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.

25. Pained Knowledge

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Chapter Twenty-Five

Pained Knowledge

Crackling wood and sizzling grease pulled Harry from his slumber. He pushed a carpet-sized comforter off and stretched, then looked around the sparse cave where he'd slept. A rock doubled for a workbench and broken chairs lined the far wall. In the middle, flames leapt from a fire pit where Hagrid cooked, his back to the cave's mouth. Beyond him, big, fluffy flakes deepened the Forbidden Forest's cotton blanket.

Hagrid speared a few sausage links and slid them on a plate, then handed it to Harry. "Hope yeh like 'em, tha's all I got for breakfast."

"Some things never change." He chuckled at Hagrid scratching his temple in confusion. "You cooked these for my eleventh birthday."

The half-giant's face lit up. "Bes' day of me life. Though, my wandwork ended a bit spotty on yehr oaf of a cousin'. I was goin' fer the whole pig."

They reminisced through breakfast, beginning with their time in Diagon Alley and working their way through four years of memories and mishaps at Hogwarts. Morning merged into midday when Harry asked, "What happened during the last task of the tournament?"

Hagrid's chest puffed out. "Dumbledore ask me ta walk a side 'o the maze and help you lot if yeh called. He was a great man, never cared what others thought 'bout me, but . . .

"Maybe he shoulda cared." He deflated. "I was useless when they attacked. I didn't know wha' ta do, so I jus' stood there, watching the maze fall. I'm no good with me wand—"

A screech interrupted Hagrid's story, and he rose, racing from the cave without explanation. Fang joined him, barking and snarling, and they disappeared together into the forest.

Without a second's hesitation, Harry followed. His palms grew wet and he became acutely aware of his surroundings as he jogged along a well-worn path. Voldemort's Horcrux hummed inside his head and his own soul found a synchronous note, both excited at the prospect of another kill.

Around a knoll and down an incline, then up over a hill he continued until he eyed Hagrid, who stood in a small opening facing a black-robbed witch. Her frightened voice screeched a curse that bounced off his shoulder.

He picked her up by the front of her robes, grabbed her ankles, and swung. Her head collided with a tree-trunk and her body went limp.

"You're making short work of them," a voice said.

Harry spun, and found a wizard brushing off his trousers.

"Charlie?"

"Harry!" Charlie closed the distance and momentarily threw an arm around his shoulder. "Merlin, I'm happy seeing you again. Never thanked you for rescuing me."

"You don't need to."

Charlie stepped back. "Maybe not, but thanks, anyway."

"Did everyone else make it?" Harry asked.

A sad shake of the head answered him. "Two others died a few days later, and a third—another witch—killed herself, unable to cope with what they had done to her."

A muffled noise caught their attention. Harry back looked over his shoulder at Hagrid, kneeling by an unmasked Death Eater.

"Jus' a young-un," Hagrid managed. He took out a handkerchief the size of a tea-towel and blew his nose, causing a horrible honking sound that rattled Harry's ears.

The witch, he noticed, was a year or two older than he was.

Charlie laid a hand on Hagrid's shoulder. "That 'young-un' killed three wizards and over fifteen Muggles—all men."

"That many?" Harry asked. "Any idea why?"

"Learning how they govern, most likely. Her victims all worked in their government."

"Why would she want to know that?"

Charlie shrugged. "Can't say."

Behind them, Hagrid blew his nose again, then produced a ridiculously small-looking shovel in his hands. With a tender touch, he scooped the body into his arms and disappeared into the forest.

Harry started behind him, but Charlie grabbed his shoulder. "Let him be alone. He eases his guilt by giving them a proper burial."

"Everyone he kills?"

"No, Acromantulas'll feed upon most, but after so many years at Hogwarts, I think something inside him can't accept teenagers deserving death."

Harry snorted. "It's not that hard to believe."

"You've seen a lot more than he has despite his involvement in both wars."

"How's that?"

Charlie hesitated, then pulled Harry a few steps further along the path. "Dumbledore sheltered him. Your father and his friends helped. Look, Hagrid doesn't have the emotional depth of a typical wizard; he's about the same as a naive fourteen-year-old, and nothing'll change that. Overexpose him, and he'll be crushed, or worse."

"But Madame Maxime was a half-giant, and she seemed all right."

"True," Charlie answered. "But her parents were also half-giants, which better settled her nature. Still, I heard rumors of a fight she had with Hagrid at the Yule-ball."

"I saw that. She stormed off just as Fleur and her date poked their heads out from their hiding place in the rose garden. But it didn't seem that different from any other couple fighting."

Charlie shrugged. "Couldn't tell you. I hope you're not reminding Fleur of that night. I'd hate to think what she'd do to you!"

A lightning bolt of pain shot through him hearing her name, but he had plenty experience burying his feelings. "My best friend was a Weasley. What do you think?"

Charlie laughed, then changed subjects. "I wonder where that witch was from."

"What do you mean?"

"Her accent. It almost sounded American, but she had a strange way of drawing out her words."

"I've had a few run-ins with foreign Death Eaters. Maybe they're still recruiting from prisons?"

"Don't know, but this witch was refined, upper crust of society type. We're getting a lot of those over here now."

"What's a lot?" Harry asked.

"Rumors run in the hundreds, if not a few thousand. Not all of them are high-class, but they are people who live in society without causing a stir."

"What would Voldemort want with them? And why here?"

Before Charlie could answer, however, Hagrid emerged from a curtain of trees, covered with dirt and wiping at his eyes.

"Ready?" asked Harry.

Hagrid nodded, cleared his throat, and then cupped his hands around his mouth. "Fang! Stop yeh're smellin' and get over here!"

A few seconds later, Fang bounded toward them, his tongue lolling to one side and clumps of snow stuck in his fur, bouncing in stride. How this dog scared Harry the previous evening, he had no idea.

Back in the cave, Hagrid bounced between sorrow and anger, with pity thrown in for good measure. Maybe Charlie was right, he thought. Hagrid's attachment to Norberta was odd, as was his dependence on Harry, Ron, and Hermione when he became a teacher.

But, he certainly was wrong about winding up Fleur. Dangerous? Sure, and enjoyable. He'd wind her up every day if . . . "Charlie? You do realize Fleur died this spring?"

"Then she was doing a hell of a job as an Inferi this morning when—"

Harry reacted instantly, and a spell crashed into Charlie, trapping him against the floor.

"She's dead! I thought you Death Eaters were smart enough to know that, at least!"

"Wha— Harry! It's me! Charlie!"

"Liar! I told Charlie she was dead, and don't bother telling me she isn't! I watched healers cover her with a sheet and pronounce her!" His wand circled in the air, his Acidum Sanguinem Curse on his lips.

"Harry! Please!"

"Harry!" Hagrid bellowed. "Wha' are yeh doin'?"

"This bastard's impersonating Charlie."

"I'm me, I promise! Ask anything!"

Harry glared at him. "Fine! But first wrong answer, I'm turning your blood into acid—you offered me something downstairs in France. Tell me."

"The Burrow."

. . . How did he know that?

"Who did I threaten at Christmas?"

"I, I can't remember his name, but he was Gabrielle's date."

"And when you arrived after Hogwarts was attacked, what happened?"

"You jumped me." Charlie tried shifting, but Harry's Binding Spell held him tight. "I stepped from the floo and you leaped on my back and rode me to the ground. You apologized, but I said not to, that you're better being cautious. Then, you, Sirius, and Tonks took the mick out of me before I spent two hours consoling my mum. Now, damn it, let me up!"

There was a certain glint in a Weasley eye when one of them grew dangerously mad or stubborn—or stupid. He'd seen it in all four youngest siblings more than once, and he was seeing it again, here. No amount of Polyjuice could fake it.

But if this was Charlie, then Fleur . . .

"Harry?" Hagrid said again. "He tol' me all 'bout Norberta already."

Harry waved his wand and canceled the spell. "Where is she?"

"Who?" Charlie asked. "Fleur or Norberta?"

"Whoever's polyjuiced as Fleur."

"No one's polyjuiced, it's her, and Gabrielle's there, too. They're staying with Neville and the others."

Harry's world tipped on edge. Watching her Healer pull that sheet over her head was his single worst moment of his life. Everything good in Harry died that day. If she were alive . . .

"How?" he asked.

"She said her Healers never recognized her as Veela. So when her magic pushed her into hibernation, they thought she'd died."

"Torpor," Hagrid offered into the following silence. "Not hibernation."

Both wizards stared at him.

"Hippogriffs suffer the same way durin' winter if they're not fed. I thought Buckbeak died the year o' that nasty Slytherin's Heir business. I couldn' get out ta see him of'en enough."

Hope surged, but where he once held joy and happiness, only darkness dwelt; one consumed by a wicked longing to spill blood and take revenge. Fleur might be alive, but in an ironic twist, he realized, Harry Potter was dead.

A beautiful thing, too, the Horcrux reminded him. Who needs love? A weak, pathetic idea, once believed by a weak, pathetic man like Dumbledore. He could have been powerful, but he wasted it! All because he believed love was greater than the Dark Arts. He was a damned fool.

But Harry caught something underlying each word—fear. He could feel it, sense Voldemort's Horcrux fighting him, dragging him towards darkness. How much of his last few months were him, and how much was quietly driven by the Horcrux?

The thought scared him, and reminded him again, it was time to rid himself of it. Last night, he lay awake, pondering how, wondering if death was his only escape. Then, in a moment equal parts outright brilliance and sheer evil, he found his answer. He might also lose himself in the process—how often had he said that before?—but the hope of holding her again, tasting her lips, feeling her warm breath trickling across his cheek and hearing her heart beat, it was worth the risk. Then again, she might also reject him for what he'd grown into in her absence.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

"Twelve." Neville poured a cup of tea for Fleur as she joined him, Susan, and Cho at the table. "That's how many died when Ollivander's Wand Shop went up."

"Ignore Neville," Cho said. "He has a single-track mind and somehow forgets normal wizarding pleasantries—like 'Good morning.'"

"Hey, I made a cuppa for her, before breakfast even."

"Yeah," Susan answered. "So how do you know what she fancies for breakfast? Watched her a wee bit at Hogwarts, did we?"

Neville's complexion darkened a few shades. "Maybe I should mention a stack of letters I found addressed to Harry at your Aunts?"

"You're an ass, I was ten when I wrote those."

Neville poured a cup for himself and sat. "Including the letter from third year?"

Susan leaned towards Fleur. "Ignore him, we're still training him on properly using the loo. Always being reminded about lifting the seat makes him cranky."

Rather than getting involved, Fleur sipped her tea, then changed to a safer subject. "So, twelve?"

"According to the Order," Neville said. "Ollivander's shop and three or four others were destroyed as well—they were abandoned, we think."

"They were," Fleur agreed. "Which is why I overpowered our Protection Spells a little. Better too much, than not enough."

Behind her, Gabrielle stepped out of their bedroom and took a seat next to her. "A little? I think you charred my tail feathers."

"Keep it up and I'll pluck every last one."

Gabrielle giggled, and Fleur barely stopped her eye-roll in time as she watched her little sister, perched with her legs crossed and hands folded in her lap; a demure princess she was, except for that coy smile when Neville served her coffee.

"Thank you," she intoned.

"Decaffeinated, I hope." Fleur chuckled at prim and proper Gabrielle. Those weren't words often associated with her sister. Then again, shy wasn't either, at least not anymore.

"Sleep well?" Cho asked.

"I did," Gabby answered "I also wanted to apologize again. If I had known who you all were, there's no way I'd have attacked last night."

"Speaking of which, what happened?" asked Cho. "I've never seen someone that helpless without casting so much as a Tickling Charm."

"We can protect ourselves in several ways," answered Fleur, "including pushing images into a wizard's mind."

"Images?" Susan looked back and forth between both Veela. "What, images?"

"Remember what you saw on stage?" Fleur asked. "Depending on our strength and how hard we push, it may have been the opening scene to Neville's wildest dreams"

A gurgle escaped Neville's throat.

A wide-eyed Cho asked,"Gabrielle . . . um, so, how much magic did you throw at him?"

"All I had," a now timid Gabby answered.

"And she's very powerful," Fleur added.

"That's why his hips were bucking!" Susan said, putting together the pieces. "You made him—"

"That's enough." Neville leaned back in his chair. "She apologized and I accepted. Let's move on."

"No," Susan said. She turned to Gabrielle, "You molested him with your magic!"

"I wouldn't say that—"

"You hijacked a wizard's desires and caused him to orgasm in the middle of a street! What would you call that?"

Timid Gabby vanished, giving way for Pissed-Off Veela Gabrielle. She slammed a palm against the table. "I was saving my sister's life. So if you don't like it, then, then . . . Fuck off!"

Fleur's eyes bulged. "Gabby!"

"What! You're my sister. I'm not letting you die. Like I said, she can—"

"I KNOW!" Fleur interrupted. "I heard!"

"And I agree," Neville said. "If I had a sister and the ability, I'd do the same. Speaking of which, Susan, if you could have saved Tracy in Newquay—"

Susan glared at him. "That's different!"

"Different? We all were just becoming friends, but Fleur is Gabrielle's sister."

Fleur listened as they continued arguing, and noted an underlying tightness in Susan's visage often associated with hurt, so she let loose her empathetic senses. A wave of manufactured revulsion overwhelmed her, but she pushed through, finding a plethora of secondary, honest feelings surrounding a protective core. Odd, she thought. She expected envy, jealousy, and feelings driven by Susan's own want toward Neville, but what she found instead was much deeper. The young witch mourned for him, for what he'd become and for all his endured losses. She loved him more than words could express, not a romantic, but similar to what she felt between Harry and Markus the night after they fought together in Bremen—a love born of blood, a brotherhood earned in battle. Susan would be at his side, protecting him in this war until she lay dead at his feet.

And that, a Veela understood.

"Susan?"

The witch shot her a fiery gaze.

"Veela are empaths. I sense what you're feeling; your concern and love for Neville—no, not that kind, but rather, love had between people who put their lives in each other's hands, who war together against enemies. I sensed it between Harry and a friend after they fought Death Eaters in Germany."

"He what?" Cho asked, re-entering the conversation.

"Later," Fleur said before continuing. "That bond is almost unbreakable, but it's nothing compared to Veela. I can't explain how, but Gabrielle and I have a magical and biological mandate that commands we defend each other, and the rest of our flock as well. And, since not all our magic is available, we compensate."

"So, she had an excuse?" Susan asked.

"No," Fleur's eyes narrowed. "I'm saying we're all lucky she gave him an overdose of lust, rather than killing him outright."

Susan opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"I don't enjoy it, either, which is why I apologized again," Gabrielle added. "There's enough people telling stories of Veela whores. I need not add another chapter."

"I never meant it like that."

Gabrielle huffed her disagreement.

"If you don't believe me, that's your problem. But around here, Death Eaters threaten, molest, even rape women, Muggle or Witch—hell, men too. Then, here you come, attacking Neville, driving him so insane he collapses and orgasms uncontrollably. So excuse me if I find it too bloody similar."

Letting go of Gabrielle's knee, Fleur balled her fists under the table to control her anger. Protecting Neville was fine, but comparing her sister with Death Eaters . . .

Gabrielle, however, didn't give her the chance. "You obviously missed where I was pushing images in self-defense? We've seen Death Eaters, too. And they molest and rape because they can, because they thrive off the control and terror it causes. If you can't see the difference between the two, I'll conjure you a compass and a pair of glasses so you can find your own ass since everything else seems beyond you!"

Fleur bit both lips, and she noted Cho, sitting across from her, remaining stoic, except for a twitch pulling at her left cheek.

"I also noticed you didn't answer Neville's question," Gabby continued. "So tell me, what if you could have saved your friend, whatever her name was—with my magic? Would you?"

"Tracey," Neville said, but his words stuck in his throat and a wave of emotion rolled over Fleur.

Susan pointed at Gabby. "Don't you dare!"

"But Neville—"

"Neville was there. You weren't."

"Gabrielle," Neville interrupted while gently pushing Susan's arm down, "what happened to Tracey is a sore subject." He turned to Susan. "But she's right. If I could reverse that night . . ."

"Me, too," Cho added, her humor having disappeared. "If given a chance, I'd return with Gabrielle and help Tracey faster than single twist of a Time-turner."

"That's because you feel guilty for something that's not your fault."

"That doesn't change the point. If you could go back with Fleur or Gabrielle, would you? Would you rather see them knock out every wizard there so we could save Tracy?"

Susan shook her head. "I . . . , if we act like Death Eaters, overriding their own bodies, how different are we?"

Neville coughed. "Um, you're pretty spectacular at it as well."

"Me? I can't force a wizard—"

"The Imperius Curse," he interrupted.

"That's . . . I'm not . . ." Susan slumped in her seat and an awkward pause followed until Gabrielle finally broke the ensuing silence.

"I'm not sure if this helps, but our laws restrict using our magic that way. Outside self-defense, I'd be in a lot of trouble."

Susan rubbed at her forehead. "That's something, at least. So, was it your first time?"

Gabby took a shaky breath. "No. Yesterday afternoon, a Killing Curse missed Fleur by an inch. If I had hesitated, she'd be dead."

"No wonder you were so quick hitting Neville last night. Look, despite our argument, I understand protecting family. Trust me."

"Yeah, well, I pushed it at all three of you; imagine my surprise when just one of you fell."

Cho tilted her head and the skin between her eyes crinkled. "What happened?"

"Veela magic affects only males," Fleur explained.

"Really?" Cho chewed on her lip in thought. "From what I remember, magic doesn't distinguish between gender. Why is yours so different?"

Fleur explained why, which turned into a lesson on all things Veela, including how their magic played off hormones. She even confessed what happened with Harry in the cave and how she chased away his demons as he slept, along with the differences between that and what Gabrielle had done.

"So," Susan began an hour later, "why not whack Voldemort with your magic when you had the chance? You could have killed him while he fantasized about Malfoy's arse."

"Changed your mind, have we?" asked Neville.

"No, but if what she's saying is true, there's no reason she couldn't have."

"You're right," Fleur agreed. "But my magic wouldn't have worked on him."

"Why not?" asked Susan.

"Three types of wizards ignore Veela magic: very old wizards who've lost their sex drive; wizards so focused they've repressed normal biological wants; and those who spend time with us and focus on fighting off the effects."

"And Voldemort is nothing if not driven," Neville added, connecting the dots.

"Exactly. So, Susan, may we move past this?"

Susan took a deep breath. "I'm still uncomfortable—I understand helping someone, like with Harry. But attacking people . . . seems wrong."

"Even protecting your own sister?" asked Neville.

"Yes . . . no . . . I'm not sure." She leaned forward, across from Gabrielle. "I guess, if I believed my sister was being killed before my eyes, I too would've done everything I could to stop it. But, I'd feel a whole lot better if you didn't, at least while you're here. It's getting hard to tell the difference between what we're doing and what Death Eaters are doing already. I don't know if I could handle blurring the lines any more."

"So, you resembling Death Eaters in all you do is fine, but one similarity turns me into a monster with a mask?" asked Gabrielle.

"That's not what she said," Neville answered. He kept his voice level and kind. "We're doing so much now that reminds her of how they act that anything more makes it even harder to distinguish, right Susan?"

She nodded. "And, when you put it that way, Gabrielle, I realize I'm being selfish, but after hearing what happened to Tracey, I can't help it."

Neville filled them in on the story, horrifying Gabrielle.

"They did that to her for how long?"

"Months," Neville answered. "All because she wouldn't give up Marcus's location."

A grimace touched her lips. "I won't use my magic like I did unless I have no other choice, but if it's between them or Fleur dying, all bets are off."

Fleur laid a kiss against her head. "I knew you loved me."

"Don't push it," She answered, to everyone's amusement.

Neville stood and dropped his cup into the sink. "Moving on, Fleur's Death Eater informed us there's a back-alley get-together in Bristol tonight. Marcus, Ollie, and I figured we should pay them a visit. Anyone interested in coming along?"

"As if we'd say no," Cho said.

"Is this an open invitation?" Fleur asked.

"Sure."

"Then I'll go as well."

"Me, too—" Gabrielle started, but Neville interrupted before she could finish.

"No. We're not there to talk to them. We might capture a few and hand them over to others; find out what they know. But we're not going—"

It was Gabrielle's turn to cut him off. "You don't think I realize that?"

Neville looked at Fleur. "Are you okay with her going?"

Fleur shrugged. "No. But I don't get to choose. She's of age, remember?"

Neville's discomfort played out in his narrowed eyes and tapping pinky finger. "Can you defend yourself—outside your Veela magic?" he asked Gabrielle.

"Let's go out back and see?" she challenged.

"There's no need for that," Fleur said. "If Gabrielle wasn't able, I wouldn't have brought her with me. And, I've seen this hen at work. Trust me, who knows what she'd do to you the next time."

Fleur barely got her instep out the way before Gabrielle stomped it with her boot heel.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

"Apolline, are you in here?"

Apolline excused herself from Maryse and Anastasie and approached the badly lit entrance to the smaller sitting room.

"Hello, Philippe, I'm glad you made our Christmas party, is your wife—"

"No," he interrupted. "I need to speak with you and Jacque, where is he?"

Her eyebrows pulled together. He wasn't a rude man, so whatever this was about . . . She pointed at the ceiling "He's entertaining guests by the upstairs fireplace."

"I'll get him and we'll meet across the hall." He turned to leave, but Apolline grabbed his arm.

"You're scaring me, what's going on?"

Philippe shook his head, then looked beyond her into the room. "Who's the highest Flock Leader here?"

"Anastasie," she answered. "At least for my flock, but we have a guest who's higher than her."

"Bring them both—and any others as well." He pulled from her grasp and shot upstairs.

People seldom used Philippe and drama in the same sentence, she remembered. A weight settled in her stomach.

"Who was that; is everything okay?"

She spun on her heel and found two of her more distant relatives, one on each side. They were sisters and almost identical, although the one on her left was a hair taller, and both full Veela. Having sensed something, they'd surreptitiously drawn their wands.

"Deputy Minister of Security—Foreign affairs for Magical France," she answered. "And my husband's best friend. Find my mother. Tell her and her Zekānōt friend to meet us in the larger sitting room across the hall."

Even in her own house, it was unusual for a part-Veela to bark orders at a full-Veela, and they hesitated a brief instant before agreeing. "I think she's upstairs," the taller one answered. I'll get her." And she was off.

"Anyone else you need?" the other one asked.

"Anastasie and Maryse," she answered. She also thought about inviting her sisters, but decided against it. If it were important enough, she'd tell them later. Why ruin their night? "Oh, and when Angelica returns, please apologize to her for me, I didn't mean to give her orders."

Deifilia, fifteen years younger than Apolline, clucked her tongue. "Yes, you did, and don't worry about it. Our magic still recognizes the Guillory line. But thanks for playing along."

"Impertinent child."

The younger Veela winked, then guided her out of the room. "Go, I'll get Auntie and Maryse."

Apolline crossed into the large, open area and with a few waves of her wand, arranged the chairs around the fireplace.

"Froissé́!"

The harried elf appeared, bursting with pride. "Madame's party being the bestest! Froissé be getting many compliments from other Elves come to watch."

Elves came to watch? —Apolline forced herself not to get sidetracked. "Minister Philippe is here, and he looks as if he hasn't eaten tonight. Can you make sure he gets something from upstairs? Bring it down here so he can eat while he talks."

A disappearing House-elf was her answer.

Anastasie joined her. "Deifilia said you needed to see me? I assume it has something to do with the Minister speaking to you in the hall?"

"Philippe requested Flock Leaders be here. So Sammit'll or whatever she's called will be here, too, and my mother. I hope you don't mind."

"I don't. Samrawit is poised to sit Third Seat on the dais, and Anne-Marie is a good advisor."

Third Seat? Apolline pondered what the fourth most powerful Veela in all the Zekānōt and a disgraced Flock Leader were doing together. Ever since Anne-Marie—Maman to Apolline—involved herself in Veela affairs again, an entire new level of intrigue existed everywhere she went.

Apolline relaxed next to the large fireplace and waited until her husband and the others joined them a minute or two later.

Philippe took the spot she vacated when she sat on the couch, his back to the fire. "I'm sorry to draw you away from your party, Apolline, but I have something I wanted to tell you myself."

Apolline clutched at her throat. "Tell me my daughters are okay."

"As far as we know, they are, and we have no reason to think otherwise," Philippe said, easing her fear. "But I needed everyone here so . . . so . . . damn Security Spells!"

"Sunshine Rule?" Jacque asked.

"Of course, stupid laws."

Jacque took a quick count. "There's seven of us here and six of us are French."

"Good, Jacque and I count as two. So, we need two more to declare their loyalty to wizarding France rather than the Veela Nation for the duration of this meeting."

"That is most unusual," Samrawit replied.

"I would do it," Anastasie said, "but I feel you need to speak to us as Zekānōt, no?"

"You're right."

"Then Maryse is also out, and Samrawit isn't French," Anastasie continued. "So, Anne-Marie, Apolline, it looks like you're our designees."

With little choice in the matter, they both declared for the interests of France.

"What was that about?" Apolline asked once they finished.

"Wartime Secrecy Act," her husband answered. "Two members under oath and two more who are loyal to Magical France must be present when discussing sensitive information with foreign nationals."

"Spies work in secret; the truth, in light," Philippe added. "At least, that's the sunshine they shoved up our ass before making us take the oaths. It's a piss-poor law that hinders war-efforts when it goes into effect."

Froissé appeared in the middle of the group with a plate and a large glass of wine levitating next to her. Apolline took it and dismissed the elf with a kind word before handing it to Philippe. "Sit and eat."

And then, to both his and Apolline's surprise, Anastasie rose from her chair. "Take mine. I fear you have more need of it than I do. When was the last time you ate or slept?"

By the looks of it, a week ago, Apolline decided. The plate was already a third empty and he hadn't even made it to the offered seat yet. With a whispered command, she called Froissé again, then asked her to keep the food coming and afterward, make up the guest room.

"What time is it?" Philippe asked after swallowing another bite of his sandwich.

"Nine-thirty," Maryse answered.

"I've been going almost thirty-six hours. We broke for lunch around eleven this morning."

"Why didn't you . . ." Jacque trailed off.

"You left before we heard."

"Heard what?" Apolline asked.

Philippe moistened his lips with another sip of wine before launching into his story.

"We got word late last night of two separate events occurring on the island." The island had one meaning in wizarding France anymore. "The first one, we just learned, was an attack against mid-level Death Eaters. They intended it as a trap for a young man you know well, but he turned it on them, killing nine. Two escaped."

"That's good, but why is it so urgent we know now?" Maryse said.

He took another sip. "Something foreign and very dangerous attacked Masseur Potter, and it scared him terribly, we assume."

"How do you figure that?" Jacque asked.

"The only spell that can cause the damage he unleashed is Fiendfyre. And, it's seldom used, except in the most extreme circumstances."

Apolline gripped her husband's knee in fright. "Did it get away from him? Is he alive?"

"He's better than that, he's safe and for the first time, staying with someone he trusts. Our concern, however, is the creature he was cursing. It almost sounded like some kind of male anti-Veela—ugly, powerful as hell, and it came from the sky."

"How do you know all this?" Apolline asked.

"Sorry." He had the grace to look abashed, at least. "I can't tell you, except to say we have always kept back-channels of communication open with their—I guess they're considered dissident leaders, now. It's their former government, many of whom still hold their jobs in the current one."

"Ahem." Jacque gave Philippe a hard glare.

Philippe dismissed it with a wave of the hand. "We had ten people, all fresh out of Beauxbatons this year, look over information scrubbed of its sources and they figured out that much within the first few minutes. I'm not giving anything away." He gestured to all the witches in the circle. "And even if I were, there are three Flock Leaders present, which makes this a high-level briefing with the Veela nation. What I shared is normal background information in such instances."

Apolline felt Jacque shift in his chair, uneasy with the explanation, but he held his tongue, and she figured she knew why.

Philippe was right.

"So, anyone have any idea what this being might be?" Philippe asked.

"Are you sure it wasn't Voldemort?" Maryse said.

"I wondered that, too," Jacque agreed.

Philippe swallowed another bite of his meal. "Can't be, we know he was on the continent last night."

"In that case," Samrawit answered. "It sounds similar to a Tik-tik, but why would a Malaysian blood-creature travel to Britain?"

"A what?" Jacque asked.

"A blood creature; Tik-tik is the common name for Manananggal. Popular Philippine folklore says they're female vampires that separate themselves in half and go searching for young pregnant women to feed on."

"That's reassuring," Jacque muttered. "Please tell me it's just folklore.

Samrawit fixed her eyes on him. "We should be so lucky. In reality, they're asexual magical beings whose origins are lost to antiquity, but they consider themselves akin to demons, and their disposition doesn't allay that belief."

"And you believe it attacked 'Arry?" asked Apolline.

She shook her head. "I have no idea, and I've never heard of them leaving South East Asia, except for their Quidditch team."

Blink. "Quidditch?" Apolline asked.

"They're damn good, but like Veela, they're not bound to a Vulgaire state, so they don't have representation in the World Cup."

Philippe drained his wine. "Before we get sidetracked, any other ideas what these creatures might be?"

"No," Samrawit answered. "But if I'm right and they've joined forces with Britain's Dark Lord, then a darkness is descending over Britain that'll last millennia."

"That's a rather unpleasant thought," Apolline faced Philippe, "You said there were two events last night, what was the second?"

He let a small smile crawl across his lips. "A massive explosion shook Diagon Alley, killing over fifteen Death Eaters and destroying an entire block of buildings, but not all is substantiated yet."

"Well, that's good, I guess," Apolline said.

"More than good," Philippe countered. "An eye-witness recounted two witches staying at Ollivander's Wand Shop leaped from the second story as it exploded, and then—get this, turned themselves into large birds and landed blocks away."

"My girls!"

"That's what I thought," Philippe agreed. "Our source wouldn't confirm their identities, but we know the witches destroyed Ollivander's after Death Eaters invaded, and we also know they later met others associated with the Order and are now staying with them."

"The . . . the Order?" She turned to Jacque. "Is that what Fleur . . . ?"

He wrapped an arm around her. "It is."

She fought back tears as Maryse asked, "Why did you rush over here and pull us all away from the party upstairs? Something's not adding up."

Philippe dug the heels of both hands into tired eyes. "You're right. What I just told you helped the last pieces drop into place. Look, these are rough estimates, but from what we've been hearing, a good portion of Death Eaters killed last night were foreign, and that doesn't include that ticktock thing. We've also heard they're working their way into Muggle society and up into their government. Once we realized that, we called an emergency meeting with the Vulgaire ministries of France and Britain, which finished ten minutes before they dispatched me here."

"Dispatched . . . My God." Jacque closed his eyes. When he opened them, Apolline saw once again the man he had to become years ago. He took a slow, steady breath. "When?"

"We're in the preliminary stages, but since seven this evening, Magical and Vulgaire France is in secret alliance with Vulgaire Britain against their magical society. Make no mistake, we are officially at war."

Anastasie whistled. "Allied with Vulgaire governments against another magical government, it'll cause a firestorm in the ICW, even if they've declared bearers of the mark guilty in absentia."

"Which they have," Jacque reminded the gathering.

"Still," Philippe said, looking at the Franco-Celtic Flock Leader. "Anastasie's right, but, your Zekānōt will be worse."

"Why's that?" asked Apolline. The Zekānōt members, however, already seemed to know.

"It'll cause a firestorm, maybe even literally" Samrawit answered. "Did you know there'd be enough of us here tonight to form a delegation?"

"I hoped so, and you not being from the French flock allows it to be an official delegation, no?"

"It does," she agreed. "But we have no decision-making authority, we may receive official requests only. Why the urgency?"

"We think Death Eaters'll make their push sometime next summer or fall, and it'll take most of that time to get our supposed allies on board, let alone prepared."

"I see." She communicated with Anastasie with a single look, then confirmed their decision with Maryse.

"Make your request," Samrawit announced.

Philippe calmed himself. "The Magical Government of France believes its equivalent in Britain will expand this war to include Vulgaire Britain, violating multiple ICW laws. After battles throughout the continent, we also believe the coming attack is an opening move for control over both magical and Vulgaire governments across Europe. The French governments, along with the British Vulgaire government, therefore formally request the Zekānōt align with us against Magical Britain's current government—headed by Voldemort."

Samrawit, Anastasie, and Maryse stood; their ancient regal magic filling the room. And then, as a shiver slithered down Apolline's spine, she noticed her own mother standing behind the other Flock Leaders. Anne-Marie's magic flowed so powerfully it threatened to drown out all but the Nubian Veela.

"The Veela nation will duly consider your request. When do you require a response?" Samrawit asked.

"No later than June one. If there's anything good in this mess, it's the disdain they have for the Vulgaire world, disadvantaging themselves considerably. So, we suspect it'll be six months before they can overtake Vulgaire Britain without causing mass panic."

"I don't get it, wouldn't mass panic help them?" asked Apolline.

Philippe and Jacque answered in unison, "No." So, Philippe gestured for Jacque to explain.

"We've had a few wizards enter the Vulgaire armed forces. What they report is frightening. In a face-to-face fight, magic might always trump non-magic, but Vulgaire forces have people who can kill you with something smaller than a baby carrot from over a thousand yards, and that's the beginning of their ingenuity. I'd imagine if Voldemort is gathering people from all over the world, a few will have this knowledge, which is how they'll blend in and take over from the inside. At least that's the position the ministry came to a week ago, and nothing has changed since," Philippe said.

"A week?" Anastasie asked.

"We've known something was coming, but couldn't figure out what, so there's been people looking at a dozen or more scenarios. This was one of them."

Apolline opened her mouth to ask another question, but instead, felt Samrawit's Veela magic flow through her, ordering her to stay silent. It was a move seldom done in the Veela world, and that alone drove home the implications of this evening—soon, the Zekānōt would meet and decide if the nation would fight.

The meeting broke up just a few minutes later, and most of the participants headed back up the stairs.

Philippe, however, started down the steps to the front door.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Apolline.

"Home."

"My feathered ass you are. You're so tired you'll be lucky if you don't splinch yourself, or worse."

"I'll be fine."

Apolline marched down the stairs and pushed the door shut, then took his hand and let out just enough Veela magic to soothe him. "You're staying here tonight. Froissé́ has already made up the spare bed. I'll floo your wife and let her know. She can come and stay as well, if she wants, but you are not traveling in your condition. Am I clear?"

"I'd listen if I were you," Jacque said from the top of the stairs. "And if it'd make you feel better, I'll escort your wife here myself if she decides."

Philippe relented and Apolline led him up the stairs to the guest bedroom, then called his wife over the floo and explained Philippe's condition.

"Thank you," she answered. "And I'm sorry for not making your party, but with Philippe working so much, I wanted to be home when he got here."

Apolline stepped through the floo and gathered her in a hug. "No apology necessary." Then she helped her gather a bag of clothes and personal items before returning.

"Everything settled?" Jacque asked twenty minutes later as Apolline put in another appearance on the top floor where the party was still going strong.

"She's downstairs, headed to bed. They both looked like hell, tonight."

Jacque snatched a pastry from a tray that floated by. "It will only get worse. We're either looking at the end of this war, or the beginning of a world war. Pray to all the gods in heaven it's the first."

"I am," she answered. "Every night."

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

"Are you sure about this?"

Gabrielle pulled her hair out from under the winter robes and buttoned it. "I'm not staying here alone wondering if any of you will make it back."

"You wouldn't be alone. Jaycinda'll be coming over in a few minutes."

She stopped fiddling with her coat and looked Neville in the eye. "Last time I met her, she almost broke my nose. I'm safer fighting Death Eaters, no?"

"No, but you're as stubborn as the rest of us, so I guess there's no talking you out of it."

"Are you always this pleasant?"

"He's usually worse," Cho said from behind. She handed Neville a Portkey. "It activates in five minutes."

"Why is it timed?" he wondered.

"Death Eaters set another Portkey block. Madame Bones's connections figured a work-around for timed Portkeyes."

"Nothing wizard-activated?"

"Three more days, she thinks."

"Great."

Cho turned to her. "You and Fleur are on overwatch duty with Marcus and Adrian."

As though summoned by their names, two wizards walked through the front door.

"Marcus, Adrian!" Fleur hugged them both. "You saved our lives last spring—thank you!"

"You saved ours, multiple times. It was a dreadful night," Marcus answered.

"One I'd prefer not dwelling on," Adrian added. "I thought you and Harry were both dead. We all did."

We almost were," Fleur said. "I never found out who drove off the Death Eaters."

Marcus pointed his chin at Neville. "He and a few others were following a group of them. They led them to the meeting, so Neville took his group and swept around the side, attacking their flank and driving them back."

Gabrielle stepped nearer her sister, and noted both wizards. Marcus was taller, with the well-defined upper body of a professional athlete. Adrian was smaller and at first glance, the prettier of the two, but a hardness existed in his demeanor that matched Neville.

He turned to her. "So, you're Gabrielle?"

She raised a bemused eyebrow.

"I'm dating Jaycinda."

"Ah, how often do you smell like steak?"

He chuckled. "She's not quick enough to hit me even if she tried." Then he waved Fleur over before asking, "Did Neville explain your roles tonight?"

"Something about being on a rooftop," Fleur answered. "But that's all."

"Our responsibility's making sure there are no surprises, and to bail the others out if there are. We'll be hidden on the roofs."

"Why's that?" Gabrielle asked.

"Higher ground," Fleur answered.

"She's right," Adrian agreed. "And it gives us a better view."

Five minutes later, Gabrielle stood next to Fleur on the roof of another run-down building. They faced a soot-laden back alley buried in another used-and-then-discarded industrial-revolution city. A big brick wall spanned the alley a block to the north. Below them, Neville and the others hid in the shadows and waited for the Death Eaters they expected to exit one of the buildings. Adrian and Marcus rested on the adjacent rooftop. If she stared very hard, she could almost make out their outlines.

"Heads up," Fleur whispered next to her.

Gabrielle turned her attention to the street below. Death Eaters emerged from a door fifty feet to the left of her perch. She froze, not wanting to tip them off by moving as Marcus had instructed her.

The first sign of the ensuing battle was a strange squelching noise zipping up the street and someone banishing a potion at the door the Death Eaters exited. It melted into the frame, cutting off their sole avenue of escape.

Before she could blink, eight green curses leapt across the street, killing three separate Death Eaters before the fight even began. Faces appeared in open second-story windows across from her, launching spells at her friends below. Explosions reached her ears, followed by the sight of debris littering the street as Death Eaters at ground level launched their own volley of assorted spells.

It was all so fast, so scary, so overwhelming—this was war, real war, and it was nothing like she thought it'd be. Dozens of curses crisscrossed below her, crashing into bodies and killing the less-lucky ones. Already, how many had died? Three? Five? And it all happened while she inhaled a single breath of cold, polluted air.

Then, an uneasy tingling took hold in her Veela magic.

"Dark Arts," Fleur said, as if in response.

"You feel it too?"

"It's faint. So, are you ready to do this?"

"What, fight?"

"Yes. Our friends'll die if we don't."

And with that, both Fleur and Gabrielle entered the battle. A Killing Curse leaped from Fleur's wand and streaked the distance, hitting a Death Eater in the leg, and killing him.

Gabrielle sent across two nastier spells in her repertoire: Jagged Cutters and Bone Breakers. Two more second-floor Death Eaters went down, and more took their spots, but these had seen where the curses originated.

Gabby ducked behind the parapet as a Mauve Curse whooshed overhead. She came up and fired off three jinxes meant to do nothing more than keep the Death Eater she targeted busy. Fleur followed it up with a much more brutal spell that lit the Death Eater in a yellow glow. He retched, expelling his insides to the sidewalk below before following them to his death.

"Down!" Gabby felt herself being yanked backwards. She landed hard on her bum, sliding a few feet on the rough surface as another set of curses shot above her. By the time she crouched behind the parapet again, Marcus and Adrian had disappeared. They reappeared behind the Death Eaters on the second floor.

Two more went down from green curses to their backs, but the others were quick, and they spun to face the wizards.

Gabrielle wasn't about to watch someone she knew die. With all the force she could muster, she pulled up both Veela and human magic and commanded them through her wand.

The raw magic left a streak of white light, contained in glowing, wispy blue. A second, simultaneous bout of magic flowed from Fleur's wand, hitting the far wall with an explosion that shook the block. Brick, mortar, plaster, and everything else in the vicinity blew inward, slicing through anyone too close to protect themselves, but missing both Marcus and Adrian.

Below, the battle had turned against the rest of her friends as more Death Eaters poured into the alley thirty yards to Gabrielle's right. They were smart enough to keep to their left, which hid them from her and her sister.

Her new-found friends were about to die.

With a roll of her shoulders and flip of her hands, her winter robe dropped. She ignored the sting of frozen air through her jumper and trouser and raced across the rooftop. Dormant instincts came alive, and she didn't even have to look to know Fleur was in lockstep.

They reached the parapet on the right side of the building, and without breaking stride, stepped up and pushed with all their might against the top of the wall. Without thought, she shifted forms, gave a mighty pump of her wings, and glided to the next building. Crossing its parapet, she transformed back, dropped to the roof, and ran again, still not breaking stride. To her left, the light from cast spells grew more intense and she used it to judge her next launch point.

Fifteen yards.

Ten yards.

Gabrielle felt her magic tethered to Fleur's, locked together in a way that reminded her of the day they watched Petra fight Professor Sirko.

Now!

She turned hard left, put her foot on the long-running Parapet facing the alley of the ongoing battle, and pushed off again. But this time, she straightened her body in mid-air, aiming at the nearest Death Eater, then transformed.

An instant before hitting her target, she flared her wings, giving her enough forward momentum to drive her talons through his chest, her other claw sinking into his throat. Then, she kicked her legs and an awful tearing noise reached her ears, followed by a headless body thudding against the ground.

Gabrielle landed, her wand up, and a Blasting Spell disintegrating a second Death Eater's stomach. Blood and flesh filled the air, splattering off the surrounding walls and coating her.

A Killing Curse streaked by, hitting the last standing Death Eater. She watched him fall, then spun and saw Neville racing towards them, the battle over.

And with it, Gabby's ability to process what happened shut off, overloaded that she had taken a life—two, three lives in the last twenty seconds. She tried to breathe, to blink, to do something, but no part of her body would obey. A ripping erupted from her chest she realized were her own sobs. Only then could she form a single word, her eyes focused on her sister holding her in both hands. "Fleur?"

Gabrielle collapsed, shaking uncontrollably.

Somewhere behind her, worried voices questioned if she were okay. Her sister's voice—sad and broken—answered. "She's never killed someone."

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Cramps pinched at Fleur's legs and her back was sore from the odd angle in which she was leaning, but nothing would stop her from holding her sister, sitting on their makeshift bed in the safe house. Gabrielle stopped crying an hour after they arrived, but said little since.

A knock on the door pulled her attention from Gabrielle. She looked up to see Susan poking her head in the room.

"May we come in for a second?"

She nodded.

Susan, Cho, and Jaycinda entered. Susan carried a vial and a glass of water. "I just came back from Aunt Amelia's. After telling her about tonight, she brewed a potion and told me to give it to you."

"What is it?" Fleur asked.

"She called it 'Auror's Aftermath.' It's a Sleeping Draft they use after facing nasty or difficult situations. It lets you fall into a restful sleep and keeps dreams away, but it's not as harsh as a Dreamless Sleep potion. Unfortunately, it leaves a slight taste in your mouth, which is what the water is for."

"Gabrielle?" Fleur nudged her sister, still sitting in her lap and leaning against her. "Do you want to try it?"

"Later."

Fleur gestured toward the nightstand and Susan set it down. At the foot of the mattress, Jaycinda knelt. "Gabrielle? If it'll help, you can punch me in the nose. You owe me a good one."

"No, thanks, I already feel bad enough."

"I can't say I understand," Jaycinda said. "I haven't had to do something like that, yet, but you helped bring everyone home safe, and those Death Eaters you killed were bad people. So, don't be too hard on yourself."

Gabrielle didn't answer. Fleur leaned her chin on her sister's head and asked. "How's Neville? His wounds didn't look that bad, but I've learned that doesn't mean much."

"He'll be okay," Cho answered. "Neville caught the tail-end of an Explosive Spell. It'll scar him some more, but that's about it."

"Watching him was surreal. Except for 'Arry, I've never seen someone fight like that."

"And I've never seen anyone fight like you and Gabrielle," Susan replied. "The way you two came off that roof in tandem—" she laid a hand on Gabrielle's knee "—what you did was amazing."

Gabrielle sat up and wiped her cheeks dry. "Susan?"

"Yes?"

"Bugger off! Bitch!" She slapped the witch's hand off her knee.

Fleur's brain short-circuited. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," she answered before glaring at Susan again. "You're a hypocrite! 'Don't be like the Death Eaters. Your magic is too much like what they do.' Yeah? Well, they also kill people, just like I did—and now you're applauding me? Those wizards are dead because I promised I wouldn't use my Veela magic. If I did, they'd still be alive, and I wouldn't have half that man's body splattered all over my clothes!"

Susan rubbed her hand, but gave no sign of backing off. "And you think turning a man's sexuality against him is any better?"

"I am Veela. I understand how my magic affects wizards. I feel it, sense it, smell it," Gabrielle said. "But now, I know how killing a wizard feels! And, in case you forgot, we're empathetic. So I felt everything he felt as he died, and it was a thousand times worse than lying on a road overexcited. So excuse me if I don't get all a-feather in moral outrage about using my Veela magic!"

Fleur watched as Susan's anger flitted across her face, then morph into something much softer. She knelt, eye level with Gabrielle. "Listen, what you did tonight was justified. The wizarding world—hell, even the Muggle world—is built on the idea that anyone who murders, forfeits his or her own life. You believe it yourself. That's why you didn't have a problem when your sister killed Pansy or the Death Eaters in the graveyard. And, think about Harry, or Neville. Between them, they've killed hundreds of wizards and witches."

When Gabrielle didn't respond, she continued.

"Look, after talking to Neville this afternoon, I realize I overreacted this morning, but I still stand by what I said—no, listen—Neville shared with me what your magic did, how it mixed with his imagination and supplied images of you. Now, If Neville was a Death Eater who had no sense of right or wrong—and most of them don't—what do you think he'd do after seeing all those images?"

"I know," Gabrielle answered. "But it doesn't make me feel any better."

"Good." Cho knelt next to Susan. "If it did, then you wouldn't be as good a person as you are now."

"Exactly." Fleur prodded her sister to face her. "This is what I meant about being a beautiful human. An ugly human would fold in the face of fear, change everything they believed just to suit their own purposes, but you're too beautiful inside to do that."

"How can someone be beautiful inside when they kill?"

"Killing is ugly," Fleur agreed. "But sometimes beautiful humans, like Papa, 'Arry, or Neville must do ugly things."

Gabrielle pondered that for a minute before looking up at Susan. "Sorry for calling you a bitch . . . or telling you to eff off this morning."

Susan gave Gabrielle the largest genuine smile Fleur had yet seen from the younger witch since their days at Hogwarts. "Don't be, and remember, talking helps. The first time I killed a wizard was the night of Hogwarts's attack. A week later, I realized I killed another human being, and then I cried for three days straight." She lifted the potion. "It's also how I know this stuff works. Sleep now, and we'll talk again tomorrow if you need to."

Thirty minutes later, Fleur closed the door to her room and sat at the kitchen table.

"Is she asleep, yet?" Neville asked.

"Just," Fleur answered.

"I heard everything out here—I'm sorry she had to go through that."

"Don't be. I warned her we were stepping into the middle of a war, but she wouldn't change her mind."

"Why's that?"

"Guilt. She blames herself for 'Arry returning, but more than that, I think she couldn't stand watching me leave without helping."

Neville picked at a gouge in the old table. "So, I take it if I hit her with a Portkey to France, she'd find her way back and make my life a living hell."

Fleur smiled. "If you got off that lucky. What's this about knowing what I liked for breakfast at Hogwarts?"

A chuckle escaped his chest. "I'm not living that down, am I?"

She took his hand and let a slight bit of her magic out, enough to help the raw pain that his current stoic facade hid. "Nope, nor are you any good at hiding what's bothering you."

He shifted in his seat, discomfort registering both in emotions flowing off him, and in the tightness of the muscles around his eyes and in his shoulders. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"She's not Su Li, and you can't redeem yourself by protecting Gabrielle."

"I know, I . . ." He sighed. "Someone like her doesn't belong in this hell. I heard what you said in there, and you're right."

Fleur patted his hand and hid the grin that threatened to break out. "Neither do you, or 'Arry, or any of us."

"I don't know about that. My first time killing someone was that night at Hogwarts, and it released a yearning for blood, for death. And then, after Su died, I went numb. The only thing I could feel was the desire to see the bitch who did it, suffer. That sure as hell doesn't make me a beautiful human."

"Don't be so sure. Veela are a good judge of character. I wouldn't bother with you if you weren't. Neither would Gabby."

"She is special, isn't she?" he asked. "I mean, these are her enemies and we all know what they'd do to her, and yet, she still cares. You Veela, you are amazing creatures."

Sensing his respect, she didn't take offense at the phrase, though she reminded herself to let him know later creature wasn't the best way to refer to Veela. "Not all of us. I couldn't care less about killing Death Eaters that first night, then again when they attacked the Burrow. Last spring, standing side-by-side with 'Arry, I kept wishing I was full Veela so I could burn them all and dance in their ashes."

"You did?"

"We're protective, and they were threatening people I loved. I know it wasn't right, and it makes me realize I'm still not as beautiful a human as I wish."

"I'm not sure about that," Neville whispered.

Fleur gave him a playful push. "I don't mean physically. My Veela heritage makes sure of that. I mean here—" she tapped her chest with her other hand "—where it matters."

"I still think you're wrong. Cho and Susan kept getting updates on you and Harry, and from all we heard, you both dealt with a lot, yet, cared enough to stick it out. And, now you're back, risking your life looking for him. Then, there's Gabrielle. The way you cared for her today . . ." He tapped his own chest. "I'd say you're beautiful here, too."

A lump formed in her throat. "I'm learning."

"More than learning, and I'd never have said that at Hogwarts. Then again, after seeing you in your swimsuit, I couldn't have said anything to you anyway."

She blushed, and he leaned back and covered his mouth, trying not to wake her sister with his laughter.

Fleur slapped his shoulder. "You're a bloody prat!"

He laughed even harder, his face turning red and big swells of tears amassing in the corners of his eyes, but his laughter was infectious, and soon, she found herself laughing right along with him.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Hundreds of miles to the North, Harry sat on a downed log in the Forbidden forest, waiting for an answer from Dobby.

"Greatest Wizard be promising Dobby get to play, too?"

"Yes, if Lucius shows up," he agreed. "Otherwise, I need you far away. So, can you stalk Malfoy manor and come let me know when they return?"

The House-elf nodded, his ears following the slow movement. "But Dobby be telling Greatest Wizard—they gone for long time. The house being covered with dust."

"They were, but if Charlie is right, they'll be returning soon. They need a place to stash all the wizards coming in from overseas, and if Malfoy manor is as big as you say, they'll definitely use it."

"And if more Maskies show?"

Harry smiled. "Then you get to have more fun."

Damn, did the elf ever like that idea.

"But, I doubt that'll happen. They're snobbish enough to make sure the house is clean before they let anyone else in. So, I figure we have a day, maybe two."

"Dobby thinks Greatest Wizard be right. I go now and watch." As the House-elf disappeared, snow began falling again in the forest. Harry looked up, wondering how Fleur was still alive.

He just hoped he wasn't right when he told Pansy he killed Harry Potter, that he was now Death, and the old body, that other person, was nothing but a memory.