the real Pansy, the scared little girl who hid behind it, come out. He ignored the pity he felt for her, along with the disgust he was beginning to feel for himself. "Who are the messages for?"

Her eyes went wide when a slight bulge appeared where the viper had adjusted itself. "M-m-mainly low-level workers in the Ministry, th-there's one or two that are higher, please, get this out of me."

He shook his head both in answer to her, and in frustration, it didn't make sense. "If Riddle already controls the Ministry, why does he need to use you?"

"Who's Riddle?"

Harry raised his wand.

"Please, I don't know that name!" Tears leaked from her eyes. "I promise I don't!"

She couldn't know, either, Harry realized. The Wizarding World was clueless about his identity. "Tom Riddle is Voldemort's real name. Why is he passing messages through you?"

"No one ever told me. . . Draco mentioned that it would keep me safe, but he stopped coming around six months ago. I hardly see him anymore."

"So why not just leave?" Harry asked.

"If I leave, they'll track me down and kill me."

She was right, too. He shrugged. "You should've thought about that before you chose sides. What are the messages about?"

A whimper escaped her throat. "I haven't seen any of them, but last winter someone handed off a large envelope, big enough to hold pictures. The next day, three people disappeared from the Ministry."

Did Riddle keep a back door line of communication open for those he could trust—well, whatever passed for trust with him—in the Ministry? Anyone stupid enough to be caught planning against him would disappear, nice and silent. It was brilliant—if he were honest with himself—after all, that's what he was planning to do. Another idea popped into his head. Why not start with those that worked at the ministry? If nothing else, he might be able to co-opt a few of them, all he needed was a few names and faces.

Thankfully, he picked up some of Voldemort's Legilimency ability, though it wasn't enough to be considered anything near proficient. He hoped that, paired with the little bit of training he received at Durmstrang, would at least enable him to get to her surface thoughts, though he'd need her help, and he doubted she'd give it to him willingly.

Well, fear had worked so far. "I think I need those memories, so this is going to hurt. I've just learned Legilimency and the more you fight, the more damage I'll end up doing, do try to hold still and be quiet so you don't disturb the viper."

"Wait!" The rims of her eyes were puffy and red at this point. "We have a broken Pensieve in the back; it'll work for a few minutes per memory. I'll give you all of mine and the Pensieve as well."

Harry made a show of thinking about it, then shook his head. "How do I know it's not cursed, or maybe there's a tracking charm on it? No thanks." He raised his wand.

"Harry, please! I beg you, don't."

"Begging never helps, trust me. Now push them to the front of your mind and maybe this won't be as painful . . . Legilimency!"

An odd sensation flowed through his magic. It felt like his brain was watching television, but the antennas weren't situated right; the picture was hazy and jumped about and voices came and went, not to mention that everything was tinged with Pansy's emotions, which he didn't care for in the least. When the last of it faded, he ended the spell.

She was crying again. "The . . . the Harry I knew at Hogwarts would have never done this."

He stepped close enough that he could feel her body heat. "You never knew that Harry, and you sure as hell don't know me."

Pansy took a ragged breath. "But, aren't you the same?"

"You don't listen, do you? We couldn't be more different; he cared about people, about friends. He was a pathetic tosser."

"And you?"

Harry glared at her. How in the hell did a Legilimency Spell turn her into a bloody conversationalist?

"What do you care about?" she pressed.

"Death."

What little color she had left drained from her face and neck, but Harry was too busy trying to figure out what she was up to.

A scraping noise from the back room, followed by a door closing answered his question. "Pansy—"

"Blaise! Help!"

Harry hit her again with Silencing Charm, but it was too late. Blaise Zambini emerged from the doorway that led to the back room, his wand already twisting. Harry ducked the first spell and sidestepped a second, then cast three stunners that slammed into a Shield Charm. Zambini dropped it and started on another curse, but Harry hit him with a Summoning Spell, then stepped out the way and flicked his wand.

Zambini collided with the glass counter headfirst and Harry followed on, driving off one leg and connecting with the other against Zambini's back, just below the neck. It snapped and his body went limp.

He spun back toward Pansy. "You need to die!"

She trembled against the wall.

Harry made his next words as cold as possible. "You have one chance to get this right. You will tell me everything you know: what is Voldemort doing, who are his Death Eaters, who are they allied with, what are their plans, and anything else that you can think of." He cast another spell on her stomach. "That viper is going to wake up in ninety seconds, brassed off and hungry. Start talking."

And talk she did. If the situation were different, he would have been amazed at how much someone could say in such a short period, and by the wild look in her eyes and the tears that poured, he had no doubts that he'd broken her. She spewed everything she knew, but it wasn't much. One thing did sound promising however, a few Death Eaters met together now and then in a rented space around the corner. He decided that he might have to pay them a visit.

Pansy finished talking about three minutes later and he banished the snake, then canceled the spell that held her against the wall. He hit her with a Memory Charm, then left by the same door Zambini had used, and Apparated to a small cave on the western edge of Wales. He cast the necessary charms and wards and then sank to the dirt floor; his body shaking in the aftermath of what he had just done.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Fleur leaned on her desk chair for a second to get her breath, then collapsed on her bed. Sweat poured from her body as it did every day during her afternoon run—or morning and evening runs as well—since she came home three weeks ago. At least her leg was stronger, but her endurance still wasn't where she wanted it to be.

Someone knocked at the bedroom door, but she didn't have the energy to go open it. Instead, she propped herself up on her elbows. "Come in." She waited to see who it was before flopping down on the mattress and asking, "Done with Gabrielle's lesson already?"

"Just finished," Médée answered. "Enjoy your run?"

"Not really."

"You look exhausted."

"Somewhat."

Médée studied her for a moment. "How's your leg feeling?"

"Okay."

"Always this talkative?"

"No."

The other Veela shut the door behind her and sat next to Fleur. "You're still not sure about me, are you?"

Fleur gave her a half-smile. "I'm working on it, but I'm still a little jealous of 'Arry's Veela-chicks."

"And yet, you have no problem with Azzurra or Jaleena."

"True." She sat up, snagged a towel off the back of the chair and wiped herself off, then decided to be honest with Médée. "There was a lot of flirting and sexual tension between 'Arry and you—" She held up her hand. "It was all innocent, I know, and I believe you."

"Then . . . why . . . ? I'll apologize if you'd like, but I'm not sure that's what you're looking for."

Fleur slumped. "No, I'm not, it's just me. Deep down, it seems I'm just a shallow, bitter harpy."

Médée's laughter wasn't what she expected. "Maybe 'Arry has a thing for bitter Harpies then, and here I thought it was because we were both French."

Despite herself, Fleur cracked a smile. "We're Veela, not French, and the better for it, too."

"True," Médée said. "Maybe if I explain what why I was doing what I was doing, it'll help."

Fleur nodded for her to go on.

"The day 'Arry showed up at Durmstrang, we were pretty impressed that he could break the Veela attraction, especially with three of us in the room with him, but he was as naive as he was innocent, and in a school full of Veela, let alone a world of blood-sucking witches, that's dangerous for someone like him.

"On top of that, Professor Sirko told us that we needed to help him learn how to think on his feet in ways that didn't involve a wand. So, I decided that if a fifteen-year-old can handle being teased by a fully mature Veela, he'd be set for whatever else he encountered. We had a feeling part of that would be dealing with the Zekānōt at some point, since any Veela that he was involved with would come to their attention quickly, even if her last name wasn't Delacour."

"I suppose I have you to thank for his courage over Christmas."

"Maybe," Médée answered. "But I'd prefer to think he just recognized how much you cared for him and acted accordingly, just like you did in the Professor's office this spring."

Fleur thought about that for a moment. "Speaking of which, what the three of you did that night, it was the most unselfish thing I've ever seen. Azzurra told me how bad the three of you suffered."

Médée shook her head. "And you're inviting us back around him was what, a personal fantasy? If you want to talk about unselfish, look in the mirror. I'm not sure I would've done what you did, no matter how bad my boyfriend was suffering, and I've been friends with Azzurra and Jaleena for years."

"The three of you really did grow to love him, didn't you?"

"Am I going to get in trouble if I say yes?"

Fleur rolled her eyes again, but this time it was accompanied with a smile. She stood up and peeled off her t-shirt before looking back over her shoulder. "Modesty issues?"

"Not unless you have different parts that me."

Fleur pulled off her sweaty clothes and tossed them in a hamper, then cast a Cleaning Charm on herself. "By the way, I think 'Arry really enjoyed the images you all pushed into him."

"Oh?" Médée said. "Why is that?"

"I slept in his bed that night in case the 'Orcrux acted up again. He um, took a very long shower before climbing in. I guess he forgot about a Veela's sense of smell."

"And how do you know he wasn't just thinking about you?"

Fleur slipped on knickers and a bra. "Because despite everything else, he's still a teenage wizard, and they do tend to think with their wands."

Médée chuckled, but her eyes settled on Fleur's scar and she drew silent.

"Pretty ugly, isn't it?" Fleur asked.

"Looks like it hurt."

"Not that much, then again I was unconscious most of the time, the healing, however . . ."

"Can be right painful." She crossed her arms. "What happened to the Healers telling you to gain weight?"

"I'm eating five times a day, but I can't seem to gain more than a pound. Maman took me back last week and they ran tests, but they couldn't find any lingering curses."

"How much are you exercising?"

"I'm running three times a day," Fleur said, "two miles each, plus strengthening work for my leg on top of practicing spells."

"Why are you pushing yourself that hard?"

"Azzurra didn't tell you?"

"Nope," Médée answered. "She's good at keeping confidences."

Fleur finished getting dressed. "As soon as I'm strong enough, and can figure out how to find 'Arry, I'm headed back to England."

Médée caught her breath. "And if you run into a Death Eater?"

"Don't know, I'll have to find out when it happens, I guess."

"I have a better idea." Médée got up and headed out the door.

"Where are you—" Fleur started, but she was already gone.

Fleur finish getting dressed and put her towel away. She was in the process of putting her hair in a ponytail when there was another knock on her door.

"It's still open."

Gabrielle stomped in. "Why are you going to Durmstrang?"

"What?"

"Do you need me to speak slower?"

"I, I have no idea what you're talking about," Fleur said.

"Then why did I just hear Médée talking to Professor Sirko and Markus in the Floo?"

"I don't know." Fleur grabbed her wand from the bed, slid it into her pocket, and walked out with Gabrielle in tow.

Médée met her halfway down the hall. "Do you have plans for, oh, say, the next three weeks, or so?"

"Not really," she answered. "I missed too much time at the Ministry and Papa had to hire someone else while I was gone. Why?"

Médée glanced at Gabrielle, then back at her and Fleur caught her meaning. "Gabby, can you give us a couple of minutes?"

"No." Gabrielle glared at the both of them. "You're taking me, so I might as well be here to listen."

The two older Veela looked at each other again.

"I'm not stupid," Gabrielle continued. "You're going up to Durmstrang so you can practice with Markus and the others, right? If what Papa is saying is true, I might as well go too since the war'll be over here before long."

Fleur's jaw snapped shut with an audible click: the wand, the practice, excelling in any kind of offensive spell casting; Gabrielle was getting ready to fight, and the worst part was, there wasn't a thing Fleur could say about it. From what she saw at Hogwarts, it'd be foolish not to be prepared. A picture of Gabby's broken body lying next to the redheaded family forced its way into Fleur's mind, and a lump formed in her throat.

"I appreciate the offer, and training with Markus and the others is tempting, but I can get Papa and Uncle Philippe to duel with me." And keep Gabrielle from getting involved. It was a stupid hope, but that image was too much to bear.

"Maybe," Médée temporized. "But Professor Sorina can help re-train your Veela magic as well after your torpor. Azzurra said the Healers had no idea about that, and some of the Zashtitnik are also into fitness, maybe they can help you balance training and weight gain. Professor Sirko figures the two of you are a package deal, anyway, so he already assumed Gabrielle would be coming with you. It's just until exams and we can continue with her studies. She'll attend classes for the subjects your cousins taught."

There was no way they just set that up in the time it took to Floo the school. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Since you came home, but it wouldn't have been worthwhile until you got your stamina back."

"Please?" Gabrielle asked. "After school's out, who knows where they'll all go. This might be the last chance I have to see everyone."

"Where you in on this?"

"Of course."

That was a stupid question. Why do I feel like all four . . . Markus and the Professor make six, of them are ganging up on me?

Because they worry about you, a voice in the back of her head reminded her.

She decided to listen to that voice. "Are you sure you want to go back?" Fleur asked her sister. "You were there a lot more than I was last semester. It won't be the same without 'Arry, and it won't be easy, either."

"I love him, but my world doesn't revolve around 'Arry," Gabrielle answered. "I'll get over it."

Fleur sighed. As bad as that image had shaken her, leaving Gabrielle untrained would do nothing to make it any less of a possibility. "I guess we're going to Durmstrang."

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

"What's wrong, Markus? Pretty Veela caught your eye?" Azzurra asked two days later.

Markus canceled the spell and came back at Fleur with a series of nasty hammering curses. She sidestepped the first two and shielded against the third, then launched an orange curse known as a Walk-About. It hit the floor of the training room and exploded in twenty different directions, taking his legs out from under him, or it would have, if he hadn't been ready for it.

Damn, Fleur thought when he timed his jump and followed up with a shield to protect himself. She was about to go on the offensive again when everything went black.

"Are you okay?"

She opened her eyes to see Professor Sirko smiling down at her, along with Gabrielle, Azzurra, and Markus. "What happened?"

"My boyfriend conjured a boulder over your head and dropped it."

The Professor chuckled at the dirty look Fleur gave Markus. "The dueling wards took care of it, you got stunned instead. After the snake Harry cast last fall, we made some improvements so there'd be no accidents.

Markus offered her a hand. "You almost got me that time. I keep forgetting that you've had real-life experience. It changes how a person fights."

"How's that?" Gabrielle asked.

"First," Professor Sirko cut in, "they know that you can't cast and watch. You always have to be moving, make fluid transitions from offensive to defensive and back to offensive spells."

"You can't hold back, either," Markus continued. "The spells have to be decisive and powerful, and to hell with decorum or worrying about whether the spell is acceptable in polite society."

She hadn't thought about it like that, but sure enough, that was how she fought every time she'd been in the middle of a battle.

Gabrielle pursed her lips and listened until they finished explaining. "So, when is it my turn?"

Markus looked to Fleur.

She shrugged. "She's of age."

Markus nodded and stepped back to his place. "How much training have you had?"

"The usual," Gabrielle said.

Fleur tried not to laugh. The usual didn't involve a dueling club or a hundred and thirty Galleon custom-made wand that she watched the little Imp master over the last three weeks.

"Ready?" Markus asked. "I'll go a slow so you can follow along, then I'll start casting harder and faster to see how good you are, okay?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Sure."

The way the word rolled off her tongue made Fleur groan. Azzurra and Professor Sirko both looked at her. "I know that voice."

Before she could say anything else, Markus hit Gabrielle in the stomach with a light Stinging Jinx. She doubled over and started crying.

"I'm sorry!" Markus was halfway across the gym when Gabrielle jumped to her feet and drove her Veela magic into him. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees, his eyes enraged with lust. She hit him with a stunner and knocked him out.

"How was that?" she asked.

"Not funny!" Fleur jumped off the bench and headed toward Markus, the others followed.

"What did I do wrong?"

Fleur huffed. "Cast the Rennervate spell and wake him up."

Markus shook the cobwebs out from his head. "What. The. Hell. Was. That?"

"A little Veela power," Gabrielle answered. "You said 'to hell with decorum,' so . . ."

Markus turned bright red and cursed under his breath. Azzurra made that cute little noise in the back of her throat that Fleur remembered Harry talking about, then wrapped her arms around Markus. "Do you need some alone time now to ah, work out your issues?"

"Very funny," he pulled away from her and walked back to the lockers.

Azzurra's eyes widened and she bit her lip in surprise at his reaction.

"Let me," Fleur said. She caught a little of the emotion that rushed through him and wanted to make sure he knew it wasn't his fault.

She made her way him. "You okay?"

He shook his head. "Before dating Azzurra, I had a reputation of, um . . . not respecting the boundaries of my relationships."

"Cheating?" Fleur clarified.

"Yeah, that too." He took a drink from the bottle of water that sat in his locker. "And that was just the tip of the wand. I wasn't a nice person. Anyway, I've changed, but when I started dating Azzurra, she warned me that it'd take just one time, I didn't even have to do anything, it just had to look bad, and it would be over."

"Just how bad—" Fleur covered her mouth with a hand and gave a little blush at her faux pas. "Never mind, that's none of my business."

"That's okay; I was bad enough that I'm glad I'm not him anymore."

Fleur pulled a chair up next to his locker. "You must have liked Azzurra a lot."

"I did, but I already decided to be different before we started dating."

"That's a hard journey to walk, I've had similar experiences."

Markus snorted. "I doubt it. In my sixth year I was juggling two witches, even playing them off each other. I bragged about it one night just before the end of the fall term. Viktor got so mad he climbed out of bed, crossed the room, then picked me up by my robes and slammed against the wall.

"He told me that one of the witches was twisted up so tight that she was having problems with accidental magic again. That morning, she shattered an entire row of mirrors in the bathroom and sent a room full of witches to the Healer, some of them with serious wounds. Jaleena was one of them, though she wasn't hurt that bad. The witch left school the next day and never came back, too ashamed, I guess.

"Viktor and I were best friends, but he loved Jaleena. A strange relationship, that one, I think the only reason they didn't date was that they were distantly related and Veela have to be very careful about that." Markus's breath caught and he blinked a couple of times. Fleur could see the loss of his friend still weighing on him. "He didn't speak to me for the next week or through that Christmas break. That's when I realized how much of a Giftzwerg I'd become."

"Giftzwerg?"

"Bastard."

"Ahh," Fleur said. "And then after all that, Gabby. . ."

"Yeah, and she's what, fourteen?"

"Almost fifteen," Fleur corrected, "but you shouldn't feel guilty about her age, she's a full Veela adult, nor seeing what you did since she's the one that pushed the images."

A pained smile creased his lips. "I noticed."

She took him by the hand. It felt strange, but also right, as if her Veela nature was guiding her in the exact right way to comfort him. "At least you have blackmail material on my sister now; I may have to buy those memories off you, just in case."

He laughed. "She's definitely a wicked little thing, isn't she?"

"That she is, and I'm not too happy with her at the moment. Using her magic to turn your sexuality against you like that when her life isn't being threatened is borderline criminal. She and I are going to have a serious talk."

"Don't get too mad at her, I'm the idiot that just told her not to worry about what spells she cast."

The doors to the training room opened and Professor Sorina walked in, followed by Petra. Fleur made her way back to the group still holding Markus's hand, and placed it in Azzurra's.

The newcomers joined the circle. "How are you feeling?" Petra asked Fleur.

"Good, I didn't expect to see you here."

"I have to make sure the French Veela aren't corrupting my god-daughter, don't I."

Azzurra cuffed her on the arm. "Petra comes by about this time every year to give a two-day lecture in Professor Sorina's Veela class."

"Since when do you like to ruin my fun?" Petra asked. She turned toward Gabrielle. "You're Fleur's sister, right?"

"Cheating little monster of a sister is more like it," Fleur cut in.

Gabrielle shot Fleur an annoyed look. "I didn't mean it. I mean, I meant to do it, but, I uh, didn't think about the results, or what his thoughts would be with that much magic." She looked at Markus. "I'm sorry. Azzurra explained to me the consequences of pushing that much magic out, I didn't intend for you to um, to think about . . ." Her face grew beat red.

Professor Sorina scowled. "Wait a minute, are you telling that you took control of Markus through Veela magic?"

Gabrielle looked all of five years old at that moment. "Y-yes."

Fleur could see the tears forming and took mercy on her. "Professor, I know Maman and Grandma have tried to explain our heritage, but it's been hit and miss, I couldn't begin to tell you how upside-down our lives have been over the last few months."

Professor Sirko and she communicated through a couple glances and shoulder shrugs. "In that case," she said. "I think Gabrielle will attend my class the rest of this year. My level ones have just started the practical lessons, so it should be just about right for you."

"I think that would be a good idea," Gabrielle said, still red-cheeked. "Thank you."

Petra cleared her throat. "Now that's settled, whose turn was it to duel?"

"We were just finishing," Markus said.

"That's a shame. I haven't had a good duel in quite some time." She grinned. "Anyone want to take me on? Professor?"

Professor Sirko rolled his wand across his fingertips. "I have wondered how well I'd do against a member of the Zekānōt, and I doubt I'd ever get the chance again." He grinned. "What are the rules?"

"Is this a standard dueling ward?"

"Even better, they're competition wards," he answered.

"Then no hand-to-hand fighting, or claw-to-hand, as the case may be, other than that. . . ."

"I'm okay with that," the Professor said. "But no Veela magic, either. I'm too old and those images would probably give me a heart attack, anyway."

"Oh please," Petra teased, "don't play up the 'old man' role, I know how good you are at dueling."

"Me?" he asked. "I would never!" He turned to the rest of them in the room. "You're about to get a real treat. There aren't many who can claim to have seen a member of the Zekānōt fight. Markus, time me and see how long I last. If you're taking bets, place mine at forty-five seconds."

"That's it?" Markus asked. "I've seen you fight before."

"Not against a Flock Leader." He took his place and bowed. "Thank you for the privilege."

Petra giggled. "You're welcome."

Fleur cocked an eyebrow. That was the last thing she expected to hear from someone as majestic as—lesson learned: use everything you have when you're fighting.

That was Fleur's last free thought. A surge of magic ran through her and the hair on her arms stood on end; she barely restrained herself from transforming, but her body hummed, her muscles taut, and her hands tingled even as her eyes locked on to Professor Sirko: the threat, the enemy, the one that must to die when the fighting began—

"Fleur! Gabrielle!"

Both heads snapped toward Azzurra and she hammered on both Delacour sisters with her magic, commanding them to submit. Petra's magic settled behind Azzurra's, willing them to accept the temporary authority. Fleur fought to do so, but only succeeded in shoving her magic down with a much effort. She could feel Gabrielle trying to do the same.

When they both were back under control, Azzurra released them from her magic. "Sorry, but if I didn't, it wouldn't have been pretty."

"What just happened?" Gabrielle asked.

"That's a Veela's response when the Zekānōt go to war." Azzurra looked at Fleur and there was a slight edge to her voice when she continued. "Maybe now you understand one of the reasons my family consistently chooses against it. They'd rather not command Veela to their deaths. I may disagree with my mother's feelings toward the Wizarding world, but at least I can respect their position."

"I think I can too, after that," Fleur answered, still somewhat beside herself. She gazed back up at Petra, who nodded to her in a show of respect.

Then she turned back to the Professor and tittered. "I'm ready," she sang out.

Fleur watched amazed at how the Flock Leader used every element of her being, Veela, witch, and female, as a weapon, to play on the Professor's old-fashioned ideas of chivalry. It was a lesson to remember.

She didn't get a chance to think pursue that thought any further when a light flashed and Professor Sirko's wand appeared. His curses instantly descended upon Petra from multiple angles and she leapt off the floor, now in her warrior form. Large white wings held her aloft and her eyes, the same color as her wings, blazed with no pupil or iris. A thin, white garment covered her body.

Petra pushed herself above the curses and a fireball the size of a Bludger appeared. She hurled it towards the Professor. Fleur watched it double in size, double again, and then double once more before the six-and-a-half-foot inferno engulfed the floor where the Professor was just standing. Petra's wand was in motion, but she stopped.

Where did he go?

A green light shot straight up underneath her and an enraged cry escaped her lips, she rolled to the side and free-fell thirty feet, then spread her wings and righted herself, her wand already conjuring a sandstorm that outlined the Professor about twenty feet away and rendered his Invisibility Spell useless.

Curses of every color lit up the space between them and another fireball streaked across the room, exploding against a newly conjured stone wall.

The Professor brought the wall down and if Fleur didn't know better, she would have thought the next nine seconds of spells were all one continuous cast.

Petra landed and conjured a fire-beast the size of a lion, but sleek and fast like a panther. It raced towards the Professor. He touched his robes with his wand and they glowed blue, then he disappeared, reappearing on the other side of the room, and took aim at the Veela's back.

She rocketed straight up, twisting as she went and released her wand. Petra clenched both hands and dual fireballs raced toward the Professor, each expanding to the size of a small house, and then before Fleur could blink, Petra's wand was somehow in her hand again. Wandless magic? Fleur wondered. Whatever it was, it was downright impressive to do in the middle of a duel.

But the Professor matched her stride for stride. Three quick flicks of the wrist and benches, lockers, and anything else that was loose converged on the Veela. He followed up with another series of curses that looped away from him and came at her from her upper left and right side, boxing her in.

Petra thrust her arms back and a sphere of fire erupted, swallowing up everything in its path except the curses. She elevated over them and surged through the air, working both hands in tandem; fire and curses fell upon the Professor like the punishment of an angry god.

The wards flashed and it all disappeared except for one last ball of fire that she had thrown just as they kicked in. The wards flashed a second time. The fireball disappeared and Petra yelped, her body went rigid and she crashed to the ground.

"Release!" Markus commanded.

Fleur was so caught up in what just happened that she jumped three inches off the bench at the sound of his voice.

The wards obeyed and Petra shook her head, then shifted back into her human form.

"Are you okay?" the Professor asked, lying on the floor trying to catch his breath.

"I am, I was already throwing my last bolide when the wards went off, I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry about," he cut her off. "I'm just glad you didn't get hurt by them. How long did I last?"

"A minute, thirteen seconds," Markus answered.

Petra walked over to the professor and helped him up. "That was the best duel I've had in years. We may have to do this again."

The professor gave her a rueful chuckle. "No, thank you, I'd rather not have nightmares about angels with a fire fetish."

Her lips twitched and she touched his cheek, then she turned to the others. "Markus, would you conjure two wizard replicas, please? And while you're at it, add a few targets around the room."

"Sure," he answered.

Petra walked over and stood in front of Fleur. "There are other ways Veela can fight. Take note."

Fleur felt a surge of magic again and from her peripheral vision, something streaked out from her right. She turned just in time to see Professor Sorina sprinting towards the center, already transformed. She leapt into the air, her wings beating hard to give her extra height.

Petra reappeared from Fleur's left, back in her warrior form. Both Veela descended on the replicas, their claw-like feet caught purchase, ripping the heads clean off the bodies. Professor Sorina landed, her wand out, and one, two, three targets shattered in the space of a second and a half. Petra unfurled her wings and glided back to Fleur, never losing momentum.

She landed and transformed back into her human form. "As I said, in a real war, Veela must use everything we have. That means your intelligence, your magic, your femininity, and your physical strength; a Veela leaves nothing out. Do you understand me, Little Chicken?"

The Flock Leader standing before Fleur radiated majesty and power. "Yes, Madame Albescu."

"Good." Petra shifted to Gabrielle. "And I do mean everything, but that's only when you're battling in a life or death situation."

Gabrielle nodded.

"Then I think I've made my point." She faced Azzurra. "Is dinner at the same time?"

"It is," Azzurra answered. "And thank you."

"You're welcome."

Fleur spun back to face Azzurra. "Did you. . ."

"Markus can't teach you to fight like Veela," Azzurra reminded her. "And I think a few of us want you to stay around for a while." Azzurra glanced at Gabrielle, who was beaming her approval, then took the younger Veela by the hand and led her out through the doors.

"Come on," Markus said. "We might as well follow them to the Dining Hall."

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Apolline checked the clock on her night table before rolling over and tracing her fingers across her husband's chest in the pre-dawn light. "You tossed and turned all night, did you get any sleep?"

"No."

"Why not?" she asked.

He groaned. "I, I don't know what to do."

Her fingers stopped moving. Did she hear him right? She propped herself up on her other elbow. "Jacque?"

"What?" He looked lost, confused. She slid her arms around him. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

In the background, the second-hand ticked fifteen times.

"I found out yesterday that for the last six months, Anselme's been visiting Healers for a degenerative disease. He's been taking potions that, as a side effect, diminish the ability to cast off the Imperius Curse among other things, but nobody bothered telling him."

"How did he find that out?"

"The last few weeks he's been clearing his desk of any remaining work; it was part of the deal the Ministry offered him. Yesterday was supposed to be his last day, so he sat with the Retirement Wizard and went over the few benefits that weren't stripped from him. He asked if his potions would still be covered."

Jacque took a shaky breath. "The Retirement Wizard called the hospital to find out more about what the potions were for and a Potion-Master became suspicious that a Retirement Wizard from the Ministry would be interested in a potion that made people susceptible to influence."

He looked away from her eyes. "Since this all happened, Anselme hasn't been able to afford the full potion treatments over the last few weeks, even with his benefits, so he cut them in half. He spent an hour yesterday throwing off the Imperius Curse left, right, and center. It had nothing to do with his training."

She buried her head in his chest. "What's wrong with our Healers that they keep botching everything up?"

"It does seem like that, doesn't it?" he asked.

She huffed. "So what's going to happen to Anselme?"

"First, I'm going to break his nose again for not telling us he's sick." There was a strange timbre in his voice. "Then, Philippe and I are going to make a few Floo calls and see if we can't get his full retirement restored with back pay."

She pulled back in surprise. "You're not trying to get his job back?"

"No." He rolled over and laid his head on her chest, something he did only in the rarest of occasions. "I'd rather he takes the potion and stop whatever is trying to destroy his body."

"Destroy his . . . he's dying? Jacque, are you telling me that Anselme is dying? No wonder you're so upset!"

"It'll be years, even decades before it takes his life, though he'll most likely lose his magic before that, but I'm more upset that I don't care. I mean . . . I do, but my family was hurt: 'Arry and Fleur almost died, Remus and Sirius did, and who knows how many others; I still feel betrayed by one of my best friends, even though it wasn't his fault."

He rolled over on his back and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. "And yet, if I ignore him, then I'm betraying one of my best friends, I'm doing the one thing that I'm so mad at him for, and this time, there's no excuse."

She ran her hand across his chest again, willing herself to wait silently for her husband to continue, which he finally did.

"And now, both of my daughters are up at Durmstrang, something I am not comfortable with."

"But I thought you trusted Professor Sirko?"

"I do," he reassured her. "But something doesn't feel right and I can't figure out what it is, particularly with Fleur."

"Ahh, I think I know what it is."

"You do?" he asked.

She cuffed him on the shoulder. "Don't look so surprised! You're wife is smarter than you think."

"I never said otherwise. So what am I feeling?"

She frowned. He usually was more playful than this, even in serious conversations. She felt a twinge of pain in her heart for him, realizing just how weighed down he was with everything that was happening around him. "You've seen Fleur pushing her body harder than she ever has before so she can go back to Britain to save 'Arry, and you know that she went to Durmstrang to get help in learning how to do it. You don't like it, because she's your little girl, and it should be you facing the danger, not her. Is that like what you're feeling?"

He grimaced. "Yeah, something exactly like that."

"Just so you know, I don't like it either," she soothed. "But she is Veela, and you know as well as I that when Veela chose to love someone as deeply as she has, there's not much that can stop us."

"I know," he admitted. "And usually, I am overjoyed by that fact, but. . ."

"But now, instead of it being your wife waiting for you to come home from a war, it's your daughter going after someone else in the middle of one."

"Maybe we can chain her down until it's all over."

She couldn't help but smile. "I doubt it'd help. There's nothing we can do, it's the Veela way."

He sighed. "And that is why, for the first time, I wish none of you were Veela."

Apolline drew a finger down the bridge of his nose, not offended in the least. She knew what he meant. "Papa warned you that being a father to Veela was difficult, even more so since you're so protective of your family."

"I know, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No, I'm sure you don't."

He looked at her from the corners of his eyes. "How can you be so calm about this?"

"Because I remember what it was like standing up to Papa and telling him I wasn't going to move in with them for my safety; this was my home, you were my husband, and I was going to wait here until you got home every night so I could take care of you, and that was final. He wasn't too happy about it, either."

Jacque closed his eyes. "I remember you telling me. He didn't even know you were in as much danger as Fleur will be, if not more."

"What do you mean?"

"The Death Eaters weren't happy with you trying to incite your Flock to go to war against them. I also know about the few skirmishes you all got into."

She gasped. "How did—" She stopped and modulated her voice. "Sorry, dramatic Veela genes kicking in. I never told you about that. How did you find out?"

She could see the corners of his lips turning up. It wasn't often he caught her short. "Where do I work, Apolline? Who are my closest friends? Of course I knew, and I was damn proud of you, too, worried and scared to death as well, but you are who you are, I knew that and I loved you for it, still do."

"Then you also understand why Fleur is doing what she has to do. It's what I would have done, though she'll be hundred times better at it."

"I hope so, damn Veela."

"Oh, there are some benefits to being a Veela." She traced a fingernail down his chest, under the covers, and under his boxers, stopping at just the right spot. "If we're not going to go to back to sleep, I have an idea."

He raised an eyebrow and she leaned over and kissed him. "This conversation is just another example of why I love you, and right now, I want to remind you of that."

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Harry leaned against the wall, waiting for the brown-haired wizard with a pencil mustache to exit the Ministry. Twice he thought he had him and followed the wrong person. Not this time though, the wizard walked straight toward him, headed into the alley. He followed. It had to be timed just right.

In the safety of the alley, the wizard turned on the spot and Disapparated, but not before something landed on the back of his neck.

Harry cast a spell on the street and looked for the telltale shimmer that he'd missed, but it wasn't there. Good. If everything went well and the wizard didn't shower until the morning, the miniature Portkey that hitched a ride with him should activate in about nine hours, yanking him out of bed and to the spot where Harry would be waiting.

It was time for the traitor to have a little talk with Death.