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.

22. Vengeance and Veela

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Chapter Twenty-Two

Vengeance and Veela

Markus attempted to shove six years of Auror training into two weeks. Then, he finagled a third week by dueling Fleur every night and defeating her so thoroughly that she was too sore to move the next morning. That changed after breakfast this morning. Fleur, paired with Gabrielle—who was becoming frighteningly good—took on Markus, Ilija, Médée, Jaleena, and Azzurra. In a minute and a half, only the Delacour sisters were standing. Three hours later, Gabrielle was home, and Fleur, along with Azzurra, had set out for the sunlit streets of the Mazkānāka.

As soon as they crossed the ward-line, Fleur took off toward the main building. She almost made it before Azzurra caught up with her. "What are you thinking?" she asked. "If you storm into a Zekānōt council, you're liable to get us both banned, and that's not why I agreed to bring you."

"Then what did you agree to?" Fleur countered. "You knew why I was coming!"

Azzurra poked her in the chest. "You said you wanted to speak with your Flock Leader, not barge into a meeting. There's a difference and don't act like it's lost on you."

"I . . ." Ah, bugger, she was right. Fleur let out a breath in defeat.

"Look, I'll take you to the Entry Chamber, but you have to promise that you'll wait there until you're invited further in. I'm serious about them banning us."

Fleur listened while gazing at the massive birdbath a couple blocks away. Maman had longed to return here, even as she ranted against the Zekānōt's decisions. Now, Fleur understood. A Veela's true home was here, and the wish to reconnect with the Veelas' history grew strong in every witch that shared her heritage. And Azzurra had every right to worry after the way Fleur had been the last few days. "I promise."

"Good. The council building's this way."

They entered a tall, red-roofed building that gleamed white in the Mediterranean sun. "Wait here, I'll fetch my godmother. Tell me your Flock Leader's name, again."

"Anastasie," Fleur said. "And why not your mother? Wait, stupid question."

Azzurra chuckled. "They're not at each other's throats, but they're not exchanging favors, either." She pointed at a couch. "Sit!"

Fleur figured she deserved that after what happened outside, so she made herself comfortable and looked around at the walls—Elazig Cherry marble, according to Petra—that formed the building's interior. They cast a reddish hue about the room.

Fleur couldn't help but wonder if Gabrielle saw the world through a similar color at the moment. She snickered. Thankfully, Gabby couldn't throw fire, or Beauxbatons would've burned to the ground this morning. Fleur hadn't seen a Veela throw a fit like that in years.

"Fleur?"

She rose to her feet and greeted Anastasie. "Thank you for seeing me."

"This is most unusual; I hope you have a good reason for interrupting."

"I do, have you seen any papers over the last few weeks?"

"We've been stuck in marathon sessions here, chirping away about nothing. Why?"

Fleur's throat constricted. "'Arry."

Anastasie's eyes turned moist. "Oh, Fleur, I'm sorry . . ."

"It's not that," Azzurra interrupted. Fleur hadn't noticed that she had returned, but Azzurra and her godmother stood behind Anastasie. "He's fighting back."

Anastasie turned back to Fleur, obviously not understanding the problem.

"Three weeks ago, a giant Death's Head hovered above Diagon Alley with a lightning shaped scar on its forehead."

"So . . . he took your grandmother's advice to heart, right? Good for him, but what does that—"

"No," Fleur interrupted. "I mean yes, he's doing that, but I think the 'Orcrux has taken control of him. Look again at that picture. That's not a similar spell that created that skull, it looks like the exact same one, only modified. Nobody but Death Eaters or Voldemort knows how to cast that spell, right?"

She waited for Anastasie to nod, then continued. "That means he got it from the 'Orcrux. And that is why I can't wait any longer. I need to find him."

Anastasie looked at the picture again. "Who's to say he didn't learn it from a Death Eater that he captured?"

"And how would he have done that?" Fleur asked. "Threats? Torture? My 'Arry doesn't know how to do that, but 'Orcrux 'Arry . . . It amounts to the same thing."

Anastasie continued to stare at Harry's modified version of the skull. Twice, Fleur started tapping her foot against the floor, but caught herself, not wanting to perturb her Flock Leader. "All right, I see your point," she said. "It's an assumption on your part, but it's reasonable, considering the circumstances. That still doesn't explain why you're here, though."

"Because I need your help. I want the Zekānōt and Veela to join with wizards. The Veela will distract the Death Eaters and then the wizards can kill them in one fell swoop. This way, 'Arry can get to Voldemort and kill him and then we can work on getting that thing out of his head. Moreover, it's all legal since the International Federation of Wizards issued the "Execute on Sight" order for all marked Death Eaters, and England's Vulgaire government also signed similar legislation, declaring them terrors, or something like that."

All through her explanation, however, Anastasie's glare grew more avian. "Distract?" she asked, and Fleur's hopes fell. "Let me see if I understand. You, a Delacour, want to waltz into a Zekānōt meeting and ask the heads of every flock in the world to fulfill the worst Veela stereotypes, with the result being a mass slaughter of wizards?"

Fleur squared her shoulders to her Flock Leader. "No, I want to offer the leadership of a once-proud race the chance to be respected for more than shaking their asses at Quidditch matches."

Petra gave a low whistle. "Always the sharp-tongued one, aren't you, Little Chicken? Maybe that's why I like you." She took Fleur's chin in her hand. "You'll be on your own. I won't risk Anastasie's or my place in there."

"I understand."

"Be careful," Anastasie said. "You have no idea of the eggs that's yet to be hatched."

"The eggs . . . wait, that dinner last Christmas . . ."

Anastasie actually smiled. "Yes, she seemed rather forceful about a certain topic or two, didn't she? I've learned to never underestimate Apolline Delacour."

Fleur smiled at her mother's pluck. "Then, she's trying it again, isn't she? The same thing she tried in the last war?"

Azzurra's expression turned befuddled at the cryptic conversation. "What are you all talking about?"

"Nothing," Petra answered before anyone else could say anything. "And forget what you've already heard." The timbre of authority in her voice left Azzurra wide-eyed. "In proper time you'll learn, and I guarantee you'll approve. Is that enough?"

"I, I guess it has to be." She didn't look happy about it, though. "Can I at least attend as a visitor when Fleur addresses the Zekānōt?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Anastasie said. "You might get associated with Fleur just by appearing at the same time."

"She's right," Petra agreed. "But if you're desperate to watch, there's visitor seats in the back. But again, do not draw attention to yourself."

"Thanks." Azzurra took Fleur's hand and squeezed it, then left without another word.

"So what now?" asked Anastasie.

Petra shrugged. The action looked strange coming from her. "After the next vote, I'll ask for an open forum and you can make your introduction, but remember to isolate her. Your place cannot be devalued." She turned back to Fleur. "I can't stress enough that you'll be all alone. Don't make eye contact with either of us after you're introduced, your mother and grandmother have come too far for you to throw everything away now."

"I won't," Fleur promised. "But, when did you decide to fly with our murmuration on this?"

"The night you supposedly died. It devastated your boyfriend, but your sister also crushed him when she pushed him away. I could feel echoes of his emotions from those in your flock when I entered the room, and it made me consider the possibility that wizards just might feel something other than lust for Veela. The Wizarding world still has much to prove before I'll lead my flock to trust them, but I've decided that for your betrothed, at least, I'll do what I can."

Fleur bowed her head in gratitude and Petra laid a hand upon her shoulder in reply, and then returned to the meeting.

"You're not planning on holding back, are you?" Anastasie asked as soon as Petra disappeared through the doors. Fleur could almost detect a hint of amusement. "Remember, we Zekānōt understand respect and passion. You're a Delacour, grandchild of the infamous Flock Leader Anne-Marie Guillory. They'll ignore any respect you show, so that leaves only one option."

"But Petra just said—"

Anastasie raised a hand to stop her. "I'm well aware of that, now let me interpret her words: don't insult for the sake of insulting; but the Zekānōt also needs a well placed kick in the derriere."

The sound of pure crystal, struck with a sharp instrument, rang through the halls. "They're voting. Follow me in and sit in the open seats at the back of the room. Do not draw attention to yourself, don't sit anywhere close to Mademoiselle Sala, and wait until you are recognized by the Zekānōt."

The overwhelming height of the chamber captured her attention first. Its interior was vast, and two and a half stories tall with walls of gleaming white tile intermixed with reddish hues of the same marble as the entryway. They ended in four magnificent arches—one per wall—upon which the ceiling rested, itself made of baked tiles from the same clay found throughout the Mazkānāka. Sunlight poured in through the arches. What she could see of the floor was a mixed red and white marble, but six concentric half circles of seating covered most of it. The aisle she was looking down descended to a ten-foot pit from which a recognized speaker could address the Zekānōt.

Fleur felt someone touch her arm, and realized that Maryse had joined her. The two of them sat in chairs to Fleur's left, behind and just above the last circle of Veela.

Never had Fleur seen so many in one place, and despite the genetic and magical mandates that promised the same basic color of hair and eyes, their variances were so many that it took her minutes to catalog them all. By far, the most intriguing were the African Veela. They reminded her of pictures she's seen of an ancient Nubian Goddess: angular features, thin through the jaw and mouth, and skin dark and so smooth that even from this distance, Fleur ached from jealousy. But their Veela heritage was undeniable in the full lips, rich honey-blonde hair, and irises that looked almost purple.

"The Zekānōt recognizes Flock Leader Petronela Albescu."

To Fleur's right, Petra stood in the second row. "I call for a discussion on general Veela welfare under open-forum rules."

If the request surprised the Veela in charge, she showed it only in the slightest raised eyebrow. Next to her on the three-seat dais sat a clone of Azzurra, though maybe a few years older. "Petra—pardon, Flock Leader Albescu, there are no issues I know of which requires an open forum. I would like to know more of your request."

Petra inclined her head. "One of ours has journeyed here, wishing to address the Zekānōt. And unless I'm mistaken, tradition dictates that except in time of extreme emergency, we allow such requests."

Azzurra's mother glanced around the room, then her eyes fell on Fleur and she pursed her lips. "I see." She conferred with the two other Veela on the dais, then the Veela-in-charge banged something with a clear mallet, and the sound of crystal on crystal rang through the room. "We grant an open forum through unanimous consent, unless verbal objection is made." The mallet wielding Veela announced.

There were no objections and the crystal rang once more. "Discussion on general Veela welfare will begin under open forum rules. May the Flock Leaders of all who have issue please step forward."

A row behind and a few feet left of Petra, Anastasie rose. "I was just informed that a member of my flock wishes to speak, though I know not the subject." Then she paused so others could register the disconnect before continuing. "I ask that the Zekānōt give ear to Fleur Delacour—" Their eyes met for an instant, but that was all Fleur needed to see. Her flock leader had decided something; but what she'd decided, Fleur had no idea. "—Tri-wizard Champion of Beauxbatons, and Bloodied Warrioress of the English Pureblood wars."

Sweet Circe, she knows! Anastasie knows exactly what I'm intending! And she approves! What other reason would she introduce me by title?

A murmur arose and Fleur tried her best to ignore it, but by the time she stepped into the pit, the room sounded as though a nest of hornets had invaded. Then the crystal hammer struck again.

"Quiet, we cannot proceed until there is silence," The mallet wielding Veela said. Then she looked at Fleur. "Am I to assume that you are the granddaughter of disgraced ex-Flock Leader Anne-Marie Guillory?"

"No, Madam. You are not to assume that." From the corner of her eye, Fleur noticed Petra letting a resigned sigh. "I am the daughter of partial-Veela Apolline Delacour; granddaughter Anne-Marie Guillory, a full Veela and former Zekānōt member from the Franco-Celtic Flock; and more importantly today, the betrothed through an accepted mark to a wizard-of-legend. It is he for whom I address you concerning the Veela welfare."

It might have been her nerves, but any pleasantness in the meeting dissipated with her declaration of lineage. Then again, that's bound to happen when a Veela spouts an ancient formulaic introduction and titles among this body, which led back to her original question: how in the name of all that's magic did Anastasie know what Fleur had in mind?

"Then speak, Warrioress." Fleur locked eyes with one of the hauntingly beautiful African Veela, sitting in the first row to the left of the dais. "I am Samrawit," she continued, "of the Nubian flock. Tell me of this legend."

Fleur's heart thumped hard in her chest. But she raised her head and addressed the assembly in a voice that she hoped was strong, praying that she'd read up enough in the last few days to do it right.

"His name is Harry Potter by birth right, but earned the titles: the Boy Who Lived, Defyer of the Dark Lord, and Death, and has been deemed the Prophesied One. He stands with another legend, named Neville Longbottom by birthright, but has earned the titles, Chaos, and more importantly, Friend. Together, though they would be considered but children by most Veela, these men fight enemies that loosen the joints of wizards four and five times their age."

"Tell me of their plight," Flock Leader Sala said, continuing the tradition and shocking Fleur that she even played along. Fleur dipped her head in appreciation and then continued.

"A great danger hides on the doorstep for my betrothed, spun from our own stories about the one he is fighting." Fleur braced herself for whatever reaction her next words would cause, then raised her voice and commanded the attention of the room—as if she didn't all ready have it—continuing the ancient tradition. "Here me, Oh Zekānōt, I come to you today with news that England's Dark Lord has created 'Orcruxes."

Utter silence met her declaration, a heavy, foreboding silence, spun from the corporate memory of the darkest Horcrux myths. A wrong whisper felt as though it might start a battle here, in the middle of the chambers, but she pushed on anyway.

"Therefore I call on you today to set feet and wings to the path of those who have gone before us, to be worthy of the name, Veela. I offer you the opportunity to join me and turn the tides of darkness that now threaten to engulf nations and continents without satiation, to stand against the one who dared create such abominations, that one called, Voldemort—"

Cries of dismay met her ears, and to Fleur's left, another Veela shot out her chair, a faint glow surrounding her as she screeched, "Away with this disgraced half-breed! She's spreading lies!"

"Where's your proof?" Another called.

And a third, "Where's your proof she's lying?" And then a cacophony of voices broke loose, and Veela yelled and shook their fists at each other until nobody could hear anyone but themselves.

Then Fleur cast a Sonorus Charm on herself.

"SILENCE!" she commanded. "Do I not still have the Floor?"

A hundred-plus stunned Veela glared at her as she surreptitiously removed the charm, but she caught Anastasie's rather pleased smirk, though she hid it behind a hand.

"Yes, Ms. Delacour, you do," Azzurra's mother answered, then waited until Fleur faced her. "But you have addressed this body in the ways of the ancient warriors, playing on the darkest elements of our myths. What, then, are you asking? Do you expect us to march to our deaths behind you?"

"No, Flock Leader Sala, I came to offer my sisters a chance to be considered part of the Wizarding world once again."

Flock Leader Sala nodded to someone over Fleur's shoulder. She turned to find that Samrawit now had the floor. "Tell me then, young Veela, what is this offer? And why choose the ancient traditions if you are not requesting that we walk the ancient paths to war?"

Something about the Veela kept striking a nerve, the way she pushed the conversation forward, leading Fleur with her questions, it almost made her wonder if Samrawit was in on her mother's plans. "When the time comes, I ask that we accompany those who will fight Voldemort; not to raise fire or wand, but only that we distract so others may win the day."

"Distract?" Flock Leader Sala asked, though the way her mouth twisted over the word, it must have left a vile taste in her mouth. "You want us to use our Veela magic to drive a wizard to his knees, so that another may drive a curse through his heart? Is that correct?"

"Yes, Flock Leader Sala. It is. Please understand that I would ask for more, but I cannot, since the age of the Veela-Hero has long-since passed."

Growls met her statement. The mallet wielding Veela shook it at her in anger. "When I was your age I sat in my first meeting when another Veela addressed this body with the same arrogance and disrespect that you have today. You are just like your grandmother!"

"Thank you."

The Veela's neck grew red. "That wasn't a compliment!"

"Oh, but it was," Fleur corrected. "Whether you intended it to be or not. My Grandmother was the last of the Zekānōt that understood a Veela's beauty is a veneer behind which the warrioress bides her time—" then she gestured to the entire Zekānōt "—rather than a ticket to becoming whores and sex toys for rich and powerful wizards in exchange for a comfortable life."

The moment the words left her mouth, she realized she'd pushed too far, and the collective intake of breath confirmed it, as did the Lead Veela on the dais. Her mallet struck the crystal once more. "You are out of line!" Then she raised her voice to the assembly. "I will not have another Guillory insult this body! I move that we end this discussion and admonish Fleur Delacour for her insolence!"

Over half the Zekānōt stood in support before anyone could utter another word.

Fleur cast her arms wide and said, "You stand not due to my insolence, but in testimony of the truth I speak!"

"ENOUGH Child! According to the will of the Zekānōt—"

But Fleur was just getting started. She spun back to face the lead Veela. "Oh, shut up, I'll save you the trouble." She conjured three feathers in her left hand, and then let them fall to the marble floor amidst another instant and oppressive silence. Then she spread her hands again and raised her voice in one last ancient tradition, though she added her own ending. "Here me, Oh Zekānōt, listen, Oh Veela nation. I renounce you as my family and deny you as my kindred. I will no longer wear your shame as my disgrace."

Fleur marched out of the room, flinging the doors open so hard that they bounced off the walls with a bang that echoed back through the chamber. She made it half a block down the main road before a hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around to find Madame Sala, of all people, glaring at her.

"Never in my life have I seen such a display!"

"Then you should get out more often, Madame."

The witch raised an eyebrow. "Madame?"

"The term Flock Leader no longer holds meaning for me."

"So we've heard. Tell me; is this, this Harry Potter boy . . . is he worth throwing away who you are?"

Fleur's anger burned so hot that her nose quivered with each exhaled breath. "He's a man, not a boy, and you're clueless. I didn't forsake you on his account."

"It sure looked that way, but enlighten me, then, why did you turn your back on your own kindred?"

Fleur stepped closer, eye-level and just inches away from the Flock Leader. "Because I'm ashamed of what we've become." She gestured to the scenes etched into the buildings. "There was a time when the Zekānōt marched to war, leading the rest of us into battle to protect the innocent. Back then, we stood side-by-side with wizards against the onslaught of tyrants and Dark Lords. And in those days, we were fell warriors, mighty, powerful, and respected. Our beauty mattered not."

"So that's it?" Madame Sala asked. "You rejected us because we don't lust to spill the blood of wizards you've deemed an enemy?"

Fleur eyes narrowed. "I rejected you because you hide behind your Veela heritage, all-the-while completely losing your humanity. I, however, just found my humanity and I'm not willing to give it up, no matter the cost."

She turned to leave, but Madame Sala grabbed her wrist. "If you loved him so much, why wait so long before setting out to find him?"

"Did you not hear of my ordeal after Torpor?"

"No."

"Then know that I set out immediately to find him, and made it as far as the foot of my hospital bed. The bones I re-broke took an extra month or more to heal, but I was determined that as soon as I grew strong, enough, I was headed back to that accursed island."

"And you're ready, now?"

"Honestly? No. But I've run out of time."

"Then what makes you think you'll make it back home?

"Nothing," she answered.

"That's an awfully big risk."

"And?"

Madame Sala studied Fleur, and her expression grew less harsh by the second. Finally, she released her grip. "Indulge me for one last question: why are you willing to throw away your life for a single wizard. You're Veela, and even part-Veela have the pick of the world."

Fleur looked her square in the eyes. "Because I don't want the pick of the world. I want the one I love, and as long as he needs my help, I'm willing to give it to him.

"But let me clarify something to you, Madame Sala, I decided to help him before I realized I was falling in love. I decided that simply because it was the right thing to do, and it's what Veela used to do, back when we cared about being good humans, and not just beautiful Veela."

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Harry crept along the hall, his wand in his right hand and a Shielding Charm atop a Holding Charm on his left hand. One foot slowly before the other he moved, thankful again for his invisibility cloak. He'd followed Damon Greengrass into his warded house two hours ago, unnoticed, on a hint from the last Ministry Worker that Harry had interviewed.

Thump, thump, thump; Merlin's arse, why wouldn't his heart stop hammering? He ignored it and intended to slide beyond an open doorway when he caught sight of Daphne, sleeping half-naked and bathed in moonlight. He smirked, then pushed on to the last bedroom where one of the men responsible for the bloodletting at Hogwarts lay sleeping.

Staring at him, Harry fought the urge to kill the entire family. They were safe because of this man's association with Voldemort, and he couldn't allow someone who owed Riddle such a debt to live, could he?

But what's the purpose in that? The Horcrux asked.

Purpose? The Horcrux cared about purpose? Riddle was a wanton killer!

Or was he? No, Voldemort was deliberate—a purpose for every action. Mercy didn't exist in his soul, but neither did frivolous pleasure and pettiness. Both detracted from his primary target, which was power. And if Harry wanted to defeat him, then he must live the same way, which meant letting the family live. The father, however, he'd take pleasure in killing.

Harry raised his wand and a streak of light raced across the room. He reached through his magic and broadened the spell so it'd stun both husband and wife. Then another wave of the wand levitated Mr. Greengrass to the carpet. Harry readjusted the covers and added his touch to the decor on the wall above the headboard:

Damon Greengrass

Murderer
Rapist
Death Eater

Your Sentence is Death

He cast an Imperius Curse on the Death Eater and escorted him outside, stopping first at a hallway closet for a mask and a special set of robes. Then he cast another spell and watched as it reached above the house, turned into a green mist, and formed into the Potter Mark.

"Time to go." Harry side-Apparated Greengrass to a forest-clearing and then hit him with a Stunner and Incarcerous Spell, then removed the Imperius Curse. Regardless of his recent descent into the Dark Arts, controlling someone else's will wasn't pleasurable.

He checked his watch. The spell for today's main festivities had a three-hour limit before it'd dissipate, revealing his handiwork in Diagon Alley. He could cast it now, but that'd be pushing the margin of error. So instead, he decided to wait until the first pink rays of sunlight kissed the puffy clouds overhead before casting a Reenervate Spell.

After the usual empty questions and threats, Harry asked him how he felt about putting on a little show.

"A show?" Greengrass repeated.

"Sure, large audience, lots of gasps at your ability to hang among the common people. I imagine most of them have no idea that you'd be willing to do such a thing."

"Is that your game, Potter? Embarrassment?"

"Oh, no, it's not embarrassment. Let's call it . . . Potter's confessional."

Greengrass's features hardened. "Good luck."

"Luck has nothing to do with it." He grinned. "Actually, it's all in the wrist." Harry cast another Imperius Curse, then hit him with a Compulsion Charm. The combination was a poor man's Veritaserum. The problem was that anyone who could defeat an Imperius Curse could also lie his or her arse off under this combination. Harry was lucky, then, that this wizard had little such ability. After making sure the spells had taken hold, Harry asked, "How many children did you murder at Hogwarts?"

"I don't know."

"Why do they always start with that?" Damn, little such ability didn't mean he couldn't fight it at all, so Harry decided a little "encouragement" might help, and he pointed his wand at the man's foot. "You remember what happened to Goyle? I'll start at the foot and move up, destroy each body part as I go. Now, again, how many children did you murder that night?"

"We were casting curses blindly into the stands. I could have killed five or a hundred and five." He shrugged. "I have no idea."

"And you don't care?"

"Not particularly."

Harry tamped on the impulse to kick some sense into the wizard. "Then Guestimate."

"Fifteen or so, maybe more."

"And how many adults?"

"I couldn't begin to tell you."

"Try . . ."

Half an hour later, Harry had found out all he could from Greengrass. Unfortunately, now he also knew far more than he wanted, and it sickened him. He canceled the spell.

Greengrass smirked. "Repulsed? Or was that perverse enjoyment I sensed? Maybe you were feeling a desire to do a little plundering and raping yourself, no?"

Harry gripped his wand and cursed himself for forgetting that the Imperius Curse was a two-way street. A person under it could sense a castor's strong emotions if they were careful, but maybe he could turn that his way.

"I don't know, maybe. I guess I should find out. I could start with Daphne. She looked ripe for the taking, lying there naked in her bed last night . . ." He let the sentence hang.

The Death Eater flushed. "If you touch her—"

Harry shook his head. "Seriously, can't you all ever say something original? Besides, you'll be dead, and as easy as it was to slip through your wards last night, I can pick that particular blossom any time I want."

"You bloody—"

"Bloody?" Harry interrupted, then he gave his best attempt at a lecherous smile. "Sure, I can make her bloody, your wife and Astoria, too. Better yet, an Imperius Curse could have them doing all types of things to each other. I can even get them to make each other bleed in the middle of Diagon Alley. Any other requests before I kill you?"

The wizard's eyes narrowed. "You're a bastard."

This time, it was Harry who shrugged. "That's not a question, maybe you should've stuck with the stock lines, after all. Avada Kedavra."

A quick death was too good for the man, but today's task was more important than paying a single wizard back, ounce-for-ounce, for everything he'd done in the name of his master. Stage two of his plan for Damon Greengrass was set to begin soon.

A few minutes later, Harry realized how charming Diagon Alley could be in the morning glow, nice and clean before shoppers took to the streets. But he couldn't gawk since business owners would arrive soon, and he wanted to be finished with his work and gone by then.

Four minutes later, Damon Greengrass's body hung below the roof of Gringotts with a Sticking Charm, though it'd stay hidden for three hours. Then, when the alley was full of morning shoppers, it, and the list of deeds he confessed to, would appear in a flash, drawing everyone's attention to the body of the Death Eater and the crimes for which he was executed.

Harry Apparated to his cave and made a breakfast of discarded bread and stolen tomatoes, having finished the food a week ago that Jaycinda gave him. He thought over what he learned the previous night. First, Death Eaters had captured an Order member and were planning to use the wizard as bait. Greengrass couldn't give a name, but the description was too close to someone Harry knew. He'd have to rush his plans to hit the last Ministry Worker and see what he could find out. The other bit of news was that the Malfoys were still the key to getting to Voldemort. So if Harry found the ponce—either of them, really—he'd have a way into Riddle's inner circle.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Gabrielle lounged on her bed with library books from Durmstrang spread out over the lavender blanket. She suspected that if Professor Sirko knew the reason she wanted them, he'd never have personally allowed her borrowing privileges. But that wasn't her problem; he should've known that she wouldn't let Fleur disappear again. Gabrielle memorized each step of the ritual she was studying. The trick was performing it in front of Fleur without being stopped.

Maybe Fleur would be reasonable and just agree? Wait—Fleur, reasonable? Gabrielle laughed. Good luck with that.

She heard footsteps in the hall and slid the book under her covers, along with a vial of potion, then grabbed her Transfiguration book and flipped it open at random.

Paige stuck her head in the room. "Thought you might want to know that Fleur just Apparated home."

Gabrielle hopped off her bed and joined her parents in the larger sitting room. Paige sat in one of the chairs next to the fireplace and a moment later, the front door opened.

At first sight of her sister, Gabrielle thought twice about her plan. Fleur radiated rage, and it wasn't that of a lovesick teenager or silly Veela tantrum, either. She controlled this rage, focused it, and her presence commanded the attention of every Veela in the room.

A tendril of submission weaved through her and Gabrielle felt almost as though she needed to kneel. But then something deep within her stirred, it was a desire to take control and drive Fleur into submission, instead. But Fleur was her older sister! And she had so much experience in the world, Gabrielle argued with herself. It was ridiculous to think that Fleur should submit to her, wasn't it?

No, it wasn't.

"What happened?" Maman asked, breaking into Gabrielle's thoughts.

Fleur was now standing in the middle of the room. "Nothing good."

"You didn't expect anything else, did you?"

"Not really, but, I don't know. I just had to . . ."

"You had to try, right?" Maman ask.

"Yeah."

"Trust me, I understand. So what are your plans, now?"

"I guess I'll go alone, I don't think I have another choice."

Papa cleared his throat. "You do; me."

"No, Papa, you can't," Fleur said. "We move and fight differently than humans."

Papa opened his mouth to argue, but Maman laid a hand on his knee. "She's right. Fleur would be safer going with another Veela—"

"Then I'll go," Paige offered.

"No," Maman said. "Absolutely not. I will—"

"Stay here," Fleur interrupted. "And take care of Papa and Gabrielle."

Take care of me? Gabrielle felt the heat of her anger rising. There was no way in Abaddan's lair she'd let Fleur go alone! And then, the urge to demand Fleur's submission flared again.

"But you need someone with you!" Maman was saying. "It's too dangerous by yourself."

Then, before Fleur could answer, the front door opened. Two feet pounded up the stairs. "Fleur Delacour!" A voice boomed.

Grandma? What is she . . . ?

Grandma reached the top of the stairs. "Explain!"

"What are you talking about?" Maman asked.

Grandma turned, then flung a hand in Fleur's general direction. "She didn't tell you?"

"Not yet," Fleur said. "We were talking about more important things."

"More important?" Grandma was on the verge of yelling. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Do you realize what you've just done?"

"I know exactly what I did!" Fleur answered. "And if they took offense to it, even better."

"Fleur," Maman cut in. "Could you tell me what happened?"

And the rest of us! Gabrielle thought.

"I renounced the Zekānōt and the Veela nation."

Maman's eyes popped wide. "What? How?"

"The ceremony," Grandma said.

A hush fell upon the four older Veela. Although Gabrielle didn't understand what they were talking about, she could sense the importance since the room felt as though it ran out of air.

"Fleur, could you explain this ceremony to me?" Papa asked.

"And why you did it." Maman added.

So Fleur did, making sure to include the barbs against Grandma and the arrogance of the Veela in general. Gabrielle listened with rapt attention, shaking her head at the stupidity. When Fleur finished, she headed for her room, and asked Fleur to join her when she finished speaking with their parents.

Gabrielle passed the time reading the ritual again, and then made sure that she memorized it correctly. After that, she filled a backpack and wondered what she should take for a war. For clothes, dresses and skirts were out. It was a pain to duel while wearing them, so she decided on jeans and an assortment of cotton shirts. She supplemented that with a few personal items, her favorite pillow, and her old wand (just in case).

Then, searching in the bottom of a drawer for a scrunchy, she found an old newspaper photo of Harry and his redheaded friend carrying her out of the lake. The picture made her chest hurt, but she couldn't grow emotional, not now. Fleur might come in at any moment and she needed her wits about her.

So she decided to slide it into a thin hardback book of spells alongside Harry's last letter, then shoved the book into her backpack. But despite her best efforts, she was still too overcome with memories to hear the door open.

"Being summoned to my little sister's room is a different experience—" Fleur eyebrows came together and she gestured toward the backpack on the bed. "What is that?"

"What is what?" Gabrielle asked.

"That." Fleur pointed this time. "I hope you don't think you're going with me."

At least that settled Gabrielle's conscience. If Fleur was too stubborn for her own good, then Gabrielle was right to take matters into her own hands. She just had to pull off the innocent-little-sister role once last time. "Oh, that?" She picked it up. "It's, it's just memories and stuff."

Fleur didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then she sighed. "Why do I keep getting the feeling that you're only telling me half of the truth lately?"

"I don't know." Gabrielle sat on her bed and patted the backpack. "You're welcomed to take it; I'll pile the stuff in the closet." Then she wiped at her eyes, and as she hoped, Fleur sat on the bed next to her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ."

"S'okay." Gabrielle reached into her bag and retrieved the letter. "I never showed you this." She unfolded it and read aloud.

~ . ~ . ~

Gabrielle,

I'm sorry. I know that doesn't mean much now, but I'm so sorry about Fleur, I . . . I have a thousand things I wanted to say, but I can't find words for any of them, except that I wish I would have been strong enough to lie and tell her I didn't care for her. Maybe, if I kept her away, she'd still be alive. I should've known . . .

Anyway, I have one last favor to ask of you. Would you adopt Hedwig? She loved Fleur and maybe the two of you can help each other. She was my first friend and has been with me through very bad times, but where I'm going, I can't take her. I've given her a command never to look for me, so she really has nowhere else to go. Please take care of her.

Even if you hate me now (and you have every reason to), I'll always be thankful that you were my little sister.

Harry

~ . ~ . ~

The letter shook in her hands. This wasn't good; she needed to control her emotions and do the ritual!

Thankfully, Fleur eased it from her. "When did you get this?"

"The night you died, Hedwig was waiting for me in my room until I came home. I've never seen an owl so forlorn."

"I doubt there's ever been an owl like her," Fleur said. "Have you seen her since you've been home?"

Gabrielle gazed out the window towards the owlery. "She hasn't flown since the morning after I got that, except to eat. I've tried to get her to take a letter to a friend at Beauxbatons, but she refused."

Fleur mumbled something about going to see her, but her words were choked, as if she were having problems breathing. Gabrielle figured that it had something to do with the note that she was absentmindedly rubbing her fingers across, tracing the quill marks.

And even though it'd caused still more pain, Gabrielle decided it was time to pull out the newspaper photo. "I found this stuffed in the drawer I put it in after Harry arrived last summer. It was just a few days after everything happened and I figured he didn't need the reminder." She handed it to Fleur, whose eyes now glistened. Gabrielle felt horrible about it, but she needed the distraction.

So while her sister studied the picture, Gabrielle eased the door shut, and then sat on Fleur's other side on the bed. Her sister's glistening had turned into tears as she caressed the picture with her fingertips. Then, to Gabrielle's surprise, they came to rest on the redheaded boy instead of Harry.

"His name was Ron," Fleur answered the unspoken question. "I was rude to him the only time he spoke to me. If I only knew . . . He and his entire family were so brave, even his baby sister fought that night." She shook her head. "I didn't think about it until now, but when we found their bodies, all the spell damage was in the front."

"What does that mean?" Gabrielle gripped her wand, waiting for the right moment.

"None of them turned their back to run. They cared enough to stand and fight, unlike the Zekānōt that—Ouch!"

Gabrielle worked fast, hitting Fleur with the point of her wand while uttering a Cutting Curse. Then she stepped back and reached for the potion while Fleur looked at her arm in shock, then up at her. "Gabby?"

"I care enough to stand and fight, too." She said by way of answer, and wiped the blood off her wand and into the vial. Then she shook it and then dotted the back of her hand and her forehead with mixed blood-potion.

"What are you doing?" Fleur's voice rose in pitch. Any moment now, she'd recognize—

"Incarcerous!"Gabrielle barely got the spell off when Fleur dove across the bed for her. At least she couldn't interrupt now—then again, if she ever had to do this again, it might be smarter to bind her sister first, then start the ritual.

Gabrielle cut herself and then wiped her own blood on the palm of Fleur's right hand. The look of horror in Fleur's eyes meant she understood exactly what Gabrielle was doing. Speed was important now, before Fleur could break the spell. Gabrielle dropped her wand and smeared the mixed blood-potion on one hand, and then her own blood on the other one, and then she began chanting.

"Naḫnani̇̄šu kāšim; naṣāru kāšim; muātum bêlumya."

She repeated it a third and fourth time, touching Fleur's palm with her blood, then the back of her right hand and her forehead with the blood-potion mix.

"I serve you, I guard you, I shall die for my master," she continued in the strange language. Somewhere she read that it was Akkadian. She had to repeat the chant seven times, and Gabrielle was so intent on it that she missed Fleur's foot when it twitched.

She finished the chant, picked up her wand, and turned it toward herself to cast the last spell that would mark her as a Fleur's Veela-bondservant, finishing the ritual; but she didn't get the chance. Fleur smashed into her, then they both crashed through the bedroom door, tumbling into the hall as wood and plaster scattered everywhere. Fleur ended up on her knees with Gabrielle's wand, hissing when it had stung her and she flung it down the hall.

As soon as Gabrielle saw it, she twisted so hard and fast that Fleur fell over, and she planted a knee on her sister's chest. Then she launched for the wand, but felt Fleur grab her ankle and yank. Gabrielle hit the floor hard and before she could move, Fleur had rolled her over and pinned her again.

"HELP!" Fleur screamed.

By now, Gabrielle's heart was racing and tears streaked down her cheeks. She was so close to finishing the ritual! With a pained effort, she twisted her hips and shoulders, throwing Fleur off-balance again and crashing through another wall. She tried to get up, but Fleur had wrapped her legs around her and squeezed, tripping her. Gabby fell back to the ground, her hand now inches from her wand. "Let me go!" she cried, but Fleur held tight until others came running down the hall.

"Girls? What have you done?"

It made Gabrielle feel three years old again, so she decided to go with it. "Tell Fleur to get her hands off me!"

"Not on your life!" Fleur said. "Take her wand, mine too."

"No!" Gabrielle squirmed forward again and more tears rolled down her cheeks. "Leave me alone! I'm an adult! It's my choice!"

"It's a stupid choice!" Fleur countered.

"Girls!" Maman repeated, with authority this time. "Someone better explain to me what's happening, and I mean now!"

Grandma, standing behind her, sucked in a breath. "Apolline, look at all the blood."

Maman shook her head. "They're going to bleed a lot more in a minute!"

Gabrielle caught Paige trying to hide a giggle, but then her face lit with understanding and she blanched. "Gabrielle!" Paige kicked the wand away from her reaching hand, then picked it up, wincing like Fleur did, but she held on to it.

And then it was Maman's turn to understand, and she too turned white. In a voice barely loud enough to hear, she spoke to Fleur. "Let her go."

Fleur obeyed, and Gabrielle sat up. Maman reached for her, but she leaned away. "You can't keep me away from a wand forever!"

"Wanna bet?" Paige said.

She glared at her cousin until Fleur asked, "Why would you enslave yourself to me?"

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Oh, grow up. It's not slavery!"

"Yes, it is!" Fleur countered.

"No, it's not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Silence!" Papa demanded, standing behind everyone else.

A small part of Gabrielle's brain wondered if Fleur was feeling about three years old as well. So she leaned a little closer to her big sister. "Is not," she whispered.

Fleur glared at her and looked ready to start the argument all over again when Grandma interrupted. "I hate to admit it, but Gabrielle's right." Gabrielle and Fleur both turned and looked at her. "For centuries we've called it a bond-slave ceremony, but the Zekānōt knows better."

"Told you!"

"Shut up!" Fleur answered.

"You shut up!"

Paige looked torn between unleashing unholy terror on Gabrielle, and laughing uproariously at the two sisters arguing as if they both just graduated from nappies.

"Gabby," Grandma began, "What do you know about the ritual?"

"It's a pledge of protection. Something our foremothers gave their leaders, right?"

"Almost." Grandma took Gabrielle's wand from Paige, who was twitching from the random shocks. "If you promise to hold off until we talk about it, I'll give you your wand back."

"No!" Fleur interjected.

"Go ahead." Papa was still standing behind everyone else. With this many Veela around, he usually let Maman handle things, but not tonight for some reason. "Let her finish the ritual if she wants."

Gabrielle looked at him, shocked, and hopeful, but it proved short-lived.

"And once she does, I'll chain her to my desk at work and her bed at home. I'll be damned if both my daughters run to their deaths in Britain while I'm pushing paper in a Ministry office back home."

Anger built inside Gabrielle's chest once again. From where it came, she had no idea. But she did know that nobody, not even Papa, would stop her from finding her big brother. "Why can't any of you comprehend the word, adult? As in: I am an adult by Veela law!"

"Because I comprehend the words: die and war," Papa answered. "As in: people die in war. I can't keep Fleur from leaving; but you're not a legal adult according to French Vulgaire law, which means you can't get the paperwork to legally enter the UK, except by parent's consent."

Gabrielle huffed. "It's not like we're going through customs! Besides, all that new European Union stuff changed that!"

"Not yet it hasn't, and I won't give consent, either."

"Then I'll sneak away."

Papa glared at her. Last year during her changes, she thought that he was always angry with her, but in an ironic twist, Fleur was right, Papa wasn't angry at all. He was just worried. But now, he was angry—beyond that, even, he was mad, and she could absolutely tell the difference!

"You're that anxious to fight?" Papa asked. "Then get upstairs. We'll see how long you'll last."

Gabrielle snatched her wand from Grandma's hand and marched up the stairs to the open space where they had held their Christmas party. Papa faced her from the other side. "There are no dueling wards, so every spell you cast is real. Let's see how ready you are to fight a war!"

Gabrielle brought her wand up, and then had to dive as three curses that she couldn't even describe streaked through the space where she stood a moment before. But even as she hit the floor, a pink curse caught her in the ribs. It blasted her back against the wall, and then she fell to her knees. Her ribs and back screamed in pain and tears welled up in her eyes. Then another curse hit her and lifted her back up, slamming her head into the wall once again. This time, she crumpled to the floor in a daze.

"Get up!" Papa yelled. "You can't lie around in a war."

"Jacque!" Maman cut in, "Don't you think that's enough?"

"No! Now shut up, Apolline. It'll be enough when I say it is."

Maman, Paige, and Fleur stared, open-mouthed, but Grandma's jaw was set firm and she seemed to agree with Papa, for the moment.

"I said, get up!" he yelled again. "You had better do it, NOW, before I start sending more curses! If I were your real enemy, I would have killed you thrice-over!"

Gabrielle wobbled as she stood, and she had to catch herself on the wall. But for all of his harsh words, Papa held back, waiting until she was ready, then he let her attack. She launched a spell and moved right into a follow-up, but not even half way through the wand movement, another curse drilled her in the chest and she somersaulted backwards into the wall a third time. Then another Curse hit just above her head and it exploded, leaving her head pounding and her ears ringing.

"Tell me now; do you really think you're ready to fight? This isn't a game, Gabby. You don't get to yell time out whenever you get a little owie."

And then, her magic surged like never before and her avian nature came to the forefront. Gabrielle felt a shift coming, but not into her bird form. Instead, a second, more powerful and warlike creature ached to break its chains, and with it, the desire to protect and fight for that which she loved. Gabrielle rose to her feet. "Again, Papa!"

He shook his head. "No, I don't want to hurt you." Their eyes met and his shoulders sank. "I'm sorry, honey; I should've listened to Apolline."

But she didn't want his apology, or his sympathy. And years later, she'd swear that she had no idea from where her next words came.

Gabrielle squared her shoulders and raised her wand. "I said, 'again!' Or are you too tired, you old bastard? Maybe you're just too chicken shit to take on a little girl!"

A look that made Gabrielle's blood run cold shot across his face before he hid it behind a blank mask. And for the first time, Gabrielle truly understood that her Papa had killed people in war.

"If I win, it's over." He said.

"And if I win, I'm going."

Gabrielle called on every bit of her heritage, Avian and human alike. Curses flew at her, but this time her Veela magic worked in concert with her regular magic and she could sense Papa's spell casting, his anger, his worries, and his hurt. Her human magic reacted and before she even thought about it, a Shield Charm blossomed before her. Spells reflected of it and Papa sidestepped them, casting a Pain Curse as a diversion.

But Gabrielle had followed the rebounded curses forward and shielded again. And this time, as soon as the Pain Curse ricocheted off her shield, she jumped and began the shift into her bird form, but without accounting for her clothes—on purpose. Fabric exploded in all directions, and for a split-second, a naked Gabrielle sailed into the air. The sight caused Papa to pause long enough that she finished her transformation, gave one strong push with her wings, and then came down on him, claws first, and sunk her talons into his chest until they clicked against bone. Her other claw landed squarely on his neck, even as her momentum drove him to the floor.

She shifted from her avian form and stood atop him, bare-naked with one foot still on his neck and the other still on his chest. "If this was a war, I would've ripped your head from your shoulders." She stepped off him, cast a charm to gather the remnants of her clothes, and a second one to repair them, and then got dressed in silence.

Or almost silence. Papa disappeared down the stairs that led to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him so hard that the nearest window cracked. The rest of them shook on their sills.

But Gabrielle ignored it and walked over to Fleur. "You don't have a choice. Either you're taking me with you, or I'll cast the mark and complete the ritual, then find you through our magic. Either way, I'm coming."

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Harry gripped his wand and readied himself for the arrival of his guest, thankful that this was the last name on the list he received from Pansy, and so far, there was no need to use Dobby. But this visit was also the one he fretted over the most, for many reasons. She was dangerous. And honestly, if she were passing information to Voldemort, then the war was all ready finished.

A bump announced her arrival, followed by a series of concussive blasts. Harry dropped to his stomach and hit her with a Tripping Jinx around the ankles. But on her way down, Madame Bones let loose a Cutting Curse that took Harry across the chest. He grunted, but managed to stay upright and let loose a Disarming Charm. Her wand jumped into the air and Madame Bones followed it, racing toward Harry in the small cave and crashing into him, knocking them both to the floor.

Thankfully, Harry kept his wits about him and held onto his wand. He managed an Incarcerous Spell, though he would never be able to explain how he did it without getting himself bound up in it. He hit her with a Charm to check for tracking, and then started his cave jumping until he ended up on the north end of Great Britain. Once there, he removed the gag that came with the Binding Spell.

"You had better kill me quickly, whoever you are. Because, if I manage to escape, I will burn down your world."

Despite everything, Harry was impressed; that is how you threatened someone! "Fine, but before you light that match, I'd like you to explain why you're giving information to Riddle."

Madame Bones sneered. "You're inexperienced, boy. Only a few wizards know that name, and fewer yet dare speak it. That means you're not one of his, and if I had to guess, you're an ex-member of Dumbledore's old group."

The cold logic rocked Harry back on his heels. He'd never even thought how his words exposed him—how they revealed parts of himself to others. And then, the way Madame Bones handled herself, it showed just how much he still needed to learn. Even the Horcrux was silent, knowing that he was outmatched. He needed to be careful, very careful. And part of that was not letting her get control. "Answer the question."

"You never asked one."

Harry's follow-up stuck in his throat, she was right, he didn't actually ask, did he? Bloody hell, she was quick. "All right, why are you giving information to Riddle?"

"Why haven't you hit puberty yet?" She said, without missing a beat.

Damn, that one stung! If they won this war and Madame Bones proved loyal, he'd find her and take lessons in intimidation. Well, at least he had a trump card, though he didn't know how well it'd play.

"How's your niece, Susan Bones, I think her name is? I hear puberty was good to her."

Madame Bones froze, and Harry almost apologized. It was one thing to threaten the family of Death Eaters, but here? and about people for whom he cared? Even if he had no intent—and he didn't—it still turned his stomach and he gave in a little. "Just tell me what I want to know," he continued.

Maybe there was a slight hint of remorse in his voice, he did know. But whatever it was, Madame Bones caught it and made a decision about him. "Face me like a man instead of hiding in the shadows, and I'll tell you."

He figured that she was his last "interview," so doing so wouldn't tip his hand. And he'd all ready shown himself to the world a week ago, so exposure wasn't a problem, either. Harry cast a charm, amplifying the moonlight shining into the cave high above. Then he watched Madame Bones as she looked around for him. When their eyes met, it took her a few seconds . . .

"Potter?"

"Hello, Madame Bones."

Her shoulders slumped. "Cancel the spell and we'll talk."

It was tempting, but first he needed a few answers before he felt safe doing so. "Answer my question, then I'll think about it."

She smiled. "Now you're being smart. So you're the one that kidnapped Mr. Dobbs."

Seriously? Harry was tired of being caught off-guard all ready, and they had just started! He decided just to be blunt. "How did you figure that out?"

"I have my ways, and that was a nice Memory Charm you did on him. Should I ask where you got it from?"

"No," he said.

"Didn't think so. What did you want from him?"

Harry almost answered, before realizing she was trying to control the encounter again. "The same thing I want from you. Don't change topics."

"Very good," she said. "You won't believe the difficulty I have teaching Auror-recruits how to avoid misdirection. Answer me one question, then I promise I'll cooperate as much as possible. Yes or no, are you in the game for good?"

"Yes."

A wicked smile creased her lips. "Excellent. You and Neville have them bricking their trousers. Now, I can't tell you much since Mr. Dobbs and I are running a disinformation campaign, so we aren't on the intelligence gathering side of the house, but I do know a few things, like the fact that they have Charlie Weasley in a Death Eater safe house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade."

A ball peen hammer between the eyes would have felt better. The last Weasley . . . "Why hasn't Neville attempted to rescue him?"

"Death Eaters know Neville's the only one mad enough to pull it off. So whenever we create a diversion, they flock to the house, grab Charlie, and Apparate somewhere else. And before you ask why we try to create a diversion, it'd be suicide if we didn't."

At least that matched what Harry learned a few days ago from another Death Eater, after his meeting with Greengrass.

"Neville's planning on raiding a safe house a week from tonight," she continued. "Wait until then. They'll be off guard after Neville's attack; they never go twice the same night. It's one of his few patterns."

"So why are you telling me this?" Harry brought his wand eye-level. "That's not the kind of information I'd expect the Head of DMLE to be sharing freely. What did I say to you when we met in the Weasleys' kitchen?"

"You said quite a bit, actually, but your first words concerned Sirius Black's innocence, and what would happen if I didn't agree with you."

"And who was with you?"

"My niece and Ms. Chang; Remus Lupin, Molly Weasley, and your godfather were there as well. You spent most of the afternoon on the couch talking to Susan and Cho, that is, after you informed Cho that her boyfriend was dead."

Harry lowered his wand. "Fine, I believe it's you, but you're taking a pretty big risk volunteering information, aren't you?"

"No," she answered without hesitation. "I want Charlie back safe. Auror Tonks is going spare with worry. And if there's anyone I trust to hate Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters, it's my niece, Neville, and you. So I have no doubt what side you're on."

Harry bowed to the logic, again feeling inadequate in her presence. He released the ropes, and then they spent the next hour exchanging information and catching up on his friends, though he declined an invitation to go with her to see them. His path was a lonely one, and those who tried to walk it with him, died along the way. He was not going to be responsible for anyone else's death—or more specifically, anyone about whom he cared. There were others that he could list, and for them, all he cared about was their death.

They were almost finished hen Madame Bones asked, "How did you find twig onto our operation, anyway?"

"You don't want to know," Harry answered.

She thought on that for a moment. "Ms. Parkinson is still broken up over the death of her friend."

He stared straight into her eyes. "A shame how that happened."

Madame Bones touched his shoulder. "I agree. But a word of caution: don't lose yourself in all of this, Harry; I know it's been hard, but trust me when I say there's life after war if you don't lose your soul in the process."

"I don't have a soul anymore, nor do I want one." He broke her gaze, then handed her a piece of rope. "A Portkey to your front gates, just outside your wards."

She dropped her tough exterior for a moment and grabbed his forearm. "Don't be an idiot, Harry, your soul is very alive." Then she changed the topic, returning to her normal self in the process. "You're lucky you didn't try to Portkey me here."

"I know. They're traceable if your wards stop them."

She looked up through raised eyebrows. "Then you got more out of Mr. Dobbs than I thought possible. Again, I'm impressed. Keep your heart beating, and I'll see you on the other side of this bloody war." She touched the Portkey and disappeared.

Harry looked around to make sure he'd left nothing behind, then Apparated three times, before arriving at his cave, dizzy from the jumps and worn out from a night mentally dueling Madame Bones.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Fleur took a deep breath, and then knocked on the door.

"Come in."

She did, shutting the door behind her and then sat on Gabrielle's bed without saying a word. Gabrielle fumbled with something on her dresser, but finally gave up and sat next on the bed next to her.

"You're a brat, you know that?" Fleur said by way of opening.

Gabrielle wiped at something in her eye. "That's better than what I thought you'd call me."

"Yeah, well, I figured out your problem.

"What's that?"

Fleur scratched at her ear. "You're too much like me in some ways." She watched Gabrielle fight off a smile and continued. "No matter what I say; you're going to find a way to join me, aren't you?"

"If it kills me."

"Not exactly the best choice of words, considering." Fleur let go, then drew a knee up onto the bed, and faced her. "What Papa said was true, it's the same thing Markus was talking about at Durmstrang. If you stop moving in a fight, you're dead. If you make a mistake, you're dead. The only reason I'm alive is because 'Arry covered my mistakes, and even then . . ." She shook her head. "Look, I want to make sure you understand the choice you're making."

Gabrielle met her gaze. "Do you honestly think that I just decided to do this yesterday?"

"Of course not, but how long could you have—" Staring at her younger sister, it all clicked: those feelings Fleur had that she was missing something, Gabrielle's dueling lessons, the new wand, and the trips to Durmstrang and all the questions she'd asked about odd kinds of magic up there . . . The little witch had planned this—"

"Since last summer, when I realized that he was going back," she confirmed.

"We weren't even dating then."

"I know—you were more like an old married couple."

Fleur cuffed her on the arm.

"I knew you'd go with him, even if you were fighting. The more you tried to hate him, the more it was obvious how much you loved him. I didn't know at first if I'd be able to help, so I started with the dueling class, just to see. And then from there . . . it just started coming naturally, like earlier with Papa."

"Speaking of which, he gave you a pretty sound thrashing. You know most of his spells were barely love-taps compared to what he could do, right?"

Gabrielle nodded. "I figured so. But there was no way I was quitting. Then . . . remember how you told me about having another form that wanted to come out, and later, you realized it was your warrior form?"

Fleur pursed her lips. "Why, did you feel it too?"

"Yeah, that's what happened upstairs when I finally beat Papa. It's as if that thing took over and fused my human and Veela magic, even though I never knew they were separated. And then everything moved so fast in my head. I could sense the spells by sensing Papa's emotions, and my human magic responded, knowing the right way to counter it because of dueling class and Durmstrang. I can't explain it, Fleur, but it's done. There's no going back . . . why are you smiling?"

That made Fleur smile even larger. "The night before we left Durmstrang, that's what happened when I fought Markus. I was caught so off guard that he got me in the chest with a spell, but I knew that'd be the last time."

"Then you understand?"

"Yeah."

"Good, I'm not going insane."

Fleur laughed. "I'm think you all ready are." Then she turned serious. "I need to ask you a question, and I want you to be absolutely honest with me."

Gabrielle nodded. "I'll try."

"If you aren't, then I'll have Papa tie you to his desk at work and you can't come with me."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes, "Fine, I'll be honest with you, what's the question?"

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why do you want to go? And don't say it's because of me, because, if you were planning this since last summer, you would've thought 'Arry . . ." Fleur covered her mouth. Now, sitting in her room and thinking about all the pictures that she used to have of him lining the walls, it seemed so obvious. "Oh, Gabby, I'm sorry, when I marked him, I didn't think about how you'd . . ."

"How I what?" Gabrielle asked. "You . . . wait, you think I'm in love with 'Arry?"

"Weren't you? Back then?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "I had a serious crush on him after the second task, enough that, well, you remember what happened when I saw him, and my reactions were even worse that night after my transformation." A light pink hue colored her cheeks. "But I wasn't in love with him."

Fleur crossed her arms. "Are you sure?"

Gabrielle sighed. "Yeah, the night I exploded out of my clothes, I laid awake thinking about the two of you, and it just felt right. I got over him that same night."

"But what if that was the mark doing that to you?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "It wasn't. You two belong together. And, even if you died last spring and I had him all to myself, I still wouldn't feel like that about him."

"Seriously? I mean, you just saw him, and it launched you into your transformation, are you telling me that, now, there's no way you'd be with him?"

A smirk creased Gabrielle's lips. "I'm not saying I wouldn't let him do naked push-ups on me until I made guttural animal noises, but . . ."

Fleur's mind went blank. Whether it was the idea of Harry's naked push-ups, or her not-so-little sister not being as innocent as she thought (or hoped), Fleur had no idea. But when her thoughts kicked in again, she giggled. "Interesting mental picture, I guess your few months at Beauxbatons with Danielle taught you a few things."

Gabrielle shivered. "You have no idea."

"I roomed with Paige, trust me, I probably do. And I'd like you to finish your comment."

"What, that I wouldn't have him as a boyfriend? I couldn't. And honestly, now that I'm thinking about it, I doubt I'd go pecking for his worm, either. I just can't think about him like that anymore, though it is a shame." Then she turned pink again.

"Gabby?"

"I, uh, kind of lied to 'Arry."

"About what?"

Her little sister went from pink to red, and Fleur decided that she had to know what that was about.

"Come on, Gabby, you can't stop now."

"Wanna bet?"

Fleur narrowed her eyes, though it was countered by a large grin. "Tell me!"

And then, if possible, Gabrielle grew even redder. "Fine! I, um, the night of the Christmas party . . . I saw more of him in the shower than I let on."

"Oh? Just how much of my boyfriend did you see?" she teased.

"He wasn't your boyfriend then! And—" Gabrielle hid her face "—maybe all of him?"

"Gabrielle!"

She looked back up and glared at Fleur. "I didn't mean too! It was just there"—she waved a hand in the air—"flapping around, and it caught my eye! And you don't have to worry, I think you'll be very happy!"

"GABBY!"

Then Gabrielle started giggling. She couldn't stop, which set off Fleur giggling until they both broke into a fit of laughter.

It took a few minutes for them to compose themselves again. But once they did, Fleur asked, "So who are you interested in?"

"No one, really," she answered. "When Papa and 'Arry are the standard by which I judge wizards, it makes it pretty difficult, no?"

Fleur agreed, then decided to redirect the conversation back to her main purpose for being there. "So, if you're not in love with 'Arry, why do you want to go so bad?"

Gabrielle pulled her knee up on the bed, mirroring Fleur. "Take your pick: he's family, I love him, I blame myself for him leaving; I don't know." She bounced a finger off her lips in thought. "But more than all of that, I guess it's just what I need to do, and the more my Veela instincts come out, the more I know it to be true."

Fleur dropped her head to her chest. "I really hate you right now."

"Because your Veela instincts are telling you the same thing?"

As much as she wanted to deny it, she couldn't. "Unfortunately, yeah, they are."

Gabrielle beamed at her. Fleur swallowed the lump in her throat and wondered how much this decision would change her life. "All right, if you're coming, then here are the rules. First, you will obey me. I know you're an adult, but you've not seen what I have. So when I say we need to leave, or stay quiet, or that we can't go somewhere or do something, you have to promise me that you won't argue. If you do, I'll Portkey your cute Veela ass home immediately."

She nodded.

"And I doubt we'll be sleeping in a bed and eating three solid meals a day, either. This isn't a summer campout. I have no idea where we'll be sleeping. And it might be months before we see another bed or home-cooked meal."

She nodded again.

"And one other thing." Fleur had to clear her throat. "If you die, I will be pissed off at you for the rest of eternity."

Gabrielle leaned in and hugged her. "Thanks."

"I'm still not happy about it, but I understand." Fleur let her go. "You know I could've let you finish the ritual, then ordered you to stay home, right?"

"I kind of figured that's what you'd do, and I was surprised that you broke the spell so fast."

Fleur scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. "Then why even try?"

Gabrielle smiled. "Because I made sure there were no magical consequences for disobeying you if I didn't intend to bring you harm. You would've left, but the first time you were in the slightest bit of danger, I would've felt it and followed the pull in the magic, right to where you were."

Fleur shook her head. "'Arry was right, you are wicked."

~ . ~ . ~

They planned to leave the next morning, but Papa visited later that evening and convinced them to stay three more days so he could help them prepare. Then, after he and Gabrielle had a heart-to-heart conversation and she apologized for standing on him while naked (it took three shots of whiskey for him to get through that part of the conversation), and he apologized for going too far in their duel, they turned to the maps and discussed plans and strategy, which occasioned the two visitors coming up the stairs the next afternoon.

Uncle Philippe came straight to Fleur and told her off for going back to the UK, and then he pulled her into a hug and said he'd help in any way possible. He then let her go, and disappeared into the smaller sitting room with everyone else. Uncle Anselme hovered by the top of the stairs. "Fleur, how are you?"

"Nervous," she admitted.

"I can believe that."

An uncomfortable silence passed between them before Fleur said, "Papa told us about you being sick. Are you feeling any better?"

"A little," he answered. "My Healers leveled my dosages and changed a couple of potions so I wouldn't be as susceptible . . . but I guess that doesn't matter, now." He looked away. "I just wanted to come by . . ."

Fleur decided that she was fed up with the situation, crossed the room, and hugged him. "Papa told me about the potions. I don't blame you, and you're still my Uncle."

He let her go and stepped back. "Thanks, but you should blame me." Then, before she could argue, he held up a hand. "Learn from my mistake: I should have asked about the potential effects. Trust and verify everything, because, if you don't, then something that might seem harmless may end up getting you, or someone you love killed. Got it?"

Fleur let that sink in. "I still don't blame you."

A ghost of a grin emerged. "That's because you're as hardheaded as your Papa, but thanks."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Speaking of which, how are you and Papa doing?"

"Okay, I think; he invited me today, though that may be more because he likes the way I make Pan-bagnats."

"Yuck!" Fleur's nose crinkled. "Do you still use anchovies, hard-boiled eggs, and fava beans?"

He chuckled. "I've switched out the beans for artichokes."

"Just as bad," Fleur said. "Though it'd be entertaining to watch you fight with Froissé for control of the kitchen. My money's on the house elf."

"So's mine." Papa stepped out of his bedroom. "Anselme, thank you for coming."

"Thanks for trusting me again, I know that wasn't easy."

Papa glanced at Fleur. "It wasn't, but you don't make the same mistake twice, and my daughters could really use your help."

Fleur felt something pass between the two wizards. She understood later, when Uncle Anselme violated at least six different laws that she was familiar with from her time at the Ministry, as he gave her and Gabrielle a top-level briefing on the war.

Uncle Philippe was just as bad, filling in the latest information since Uncle Anselme had retired.

Then after dinner, Grandma worked with them on fighting as Veela. Cousins poured in to help until it resembled a family reunion in the open room upstairs. When they'd finished, Grandma sat everyone down and explained the ritual Gabrielle had started.

The oath itself was five thousand years old, originating in the Akkad Empire of all places. A European tribe had crossed the mountains and established Sumer, the first civilization, in modern-day Iraq. Later, Akkad soaked up much of the Sumerian legends and language, and somewhere in that time, Veela culture came into its own. They began to move west, soaking up parts of other cultures through the millennia. That explained how they had slices of Akkadian, Hebrew, and Greek languages in their culture, not to mention Phoenician, Hatti, and Hittite ("No," Grandma said when Danielle argued that the last two were the same, "they are very different empires!") among others.

But what really threw Fleur was the story of the Zekānōt origins. They had formed due to something called the mating wars. A flock would raid another's settlement, stealing their mates and breaking the mark, and then they'd mark the males themselves. But such actions resulted in brutal retaliations, up to and including wiping out entire flocks. As a result, the strongest among them—the warrior Veela—began marking all stolen mates and then parceling them out to the others in their flock. That, however, led to massive attacks directed at the warrior Veela themselves, rather than the flock at large, to break the mark by killing them.

After a few years, what remained of those early Flock Leaders came to understand that it was only a small amount of time before they went the way of the Unbreasted Ones. So they came together, formed the Zekānōt, and hammered out the basic concept by which all Veela now abide. They even found a way to manipulate a Veela's magic so it'd punish her for going after a male if they'd already marked another.

Over time, the Zekānōt's magic became so powerful that they found they could crush any single Veela or group of Veela that defied the Zekānōt, and because of it, loyalty oaths that formerly bound them and their leaders were no longer necessary. That much power was also heady, and so they worked to keep it in check by attributing equal status to all Flock Leaders, regardless of Pecking Order, even though the reality was that the top few Veela could, if they had enough backing, control the entire race.

The story reminded Fleur of how tenuous the entire system was, and why she was glad that she was no longer a part of it. Or at least that's what she told herself as she lay in bed the night before they left, before someone knocked on her door.

"Fleur?"

"What's up, Gabby?"

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Gabrielle slipped in and shut the door, then climbed into bed next to Fleur and curled up against her. "I guess we'll be doing a lot of this over the next few months."

Fleur draped an arm over her shoulder. "Are you second-guessing yourself?"

"No!" Gabrielle answered a little too fast. "Well, maybe some . . ."

"If it makes you feel any better, I've second guessed myself a hundred times all ready. I just keep remembering that 'Arry needs me, and I think he needs you, too."

"I still know it's the right thing to do, but, that helps."

"Good. Where were you, today?"

"I went to see the wand maker again."

"Why?" Fleur asked. "I thought you liked the one you bought?"

"I do, it's just that he asked me to come back before . . . well, I guess he kind of knew what I was planning. He's kind of spooky that way."

"I remember."

"Anyway, he gave me the keys to his store back in Diagonally, whatever that is."

Fleur chuckled. "Diagon Alley, it's their main shopping area. Why did he give you the keys?"

"He has a bed and stuff there, though his Storage Charms aren't that great for anything other than wands, so we might want to skip the food."

"That was nice of him either way. I wonder why he did that." More like worry, but she wasn't going to get her sister wound up the night before they left.

"According to him, it's a perfect place to view the alley. He wrote instructions on rekeying the wards and said you should be able to figure it out. He also taught me some basics on choosing a wand if we needed replacements down the road. We can take them from his store, since he doesn't plan on returning."

Fleur pulled away and looked at her sister. "You got all that from him?"

"Not all today," she admitted. "I've visited him off and on over the last few months and he's been showing me a few things here and there, just in case."

Fleur smiled in the darkness. "You really planned everything out, didn't you?"

"Some of it; other things just fell into place, like someone above is orchestrating everything."

"If so, I hope that's a good thing."

"Me too."

A few minutes later, Fleur heard the softest snore and gazed at her little sister in the moonlight that escaped the drawn curtains. Over the last few weeks, she'd changed so much again. It made the moments like this, when a hint of her little sister resurfaced, very precious.

The next morning they woke up early, gathered their stuff, and collected the emergency Portkeys from Papa, but he had a surprise for them.

"I had a new ward installed yesterday. If someone hitches a ride with you when you're trying to escape, Apparate straight into the house. The wards will recognize you and let you through."

"What about the other person?" Fleur asked.

"They'll be rejected, or at least most of them will be. An arm or a leg or head might get it through, but that'd be all."

Fleur grimaced. "And if it's 'Arry?"

"The master ward recognizes him just like the rest of us, so it's no problem." Papa hugged both her and Gabrielle, activated the Portkey, and then handed it to them. "I love you both, please, be safe and bring 'Arry home."

He looked as though he had a thousand more things he wanted to say. But instead—or maybe because of it—he grew silent and watched as the Portkey gave a tug behind Fleur's navel, then whisked the Delacour sisters away from safety, and straight into the middle of a war.