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Chapter Twenty-Six

Forced Egression

Fleur, Neville, and Oliver slipped out of the mid-March afternoon into an old Muggle parlor, greeting wizards and witches along the way. Charlie and Tonks nodded to them from across the room, as did Madame Bones.

"Thank you for coming," another wizard said. Fleur looked over to find Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody heading the Order meeting. "Today, we welcome Ms. Delacour. I administered her oath two years ago. You can trust her. Now, we've received word the French Magical government will help us," Alastor turned to Fleur. "If my sources are correct, you once worked with their security services."

"I was part-time office help for my father," she answered.

"Your father, who happens to be Mr. Delacour, an Assistant Minister in the French Government, correct?"

"Yes."

"And, he works with the French Magical Security Services, does he not?"

"He does," she answered again.

"So, as I said, you worked in their security department. Now, what do you make of this?" He handed her a copy of an official-looking document.

"I've never seen it."

"I'm sure you haven't. I'm asking for your thoughts on how long it'll take France to move."

Fleur gave the document a quick scan. "I have no idea. We have a hundred twenty Aurors, and the Vulgaire French government agreed to let us pull wizards serving in their military into our ranks if we need them, but I can't say anything else."

"Can't, or won't?" Alastor asked.

"Can't," she said. "I already told you, I was office help. I came across the agreement because I had to audit the files a few months ago; but that's open information, anyway."

"Open, but not well-known," Madame Bones, sitting opposite Fleur, corrected. "I've heard a rumor or two, but no more."

"Why would they even have such an agreement?" Another wizard asked.

Fleur didn't recognize him, but decided to answer, anyway. "It came after Grindelwald's rampage through Europe."

Alastor pointed to the document. "So, you don't know how long it'll take to organize?"

Fleur scanned the entire page again before answering. "No . . . But, if they're waiting for the Zekānōt's support, you'll have better luck waiting for the Atlantian Navy."

Oliver cocked his head to the side. "Zeka-who?"

"Zekānōt," Fleur answered. "The Veela government."

"Why do you believe they'll hesitate?" asked Madame Bones.

Fleur shrugged. "Same reason I renounced my loyalty when I last stood before them—they're sheep in wolves' clothing." She passed the document back to Alastor. "Veela no longer care about the Wizarding world. They can't see beyond their beaks to realize this war is as much about their survival as everyone else's. The days of Veela-Warriors are long-since gone."

Alastor folded the parchment and slid it into his robes. "Then we will continue fighting the war on our own."

When the meeting broke up two hours later, Fleur cornered Tonks and Charlie. "Did 'Arry contact you?"

"No," Charlie answered. "I'm sure he's fine, though."

"How are you doing?" asked Tonks.

"We're settling into Neville's group pretty well," she answered.

"I didn't ask that."

Fleur leaned against the meeting table. "Worried, but that's nothing new."

"Don't give up hope," Charlie said. "He'll find you when he's finished."

"And until he does, stay safe," Tonks added. "And you can always come see me if you need to talk."

Fleur thanked her, then rejoined Neville and Oliver, talking with Madame Bones.

". . . I'm not sure how important it is, but it's worth finding out."

Neville and Oliver exchanged glances before Neville answered. "We'll check into it."

"What was that about?" Fleur asked as they were leaving.

"We have a new target," Neville answered.

They Apparated to their new safe house; a postwar two-story concrete building sporting a broken facade and few comforts besides a stove, heat, and too many empty rooms. Fleur let go of Neville's hand as soon as they appeared on the front porch.

Neville reached for the door, a grin stretching across his face.

Fleur decided to ask about it.

"What do you mean?" Neville answered with his own question.

"Whenever we go somewhere, you're smiling when we return."

"So?"

"When my sister's absent, so's your smile. Coincidence?"

Neville's face fell. Fleur pushed him in, then grabbed his cloak, stopping him just inside the door. A laughing Oliver followed, sliding passed them and going upstairs where they'd taken residence.

"She likes you," Fleur said in the empty hall.

"Why me of all people?"

Fleur cuffed him on the shoulder. Hard. "I'm beginning to wonder the same thing."

"Sorry—she's a goddess, and I'm . . ."

"Still hung up on Su?"

Sorrow tempered his complexion. "Yeah, to a point, although you've helped me get over most of it, but that's confused me, too."

"In what way?"

Neville averted his gaze and his cheeks turned pink. "I, I like you. A lot." he answered. "Not like that," he added quickly, "but . . ."

Fleur took his hand. "I may understand better than you think. Veela connect with wizards at a deep level, and it's easy to confuse feelings. That's why we stay away from most unmarked wizards; but, since Gabrielle's had your attention from that first night, it makes it easier for us to develop a familial type of relationship.

He huffed. "What, you want to be my little sister?"

"I'm older than you by three years."

"Three whole years. How do you hide all your wrinkles?"

Fleur narrowed her eyes. "You get the same warning I gave 'Arry: Never. Piss. Off. A. Veela."

"Huh, that almost sounds like a challenge."

She cuffed him a second time. "I swear, you and 'Arry both . . ." So that's why Gabrielle likes Neville, Fleur realized. He and 'Arry were hatched from the same egg. "So, what about my sister?"

"Well, she's impressed me over the last few months."

"And?'

Neville gently pushed Fleur toward the stairs. "I can't get her out of my head anymore. I worry about her all the time, and I get knots in my stomach whenever she enters the room; but . . ."

"But, what?"

"Like I said. I'm just me. Why would she choose me of all people?"

They reached the second Floor, but before opening the door, Fleur looked over her shoulder and answered, "Because you're you. If you were anyone else, you'd never have a chance."

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Harry released Dobby's arm and looked around the small foyer. Walls hewn from stone and matching floors contributed to an antiseptic feel that penetrated Malfoy Mansion. A white throw rug and two high-backed wooden chairs completed the décor.

Dobby guided him through the mansion to the main room where a fireplace consumed most of the opposite wall. To his right, another bare rock wall rose eighteen feet to kiss the ceiling beams.

The elf disappeared to keep watch and Harry went to work, haplessly piling furniture atop a couch pushed into a corner. He hit the floor with three Cleaning Charms and a Scourging Spell, working his way to the mantel and walls before his nose stopped itching—not why he cleaned, but a convenience, nonetheless. Finished, he lit the fireplace before fishing a hard-backed chair from atop his furniture pile and rested until Draco and Narcissa returned three hours later.

Dobby popped in to announce their return.

"And Lucius?"

"Dobby still waiting for entertainment to come."

"Entertainment?" Harry repeated.

"Greatest Wizard will see soon."

Harry heard the front gate opening. "Go," he said. "Keep watch for Lucius and don't let him enter on his own."

"Greatest Wizard always gives Dobby the bestest gifts!" Dobby answered, then Disapparated.

"A bloody stupid war, this is," Narcissa said as she opened the door." We'd be better off escaping to the United States."

"Better never let the Dark Lord hear you say that, you're not developing a fondness for Mudbloods, are you?"

"Watch your tone, Draco. I am still your mother," Narcissa answered. She closed the door rather forcefully. "I don't care about the trash of magical society, but this? Killing people because they're not pure-bloods? It's stupid."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Narcissa hadn't taken the mark according to Harry's last Death Eater "interviews," and this proved it as far as he was concerned. He rose from the chair, letting his eyes glaze red as blackened air rippled across the room.

"If you believe—" Draco began, but fell silent as he entered the main room and paled in the firelight.

"Draco," Harry greeted him, mimicking the arrogant drawl. Recognition discolored the boy's face further. Harry's wand flashed, disarming both Draco and his mother, and finished with a downward snap and right twirl driving Narcissa to the floor. He stripped her jumper, leaving her bra in place—he had no wish to see any Malfoy naked—then bound her spread-eagle.

"Mother!" Draco glared at Harry. "Let her go, Potter!"

Harry tilted his head back and called on the Horcrux to replicate Voldemort's mocking laugh before answering. "You believe you're powerful enough to command me? I, Voldemort's better?"

"You're, you're delusional!" Draco countered, his voice wavering.

Harry reinforced the charm on his eyes, making them glow even brighter as Draco's palpable fear became Harry's intoxicant. "Every journey of black discovery Tom Riddle walked, every magical perversion to gain power he entertained, I know them all; I command them all, and more. So much more."

"It's, it's true."

"Yes," He answered, before raising his wand and sending Draco arching half the room's length into ceiling-height shelves. An avalanche of books buried him. Harry split the pile with a wave of his hand, exposing Draco lying on the floor with blood turning his platinum blond hair a dirty brown in the low light.

"Rise," Harry commanded.

When Draco didn't move, Harry took a step forward. "I said, Rise!" Then reached through his magic for Draco's body. He took a hold of the ponce's spine and forced him to his feet. "Disobey me again and I'll break every bone in your body and grind them into dust."

Yes! Torture him! the Horcrux encouraged. Torture him, kill him. Don't throw away your power. Forgo your plans and ascend! Take your rightful place: the throne of the next Dark Lord!

We don't need you. The other, deeper voice answered. Interloper; Parasite. Your own words condemn you to your fate.

Without me, you have no hope.

Without you, Horcrux, there is only hope. You have no further lessons to teach or deeper knowledge to grant.

Quiet! Harry demanded as an alien piece of magic tickled his senses. Harry applied a Sticking Charm to the large, empty wall, and with another flick of his wand, sent Draco crashing into it. Then, he hit him with a Silencing Spell.

Dobby appeared a moment later, standing atop a still unconscious Narcissa with Lucius suspended in midair by his own wand. He slashed it sideways, sending the Death Eater tumbling to the floor. "Master's home! Dobby be taking master's cloak!"

An intricate motion and offhand twist animated Lucius's cloak. It made three loops around the Death Eater's throat and dragged him across the floor.

Lucius frantically pulled at his neckline, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to suck in oxygen.

Dobby flicked his wand again and the cloak relaxed. "Oh, bad elf!" he said. "Dobby must punish hisself."

He reared his foot, cried out "Bad Dobby!" and booted Lucius in the face. "Bad Dobby!" he said. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!" he repeated, kicking with every exclamation. "You's a bad, bad, elf! Must make foot hurt more!"

When blood covered Lucius's face, Dobby stopped and leaned over the wizard. "Punishment's not enough, is it, Master? No, punishment is never enough for Dobby. Master always he's being a bad elf." Dobby drove his foot into Lucius's ribs and, by his third kick, bones cracked; by his seventh, Lucius was coughing up blood.

Finally, the elf stopped again. "Is Master bleeding? Dobby being sorry. Dobby punish hisself again, then clean master." Even as he finished the sentence, Dobby shoved his hands into the fireplace, leaving Harry standing dumb opposite him.

"Dobby always bad elf," the elf muttered. "'Put hands in fireplace,' Master says. 'Punishment!' Master reminds Dobby. 'Slam foot in door,' Young Master commands, and Dobby obeys. Dobby always obeys. But no more. Dobby now is very bad elf, and it makes Dobby happy, yes it does. Happiest elf indeed."

And with that, he spun, a glowing log between his hands and his face contorted in agony. The stench of burning elf-flesh filled the room, and the smell was indescribable—a dozen times worse than charred human flesh. Dobby treated the log like a Beater's bat, cracking Lucius across the head once, twice, then changed his grip and slammed it against Lucius's stomach.

Lucius howled, but remained transfixed by magic. Dobby ignored him, instead chanting Elven phrases mixed with broken English. The log, its embers dying, flared bright red, and the smell of burned human flesh joined the stomach-turning reek.

Draco looked on, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, his body trembling.

"It's a lesson you and your father never learned," Harry said, watching him out of the corner of his eye. "You constantly confused meek with weak. A shame you won't have time to put that lesson into practice after tonight."

A flare of Dobby's magic caught Harry's attention. He glanced back at the elf, whose wand-tip now glowed as he made intricate shapes in air roiling with incandescent yellows and blues. Magic, the strongest yet from Dobby, flooded the room as he chanted his eerie, ancient tongue.

Harry had to stop him, but as soon as he formed the thought, screams resounded in his head—the Horcrux letting loose unintelligible shrieks interrupting any coherent sentence Harry tried stringing together. The Deeper Voice growled its reply, spitting profanities at the Horcrux. Around and round they went, voices intermixing, growing louder, until they consumed Harry's thoughts. And all the while, Dobby's magic grew more powerful.

He fell to his knees, pounding clenched fists against his head until the pain cleared it, then spit out the one word he could muster.

"STOP!"

The walls shook and the floor trembled at the sound of his accidental magic-enhanced voice.

Dobby, on the cusp of finishing his spell, froze in mid cast.

"No," Harry said. "No ancient magic. Nothing that might interfere."

"But Dobby almost being finished," the elf replied. He raised his wand again.

"I said, NO!" Harry thrust his hand forward, sending a push of magic at the elf, disarming him.

Dobby spun, his eyes bleeding hatred. "Humans!" the elf spat. "Always being interfering. Always being right, but never true." Silence followed, until Dobby simply faded from the room.

Harry gained his feet and stood over barely conscious Lucius. A hundred quotes, quips, and lectures crashed through his mind; but silence, he realized, was the best statement of all.

A poker levitated into his hand and he held it, inverted, high over his head, then drove the tip through Lucius's temple as he'd done a dozen or more times. Lucius's body twitched as muscles carried out last orders in jarring spasms. Harry watched until the Death Eater lay still, his blood flowing along the floor, almost touching Narcissa's clothes. That, Harry knew, was something he couldn't allow.

With two spells, Harry banished Lucius's body and cleaned the floor before inspecting Narcissa's trousers, but the dark material made it difficult to decide whether Lucius's blood had contaminated them. He chose caution over modesty and removed them as well.

Finished, he faced Draco. "I want to know what Voldemort is planning. Answer me honestly, and I will be merciful when I kill you and your mother. Lie once, and they'll hear your screams at Durmstrang. Do you understand?"

Draco glared.

Harry really didn't want to waste time torturing the truth out of him, nor did he want remnants of magic lining the room, but if he had no other choice . . . An Imperius and Compulsion Combination Spell enslaved the young Death Eater's mind before Harry removed the Silencing Charm. "Tell me everything he's planning."

Forty-five minutes later, Harry dropped the spell and cast another Silencing Charm, then began the night's real work. He scanned the room with Diagnostic Spells he'd learned at Durmstrang, adding the archaic, darker spells the Horcrux held. Thankfully, they revealed only slight traces of magic. So he inscribed a circle in the floor and set candles along the outer ring twelve inches apart. Then, he knelt next to Narcissa and sliced her forearm deep enough to draw blood. After catching it in a small vial mixed with a strange-colored potion he made earlier, Harry cast another ancient spell, this one he'd read in the book found in Dumbledore's desk.

The liquid frothed. His heart pounded. The Horcrux screamed bloody murder. And that deep, dark voice let out a high-pitched, raucous laugh as Harry tipped his head back and downed the vial. It burned his throat and seared his stomach.

With shaking hands and wobbling knees, Harry focused on the Horcrux, and it responded by ripping his scar open, then turning inward and tearing at any possible mental hold. But Harry was stronger, if barely, and with blood pouring out of his forehead, he lifted his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Narcissa shimmered a bright green before her chest sunk as air escaped her lungs one last time. On the wall, Draco wailed, screaming threats of murderous intent, all snatched away by Harry's Silencing Spell.

But Harry noticed nothing as his soul splintered along unknown seams. The resulting pieces spat what they carried most, creating a psychological cyclone of rage and humor, hate and love, pain and joy, all swirling around voices that threatened, mocked, teased, caressed, and loved. Others were violent and harsh, and combined, they ripped at his sanity.

The Horcrux, now freed from Harry's control, doubled its attack, piercing his soul. Pain, worse than the night he and Marcus fought in Bremen, tore through him. Harry's stomach flipped, then emptied itself, and what remained of his strength disappeared and he collapsed in his own vomit.

When he opened his eyes again, the setting sun was so beautiful from his perch high over Durmstrang that it stole his breath. But, it couldn't equal the Veela facing him, her hands wrapped in his robes. He read her lips as the wind desperately snatched at her words, but he heard enough, saw enough, to know what she was saying. "I'm not losing you again."

The scene changed, and now he stood along the tree-lined walkway running alongside the Main River in Germany. "You won't," he remembered saying.

"That's what I want to hear." She leaned in and kissed him before taking his cheeks in her hands. "Go. Finish what you started. But stay strong, Harry Potter, and remember your love for me."

In the main room of the manor, the Horcrux still raged. Whirling emotions rode clamoring voices; but now, with a mighty effort, Harry found he could focus.

He rose and squared on a terror-stricken Draco, beginning a chant over seventeen hundred years old. Then, without flourish, he pointed his wand at the scar. It opened wide, pushing even more blood down his face and soaking his robes. But the Horcrux couldn't fight the magic, and a black, shimmering smoke followed his wand as he pulled it from his head. And then, chanting a matching spell, he touched Draco's chest.

The black smoke swirled around his wand once before it burrowed through robes, skin, around ribs, and then came to rest in Draco's heart.

Harry backed away, watching Draco thrash against his Sticking Spell. Another green light escaped Harry's wand, and a shriek filled Malfoys' mansion, an eerie reminder of the day he'd saved Ginny Weasley's life.

Harry was free; the Horcrux, dead.

Yes, that deeper voice repeated. And now, we shall rise, taking what is rightfully ours! And, a dozen voices from fragments of his soul echoed every word.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Neville scrubbed soap from his body and luxuriated under the hot shower. Errant thoughts of Gabrielle joining him teased his mind, even as he fought them off, focusing on the night's work.

He still didn't understand how she could like him, but then again, he didn't understand how Su liked him, either. . .

Su. She still occupied his heart, so why was her memory fading? Was it really Fleur's doing? Probably not, if he were honest. The war hardened him considerably. How many wizards had he killed already? Fifty? A hundred? Two-hundred? Did it matter anymore?

Another slow turn rinsed away the remaining soap. He shut the water and grabbed his towel. When they chose the safe house, he took it upon himself to transfigure the original utility closet and broken mop basin into a bathroom.

Maybe time helped, he wondered, returning to his previous thoughts. He'd heard the cliché, "time heals all wounds," but never paid much attention to it since his parents' absence hurt more each day.

So why was he getting over Su? Why was she different? They had laughed together, cried together, and even fought Death Eaters together until Bellatrix ripped her from him as she did his parents. So, again, why was her memory fading, but his parents, not? Maybe Fleur's magical Veela bollix wasn't bollix? Possible. Of course, maybe they were just taking the mick out of him. A shame the one area he excelled in school was Herbology rather than magical beings . . .

. . . Gabrielle was a gorgeous magical being . . .

He smacked himself in the head, tossed his towel in the hamper, and then dressed to meet the others.

The hall ended at a wide room with an open kitchen, all of which Susan and Cho spent hours decorating by charming old papers and broken cups into decorative wall-coverings.

Around the room, wizards and witches sat around the room. Oliver, Marcus, and Adrian were on his left. And, to his right, Jaycinda, Susan, and Fleur perched on a pile of boxes. Cho and Gabrielle sat opposite him on the only settee, a refugee from the previous safe house.

He decided to be bold, crossed the room, and plopped down between them, barely catching the surprised but pleased look Gabrielle was desperately trying to hide.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked.

A slight pink hue crept up her neck. "Not really."

"Good, let's get started," he said, ignoring Cho, who was mumbling about him not asking her permission, which made Gabrielle turn another shade of pink.

"We're hitting a suspected entry point for foreign Death Eaters Portkeying from Europe this evening." Silly grins others wore after watching Neville and Gabrielle disappeared. "Moody demands we be extra-vigilant tonight. He's learned an Auror team from Central Asia hit a similar site a few months ago. They lost a third of their team when some bloke named Markus tripped an explosive spell."

A small hand gripped his forearm so tight he thought she might break it. "Markus who?" she asked.

"What Aurors?" Fleur said at the same time.

"Dunno, some elite team."

"Where they from Bulgaria?" Gabrielle asked.

The name sounded familiar, too familiar in fact; but the look on Fleur's face and the pain emanating from Gabrielle without him even seeing her made him wish it wasn't.

"I believe so."

Gabrielle's hand slipped away. Dazed, she crossed the room, sank into Fleur's arms, and wept. Susan excused herself and guided them to their room.

"What was that about?" Neville asked. "How would they know someone in Bulgaria?"

"Think," Marcus answered. "Where was Harry training? What school did Krum attend? And what did Fleur tell us about them?"

He connected the dots. "Bloody hell, I should have known."

"Don't blame yourself," Cho said. "There are fifty some-odd magical governments in Europe alone, most of whom have a dozen or more Aurors and some have over a hundred. You simply couldn't have known."

Neville accepted it, even though he still felt horrible, but he decided to push on. "Since tonight's target is a Portkey entrance, I'm told no wards protect it, so we're going to hit it straight on, no mucking about with fancy spell-breaking."

"We're at least going to check, right?" Asked Marcus.

"Of course," Neville answered. "And thanks for volunteering."

"Do we know if anyone's there now?" Adrian asked.

"Moody said the Aurors in Bulgaria sent word a group's coming in tonight. That's who we plan on hitting. Remember, this is the end of a Death Eater Portkey route. If you see a wizard or witch holding a wand, and you don't recognize them, curse them. If they raise a wand at you, kill them, especially if they're in robes and masks. I expect to see every one of you alive when this is over."

Neville noticed the lighthearted comments that usually lightened the mood after one of his speeches were absent as he moved toward Fleur's and Gabrielle's room. Good, he thought. Maybe it'll keep them safe.

He knocked on the door. "Fleur, Gabrielle?"

Footsteps approached the door. When it opened, Susan stood aside and gestured him in. Fleur sat on the edge of a dirty mattress holding her sister.

He crossed the room and knelt in front of them. "I had no idea he was a friend. If I had, I would've told you in private."

Fleur took his hand for a second and squeezed, then let it drop. Neville leaned in and wrapped his big arms around them both. Gabrielle shifted, laying her head on his shoulder.

"You two stay here with Jaycinda and mourn your friend," he said after a few minutes. "We'll get back as soon as possible. If you need any . . ."

His voice trailed off as Gabrielle pulled back, her face long and narrow and her eyes boring into his. "I will not stay here weeping like a child while you're fighting Death Eaters, Neville Longbottom! You can kiss my cute little Veela ass if you think I'll be anywhere else but that raid tonight!"

Despite the frightening partial transformation, Neville plucked up his courage and wiped a tear from the side of her face. "You're mourning the loss of someone you cared for, and I don't want you dying tonight because you're too distracted. That's all, but it's your decision to make."

He felt magic surge in the room.

"Are you sure?" Fleur asked her sister.

"Absolutely."

"Alright," she glanced Neville. "Give us five minutes."

He blinked, thought better of asking about the magic, and answered, "We have ten before we need to leave, we're meeting downstairs."

But as he stood, Gabrielle slipped her hand into his, and despite the fell determination set in her features, her hand squeezed gently, caressing his before breaking contact.

"Ten minutes," he repeated, then he and Susan left them alone.

She leaned against the side halfway down the hall, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"You okay?" Neville asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Why's that?"

"All I could think was thank Merlin it wasn't someone we knew." She pointed back to the room. "You saw how devastated they are. And my response was what; to be thankful someone else is suffering this time?"

"I think it's normal. We've lost almost everyone we've ever known, or at least, I hope it is, otherwise I've completely lost my humanity."

"You too?" Susan asked.

"Yeah, and it doesn't feel so good to admit it, either; but I still think I'm right."

"I hope so." She swallowed, then eyed him again. "The way you handled Gabrielle in there, I'd be very careful if I were you."

"Why's that?" he asked a second time in as many minutes.

"Because she's going to fall completely in love with you if you keep treating her that way."

He shrugged. "I guess there's worse things."

Susan stared at him for a moment. "It took long enough."

"It?" Neville asked.

"You. You're finally joining the living again. I liked Su, but you've mourned her long enough."

"Maybe, but she was worth it."

"I agree," Susan said. "And I do miss her, but I'm glad you're finished, and just in time, too."

"For what?"

Susan stared for a moment, then walked off, shaking her head at the stupidity of Wizards.

Three hours later, they stood on the edge of a well-tended lawn, hiding behind trees and staring at a large mansion or small castle.

"Whose place is this?" Adrian asked.

Neville glanced at him. "You don't know?"

"Why should I?"

"He was a fellow Slytherin, I thought you lot did everything together."

Adrian answered with two fingers.

"Touchy, aren't you?" Neville joked. "It's the Goyle estate."

"You expect me to believe Goyle lived in a place like this?"

"He's a pure-blood, remember? It's probably been passed through the generations."

Cho, crouching on Neville's other side, whacked him in the leg. "Shh!"

"We're over a hundred yards from the structure and have Silencing Charms in place," he reminded her.

"Bad habits bring bad results," she repeated Shacklebolt's favorite saying, and she was right. Bad habits, like giving away positioning with unnecessary chatter, could kill.

A minute or two later, he felt more than noticed movement behind him. Marcus pulled off his Auror-grade Invisibility cloak. "They've set Proximity Charms and short-range Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey wards. The only way in without tripping a charm is trans-ocean travel."

"How can wards discern between the two?"

"I have no idea," Marcus answered. "But they're pretty common. Quidditch leagues use them to stop Apparition during games in heavy fog. Maybe our resident 'Claw knows how they work."

Cho shrugged. "This is the first I've heard of them."

"So, we're back to spell-breaking, and without our Auror support," Neville concluded, getting them on task. "If we can't get in without tripping those charms, I'm calling it off."

"Calling what off?" Fleur asked, joining the growing discussion. Cho moved to take her place with Gabrielle twenty or so yards away.

"Everything. Seems our resources missed the Proximity Charms, so we can't approach without tripping them . . ." His voice trailed off as Fleur's smirk grew.

"Do you know the specific charm?" she asked.

"It's a type of Antihumanus Charm, but set for detection," Marcus said. "Probably because Muggles have been buying up land around here and building, it looks like. Can't have people dropping dead for no reason, can they?"

"Antihumanus," Fleur repeated. "That won't be a problem."

"You know how to disarm it?" Neville asked.

"Nope, don't need to."

"Then, why isn't it a problem?"

Fleur kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said, and darted back to Gabrielle.

Neville turned to Marcus, befuddled. "Any ideas what that was about?"

"I think you're about to find out," Adrian answered, obviously listening to the conversation.

"Thank God for our Silencing Charms," Cho said as she approached. Fleur and Gabrielle are moving to the other side of the estate. They'll transform and cross the wards, bringing them down from the inside."

"They know how?" Marcus said.

"You weren't with us when we raided down in Devonshire last month, were you?" Neville asked. "They're not as good as Tonks and Shacklebolt, obviously, but they're better than any of us—Fleur especially."

Conversation stopped until a slight shimmer appeared across the estate.

"Robes," Cho said. "Think it's Fleur and Gabrielle?"

"That's my guess," Neville agreed. "Probably borrowed them from the other group." The other group, placed for a hammer-and-anvil tactic if Death Eaters appeared in the yard, consisted of Susan, Oliver, and Penelope Clearwater, the last joining them to provide extra eyes and, if need be, help.

Neville certainly hoped not. She had no experience fighting Death Eaters; but he loathed turning down a wand. He did hope, however, that Death Eaters couldn't detect a virgin fighter, or anything else . . .

"Bloody hell! Reverse all charms, quick, before the wards fall!"

Without a moment's hesitation, they removed all the Silencing, Warming, and Cushioning Charms making their wait bearable.

"What was that about?" Cho asked, her voice barely audible even though her lips tickled his ear.

"Keep your wands out," he snapped, frustrated with himself. A Magical Detection Charm, leaking outward after countering wards, might detect them. He should have realized the possibility earlier.

Five minutes later, Neville checked his watch again, growing anxious. But then, he felt a slight magical pull. He didn't know when he began sensing falling wards, but it was eerie to feel the vacuum of a charm disappearing.

A second and third whoosh told him all wards were gone. "Plan A," he called, and then Disapparated, reappearing before a large plate-glass window. He sensed rather than heard Cho Apparate to his side, and they launched two Blasting Spells through the front window and jumped in amid falling glass. He glimpsed Marcus and Adrian coming through a back door and peeling left, curses showering the room. They found the Death Eaters caretaking the arrival station.

He and Cho moved in support. Behind them, nine Death Eaters landed in the spot they'd just abandoned, all holding a single Portkey.

He shoved Cho right and dove left, cursing the nearest Death Eater. Thankfully, they were unaware of the danger until the robed wizard collapsed, a green glow dissipating. A second Death Eater grabbed his neck where Cho's Cutting Curse opened a carotid artery, spraying blood on the remaining wizards.

Neville launched another, missing high-left. The spell shattered shelved vases, peppering the room as the Death Eaters produced their wands. But they surprised him by facing the hallway instead of him. Then, he realized why.

Streaking toward them were two birdlike creatures, their wands twirling and twisting. Three Death Eaters fired curses that missed as Gabrielle and Fleur jumped, turned sideways, and ran four feet along the wall by extending their wings and pressing outward. The pressure kept their footing firm until they dropped right side up, returning two white-streaked spells, taking a Death Eater each in the chest with Veela-enhanced Blasting Curses.

Neville snapped out of his momentary awe and cursed another black robe, as did Cho, both opting for Killing Curses. A seventh Death Eater collapsed as Oliver and Susan climbed through the window frame—their robes evidencing a victorious battle outside. The last two Death Eaters managed to Disapparate—make that one and three-quarters, Neville thought, staring at a splinched leg. He hit it with another Killing Curse, making sure a Healer couldn't reattach it later.

"Well, that was fun," Adrian said as he joined them. "Do we need to check the outbuildings?"

"No," Fleur answered.

Neville shot her a look.

"There's no one else alive outside."

"Be that as it may, these old homes have too many places to hide." Neville tilted his head to Cho and Adrian. "You know what to do."

They turned away, and Neville ushered Fleur and Gabrielle outside.

"It's sad to watch," Fleur said later as smoke poured from an upstairs window. "Necessary, but still sad."

Neville shifted his gaze to her, then to Gabrielle. "How did you do that in the hall?"

"I don't really know," Gabrielle answered. "Instinct, I guess."

"I've never seen anything like it."

"You should have seen them fight out back," Susan said, joining them. "Go look around back, there's six more dead Death Eaters." She turned to the two Veela. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it. It's like you two were reading their minds."

"And had a personal grudge against every one of them," Penelope added, joining them as well.

"They mentioned another battle they participated in two months ago at a Portkey stop," Gabrielle said. "Maybe fate smiled on us for once."

Neville bit the inside of his cheek, a thought forming that made him sick to his stomach. "That means they've been here for a while, and this was more than just an arrival center—"

"They were housed here," Marcus finished. "But if the Death Eaters you killed had already been here a couple of months, and we know they're starting to pour into England, then where's the rest of them?"

"There," Neville said, pointing to the house.

They looked that way and found the main house consumed in flames. "Did anyone check upstairs?" Susan asked.

When no one answered, Neville decided it was time to leave. "We've been here too long. Let's go, and don't forget the robes and cloaks in the forest."

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Harry stumbled down the steps of Malfoy manor, landing hard on the concrete path and twisting his arm in the process. Pieces of his shattered soul clamored for his attention, making it impossible to concentrate. He unsuccessfully pushed himself up three times before realizing he'd also fractured his ankle.

Deciding he couldn't walk, Harry focused on Apparating, but it was no use. His broken soul and distance back to his cave guaranteed he'd splinch himself. Unfortunately, his inability to concentrate also made healing himself impossible, so he decided to try short-range Apparition. Dobby showed him the area earlier, and he remembered a place he might reach without too much problem.

"I'm Apparating," he yelled at pieces of his soul, "and if I botch this, we're all dead, so, please, shut up!"

Thankfully, they did. He worked himself to a kneeling position, focused on green grass and blooming, low-hanging branches, and twisted.

Evergreen bushes formed a hedge, outlining the property. Their scent, mixed with freshly cut grass met him as he appeared with a pop too loud for his liking, even if he couldn't manage much else in his condition. He pushed himself under low-hanging branches, cast three basic secrecy Charms, then succumbed to the physical and mental pain.

The sun shaded past midpoint when he woke the next day, thankful he'd cast his warding charms as seventy or so people stood a few yards from where he lay, all dressed in black. It took a moment before he stilled his heart and remembered a similar scene from the Muggle world. He'd Apparated into a graveyard.

A clergyman preached hope in light of tragedy, a greater purpose opposed to loss. A wife, mother, friend, she had so much, a good husband, loving son, fulfilling job. But, like so many others, she died needlessly, victimized by the terrorist epidemic sweeping Europe. Harry listened, wondering if they knew, if they understood what had happened so far paled in comparison to what was coming.

At least his soul's disparate voices remained quiet, even if little else had changed. His ankle ballooning concerned him, since he couldn't feel his toes. He reached for them, but the movement caused a wave of nausea, and touching his wrist doubled it. Harry closed his eyes and let the droning sermon carry him back to blissful sleep.

The next time he woke, the moon had replaced the sun, its meager light sprinkled through dark clouds. Shadows spread across the graveyard like old lovers yearning to touch those they once carelessly held. In the distance, a single light highlighted a young boy, his knees sinking in the freshly relaid sod and his hands pressed together. His shoulders heaved with every sob.

Harry recognized him as the boy who attended with his father—the slain woman's son. He watched the boy pour out his heart, begging her to come back.

A distant voice called, "Samuel? Samuel, where are you?" Fear cracked the name as headstones echoed his voice.

The boy leaned forward, hurrying through his prayer.

"Please, son, answer me—you're all I have left."

A minute later, he caught sight of his son and rushed forward. "Samuel?" he called again, softer this time.

The boy ran to his father. Dad knelt and hugged him. "You can't take off on me like that. If something happened to you, what would I do?"

"I, I was ready."

Dad gently pushed him back an arm's length. "What do you mean, you were ready?"

And then, Harry blinked to make sure his eyes weren't betraying him. The boy, no more than nine years old, pulled a wand from his back pocket. "It's mum's. If they come again, I'll get them."

"Protecting you is my responsibility. You don't have to fight them," dad said.

"I, I have to. They can do magic like me and mum; but, but you can't, so I have to be ready for us both."

Harry stared at the boy, his burning ankle and throbbing wrist forgotten. He'd taken too long. Children—not teenagers—children were preparing to fight. Harry needed to kill Voldemort and end this war, soon, and what he learned from Draco only confirmed his thoughts. But, after tonight, Harry again feared his future. He'd used the blackest magic he knew to shed Voldemort's Horcrux only for the Dark Arts to redouble their call—beckoning him home. He realized only now how the power and high he felt torturing and killing Death Eaters consumed his soul.

Well, if he were damned, he'd drag Voldemort with him into the proverbial valley where they'd dwell forevermore.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

"It's a quick shot there and back," Neville said.

Fleur nodded, sitting on top a stack of boxes and watching her sister hide her joy as Neville almost constantly sat next to her now—meal times, meetings, no reason at all . . .

Gabby's handling of the incident last week impressed her. They later learned they'd torched two dozen Death Eaters at Portkey entry. Gabby mourned how they died, but she was happy not to face them in battle.

What worried Fleur, however, were her brash reactions earlier that night. Sure, Fleur suffered them herself after her change, but not during war. And last week, when Gabby learned those Death Eaters where responsible for Markus's death . . . her reckless attack scared Fleur, if truth be known.

"What do you think?" Susan asked.

Fleur blinked. "What? Sorry, I was lost in thought."

"The plan for this afternoon."

"Oh, uh, sure," she answered.

Neville's eye remained on her a moment longer than needed, telling her she hadn't fooled him at all. Since their talk, he'd been acting as if she were his little sister. It felt good, she admitted, strange, but good.

"What's got you a-flutter?" Gabrielle asked as the room cleared a few minutes later.

Fleur followed her into the bedroom and sat on the mattress before answering. "Just worried."

"About?"

"The normal stuff. You. 'Arry. Us getting back alive. Ending this war. Trying to keep your virginity intact."

"Who would I even lose it too?"

"Are you sure you want me to answer that?"

Gabby blushed. "We're not even dating!"

"Might as well be," she answered. "You do remember your Anti-Fertility Charms, no?"

"Shut up! You know I'm still a virgin!"

"And how would I know that?"

"We're empathetic, you hen! You'd probably know as it was happening."

Fleur's nose crinkled. "There's a scary thought."

Gabby rolled her eyes and changed the subject. "So, are you ready?"

"For?"

"Seriously? You heard nothing? There's an old Portkey entrance to the island we're checking out tonight. Neville decided it'd be better to make a show in force."

"Oh, yeah, that does make sense."

Gabby helped her off the bed. "I haven't forgot why we're here, we'll find 'Arry."

"I know," Fleur answered. "But I'm worried what we'll find when we do." At the look her sister gave her, she continued. "I mean how broken he'll be, how much pain he'll have to go through to ever become whole again."

"Yeah, I'm starting to worry about what we'll find the next time we see Azzurra, too, with Markus dead."

A lump formed in Fleur's throat. "I know, but knowing who her mother is, I'm sure she'll get all the help possible if she needs Zekānōt magic to help her through."

"I hope so."

Two and a half hours later, they watched another Portkey entrance burn to the ground. Fleur leaned to say something to Oliver, standing next to her, when she noticed a dozen Death Eaters emerging from the forest.

How did . . . They finished searching that section ten minutes earlier!

Fleur leveled her wand for her first volley, but it wasn't fast enough to disrupt the Death Eaters casting their own curses. A ghoulish looking brown curse clipped Fleur in the elbow, spinning her around and knocking the entire arm numb, but she recognized it and didn't worry. It was painful, but reversible.

The Death Eaters broke into smaller groups, engaging her friends two and sometimes three on one. These Death Eaters were good, never hesitating between casts.

Fleur threw her magic forward and dropped the Death Eater approaching her to his buckling knees. His lust-filled eyes rolled into his head. A quick slice of her wand ended his life.

To her left, three more focused on Neville, pinning him against the burning house. Fleur raced forward, leaping into the air. She transformed, tearing the head clean off the right Death Eater. Neville wasted no time, dropping the far left wizard, and together, they killed the last one.

"Your arm!" Neville said as soon as he saw the blood.

"It'll be alright, I recognized the curse. Where's everyone—" But a panicked yell interrupted her.

"Marcus!" Adrian's voice rang across the battle.

Fleur spun back to find him in mid cast, a black curse engulfing him and literally turning him inside out. She turned away before her stomach emptied itself.

And then, the two Death Eaters fighting him turned toward them, and collapsed as Adrian and Cho hit them with Killing Curses from fifty feet away, ignoring their own Death Eaters they were fighting.

Fleur launched a curse, missing high-left—the only safe place to cast without hitting a friendly.

Gabrielle raced forward from a right angle, shifted into her secondary form, and repeated Fleur's early maneuver. But instead of landing, she launched from the first Death Eater, her legs extended toward the second, intending to sink her claws right through his chest.

But the wizard was faster, He twisted aside, grabbed her legs, and twisted again. The remaining Death Eaters Disapparated as well, leaving Fleur stunned, staring at the spot where her sister disappeared. Gabrielle was gone. Taken captive by Death Eaters. She had no doubt what they'd do to her, either.

"Fleur!" Neville yelled.

Someone was shaking her.

"Fleur! Let's go!"

A creeping fear so horrid Fleur could feel her bones shaking overtook her. "She's gone. They, they . . ."

"We're going to find her," Neville said, the conviction in his voice demanding she believe him. He yanked a semi-conscious Death Eater by the collar and hoisted him up. "I guarantee we will know where she is within the hour. But we have to go, now!"

She barely noticed Susan and Adrian tripping a Portkey while holding Marcus's hands.

Cho took Fleur by the hand. "Hold on tight, I'll take us back home." Then, she turned on the spot as Neville Disapparated with their only hope of finding Gabrielle alive.