Chapter 2

Hmmm, a nice response to the first chapter with fourteen reviews. Nice comments; as always lovely to hear from you and I'm glad that all of you seemed to have positive opinions on my work so far. I hope that you all got my replies, although of course I couldn't send one if you reviewed but are not a member, and that they answered some of the things that you may have talked about. I'll stop talking now.

None of that disclaimer nonsense – we're on a fanfiction site for heaven's sake.

Hermione's POV

"We have a secret spy in the enemy's ranks," Kingsley told the assembled group triumphantly, causing a murmur of joy ripple around; good news had been scarce recently.

Just about the whole of the surviving Order was crammed into the kitchen of the Weasley household, Kingsley having called a meeting to share the good news. Much to Ron and Bill's delight, of course, this had been scheduled on the same Saturday that they had planned to visit their mother. However much they loved Molly, I knew that they had come to dread their forced reunions, the over-protective Mrs Weasley causing them no small deal of annoyance with the countless hugs that she felt the need to smother them with and the constant flow of questions checking that they were okay, or if they needed anything. This meeting had helped them to kill two birds with one stone.

Although our ranks were somewhat smaller these days, although there had been plans to offer membership to those who had fought bravely in the Battle of Hogwarts, there were still a number of familiar faces which I hadn't seen in a while: the whole Weasley family, Kingsley, Dedalus Diggle

and Professor McGonagall had all turned up, but it wasn't lost on any of us that we desperately needed some new members. Notably to me, however, Fleur had not come; Bill had assured us that she just had a mild case of the flu, and therefore had decided to stay in bed. I suspected that her reasons for not coming were more influenced by her nightly arguments with her husband; every time I'd tried to sleep, the same muffled shouting had come from the next room, followed by the softly thudding footsteps to the spare bedroom.

"Great!" Ron responded enthusiastically to Kinglsey's words, "Who is he?"

A plethora of groans sounded from just about everyone in the group, including myself, and more than a few eyes rolled at my boyfriend's lack of common sense. Personally, I was more offended at the fact that his natural reaction had been to assume that the spy had to be a male.

He looked around confusedly, wondered what had sparked the reaction. Professor McGonagall put him out of his misery with a healthy dose of her dry sarcasm, "I think, Mr Weasley, that letting that information would rather defeat the point of the spy being a secret."

"Oh, right." Ron smiled sheepishly, "Continue, anyway."

Kinglsey did so. "The identity of the spy cannot be released; only I know it, and unless I see reason to inform anyone else for any specific reason then it will stay that way. But, they have already started to report back to us about some things that we could find very useful."

The satisfying, exciting prospect of actual progress coursed like adrenaline through my veins; sitting tight and not doing anything to help the cause over the last few months had been difficult.

"We know the location of You-Know-Who's stronghold, where he is overseeing his army." The Head of the Order continued, "Our spy thinks that he is trying to gather enough power to continue his invasion into other countries, but does note that this is only speculation."

"Great! Let's go and get the bastard before he gets any stronger, then." George leered strangely maliciously, the prospect of revenge for his dear twin clearly on his mind. "Where is he?"

Kingsley half-smiled himself, knowing that he was being a tease. "I don't see any reason to divulge you in that information until we are ready to use it. Our forces are by no means strong enough to launch an attack on him yet, and until we do have the army that we would need, there is no sense in risking the fact that we know of his fortress being leaked."

"We can get the DA back together!" I suggested enthusiastically, "Most of them will want to help to defeat Vold... You-Know-Who."

Ron nodded his agreement, "Yeah; Neville, Luna, Dean, Seamus, the Patils and Lee would probably come."

"I'll ask Angelina if she'd like to join," George sighed glumly, disappointed at his chance for revenge being shot down; vengeance for Fred would have to wait until another day. Noticeably, the only tone that his voice had consistently taken since the Battle of Hogwarts had been that flat sigh, quite the contrast from the old days when it had been a shock to see him without a laugh or a cunning grin on his face. Although I'd never dampen Ron's spirits by saying so, I wasn't sure that he would ever recover from the loss of his twin. Angelina, his loving girlfriend, would hopefully help him through because I secretly feared a day when the surviving Weasley twin would be so desperate to see Fred that he would willingly leave the land of the living so that they could play pranks together again.

"That would be a good start." Kingsley nodded approvingly, the satisfaction of a plan beginning to finally come together clear as crystal on his weathered face. "Has anybody got anything else to say, or can we conclude this meeting?"

Ginny, who had stayed uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meeting, spoke up. "Yes; let's do this for Harry, Fred, and for everyone else who died to further our cause."

A reflecting silence came briefly over the room, some people perhaps surprised by the profundity of her statement. Looking at her, I could see that the pain of her brother and Harry's death still laid heavy on her mind; something told me that her seemingly eternal infatuation with the boy who lived had not wavered since his passing.

"Hear hear." George agreed approvingly, trying to break the deep melancholy which had descended over the room. A few other murmurs of agreement sounded from around the place, but most of the members had already begun to file out. Mrs Weasley called for Ron and Bill to go and catch up with her, drawing them both into lung crushing hugs, and I figured that it was time for me to get back to the cottage.

Communicating with our eyes, I sent my boyfriend a look which told him (I hoped) that I didn't want to stick around; he presumably understood me because a nod came in reply. Muttering a few goodbyes to those who were still around, I walked from the house and the gut-wrenching vertigo sensation of apparition soon followed.

Harry's POV

Finally, I gave in. My hand slipped into the left pocket of my worn out jeans and fingered the small, black stone that resided there. So many times I'd told myself that I should throw it away, that communicating with the dead was not right, yet the unbearable feeling of loneliness overpowered my weakening vow. Removing it delicately from my pocket, I knew that if my calculations were correct then I wouldn't be served another meal for a while yet, meaning that nobody would find me using the stone.

Turning the stone thrice over in my hand, I concentrated solely on the memory of my scraggly godfather; he may not have been family by blood, but I'd felt him to be my closest relation ever since around my fourth year. I opened my eyes, and there he was. Shimmering palely in the darkness, I could make out the features of my father figure. Death had seemingly treated him well; the hair that I had only ever known to be untameable, with a perpetually dirty look, was styled casually, messy but not tidy, shiny but not glossy. His face had lost the wrinkles that had bothered him despite his age of merely thirty six at the time of his murder, and it no longer had an unhinged look about it. In all, I thought him to look much more the carelessly handsome figure that he had been rumoured to be in his younger years.

A great smile broke over my face, uncomfortably stretching the muscles which hadn't been used for so long. "Sirius! You're looking great!"

He returned my grin with an uneasy one of his own as if he didn't quite approve of the living communicating with the dead; nevertheless, though, he seemed pleased to see me. "Death isn't as bad as everyone makes it out to be; I can't say how happy I was to see your father and mother again, and Remus tragically joined us as well. The Marauders, minus Pettigrew of course, are back together!"

"And causing havoc, I bet." I laughed happily, a sound that I had missed more than I would have been able to imagine. "On a serious note though, I do think that you should make up with Snape, he's do-"

Sirius cut across me. "Already have done; we're obviously more mature than you think. I think that he was happy to see Lily again, and James tolerates him for her sake, maybe a little because of everything that he's done for you. Merlin, I don't like to say it, but we really do owe him one."

Enjoying the comical grudging complement to his greatest enemy, I continued. "Yeah, he was a brave man."

We shared reflecting nods for the potions master who had previously been my least favourite person on the planet, even trumping Voldemort at some points, but a troubled look came over my godfather's face and words that he obviously desperately didn't know how to say what burst unceremoniously from his mouth. "Harry, I just want you to know how sorry we all are that you're having to go through all of this," he gestured around the rancid smelling room, "you deserve so much better than this."

I sighed; this hadn't been what I'd wanted to talk about. "Not much that we can do about that, though."

"Don't look at it in that way," the shimmering figure of Sirius pleaded with me. "Things can only get better, right?"

I laughed bitterly. "That's one way of looking at it. At least I've got you guys to talk to now, Merlin it's been so lonely."

"You're not going to like this, Harry." Sirius said slowly, as if deliberating over whether he should have been telling me what he was about to say. "But unfortunately, I don't think that you should contact us as regularly as you'd like to. The living are not supposed to be in contact with the dead, that has always been the way of things; the history of the Resurrection Stone has not been a pretty one. I think that you should use it just once more with everyone else who wants to speak to you. Your parents are just dying to talk, and I know that Remus would love to as well."

A sinking feeling descended over my torso, as if I'd been punched in the stomach. How fate was cruel, in that as soon as my hopes had shot up they'd promptly been shot down again. "So, when you say that I won't be able to contact you regularly, what you really mean is that after the next time, I can never contact you again?"

He replied apologetically, "I'm sorry, Harry. We all want to speak to you, but we fear that doing so too much would only tempt you into joining us. At some point, we'll all be reunited. I know what it's like to be a prisoner, to desperately desire some company, but sometimes the hard thing and the right thing are the same."

I laughed weakly, deciding not to retort about the fact that it was hardly as if I had a life ahead of me anyway. "When did you become a philosopher?"

He puffed his chest out, perhaps relieved that I had seemingly taken the grim forecast well. "I've always considered myself to be a great thinker, but I suppose that death has only made me even more profound."

We shared a short laugh before I decided to air the question that had been bugging me (amongst others... so many others) since we'd started talking. "How are my friends?"

Fleur's POV

Freedom. Solitude. Relaxation. The unfamiliar feelings had settled within me within seconds of the others leaving; yes, maybe I would only be able to enjoy them for a few hours but still, when you had a life like mine, any of these moments were cherished like gold. It would, of course, be unreasonable for me to suggest that I had a bad, uncomfortable life. On the contrary, I could live well in comparison to everyone else in the war climate; my house was calm and on a beautiful seafront, we had every single protection charm in the book to keep us safe from attacks from enemy forces, and the people who I lived with were generally friendly and nice.

But, something was missing. Over the last few weeks I'd started to feel the odd sensation of having a gaping hole in my heart, and I'd realised that I didn't love Bill like I'd persuaded myself. As a Veela, I was very emotive; love was stronger in me than in someone like Hermione, and we weren't supposed to live without it. Doing so was something that we felt very unnatural, it made us feel empty, and every day seemed tenser than the , I think, knew in his heart that I had no deep feelings for him and I can't stress how sorry I was for that; it had probably been my allure that had lead him into this marriage, and therefore it was thanks to me that he was wedded unhappily despite the fact that he was a funny, friendly, handsome and genuinely nice young man. My conflict of emotions was getting ever more difficult to deal with, hence my relief at finally having some alone time where I could do what I wanted, not have to put on the show of being an adoring wife to a happy husband.

So, that day I decided to just try to enjoy myself. First of all, I flu-called my parents and told them how things were going, although deliberately missing out any details about the unhappiness of my marriage, and they talked about the political climate in France. As usual, they offered to move me and my husband to safety in my home country, probably knowing by now that we weren't going to accept; long ago I had decided that even though this war was not happening in my own country, it was still my war to fight and I could not just run away from it. Still, it was nice to have the offer of refuge for if things got even worse.

Then, I indulged myself my reading a little bit of an English modern classic called Birdsong, a story about how love endures through war and betrayal. Reading books in English was something that I enjoyed doing because it improved my knowledge of the language, and I particularly loved the ones about romance; they always made me feel special inside because of my Veela heritage, perhaps even a little hopeful that I would experience such eternal love as the books always seemed to portray. I had long since come to the conclusion, however, that such love only existed in literature. The world was not a good enough a place for people to feel so unquestionably devoted to others that they would lay down their lives, their money, their possessions for others.

When I could finally put the book down, I dressed up warmly for a walk along the cliff front. Scarves, jumpers, gloves: all were thrown on hastily in preparation for the bite of the pre-Winter cold and the icy wind that would slap against my face maliciously.

It was as I was strolling, happily taking in the unparalleled calmness of soft waves breaking on the shore, that a small flash of light appeared on the doorstep, the clever witch who lived with me following soon after with a crack loud enough that I could faintly hear it from where I was standing. Hermione, I knew, was a very powerful witch; she had that rare blend of great intelligence and fierce loyalty mixed with bravery. In fact, there were countless positive attributes which she could lay claim to, but I had never quite been able to work her out. The muggle-born witch was obviously very proud yet she made no effort to maintain a good or tidy appearance, allowing her bushy hair to stay untamed and messy. I'd heard that she was incredibly forward thinking, apparently unable to do anything without planning a billion steps ahead, but since the Battle of Hogwarts her thoughts seemed perpetually dwelling on the past. I suspected that it was the death of a certain lightning bolt scarred wizard who was on her mind for most of this time. Everything I knew about her seemed to contradict what I'd been told about her; she was just impossible to read.

Harry's POV

Never had I been more grateful for a couple of hours of company; the last few months had been so lonely that I would have found a conversation with even Crabbe and Goyle intellectually stimulating. As far as I was concerned, the fact that it was my beloved godfather who I got the chance to talk to was only an added bonus.

We talked at length about anything and everything: the state of the war, any ways that I would have to escape from my confinement and even a little about death and the afterlife, although Sirius was reluctant to indulge me with too many details, reiterating his point about the living not knowing too much about the dead.

Time passed so quickly that it seemed like only minutes into our conversation when I heard the dreaded whisper of an unlocking charm being muttered, swiftly followed by the creaky opening of the door and the march of the black-robed Dark Lord into the putrid cell. His face was pale enough to dimly illuminate the blackness around him, his attire dark enough to blend in with it. The result was the sinister view of only being able to see his head, giving him the look of a monster even more hideous than the one I knew him to be. My fist clenched subtly around the stone, hiding it from my captor's view. Next to me, the projection of Sirius had stood up as if to throw a punch at the monster who stood in front of us. This was the creature who had killed James, Lily and countless other Order members; maybe even more importantly in my godfather's eyes, Voldemort was responsible for my state of living, a torturous and humiliating life arguably worse than death. Momentarily, I was worried that Voldemort would see my godfather and kill him again somehow, but my childish thoughts were soon wiped from my mind. Sirius was in my heart, and as such only I could see him.

"Shall we start from where we left off?" The murderer drawled, drawing his wand with an arrogant flick. I closed my eyes and hoped to die.

Well, that's the second chapter done. I have quite a lot to say about it, so bear with me if you are interested.

I apologise profusely for taking so long to update, normally I'm a lot quicker than that. Unfortunately, a deadly mix of having both coursework AND writer's block really didn't help.

I don't think that this chapter was very well written and hopefully all of the others will be much better, so please don't give up on the story on the basis of this single update. They will get better, I promise.

Although I started to set up a major offensive against Voldemort at the beginning of this chapter, I doubt that it'll be going ahead for a fair few chapters. Don't forget that many new fighters have to be gathered, plans need to be made, more has to be uncovered about the spy, and then it will go ahead.

I need to take things slowly, because the major point of the next few chapters has to be revealing the parallels in the lives of Fleur and Harry. They are supposed to both be feeling totally empty, Fleur because she is someone who (as a Veela) relies on love and affection, which she's not getting from Bill, and Harry needs his friends. Their similar feelings of emptiness will be important in their get together.

Finally, I'd just like to credit the book 'Birdsong' for the inspiration for this story. I think I mentioned it in the chapter as a book that Fleur was reading, and I don't know how many of you have read it, heard of it, or seen the BBC adaptation of it, but coincidentally one of the main antagonists is played as the same actor as the woman (Clemence Poesy) who played Fleur in the HP films. Birdsong is a similar story of how two passionate souls meet in an dispassionate world, and I would definitely recommend it to anyone; it is my favourite book, I think.

Anyway, that's it for today – I told you that I had a lot to say. Any reviews from registered members are guaranteed to be replied to via PM.

Charlie.