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Chapter Twenty-Four
Riding the Night
". . . And cinch it tight. When we face those witches later, you want nothing restricting your wand movement."
Gabrielle, fumbling with her gray winter robe, stopped and glared. "I have dressed myself before."
"I know. I just . . ." With a sigh, Fleur rechecked her black winter boots tucked under flare jeans, then shrugged into her robe and started buttoning it when trembling hands betrayed her worry.
Gabrielle pushed them away. "Let me. This"—she tapped a button—"goes through an eyelet, here. And this one, through here."
A growl escaped Fleur's throat.
"Problem?"
"I have dressed myself before."
Gabrielle raised an eyebrow. "I know. I just . . . figured you needed help in your dotage." She sidestepped a Tickling Jinx. "Hey! Stop! I'm sorry!"
"Better be," Fleur teased.
"I still say it's too early, but where are we headed?"
"A Pottermark appeared in St. Buryan's southwestern sky, two miles east of Cornwall near something called the Merry Maidens. I figured we should visit."
Harsh winds and driving rain from low-lying clouds left only Pottermark remnants. To the west lay rolling hills and east, farmhouses. Boxed in between by hedges were nineteen chest-high stones that resonated with endemic magic and encircled almost fifteen hundred feet of grassland. And, in the middle lay a wizard's body, positioned with his feet touching those of a witch and two children.
They drew near and Gabrielle knelt next to a child's body. "How old do you think she was?"
"Thirteen, maybe," Fleur answered. She glanced opposite Gabrielle. "I doubt he's over twelve."
"Why would 'Arry kill them?"
"I don't know."
It made little sense. Every corpse until today bore either a Dark Mark, or scars and bruises evidencing magical battles, if not both. But not these children—she doubted they could hold a wand without jinxing themselves.
Gabrielle's eyebrows knitted together. "Which way is north?"
"You're Veela, why ask me?"
"Just answer the question."
Fleur pointed in the father's direction. "That way."
"And south?"
"Opposite." The mother's direction.
"And east and west?" Gabrielle asked again.
And as she opened her mouth to answer, it clicked—they lay forming points of a compass. But why? What excused murdering children?
"Um, Fleur . . . where are we, exactly?"
"Cornwall, southeastern part of Britain."
"Southeastern; that means . . . No way! It's not that easy."
"What are you thinking?"
"Well—" Gabrielle pointed "—father's aimed north, and he's the tallest, mother's facing south . . ."
"And?" Fleur asked.
"Distance to England's four shores." Eyes alight with comprehension, Gabrielle continued. "It's a warning! There's no safety in Britain for Death Eaters, nowhere they can hide; north, east, south, west, he'll come for them all, anywhere, anytime."
"So to send a message, he murders . . ." Fleur's breath caught in her throat. "'Arry, what have you done?"
She trembled as North Atlantic winter winds drove frigid rain through her robes, her clothes, her skin, her heart while her life became a horror of Pottermarks and twisted tarts, chasing the first and being chased by the second as she watched a mockery of the wizard she loved rising as a new Dark Lord, slaying and laying barely pubescent children as pictogram props.
Your beloved Flower, chanted a voice in the reconstructed memory, and she determined it a prophecy. How did she get it so wrong?
Or did she?
Earlier last week, Fleur listened to wizards telling a story: Harry raided another Death Eater home and overheard a fourteen-year-old berating his parents for serving Voldemort. The boy lived, warned never to follow his parent's path.
A wizard, swallowed by darkness, wouldn't have cared. But Harry spared him. So, he wasn't lost, and she wasn't wrong. Newfound conviction straightened her back.
The rain slowed.
"What am I missing?" she wondered.
The Horcrux? Last spring, alongside Markus, Harry warred like a furious demigod without thought, but here lay a message meticulously planned. So, Harry controlled the Horcrux, rather than it controlling him. And if Harry allowed fourteen-year-old wizards to live, then another reason must exist for what lay here.
On that, she rested her hope.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
"Ready?"
Markus's eyes swept his young Zashtitniks preparing for battle before answering Jaleena's boyfriend—and his best friend. "Yeah, how's everyone else?"
"Excited," Helmut said. "Like Azzurra spending a day with a wedding planner, from what I heard."
Markus snorted. "You're a comedian."
"And you're getting married in three months." Helmut moved on, speaking with each Entwicklungsteam member.
Ents served as backup to a main Zashtitnik team, allowing younger members to grow into their jobs. Six months ago, Helmut led the Ents, but gladly handed it to him when school finished.
Markus's father poked through the doorway. "It's a go."
He stood and faced his Ents. "Listen! We're headed to the Georgia-Turkish border, a few dozen miles from the Black sea. Our mission is 'Kill on Sight'."
"Death Eaters? In Georgia?" another team member asked.
"Yes, Ilija, in Georgia."
"Forgive me for asking an obvious question, but . . ."
"It's an Apparition Layover station and safe house. Voldemort's gathering his people in England. That, however, is privileged information, not to leave this room."
Ilija nodded.
Twenty minutes later, Markus's four-person subunit gathered at a back door and a dark, surrounding forest hid his other Ents on overwatch duty.
The second-hand clicked twenty-three times while they assembled in a breaching line, careful not to touch the wall and advertise their presence. Then, with fifteen seconds left, he waved Helmut forward.
Ten seconds left.
Nine.
Eight.
An explosion rocked the front entrance where his father's team had assembled. "Contact! Go! Go! Go!" he screamed.
Helmut's Blasting Curse shredded door and frame. Around him, benighted forests came alive and curses ripped through the air, catching broom-mounted Death Eaters escaping from windows.
Markus pushed through the doorway, taking a path of least resistance—as trained—left. His second Ent broke right.
Another explosion tremored walls and foundation.
A half-dozen Death Eaters poured in from a corridor. Markus sent a Killing Curse toward a Death Eater, ducked under a Black Widow Curse and weaved left, then transfigured a table and two chairs into three Rottweilers. They pounced, but orange and yellow spells from Death Eater wands sliced them in half. And then curses erupted from his team, ending any threat.
"Clear!" Ents reported.
They reassembled and moved into the hall.
A third explosion rocked the front, and, through a window, he noticed his father's overwatch subunit collapsing inward. Damn it! That meant his father was in trouble! Everything inside him screamed to rush to his father's aid. So he pushed forward, worried about what he'd find.
Crunch!
Sounds of breaking glass reached his ears before an explosion tore through wood, carpet, and flesh, disintegrating Markus's lower body. His last thoughts went to his father, Azzurra, and his stupidity at tripping a potion-trap, and then he slipped into soft oblivion.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
Knockturn Alley crawled with entities that may or may not have been nominally human. Decrepit hags and ghoulish wizards sold their wares, and according to some, severed Muggle heads were making a strong comeback.
Fleur and Gabrielle avoided the entire scene by creeping along behind the stores.
"There. That's where they'll appear." Fleur pointed at a small concrete porch. A railing spanned its width. "What time is it?"
Gabrielle cleared her throat. "Almost eight, are you sure we have to do this?"
"If you're not comfortable with it, leave and I'll come when I'm finished."
"There's no way I'm letting you go it alone."
"Stubborn hen," Fleur joked, and then grew serious. "If we lose control, hit them with your nastiest spells."
"Even if it kills them?"
"They work with Death Eaters, and we've seen them together enough times, so yes!"
A short time later, Apparition cracks announced company. Fleur cut right, separating herself from her sister and stunning a blonde witch. But a second witch with black hair proved too fast for Gabrielle. Her spell shot through just-emptied air, smacking a brick wall. Black-Hair slid left and cast a Piercing Spell.
Time stretched, and Fleur tracked it racing toward her faster than she could dodge. It burrowed through her right shoulder, dying out somewhere in the meaty section of her back.
Reality snapped back to normal speed, and she screamed in pain.
Gabrielle's second spell, a Blasting Curse, launched Black-Hair into a brick wall.
But Blond-Hair had recovered enough to manage a wicked looking curse. It screeched passed Gabrielle with an inch to spare.
Fleur decided that was enough. "Avada Kedavra!" she cried, and Blond-Hair's next cast stopped mid-slash and her wand skittered along pavement.
Fleur turned on Black-Hair. "If you so much as move, I'll kill—"
Her shoulder, however, chose that particular moment to tell the rest of her body how pissed off it was. Fleur sank to a knee, her stomach in revolt. Only Gabrielle's hands kept her from collapsing.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I . . . I froze."
"Never mind that now," Fleur said. "Watch her! If she moves, blast the hell out of her." Gabrielle obeyed, so Fleur eased her robe from her shoulder and gingerly poked at her wound. It wasn't the worst she'd ever suffered. So, with clinching teeth, she turned her wand and began a special Veela Healing Spell.
"Stop!" Gabrielle yelled. "You'll destroy your shoulder that way! Here, you watch the stupid witch and I'll do the Healing Spells."
The first spell touched her shoulder, and pain racked her body, driving tears from her eyes. Veela Healing magic sped a body's process along—if they hadn't slipped into torpor, but immense pain made them undesirable for most injuries, like Gabrielle's last summer at the ice-cream parlor.
The second spell was almost unbearable.
Then, with a third, sparks escaped her wand, transfiguring into angry hornets before dying off as they reached Gabrielle.
"Ouch!"
At least, most of them died.
"Was that necessary?" asked Gabrielle.
"Shut it!" Fleur answered, "and help me."
Still rubbing her bum, Gabrielle lifted Fleur by her good arm, and together, they approached Black-Hair. A snitch-sized goose egg rose above her right eyebrow. She moaned, leaned over, and vomited.
"What's your name?" Fleur asked when she'd finished.
"Piss off."
"That's not very nice." Gabby extended an index finger and poked the goose egg, which set off another moan, followed by more vomit.
Fleur's eyebrows crinkled at her sister and she answered with a shrug.
"Let's try again," Fleur said. "Who are you?"
"Daphne."
"Daphne what?"
"Why does it matter?"
Gabrielle crossed her arms. "Unless you want another poke in the head . . ."
"Bitch."
Poke.
Moan.
Puke.
"Told you."
Fleur rolled her eyes. "Would you stop? She can't tell us anything if she's too busy puking!"
"Fine." Gabby turned back to Daphne. "Answer my sister."
"No."
Gabby kicked Daphne in the shin and she jumped, smacking her goose egg against the railing. Her eyes rolled back and she blacked out again.
"Gabrielle!"
"What? I didn't poke her in the head!"
Fleur glared at her sister before hitting Daphne with a Quickening Charm, then waited while she puked. "You have a concussion. Answer our questions quickly, and we'll leave you alone."
"Not likely. Just finish what Potter started and leave, that's why you're here."
Fleur shared a glance with Gabby. "What do you mean?"
"Don't play stupid. Potter kidnapped my father and murdered him, then displayed his body at Gringotts with lies justifying his death."
"If 'Arry lied, it was by understating your father's crimes," Gabrielle said.
Daphne tensed, was she stupid enough to try something? Fleur wondered.
She wasn't, thankfully.
"Why are you following us?" Fleur tried again.
"Why do you think?" Then, Daphne caught sight of Blonde-Hair. "Pansy!"
"Pansy's dead." Pain kept any sentiment from Fleur's voice. "And you will be too if you don't answer my questions."
But Daphne ignored her, crawling instead to Pansy and pulling her dead friend's body into her arms.
Thirty seconds passed before Fleur cleared her throat. "One more chance. Why are you following us?"
"To get Harry!" she blurted. "We thought you'd lead us to him."
Gabby stepped forward. "Why would you think that?"
Daphne looked to Fleur. "You're his girlfriend, aren't you? That's what they told us."
"Who told you?" Fleur asked, her menace-laced voice almost inaudible.
"Th . . . them."
"Death Eaters?"
Daphne nodded, then wiped a smudge of dirt from her dead friend's face. "Stupid bloody war. It's not worth it." She cradled Pansy and sobbed.
Fleur shared another look with Gabrielle, then cast a stunner, interrupting the Daphne's misery.
"She'll be out for a few hours. Let's go."
They stayed in shadows and moved toward Ollivander's. After casting Obscuring Charms—which didn't much help—they crossed the road and slipped behind another row of buildings, making their way back to Ollivander's wand shop.
"We gotta go. We're not safe here anymore," Fleur said as soon as they entered.
"Are you okay?" Gabrielle asked.
Fleur tried ignoring the pain radiating from her shoulder, but it proved too painful. "Maybe I should sit a moment."
"I'm sorry," Gabrielle said again as Fleur eased herself to their bed. "When I watched that spell hit you, I thought . . ." Her eyes shined with unshed tears. "I watched that witch cry over her friend, and I kept thinking, what if that was you?"
"I know. It's the same reason I wanted you to stay home, afraid I'd be the one holding your dead body in my arms in some back alley."
Silence stretched between them until Gabrielle asked, "How long will that witch be stunned?"
"Hours, most likely."
"Good." Gabby stood. "You ruined your robe. Rest while I'll head into Muggle London and replace it."
Fleur opened her mouth to argue, but soft, warm sheets beckoned her to stay, and her body felt so tired. "Be careful, please?"
"Careful?" Gabby snatched a blanket and covered her. "Muggle London's a ton safer than here, so worry more about what I'm buying. Would you prefer tiger stripes, or hot pink?"
"Brat."
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
Harry wiped bloodied hands against his trousers, then realized they were stained. No Cleaning Charm could remove a child's blood.
"Huh, guess I still have some semblance of a conscience. Imagine that."
"Great Harry Potter being worried?" Dobby asked. Opening an eye. "They bad wizards. Even baby wizard and witch be saying 'I'm lost' to trap others. And little wizard and witch die fast—not slow like Winky, or witches in cages. Faster than deserved."
"When's the Death Eater meeting?" he asked, changing subjects.
"Two weeks."
"We should rest until then. Death Eaters are so agitated they're getting dangerous."
Dobby flashed him a frightening look, and Harry remembered that no matter how deep he'd fallen into a cesspool of Dark Arts, Dobby had dug deeper into arcane elf nature, one that ruled elves long before they became docile.
"Dobby is confused. We punish bad masters. They beg, they scream, they bleed, and we no stop. Greatest Wizard revenges his Altu and bad wizards die. So why Greatest Wizard stop now? Punishment not finished, not finished at all."
"It's a short break until Death Eaters grow complacent. Then we'll kill twice as many in half the time."
Dobby's eyes grew wide. "Ooooh, you are Greatest Wizard."
Harry faked a smile and closed his eyes, wondering if ending a threat of a dark lord by suicide would allow another to rise—in elf form.
His thoughts disturbed him on several levels, but beyond anything else, he just didn't want to kill Dobby; it'd be another large blot blackening his soul.
As if it even mattered, anymore.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
A knock interrupted Azzurra's quiet morning. Ornate marble floors and intricate, woodworked walls carried sound throughout Sala Manor's first floor and into her sitting room.
Her mother greeted whomever it was in a friendly way. So, with a concerted effort, she sank back into fourteenth century politics and a flock-split between Polish and Prussian Veela until her mother entered the room.
Not once, in all Azzurra's life, did she see her mother with such a soft expression.
"Azzurra? Markus's father is here."
An iron fist gripped her stomach.
"He, he has something to tell you."
The fist squeezed as the distinguished looking Zashtitnik entered her room. "Oh, God, tell me Markus is okay."
He knelt next to her, his red-rimmed eyes already hinting at her future broken life. "We raided a Death Eater's stronghold earlier today. Markus was leading his team, coming through the hall to the front when he . . . when . . ."
"When what!"
"An explosion . . . he's, he's gone."
She jerked back. "No! No! He's not dead!" She glared them both. "Impossible!"
"Markus!" her voice rang out. She marched toward the front door. He'd pulled stupid pranks before, but he'd gone too far, today. It'd take him a month to recover from the beating he was about to receive.
But he wasn't there, so she marched back to her mother and his father, still in denial. Markus had faced a dozen Death Eaters with Harry and walked away, fought tons of battles over the last few months, and always survived without a scratch.
"He's not dead!" she repeated. "He . . . please, tell me it's a joke! Tell me he's hiding somewhere!"
And then, the enveloping arms of her future father-in-law broke through as she felt his tears warming her cheek.
"He loved you, Azzurra; you were so good for him."
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
Darkness claimed paving stones and storefronts in Diagon Alley, and inside Ollivander's Wand Shop, Fleur opened her eyes to see Gabrielle putting away boxes of wands Ollivander had tasked her for caretaking. The clock hanging from the wall showed she had slept three hours.
Fleur jerked upright and almost blacked out in pain.
"Welcome back to the living, how's your shoulder?" Gabrielle closed a box of Yew wood wands and slid it into its storage container, then turned and waited for Fleur to answer.
"Horrid, but it doesn't matter. I'm sure Death Eaters are looking for us, and I'd prefer somewhere else while I'm healing."
Gabby looked as though she wanted to argue, but stopped and instead, snagged Fleur's Muggle-made Greatcoat she found in a second-hand store. Excluding a pattern and extra buttons, it resembled a traveling robe.
Fleur slid the coat on and hissed, the weight pulling at her shoulder, but at least it was warm.
"What about the rest of our stuff?"
"Leave it," she answered. "We'll can conjure or replace anything we need."
Gabrielle gave the shop another look. "I'll miss living here. Any idea where we're headed?"
"Away from London. We'll rest and plan in a Muggle hotel somewhere."
"With real showers?"
"And separate beds—if we have enough money."
"And we'll stay until your shoulder heals, right?" Real hope shined in Gabrielle's eyes.
Fleur rotated her arm and winced again. "It shouldn't take that long, but we'll extend it a few days, just in case."
Gabrielle threw her arms around Fleur, careful of her shoulder. "I'll lock the front door."
"We never even used it," Fleur said.
"True, but checking won't hurt, and after Mr. Ollivander let us stay . . ."
"Fine, but hurry!"
Gabrielle grabbed her robe and scooted out of the room.
Behind her, Fleur leaned against the desk and closed her eyes. They were no closer to finding Harry than six months ago, and for the hundredth time, she considered contacting Neville through Jaycinda—
Her sister raced back into the room. "Death Eaters! Out front!"
And just as she announced it, large pane glass windows shattered inward and a volley of spells crashed against a wall opposite them, knocking loose centuries of dust.
"Go!" Fleur ordered.
They raced into the backroom as the backdoor blew off its hinges.
Gabrielle's wand twisted and a red curse streaked forward, striking a Death Eater. Fleur followed with a pair of Killing Curses, knocking out two more Death Eaters. Then, a third and fourth Death eater tripped over their dead compatriots and sprawled across the floor.
"Upstairs," Fleur cried.
Gabrielle fired a pink and gray spell that Fleur had never seen, then raced upstairs. Behind her, Fleur shot a Cutting Curse at another Death Eater before she turned to follow, and slipped, wrenching her shoulder while grabbing the railing. A pained scream escaped as she landed on the staircase and twelve inches above her head, a Killing Curse traversed the space she'd just vacated, crashing against the wall.
"Fleur!" Gabrielle launched from above, wings spread, and landed in the middle of the room. She transformed back and ripped the stopper from her Veela magic.
All four wizards seized, and then, a second later their hips bucked.
A pair of hands helped Fleur stand, and Gabby pulled her along as they made their way upstairs amid embarrassing moans of climaxing Death Eaters. "You're not mad at me for that, are you?" Gabby asked as they wound through the second floor junk-maze.
"I'd say it was life or death, so no," Fleur answered. "But after burning your image in their brain, make sure they don't catch you."
Gabrielle's eyes flared. "Yeah, let's leave."
"Not yet."
"What?"
"Open the windows, but wait for me."
Gabrielle obeyed, and they endured winter's harsh bite in silence, keeping an ear tuned to the first floor. Fleur hoped the defensive spells she prepared last summer still worked.
The stairwell shook as Death Eaters pounded upstairs.
Fleur shot a spell at a box resting against a wall at the top of the stairs. It, and ten more stacked upon it, tumbled. Lids opened, disgorging a hundred broken and malformed wands from each box. A wooden avalanche sent Death Eaters sprawling toward the ground floor. Then Fleur cast a charm, activating Holding Spells. Each of those released a Blasting Curse, and the resulting explosion blew through floorboards and incinerated every Death Eater inside the shop.
Both Veela sisters dove through the windowsill, transformed, and glided into the shadows across the alley. The world swam before Fleur amid tear-filled eyes and stomach turning nausea, and her wounded shoulder screamed at its abuse. She stumbled, but Gabrielle grabbed her and held tight, guiding her deeper through a small break between buildings.
She rested behind an opposite row of stores a few minutes, and then, with a gallant effort she pushed back to her feet. "Stay right behind me," she instructed, then crept forward to witness the aftermath.
She gasped.
Ollivander's wand shop no longer existed. The entire building had collapsed, along with the abandoned store next to it, and in the street, Death Eater robes fluttered among dead bodies.
Except for one. A Death Eater stumbled over bodies looking for his mask. He found one, discarded it, and then kept searching.
Behind him, Fleur raised her wand, but wasn't it time for a different strategy? She stopped. If chasing Potter Marks wasn't getting her anywhere, then maybe going after Harry's targets would.
So with eyes closed, she called upon her Veela magic, wrapped it around a Protection Charm, and then cast it at the nearest Death Eater. Satisfied, Fleur slid deeper into the shadows again, fighting another round of rising pain and nausea from her wound. She and Gabrielle rested a moment, then slipped through a small exit they'd discovered, that dumped them into Muggle London two blocks from Diagon Alley's normal entrance.
They zigzagged through London's late evening streets until Fleur couldn't walk anymore.
"Let's rest in there. We can grab dinner," Gabby suggested, pointing to a dingy pub.
"Think you can Apparate, yet?" her sister asked an hour later, dropping her fork into a grease-soaked paper lining her empty basket.
Fleur shoveled a last bite of fish into her mouth, savoring its warmth—breaded and heavy—and the best meal she'd had since October when they stayed in Muggle London for dinner one evening. Salt and vinegar chips provided tonight's perfect side dish.
"A few more minutes. The Healing Spell is almost finished, even with whatever I did to it earlier." And the bloodstained interior of the Greatcoat testified she had retarded the spell's work.
Veela healing spells hurt as they healed. Whether purposeful or an oversight, Fleur didn't know. But if she ever met the Veela-hen that deemed it acceptable, a long talk was in order!
Waves of pain thrummed across her shoulder and arm. She clenched her hand.
"Okay, dear?" a waitress asked.
She cleaned empty plates from their table.
"I will be, salt and vinegar doesn't mix with paper cuts, I guess," she lied.
"Ah, painful, but it'll clean it out at least. Can I get you anything else? A wet towel, maybe?"
"No thanks," Fleur answered. "Give me a minute or two to get over it, and we'll leave."
The older woman smiled. "Let me know if you need anything else."
"We will," Gabrielle answered for a grimacing Fleur. She leaned forward. "What was that?"
"The end of the spell, I think." Fleur rolled her shoulder, and then rotated her arm once, twice, three times. "I think it's done. God! did that ever hurt."
"Good, don't do it again!"
"Good advice, why didn't you remind me earlier?"
Gabrielle shook her head and Fleur grinned. "Ready?"
"Yeah, but you haven't said where we're going yet."
"Ever hear of Liverpool?"
Gabrielle turned up her nose. "Why are we going there?"
"I hit a Death Eater with a makeshift Tracing Charm earlier."
A wash of emotions graced Gabrielle's features, ending with confusion. "Why didn't you hit 'Arry with it? We knew he was coming here!"
"It lasts a few hours," Fleur answered. "Zekānōt can track any marked wizard, but they must cast the spell on the target, and it takes a dozen Zekānōt member's combined strength to use it. So it wouldn't have worked for 'Arry."
"Wait a second, why would the Zekānōt create a charm to stalk some poor wizard?"
"Remember the Veela wars Grandma told us about? After the Zekānōt formed, some flocks were still trying to settle debts. They used the charm to trace stolen men."
"You know, the more I learn about Veela history, the less I like."
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
Harry stood on a hill overlooking a small magical village in western Wales—it was half Hogsmeade's size and held none of its charm. He pondered tonight's work. If his vision were correct, a portion of Voldemort's inner-circle gathered below to plan future endeavors.
Dobby popped back into existence next to his elbow. "Tommyriddle still being in funny-speak-land."
He smiled at the elf mocking someone else's patois. "Can you keep an eye on him; make sure he doesn't return?"
"Dobby gets no death tonight?"
"I can't fight Riddle and his Death Eaters, even with your help."
The house-elf's ears twitched. "But, we having more."
"More?"
"House-elves. And having wands. House-elves fight better than nasty-robed wizards."
"You said that after Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts, but how? House-elves never had wands before, so how did they learn so fast?"
"Wand-waving tied to wizard-magic. But elf-magic be different. No swish, jab, flick, or silly words. House-elf just point. Wand core magic makes House-elf magic bigger, go farther, more direct." Dobby's ears curled forward. "Does Greatest Wizard remember spell Dobby used at Uncle's home?"
"Sure, why?"
"Dobby plus wand can make cake fall from park by Greatest Wizard's house."
Damn. So a wand's core amplified elf magic, or reduced resistance as it traveled to its target, or . . . What? His magical theory studies at Durmstrang were limited to utilitarian uses.
That kind of power, though . . .
"Not tonight," he decided. "I'm not wasting a great surprise on something so small."
"But House-elves fight Death Eaters already."
"And how many Death Eaters lived?"
A nod. "Dobby understands. Track Tommyriddle so Greatest Wizard no worry about him," the elf answered, the distaste at being sent away written across his face. And then, without another word, he disappeared.
"So much for lying low," Harry whispered to himself, then started toward his target.
Ten minutes later and fifty yards from his destination, his instincts sent him diving right. A smoky Cessation Curse blinked into existence and collided with a tree behind him. Had it hit, he wondered whether the Horcrux or his own spirit would have frozen.
But dirt jumping a foot from his face amid a red glow reminded him he was in a battle, and he cast wandlessly to his right, shattering a large Yew tree and impaling Death Eaters with Wooden missiles.
Harry dove behind a rock outcropping, face to face with another silver-masked wizard, and before he could react, a straight left connected with Harry's chin. His legs went rubbery and he collapsed against a rock, but rolled left away from a curse barreling toward him.
Then, the Horcrux offered Voldemort's Self-Preservation Charm from his garnered memories, and a quick slash of his wand, down and right, sent a spell through a Death Eater's shield and screeching across his mask. Silver material melted, sealing eyes, nose, and mouth. But before the wizard could escape—or choke to death—Harry's Cutting Curse slashed his throat, soaking both wizards with arterial spray.
Then, a falling shadow caught his attention. He rose and stared into malevolent eyes coming for him. Curse after curse pulsed from his wand: Killing Curse, Binding Spell, Torture Curse, Imperius Curse; but nothing checked its descent.
So Harry gripped his wand with both hands and cast a spell so dangerous, he never dared before; Fiendfyre ripped forward. With a jerk, he set it loose. Fire in demonic form vaporized his enemy; whatever it was.
Then, with another sweep, he fought to regain control over his fire-demon, but it had already reached sentience—hungering to consume all in its path, and it turned on its creator. Harry ducked right as flames struck the boulder behind him, reducing it to slag.
Damn! This was not good!
He considered his options—or better put, his option, and he hated being blind against Voldemort, but he had no other choice.
"Dobby!"
Flames licked forward and a Death Eater screamed in agony before going silent.
Dobby appeared—eyes wide and ears pinned against his head, taking in the melee. A moment later, he understood and popped away a second time.
Another Death Eater materialized, and Harry caught a Cutting Curse across both hamstrings, then avoided two more curses by shielding with a small boulder, but the spells' impact shattered it, thrusting large rocks into Harry's chest.
He tumbled backward, getting off a String Trip Jinx as he fell and sparing a few seconds for himself.
What the hell! Voldemort's spell repertoire backed with decades of knowledge was vastly overrated!
You Idiot, that voice from deep within mocked. Simple knowledge falls short of hard-won wisdom. Did you not realize that?
"Bugger off. You could've reminded me earlier," he answered.
The sticky warmth sliding along both his back legs worried him, as did his chest, which felt caved in.
And then, a last Death Eater jumped him. Blow after blow landed against his head, his arms, his chest, pummeling him until he failed even to produce wandless magic to protect himself.
But forty house-elves popping into existence provided his distraction, and Harry crushed a right into a large jaw, creating enough space to push him away.
A quick look told Harry that his fire-demon had already blackened a quarter acre of land.
House-elves worked fast, blackening twice that amount with their own spells. Hurricane force winds roared from above, driving his Fiendfyre back on itself—and toward him. As the glowing beast streaked toward its last source of fuel, Harry made a split-second decision.
He dove on top of the Death Eater and Apparated, hoping that by denying his spell anything more to burn, it'd die, rather than jumping the elf's containment circle and consuming half the island.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
It was stupid. Foolish, even, but Fleur had to find whoever attacked them earlier.
They moved along dilapidated buildings, and streets littered with paper, human feces, used condoms, and broken, half-dead people.
"Just a few more blocks," she said, but Gabrielle didn't bother answering as they picked their way along.
A few minutes later, they approached a building and swelling music swallowed Fleur's low groan.
"What's wrong?"
She raised her chin toward a sign. "A bad idea for Veela. Stay along the outer wall and don't remove your traveling robe. And please, keep your hood pulled tight over your face, your wand ready, and if something happens, get out immediately. Got it?"
Gabby's eyes widened. "What is this place?"
Fleur's lip curled in disgust. "A strip bar. Pheromones'll be so thick in there it'll make you want to vomit."
Loud music and a thumping base accosted them as they stepped into a narrow hall, and an intimidating figure rose from his chair to meet them. Next to him, a middle-aged man still fighting acne held out a hand. "Five quid."
Fleur lowered her hood and smiled. "A cover charge? For us?"
"Yes, for you," the bouncer answered.
"It's how we make money, you stupid bitch," Acne-man added.
Her smile dropped, as did her wand into her hand, but Gabrielle hurried between them. "I really need the loo! Please, Mister?"
"The loo, huh?" the man repeated.
Where Fleur's seductress persona failed, Gabrielle's innocent-witch routine succeeded. He shook his head. "Whatever, it's not like amateur night's a big draw anymore."
They stepped into a large room, and Gabby lost a little of her innocence. Wide eyes betrayed her shock at both a pheromone-laden crowd and the on-stage entertainment.
The stage itself spanned the front, with two walls angling away in classic theater style. Gaudy deep-red curtains from the building's original use decorated the walls. A staggered floor—like elongated stairs, each one wide enough for a table—provided an unobstructed view of the front. A patron or two occupied most of them, nursing overpriced beers while memorizing tonight's lust-filled visions that'd help them do things to themselves later Fleur didn't want to imagine.
"Do you remember what our Death Eater looked like?" Fleur asked.
"I think so."
"Good." She pointed to an exit by the stage. "Head that way. I'll circle and exit the opposite door. We'll meet behind the club."
"What if I see him?"
"Then stay hidden and I'll come to you."
The song changed, accompanying a change in dancers.
Hidden by shadow, Fleur worked towards the back wall, cataloging each face and cringing when someone returned her gaze. She wished her makeshift tracking spell still worked, but it faded fifteen minutes earlier as they entered the building.
Songs and musical tastes changed, followed by another song, and then another; and the crowd cheered the swaying, stripping dancers.
Fleur crept around to the far wall, step by disgusting step, growing sick from the pheromone-laden air.
The music changed again. A rhythmic thump began, followed by a single guitar note held over several beats. Enraptured faces tracked every move, bewitched by the feminine spectacle before them.
And then, she froze. In the corner of her eye, blonde hair flailed from a supple, body swinging awkwardly from the pole. Speechless, mortified, befuddled, none of them could describe Fleur as Gabrielle sauntered forward, and with a wink and twist, her gray winter robe sailed through the air.
Fleur's legs buckled. She staggered to a table, thankfully empty, praying her sister's performance was almost finished. Oh, was she wrong! It had just begun, and the words added a whole new layer of wrongness . . . "She rides, let loose upon the world, she is the night . . ."
Gabrielle slowly unbuttoned her blouse, then grabbed the pole, and jumped, swinging with more confidence as she hooked a leg around it, leaned back, and spiraled to the floor.
Veela nature bore vast, innate knowledge: certain types of magic, flock battle strategy, even healing abilities; but working a stripper pole was not one of them. Fleur shuttered to think how her sister had learned.
On stage, Gabby pushed herself up, turned her back to the crowd, and let her unbuttoned shirt fly as the singer crooned, "She slides, down inside your skin, in time, she'll make you scream, she's death, in a cool black dress, she rides . . ."
Fleur groaned.
And Gabby worked the crowd, prancing along the stage in jeans and a bra. Her shoes, transfigured into four-inch stilettos, evoked another groan from Fleur, accompanied with an eye roll.
"She rides the night . . . She'll take you down, she'll take you alone . . ."
The last word faded into a hi-hat four-count that Gabrielle marked with a slow twist around the pole, her back arched, displaying her tight-jeaned arse. Then a snare drum exploded through the speakers and Gabby slapped her arse, releasing a split-second flare of Veela magic.
The front seven rows jerked backward in lust-addled bliss.
And, sitting at the table on the far left side, Fleur buried her face in both hands. But as the song continued, she peered through fingers, finding her sister staring at her. Then, Gabby glanced left, to Fleur, and then left again.
She . . . She didn't! She couldn't have!
Fifteen feet away sat her Death Eater with drink in hand. Surreptitious wand-work plus a whispered "Imperio!" took control of the Death Eater. Through the door and into the alley they walked until Fleur commanded him to stop.
"Who sent you earlier?"
Nothing.
After the day she suffered, including watching her little sister using Veela magic in ways that made Fleur's skin crawl, Fleur decided enough was enough and grabbed the Death Eater by the throat. "I'll command you into a brick wall or into a busy street."
He didn't answer, so she squeezed until he choked, then released him with a shove. "Still silent? Let's go play in traffic."
Three cloaked figures exited the far stage door, hoods covering their heads and hiding their faces. They fanned across the back alley, trapping Fleur, who ducked behind her Death Eater puppet.
"The wizard is ours," the tall one standing point announced. "Leave him and go."
She ignored him and instead, released her empathic senses.
They weren't leaving without the wizard, she noted, but they didn't want to hurt her, either. So she ventured a compromise. "One hour, then I'll give 'im to you."
The middle wizard shook his head, and Fleur tried reaching out with her senses again. But instead, she caught something even more confusing: too few pheromones from three wizards exiting a strip club.
Light flooded the alley and the middle wizard spun, only to hit the pavement under Gabrielle's Veela magic. "Stay there!" she ordered, turning her wand on the closest wizard.
Fleur leveled hers at the other wizard. "Lower your 'oods!" she demanded.
"Wait . . . that . . . say that again," Fleur's target said.
She blinked. That wizard . . . was a witch! No wonder Gabby's magic hadn't affected them.
"I said, lower your 'oods!"
The witch obeyed, and Fleur blinked in recognition. "Susan?"
Susan Bones grinned as did Cho Change a second later. "And that git lying prone is Neville. What did you do to him, anyway?" Cho wondered.
Neville cleared his throat. "Don't ask."
Behind them, Gabrielle kept her wand on her witch. "You know them?"
"Yeah, I do. Remember 'Arry and his friends talking about a wizard named Chaos?"
Neville groaned. "Bloody hell, not you too."
The three older witches laughed, and finally Gabrielle lowered her wand. "Wait, that's . . . that's Neville? Oh no!" Her cheeks grew deep scarlet.
Cho shot Gabrielle a once-over, then turned back toward Fleur. "Is that . . . ?" She glanced over her shoulder again. "That's your sister!"
Fleur's forehead crinkled. Had Cho met Gabrielle . . . the second task! They spent an entire morning together in Dumbledore's office.
"Maybe we should continue our conversation elsewhere?" Neville interrupted. "Where are you staying?"
"Ollivander's Wand Shop, or, we were until this bastard and his friends attacked," Fleur answered.
"Why don't you come with us?" Neville offered.
"We don't have much," Susan added, "but there's a mattress and clean sheets waiting for you, not to mention heat and a roof over your head."
And friends, Fleur thought. And, maybe, they'd help find Harry. She gestured at her Death Eater. "What about him?"
Neville, Cho, and Susan shared a look and a slight nod. "Alright, here's what we're doing," Neville said.
Three minutes and fifteen seconds later, a second wizard appeared, taking her Death Eater off their hands. "I'll get back to you with everything I get from him. I promise."
"Ready?" Susan asked as soon as the wizard disappeared.
Fleur couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "How good is your Apparition?"
"My aunt paid the Ministry workers to teach us a week after the Ministry fell. We've Apparated ever since."
"I'd guess so," Fleur answered, remembering the stories about how they'd appear and disappear all over the UK. "Alright, let's go. I guess Cho can take Gabby."
The Asian witch turned to her sister. "You know to hold tight, right?"
Fleur snorted. "I wouldn't worry about her, didn't you hear the song? She rides."
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
They landed in the Forbidden Forest.
Harry crushed his fist against the Death Eater's jaw, drew back, and struck again before realizing the wizard couldn't care less about him.
The sounds of snapping tree limbs and feet pounding against ground reached his ears, and before Harry could react, the Death Eater fled, hurdling half-seen obstacles in the faint moonlight.
Maybe rumors of Death Eaters fearing the Forbidden Forest were accurate. Harry settled himself against a rock and questioned why he blindly walked into tonight's trap.
He couldn't shake the feeling they had an inside track luring him, like Voldemort feeding images through their Horcrux link. Not that it had betrayed him, rather, it reminded Harry of Dudley's old two-way radio, but without a power switch.
An inhuman scream, followed by a loud thump, signaled the Death Eater's final moment.
Maybe, assessing tonight's mistakes sitting in the Forbidden Forest wasn't his best idea.
Limbs snapped again. Whatever hunted Death Eaters here was big, fast, and coming for him, and Harry decided he'd pushed his luck enough tonight.
Dark, uneven forest floors created treacherous conditions, and he considered casting a Lumos Spell, but broadcasting his whereabouts wasn't smart. So with great care, he picked his way around rock outcroppings, through dense copses of trees, and under low-hanging branches until he tripped and landed face-first against another stone and bloodying his nose.
Dizzy, he rose and pushed forward, the sound of snapping limbs growing closer.
He broke into a clearing, but half way across, two bluish white beams lit the night so bright Harry jerked backward and his feet slipped from under him, dropping him once more on the forest floor, fifteen feet away from a roaring, gasping . . . engine?
He shielded his eyes. It couldn't be! But another rev dismissed any doubt. It was the Ford Anglia. "Hey, old girl. It's me, Harry!" He tried to push from the ground, but the car hit first gear and shot toward him, stopping inches away with another rev that sounded more like a growl. "Alright, alright, I won't move. I—"
Behind him, more branches snapped, and then he felt hot breath steaming air with a different growl—natural, menacing; a warning he was seconds from death.
Harry moved a leg, hoping resituate himself if he had to move fast, but the beast's growl deepened. On Harry's other side, the Anglia backed off, disappearing into the forest.
He regripped his wand, hoping he was fast enough cursing whatever beast stood over him, but branches snapped behind the beast, followed by the last voice he ever thought he'd hear.
"Move, Fang, yeh overgrown pest! Lemme see what yeh caught!" And then, a half giant bent over him, eclipsing the moon.
X ~ X ~ X ~ X
Ollivander's Wand Shop equaled luxury compared to Neville's safe house. Plywood, clasping rotted frames, covered broken windows and general deterioration seemed a neighborhood event. Inside, water-stained plasterboard beset with three bedroom doors surrounded broken, sitting room furniture, and a table, stove, and counters decorating a small kitchen opposite them provided slight hope of better meals. A hall ran off to their right.
At least it was warm and smelled clean.
"It's not much," Susan said. "But it's home."
A memory of Fleur's king-sized bed trickled through her thoughts, followed by a humbling conversation with a red-haired matriarch a year-and-a-half ago. "It's perfect."
Gabrielle's eyebrows disappeared under her hood, but she kept silent.
Neville nodded toward the closest door. "Take the empty bedroom next to Cho and Susan, they'll settle you."
And with that, he and Susan left through the hall.
"Let's get you settled." Cho led them into a cramped bedroom with gray concrete peeking through sections of shag carpet. In a corner lay a twin-sized mattress and the far wall, Fleur noted, held an unbroken windowpane.
Susan reappeared. "Clean sheets," she announced, laying them on the bed. "The stove works and we have running water, so it's not all a loss."
But Fleur couldn't answer. Seeing Cho and Susan again transported her to the Burrow the day they visited, sharing Harry stories in an upstairs bedroom.
Gabrielle's hand slid into hers. "Are you okay?"
A sigh. Her eyes drifted toward Cho and Susan. "Over a year and a half . . ."
They nodded, communicating through watery gazes as Fleur sensed pain too tender for words.
"So, what do we do now?" Gabby asked when the moment passed.
Her voice pushed another memory forward. Sweet baby sister—dancing, prancing, stripping, playfully swatting her derrière.
Fleur replicated it.
"Ow!" Gabby chirruped. "What was that for?"
"I should curse you within an inch of your life. Stripping? What the Green Goblin were you thinking?"
"Maybe we should step out," Cho suggested.
"Yeah," Susan answered. "See you two, tomorrow." The door shut behind them, almost—a half-inch overlap existed between it and the frame.
Fleur snatched the sheets from the bed. "Help me with these."
Gabrielle crossed her arms. "It worked, so why are you mad?"
Fleur stopped, the bedding fallen from her hand. "You don't? I said, 'be careful.' Instead, you climbed on stage and swung your rear for hundreds of gawking, sex-addicted pigs. Did it ever occur what might happen if they thought you were too tempting? Death Eaters were in that club, Gabby. They rape woman—Vulgaire, witches, or Veela, it doesn't matter."
She lifted a worn but clean sheet and snapped it straight. "There are more dangers than dark magic, and the wounds they cause aren't magically healed, either."
"I get that," her sister answered. "But, the night you returned from the Zekānōt—"
"—And almost became my slave."
"I did not!"
And then, despite the serious conversation, Fleur couldn't resist. "Did too!"
Gabrielle whipped a pillow at Fleur. "Shut up and let me explain!"
She dodged, but caught the pillow and dropped it on the mattress. "Fine, go ahead."
"You said I had to obey. And, I have."
"Like getting out of bed in the morning?"
"That's not what I meant. When we're out, searching for Harry, I listen, even if I disagree, I listen."
"So that excuses tonight?" Fleur asked.
"No, but it might give you pause to ask why I disobeyed."
Fleur opened her mouth, closed it, then rethought her words and instead, sat on the mattress. "So tell me."
Gabby dropped next to her. "I walked toward the exit like you said, but, after checking if you were okay, I realized we'd never see him in that crowd. Then, I also noticed eyes following you and it frightened me.
"So I hurried toward the door, but overheard someone say they were running short on dancers. He worried something would happen if they closed early with what they charged. Then, I thought, if I went on stage, I'd draw everyone's attention, see every face, and those humongous guys would protect us after—"
"They're called Bouncers. And, if they were protecting you, why did you exit alone?" Fleur asked.
"I said I'd be okay, and I would scream my head off if anyone attacked."
"And it worked?"
Gabby blushed. "I also kissed the head guy on the cheek and promised to be a good girl."
"I'm sure that's what he wanted . . . I guess," she continued after thinking a few seconds. "I guess I understand. I don't like it, but . . ."
"But I didn't show them anything. My bathing suit covers less than my bra."
"True, but you could have thought about me, at least."
A crinkle of flesh appeared between Gabrielle's eyes.
"I watched my baby sister saunter across a stage flaunting her cute little ass, not to mention stripping! If Maman ever hears . . . or 'Arry!"
Her eyes grew comically wide. "You better not!"
Fleur shot her a devious smile. "I wonder, Veillée Princess, where did you learn to pole-dance? You were nervous at first, but there's no way you've never pole-danced before tonight."
Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Blame your cousin—my roommate."
"Danielle?"
"She claimed it was a great workout and stuck a pole in our room. I had no idea strippers pole-danced until tonight."
"I'm sorry you had to learn, but thank you, again. That's twice today, you saved me."
Gabby burrowed under Fleur's arm. "You're my sister," she said, as if it explained everything.
And it did. Fleur pulled her tight against her chest and kissed the top of her head. "As much as I hate to admit it, you looked like a goddess, and that was before you smacked your bum and flung out a taste of Veela magic."
"Yeah, that may have been a touch overboard," Gabrielle admitted.
Fleur laughed. "You think? Come on, help me with the comforter."
Once finished, they left the bedroom, but Fleur noticed a pressure change crossing the threshold and glanced at the doorframe.
"Silencing Charm," Neville said, standing in the kitchen. He shelved a cup before leaning against the counter. "Susan and Cho charmed the room when they left, said you were having 'a sisterly discussion' and needed privacy."
"That was nice, where did they go?"
"Bed, they had a long day."
"And you?"
Neville shook his head. "Madame Bones helped raid a Death Eater home last night and was injured. She's fine, now, but Susan heard around five a.m. Cho and her Disapparated ten minutes later and didn't return until we set out for the Death Eater you captured. Speaking of which, how did you track him to a strip club in Liverpool?"
Fleur, with Gabrielle's help, spent the next three hours explaining Veela magic, their own mission, and finally, most of their day to him.
"Parkinson and Greengrass—Interesting." Neville scratched a scar on his neck. "You're sure you killed that little bitch."
His venom surprised her. "A Killing Curse, square in her chest. Why, what did she . . ." Her empathic senses kicked in. "Su?"
Muscles lining Neville's jaw hardened. "She watched us enter St. Mungo's by a side-door an Order member left open. Twenty minutes later, Bellatrix attacked. They staged a battle, then followed the wounded . . ."
Heart-wrench misery and loss poured off him, clenching Fleur's heart, and she wondered if Harry had suffered at Durmstrang the same way. No wonder his Veela-chicks showered him with loving attention.
It made her grateful as well. God, had she ever changed!
Fleur took his hand. "We can sense emotions, I feel how her death hurts—" And then, a different emotion peeked through. Fleur focused harder, waiting for it to reappear.
Neville shifted. "Um, not that I, too much—that is, I do, um, but . . . ?"
She cocked her head and pursed her lips, having already witnessed a similar scene in Azzurra's memory with Harry. "But, what?"
"You. Hand. Mine," he managed.
Fleur giggled.
And behind Neville, Gabrielle rolled her eyes.
"Are you wondering why I'm holding your hand when 'Arry is my intended?" she asked.
He grunted his answer, and, sensing his feelings of betrayal, she dropped her playful Veela act. A shame, really, she thought, not only was it fun, but she better understood why Harry's Veela-chicks used it to whittle at his defenses.
"At Durmstrang, three Veela held his hand everywhere he went, two of whom were engaged. It's who we are."
Neville blinked, then blinked again. "Um, okay?"
She smiled. "A beautiful Italian Veela waltzed into his dorm room, teasing him the minute they met. Two others followed, and hand-in-hand, they gave him a full tour of Durmstrang."
"Why?"
"They're Veela. They sensed his sorrow, his pain, and decided to help."
Neville looked at his hands, then at Fleur. "And you?"
"Only if you want it." But then, she felt his hidden emotion again. Betrayal. Guilt. Why . . . ? she wondered.
Behind him, Gabrielle blinked a few times, her lip firmly caught between her teeth. Tonight, she was learning harsh lessons about suffering in ways she never imagined. Fleur watched Gabby take Neville's other hand in both of hers.
Neville glanced at it, then pulled back, and guilt and betrayal exploded within him, followed by something else . . .
Desire.
And then, she understood.
He was just like Harry.
Fleur leaned into him, kissed him on the cheek, then stood. "You're not betraying her," she said, and disappeared into her room.
When the door closed, Gabrielle cleared her throat. "Neville?"
He didn't answer.
She wrapped her arms around her knees. "It's my fault, isn't it?"
"No, I mean, it's you, but it's not . . ." He closed his eyes.
"It's okay," she said. "It was me, completely. Fleur almost died today, so when I came out and found my sister facing you three, I attacked. I know what you saw, and I didn't mean for you to, suffer, that way."
A crimson blush colored his cheeks, draining into their hollow and highlighting a striking jawline. "You . . . pushed those images into my head? It wasn't just a typical wizard response to Veela?"
Gabby let the corner of her lip rise. "We've sat together three and a half hours without, um, a . . . a repeat—" She blushed a similar color.
And his deepened as he mumbled something she thought sounded like not quite, before taking a deep breath. "I guess not, but it still feels like I've cheated Su's memory."
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to cause you pain."
Neville shook his head, then somehow, pulled himself upright and pushed away his embarrassment. "No. Never apologize for protecting your family. We're in a war, and if you hesitate, you're dead."
"I learned that lesson earlier, too," she answered. "But I'm still sorry I made you suffer. She must have been special."
"She was."
Gabrielle pushed her fingertips across his hand, then took it again. "And she was lucky to have you as well." She rose, leaned forward, and kissed him on the other cheek. "Good night, Neville."
He met her eyes and she found herself looking not at Chaos, but at a sixteen-year-old wizard gracing her with a shy smile. And, she admitted, it was a cute smile, too.