He tapped the marker against the table as he stared up at the board, hoping some insight or realization would hit him. He'd added a star next to Regulus, an indication to himself that they were in progress on that front. Sirius had warned him it would take time, and that was proving to be true. He didn't know how long it would take his godfather to coax Narcissa from her ivory tower, but once he did then she would fall in line. Begrudgingly, of course, but wiping the slate clean would be motivation enough.
A knock sounded behind him. He turned to see Tonks poking her head into the room.
"That French Auror Dupont is here to see you," she said.
He nodded.
"Good," he replied and stood up, stretching his back before following Tonks to his desk. An irritated Frenchman was standing there, a large box next to him on the oak surface.
"Mr. Dupont, thank you for bringing over these files," Harry said, holding out his hand as a sign of goodwill.
The two hadn't parted on the best of terms the last time, Harry being upset that the other had insisted on all but interrogating him about the Shadow. Silently, he thought Dupont was simply sour that their team had made more progress in finding information on the thief in a single operation than the French team had in years. It was, after all, a bit embarrassing and a bad look for their counterparts.
"No worries, Mr. Potter," Dupont responded, shaking Harry's hand before patting the box. "I didn't think your team would have much use for everything we had, but when you sent the request I thought I should deliver it myself. Curiosity and all that."
Harry smiled.
"Well I certainly appreciate it." Figuring that a bit of information couldn't hurt, Harry decided to give his guest a bit to go on. "We executed a raid recently that made us think we have a shot at catching your thief. Those files might help."
Dupont wrapped his fingers on the top of the box.
"You understand most of these files are in French, yes?"
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As if he wouldn't understand that fact before he made the request. Dupont was an old school Auror, Harry could tell that, so the man likely thought everyone was a fresh faced, untrained rookie.
Harry shrugged.
"Yeah, but Frank is fluent and Neville can read it well enough to transcribe anything that's relevant." Harry gestured towards Frank's desk where Neville sat talking with his father. "They're both on desk duty for now, so it'll give them something to do other than write everyone else's reports."
Dupont nodded.
"Very good, very good," he said, "well I hope you find what you're looking for."
"Knowing about the organized crime link should help," Harry divulged.
Dupont raised an eyebrow.
"Organized crime link? Is that new?"
Harry shook his head.
"Not that I'm aware," he said, scratching the back of his head. "I heard the papers had it on good authority that the Shadow was linked to organized crime years ago. Seems like it was pretty solid information."
Dupont frowned.
"Your source is clearly not thinking straight," the taller man said, "we never found any link to organized crime."
Harry cocked his head. Something tugged at the back of his mind from the Frenchman's words, but was quickly replaced by irritation.
"Are you sure they looked into the correct groups?"
"Are you suggesting my team didn't do their job, Mr. Potter?" Dupont said, though it came out in more of a growl.
Before Harry could reply and tell the man that perhaps his team wasn't as skilled as he thought, James came rushing around the corner. He spotted Harry and quickly made his way over, nodding at Dupont as he stopped in front of them.
"Dupont," James said before turning to Harry, "sorry to break this up but I need you to come to the Department of Mysteries with me. Croaker needs help with something rather urgently."
Harry nodded.
"Very well." He looked up at Dupont and nodded. "Dupont, I'm sure you can find your way out."
He started to follow James when his dad nodded towards his desk.
"Grab your field robes," he instructed, "I've got something else for you to do after."
As they moved towards the lift Harry ran a hand through his hair.
"What's the job?"
He clapped Harry on the back and smiled.
"Despite evidence to the contrary, we do have other cases here, Auror Potter. Need you to go check something out."
Harry sighed.
"The Apothecary in Manchester?" he guessed as James closed the lift.
"How'd you know?" his father asked.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Because you can't stand talking to the woman who runs the place and you only ever ask me to handle something directly when she wants you to stop in."
"She gives me the creeps!" James exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "She gives me this look that makes my skin crawl."
"She's trying to flirt with you, dad."
James scrunched up his nose.
"She knows I'm married!"
Harry laughed.
"That's half the fun for some people," he teased, "clearly she's into married men. You should see where it leads."
James glared at him as the lift stopped.
"Never. I love your mother too much."
"And…" Harry goaded.
"And she's incredibly scary when she's angry," replied James as they started into the maze that was the Department of Mysteries. "Don't tell her I said that. I have a reputation to uphold."
"My lips are sealed."
.
.
Fleur stepped out of the lift and into the department, smiling as she saw Frank and Neville Longbottom in the far corner, each with a stack of papers in front of them. There was a large box on the desk with French writing on it, though she couldn't quite make out all the words from where she was. Idly she wondered if Harry had asked the French Ministry for files on the Shadow. It would, at the very least, lead them a bit further from finding anything about her. She made sure Auror Dupont and his team knew nothing of substance.
"Harry's not here," a voice to her left called.
She looked over as a tall, raven-haired man walked over to her. She smiled. He was a spitting image of Harry, a little older, but undeniably it was James Potter.
"He's running down a lead on something at the moment," James continued.
Fleur frowned and couldn't stop the disappointment that crept into her thoughts. Most of their time together lately had been almost business-like, the work on the spell being far more complex than she'd have liked. It was necessary, she knew, but she'd come to the Ministry today to see if Harry wanted to go into muggle London and have dinner. They could leave all the talk of raids and thieves behind, instead focusing on just having a good time.
"Thank you," she replied with a smile as she turned to leave.
"You can wait for him if you want," James said, stopping her. She turned back to him with a questioning look. "He should be back pretty soon."
"If it's not too much trouble?" she asked.
James shook his head.
"None at all," he said, motioning for her to follow him. "Come on, you can wait in my office."
She followed him towards the back of the room, smiling at Neville when he looked up and sent her a wave. They reached the office and stepped in, James moving to the other side of the desk and sitting down with a sigh. She took the seat near her and smiled.
"Thank you, Mr. Potter."
James' eyes went wide and she laughed at his expression.
"You, ah, know who I am?"
Fleur nodded.
"Of course. It's a bit difficult to mistake who you are. Harry is a spitting image of you." She laughed again. "Also, your name is on the door."
James laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. It was so reminiscent of Harry when he was embarrassed that she wondered how often the two of them were mistaken for each other. From what she knew of James, she was sure they had made a game of confusing people.
"Right, that's true. This must be what they call a 'senior moment.' Sirius would never let me live this down if he found out." He looked at her. "Can I count on your silence, Ms. Delacour?"
"Someone's done their homework," she replied.
"My name is on the door," he reminded her with a smirk. "Besides, Harry keeps going on about you so I had a pretty good idea of what you looked like before seeing you today. Not like he gets many other pretty visitors either."
"I find that difficult to believe."
James raised an eyebrow.
"Why's that?"
"Because…" she started before stopping, thinking about her next words carefully. "Because Harry has a warmth about him. It's infectious, but in a good way. I don't believe for a second that he gets no visitors, pretty or otherwise."
"My son is many things, Ms. Delacour-"
"Fleur," she corrected.
He inclined his head.
"...Fleur, but a ladies man is not one of them. He's dated, but he's not exactly his godfather." James scratched his head. "Maybe I should be thankful for that. Just to be safe, let's not tell Lily about that one either, yeah?"
Fleur smiled and nodded.
"Your secrets are safe, though I may have to start charging you."
James raised an eyebrow. "What's your price?"
"Information," she said, adopting a serious look.
"Oh? Regarding what?"
"Harry," she clarified.
James' eyes lit up.
"Oh, you want embarrassing stories to use as leverage? You've come to the right source."
Fleur smiled but shook her head.
"Not anything embarrassing, but rather…" she looked up at James. "Harry is modest, almost to a fault. He never talks about his own accomplishments, or when he does, he gives credit to the team. So I guess what I want to know is, what does everyone think of him?"
James leaned back in his chair with a smile and Fleur could see the pride on his face as the man thought about his son.
"Honestly," he started, "Harry's the best Auror I've ever worked with, and that's not just fatherly pride talking. It helps that he loves the work."
"He does seem rather fond of his job," she said.
"As he should be. Harry's worked hard to get where he is today, and he does it because he wants to help people."
She smiled as James spoke about Harry's training and early years as an Auror, things she'd heard from Harry but never in such detail or from an outside perspective. He'd put in so much effort to step out of the long shadow of his father, to make everyone see that he was his own man, that he'd managed to make a name for himself. A reputation separate from James.
That he remained so humble was sweet.
"And he always helps those that mean something to him," James finished as he looked back at Fleur. "Harry's never had a large circle of those he trusts, it comes with the territory, but when you're in that circle? He'll do anything for you."
The sensation of being kicked in the stomach hit her hard and fast, followed swiftly by an increase in her heartbeat. James' words burned hot, starting in her stomach before settling in her chest, making it feel as if she would soon lose her breath. She'd felt this before, though it had been more intense then. She'd felt it the day Gabby was killed.
Guilt.
The guilt she'd so easily set aside to deceive him. The guilt she'd convinced herself was unwarranted, unjustified. It was a convenient lie to let herself sleep at night, knowing full well she was taking advantage of the near limitless kindness of someone she'd come to care deeply for.
She'd almost come clean the day he'd stopped by the bank to learn the spell. Broken down and told him everything. That it was her under the hood. Yet she'd hesitated and, when she'd seen his Auror robes, decided to keep quiet. She was a criminal, a thief, and he was an officer of the law. More than that, she'd attacked him, twice, both of which were enough for him to arrest her. She was wanted in France, and he'd be duty-bound to turn her over to the French Ministry, if nothing else.
Every fiber of her being believed he would agree with her quest, but she couldn't let him take her out of it. Even if he put her away and picked up the torch, the Ministry wouldn't work quickly enough for her liking.
"Anything?" she asked, breaking out of her reverie, though her voice cracked.
James nodded and smiled a warm smile.
"Anything. Harry's always been a kind soul, and his desire to make everyone around him happy is one of the reasons he's so good at his job."
The words cut her again. Her carefully crafted mask nearly slipped before she caught it, but it was cracked, and she wasn't sure she could repair it.
She didn't want to hurt Harry, but she couldn't think of any other way to get what she needed. Justice for her sister was necessary, if not for Gabby then for Luc.
She'd help Harry catch this Lord Riddle, the one he'd said was tied to the Shadow. She'd help him do that, gather the information she needed, then retire the Shadow forever. It was only right for her to help him, as he was helping her without knowing it.
"You should come over for dinner some time," James said, breaking Fleur out of her musings.
"I'm sorry, what?"
James smiled.
"Harry, Lily, and I have dinner one night a week. You should join us. I'm sure Lily would love to meet you," he explained with a small waggle of his eyebrows.
Fleur blushed lightly and looked down. She'd technically met Lily already, though a floo call was hardly what you'd call a proper meeting. What James was suggesting was essentially the next step in her relationship with Harry. She hadn't had an actual relationship in years, and Harry was good for her in a way she hadn't expected him to be.
For the first time in forever, Fleur Delacour was nervous about a relationship. She nearly laughed at the thought.
"Come on," James goaded, "it'll be fun, I promise. I'll even tell you about that time when Harry was training with Moody and he tried to chase down a suspect. Tripped over his own-"
"Old man, if you finish that sentence the only piece of you they'll find is your finger."
Fleur turned around to see Harry leaning against the frame of the door, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at his father. She smiled and could tell there was no actual anger in the look.
"Come on, son," James said with a shake of his head, "you don't want her to know if you wear boxers or briefs?"
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Oh wait, she probably already knows that," James said to himself, smirking up at Harry. "You're welcome for teaching you everything you know."
"You didn't teach me everything," Harry shot back. "You and Sirius aren't nearly as talented as you think you are."
James gasped.
"My own son," he said before looking back at Fleur. "Can you believe the cheek on this kid?"
"I completely rewrote the standard formations handbook that they teach today," Harry said. "And I'm still a better duelist than you."
"Keep dreaming Auror Potter," said James as he leaned back in his chair.
Fleur stood and turned back towards Harry, balancing on the balls of her feet to kiss him on the cheek. She half turned back towards James with a thoughtful expression.
"Mr. Potter, I'd like to inform you that I can believe the cheek on him. It's a lovely cheek."
James waved dismissively.
"Yeah, yeah, very funny. We've already got one comedy duo and the stage name is Padfoot and Prongs. No room for another act." He made a shooing motion with his hands. "Now shoo, go get dinner and whatever it is you kids get up to after dinner these days."
Harry groaned as they turned to leave.
"Dinner at the house soon though!" James called to them as they walked away.
When they made it to the lift Harry looked down at her.
"He invited you to dinner?"
She nodded.
"Would you like to have dinner with my parents in the next few weeks? It's completely fine if you don't want to," he said.
She dismissed the idea.
"No, I don't mind. I think it would be fun." She linked their arms and smiled up at him. "Your parents seem like good people, Harry. I'd love to get to know them better."
Harry laughed as they stepped into the lift.
"Very well, I'll set it up. Don't say I didn't warn you though."
She raised an eyebrow and he shrugged.
"There is a non-zero chance the dinner ends in disaster, but I guess there's only one way to find out?"
.
.
With a sigh he sat down in a chair just off the lobby of the bank. It had been two weeks since his dad had invited Fleur for dinner and he'd been told, in no uncertain terms, to bring Fleur this evening or not show up at all. He'd arrived at the bank early, wanting to ensure Fleur hadn't been caught up in anything unexpected, lest he have to find food on his own tonight. He was quite looking forward to eating his parents' chicken tikka masala. It was one of his favorites.
The sign on the door to the curse breaking department had told him to wait for her in the lobby. That she was finishing up a dangerous artifact.
So he waited, mentally preparing himself for the gauntlet his mum would no doubt put them through. His father he could handle. He'd heard just as many embarrassing stories from Sirius as James had in his repertoire, so a gentle reminder about something that happened when the Marauders were at Hogwarts was usually enough. Lily Potter, however, was an altogether different story, and one he had no defense against.
"I finally got approved for that transfer!" he overheard someone say.
Looking over, he saw two employees standing near the door. Idly, he wondered if the number of human employees outnumbered goblin ones if you took all the bank branches and combined them.
"Really? That's wonderful!" the other one said.
"Yeah, the branch in France is really hurting for qualified people, especially in the research and curse breaking divisions. They're desperate. They didn't even ask me if I knew French! Said it wasn't necessary."
"Wow, that's shocking."
Something nagged at the back of his mind, but before he could pull at it, footsteps echoed on the marble floor. He looked up as they grew louder and a dumbfounded look spread across his face as Fleur approached. She was wearing muggle clothes, a light blue blouse and black skirt with matching loafers. Her hair was done up in a basic, but neat bun, a far cry from the normal messy bun he'd seen her wear while working. She looked fantastic, like she'd stepped right out of one of those big buildings in London, and he couldn't stop himself from staring.
She smirked as she stopped in front of him. Casually she leaned forward and, with a gentle touch, pushed his jaw up, closing his mouth.
"See something you like?" she teased.
All he could do was nod.
She laughed and grabbed his hand, pulling him up and kissing him lightly.
"Well stop staring, it's rude."
Finally he recovered, shaking his head slightly before smiling at her.
"You didn't have to dress up for my parents," he said, "it's not a big formal event. Just dinner."
She shrugged.
"We had to go to muggle London today to retrieve a piece that somehow ended up there. I thought I looked nice and figured you might enjoy the effort." She winked at him. "I think I can say I was correct in that assumption."
"Very much so," he said with a nod as he held the door out of the bank open for her. "Are you ready to meet the parents?"
She rolled her eyes as they made their way to the apparition point, navigating through the people still milling about the Alley.
"I've met them both before, don't be dramatic."
Harry wagged a finger as he spun around to face her.
"You think that, but James and Lily Potter are vastly different people when they get you alone. I wish you the best of luck."
She raised an eyebrow as she intertwined their arms.
"Do your parents know that you talk about them like they're going to eat me alive?"
Without a word Harry popped them away, landing just outside his childhood home in Godric's Hollow. He released her and walked over to the bed of flowers, touching one of the roses before frowning.
"I'll have to ask Neville what I'm doing wrong here," he muttered absentmindedly.
He felt Fleur slide up next to him, peering down at the roses in front of them.
"They're beautiful," she said, but Harry shook his head.
"They're not supposed to be red."
"What color are they supposed to be?" she asked.
Harry flicked his wrist and his wand appeared in his hand. He ran through several basic gardening spells that his partner had taught him, most to check the health of the soil and roots of the plants themselves. Satisfied, he nodded and flicked his wrist again, his wand returning to his holster.
"They're supposed to change color," he explained, rubbing his fingers along another one of the red roses. "The seeds had been enchanted to bloom as one color but change regularly. A neat bit of magic, one that Neville said isn't all that easy, so I wanted to try it out. No space for a garden in my own flat, so my parents offered to let me experiment here."
She smiled at him.
"Didn't realize you were so good with plants."
He shrugged.
"I'm not. Not really anyway, but it keeps the front of the house looking nice while my parents are busy." He shot a dirty look across the street. "And the old man who lives across the street thinks his garden is aces. Bah, what a joke. I'm going to prove him wrong."
Fleur giggled at his outburst, causing him to laugh as well. Elphias Doge was an old friend of Albus Dumbledore and had lived across the street from the Potters as long as Harry could remember. He was a nice man, always warm and kind, but he had a competitive streak in him that ran deeper than his uncle Moony's obsession with proper penmanship. When he'd lamented the state of the Potter garden, with its basic arrangement of flowers and shrubbery, Harry had taken it personally.
His parents had laughed at him.
"So what's the diagnosis?" asked Fleur.
"Something with the soil, as far as I can tell," replied Harry, gesturing for her to follow him as they made their way towards the front door. He opened the door and held it open for her. "Neville said there could be some issues. I'll bring him a sample tomorrow and he can help me figure out what to do next."
They moved through the entrance and towards the kitchen, Harry pushing the door open and peaked inside. He frowned. There was food on the stove but nobody was around. That was odd.
"Mum? Dad?" he called.
"In here, Harry," he heard from the sitting room. They passed the kitchen table, which he noticed was not set, just a bottle of wine and two glasses upon its surface, and into the sitting room. There they found Lily with her head in the fire.
"I'll be there in a moment, Albus, keep your hat on," she scolded, "I know it's an emergency. Let me tell my son and his girlfriend goodbye and I'll be right through."
She leaned back and stood up, turning towards them with a disappointed smile.
"What's going on?" Harry asked as she hugged him.
"Albus called an emergency meeting. There was an incident involving multiple students this evening, some from my house," explained Lily with a frown. "I'll need to go back."
She turned towards Fleur and smiled, pulling the blonde into a hug before stepping back.
"Fleur, it's nice to meet you in person."
"You as well, Mrs. Potter," Fleur replied, causing Lily to wave her hand.
"None of that. It's just Lily." She frowned again. "I wish I could stay longer but I've got to get back. The food just finished and your father grabbed a nice bottle of wine from the cellar, so please eat."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Where is dad?" he asked, looking around.
Lily motioned towards the fire.
"The Minister called him back for something. He didn't tell me what but it sounded urgent."
She grabbed a bit of powder and tossed it into the fire, calling out the Hogwarts headmasters office before stepping in. With a flash of green light she was gone. Fleur looked back over at him.
"You get the wine and I'll get the food?" he suggested.
"Lead the way," she said with a nod.
He passed by the table and back into the kitchen, opening the cabinet to retrieve two plates. Despite how much he had joked about his parents, he really was disappointed that their plans had fallen through. He'd been secretly looking forward to them finally meeting Fleur officially, outside of business or the confines of the Ministry. He knew they would get along well, and somehow more importantly, he was happy that his parents seemed to already approve of her.
He shook his head. They'd have a great evening regardless, of that he was sure.
"How was your day?" he called as he moved towards the stove, "Anything exciting happened?"
Fleur laughed and he heard the distinct sound of a wine bottle opening. As he reached the drawer with the silverware, the nagging in the back of his mind returned. The one he'd briefly felt at the bank. It was the same feeling he got while investigating a tough case, but why was he feeling it now?
"Oh yes, it was quite an eventful day," Fleur said from the table. "That artifact we recovered? It had the nastiest curse on it."
As he pulled two forks out of the drawer he paused, spotting the Daily Prophet on the counter, the headline catching his eye.
A SHADOW OVER BRITAIN?
"So we brought it back to the bank and my coworker, Romilda Vane, was helping me with it," Fleur continued. "It was a beautiful ivory comb."
He placed a bit of rice onto each plate and spooned some chicken tikka masala onto each as he let his mind wander where it wanted. Moody had drilled into them during training that, sometimes, the best way to figure out what your instincts were saying was to let them take control. He let out a long breath, picking up the plates and letting his thoughts flow freely.
"Anyway, so we're looking at the comb," Fleur continued, smiling as he placed the plate in front of her. He took the seat opposite her, smiling and nodding for her to continue. "It reeks of dark magic. Honestly, we don't know how anyone couldn't spot it before. We got conflicting stories about it, but at least we recovered it."
Something clicked in his mind. As he took a bite of food, his thoughts turned back to the bank and the conversation he overheard.
"Yeah, the branch in France is really hurting for qualified people, especially in the research and curse breaking divisions. They're desperate. They didn't even ask me if I knew French! Said it wasn't necessary."
His veins felt like ice and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he looked over at Fleur.
"We determine that the curse originated in the 18th century," she said as she finished a bite, waving her free hand animatedly. "Relatively young for a curse, so it shouldn't be all that tough to crack, right?"
Again his mind wandered back to the bank, Fleur's smiling face in the curse breaking department filling his thoughts.
"If my memory isn't wrong, it seemed as if all the major papers at the time had credible information that the Shadow was connected to organized crime in France, specifically La Société pour l'amélioration de la France."
The scene shifted to the Ministry and her form faded, replaced by Auror Dupont. His heartbeat quickened.
"Your source is clearly not thinking straight," the taller man said, "we never found any link to organized crime."
Like a quaffle being tossed between two Chasers, the image in his mind shifted once more back to the bank, and it's Fleur's voice that filled his head.
"Perhaps the Shadow isn't here permanently? Perhaps she's just stopping by?"
His eyes nearly widened in shock, but he controlled himself as he looked over at Fleur, still chatting away about her experience with the cursed comb.
He'd never told her the Shadow was a woman.
"We break the curse and the thing falls to the workbench," Fleur says with a smile, humour laced in her words. Harry took another bite and nodded his head, thoughts still racing. "Romilda picks it up and everything seems fine. The comb is in amazing condition, and it's incredibly beautiful, so she decides to run it through her hair."
Images flash in his mind as his shoulders tensed, tighter and tighter with each memory.
Long glances at the work on his desk. Twice in one visit she looks down at the half-covered map.
"Immediately, warts start forming all over the back of her neck," Fleur said with a laugh, taking another sip of wine.
Passing by Knockturn Alley, idle curiosity leading to probing questions.
"She completely freaked out and had her first bout of accidental magic since she was four! I spent the next ten minutes trying to calm her down so I could perform the countercurse on her."
A break-in with nothing taken. Wards not triggered.
"I had to physically restrain her from blowing the comb up after the warts went away," Fleur laughed. "We had a good laugh about it after, but she did not handle that well."
A thief, incredibly talented in charms with an affinity for fire. Fighting with him. Flirting. Matching him in wits and creativity.
His mind halted and his training kicked in. He took two deep breaths. He had to be mistaken. There was no way she was involved, she couldn't be. Fleur wasn't someone who would manipulate or get involved in matters like this, that just wasn't who she was.
He was certain…but he had to make sure.
"Well it seems like you're fitting in at Gringotts quite nicely," Harry said. He tried to keep his tone pleasant, but it came out low, almost vacant.
"Yes, well, the work is compelling and the locals are great for a good time," she started to say, already adopting a teasing, flirtatious tone, but he interrupted before she could get it out fully.
"Why did you transfer to London, anyway? Why not Paris?"
Fleur looked at him oddly, blinking as her brow furrowed. He looked down as he braced for her answer, his instincts telling him he already knew what she would say.
"There were no openings," she explained, and he felt his heart drop. "The Paris branch is quite sought after, but I'm sure I've told you thi-"
"You know," he cut in rudely as he started to pack away his emotions, just as he'd been taught. There was no room to get emotional when dealing with a suspect. "You should have gone with 'France has too many memories.'"
He continued to look down at his plate, pushing around chicken with his fork as the last of his emotions went into the box he'd prepared.
"Less room for contradictions."
He looked up at her with a harsh eye. He couldn't be Harry Potter the boyfriend. That had blinded him. Dulled his natural instincts. Made him ignore obvious signs. For now he had to be Auror Potter.
"One of your coworkers is transfering to Paris, did you know? Apparently they're so strapped for curse breakers they'll even take a Brit, pas de français nécessaire."
The words hung in the air like a condemnation as they stared at each other from across the table. A myriad of emotions played across her face. Shock, anger, guilt, fear, they were all present. Eventually she settled on one: determination. They both knew what he was insinuating, so he opened his mouth and spoke the lingering question aloud.
"Are you the Shadow?"
The air was thick with tension as neither moved, neither blinked, and he desperately wanted her to laugh off his question. To have a reasonable explanation for lying to him. For feeding him false information. For her seemingly benign curiosities.
She stood quickly but he was faster. His wand was in his hand, outstretched, pointing at her before he could even think. They both continued to stare at each other. She held her arms wide and low but she'd managed to draw her wand. Her body language said she wasn't a threat, but he wouldn't let himself be fooled by that.
"Harry, please, just put your wand down," she said, voice filled with emotion.
"Answer me," he demanded.
She let out a long breath as she closed her eyes and a look of anguish passed through her face. A younger, less experienced Auror would have lowered their wand at the sight. Let their guard down in an effort to understand, but he wasn't a younger Auror.
She opened her eyes and looked at him as tears dropped from her eyes.
"Yes," she whispered.
Immediately he fired, the red light of a stunner erupting from his wand without warning, but she was quick. It impacted the wall behind where she'd previously been. The two plates rose and launched themselves at him. He shattered the first as the second clipped him in the shoulder. As he spun, he used the momentum to his advantage and let it carry him into a roll, popping back up, sending a barrage of spells in her direction.
Once again she was fast, chairs and picture frames carrying themselves into the way of his spells. She was backing into the sitting room, so he slammed his wand downward in a circular motion. As the tip touched the ground the kitchen table broke into several pieces. In one fluid motion he launched one of the pieces at her, sending her tumbling back into the sitting room. He flicked his wand at the largest piece of table and it sprang upright on its side, allowing him to crouch behind it to catch his breath.
"Harry, please, let's talk about this," she said, though her breathing was labored. He peaked out from behind the table and saw her crouching behind one of the large chairs as she held her side.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I need you to understand," she replied, "I need you to hear why."
The Auror in him didn't care what she had to say. Didn't want to listen to her. His job was to capture her and bring her in. Let the lawyers and Wizengamot decide her fate. But the box where he'd stored his emotions, he realized, had never fully closed, and he desperately wanted to know. Needed to know.
With a swish and flick of his wand he levitated the other chair in the sitting room before sending it quickly in her direction. She reacted swiftly, redirecting and crashing it into the front door.
"My sister didn't die," Fleur said, "she was murdered."
He lowered his wand at her words. Murdered? He looked over and could see her slumped over behind the chair.
"Murdered by who?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out, though I think it might be that Riddle person," she replied. "I unknowingly stole from the wrong person and they murdered my sister to send a message when I didn't return it. They killed her in broad daylight, Harry. They're connected to your case."
Several pieces of the broken chair rushed at him and he was able to cover himself with one of the other pieces of table just as they reached him. Without a second thought he launched it back towards her before taking cover behind his barrier. He heard the sound of breaking glass.
"So, what?" he asked, hurt laced in his words. "Thought you'd get a little revenge, using whoever you needed to further your goals until you got what you wanted?"
"It wasn't revenge. It's never been revenge," she defended, and he could hear the tears in her voice. There was a layer of barely-contained anguish underneath as well.
His chest ached and his head pounded. He wanted to scream, to lash out in anger, but he didn't have it in him. His heart felt hollow as he thought of their relationship, questioning all of their time together. He thought back to the ice cream shop, their little song and dance played with Florean each time. How they laughed and looked at each other with knowing smiles.
"Was any of it real? Or was I just a mark and a convenient shag?" he asked in a strained voice. "Did I ever really mean anything to you?"
"Yes!" yelled Fleur. "Harry, if you believe nothing else, believe that what has gone on between us has meant more to me than you could ever know."
"Liar," he hissed.
He heard a single sob come from the sitting room before the kitchen burst into motion. Looking back he saw all the forks, spoons, and knives violently ejected from the drawer, Tikka masala flying everywhere as they rose into the air. For half an instant they hung there before turning towards him and launching themselves forward.
He twisted, sending the two remaining pieces of table towards them, taking out a large portion, before his bright white shield appeared from the tip of his wand. Several knives got through, cutting his arm and side before he pushed more magic into the shield, strengthening and increasing its size.
As the last of the silverware clattered harmlessly to the ground he let go of the shield and turned around, only to find the sitting room empty. The front door was open, still moving from being opened forcefully. He dropped to his knees as exhaustion set in, though not from using his magic. It was a different kind of exhaustion, one he was unfamiliar with.
Was this what heartbreak felt like? Had none of his previous relationships been as important to him as this one?
He looked around and laughed softly at the chaos.
"We sure made a mess, didn't we?"
He spoke the question to himself, just so that he could hear something. The overwhelming, almost suffocating quiet of the house made him feel uneasy. He sighed before standing up and began to fix the damage, though he doubted he'd get it perfect. His dad would eventually notice something out of place, that something was different, but he couldn't find it in him to care at the moment.
He returned all the silverware to the drawer. Vanished the spilled food. Repaired the broken chairs and tables. The window in the sitting room was slightly more difficult, glass was always more of a challenge for him, but after a few false starts it was back to its old condition. The two plates they'd eaten on were far too damaged to be repaired, so he simply vanished their broken pieces. He took one last walk around the house before deciding it was good enough.
He stopped in front of the fire and sighed. He was tired and wanted to sleep, but he knew that wouldn't happen. He set his jaw as he clenched his fists. No, he was going to find her tonight, no putting it off. He grabbed some floo powder, miraculously unharmed in the melee, before tossing it into the burning fire. As he stepped out into the Ministry atrium he picked up speed.
He knew where he'd find her, it was the only logical place for her to be. She'd seek out a place of comfort or one of pain. One that would remind her of why she kept fighting, why she couldn't stop. Why she'd deceived him.
He made it to the Auror office with little fuss, it was late and there were very few people milling about. Luckily, nobody was around to try and greet him. He sent a silent thank you to the Minister for holding that emergency meeting somewhere else.
He opened the door to James' office and made for the fireplace. It was one of two international floo locations in the Ministry, though Harry had little doubt there were more in the Department of Mysteries. He stepped out of the floo and into the French Auror office. Again, nobody greeted him, a fact he was grateful for.
The French Ministry had designed outbound Apparition points in their atrium, far more convenient than the British office and their policy of no apparition within the walls at all. He stepped into one of the apparition circles and popped away.
He landed with a soft crunch of the grass beneath his feet. He got his bearings for a moment and began walking. It was dark but the moon provided ample illumination, further enhanced by the lights every few rows. He continued to walk for several more minutes until he spotted her.
He could see her shaking shoulders as she kneeled and the second soft sob he'd heard that night escaped her lips. He felt bad, invading her private moment, but he couldn't let things stand the way they were. He was angry, furious even, but somewhere between fixing his parents home and apparating away he'd realized something else.
He wanted to know if she was okay.
She stiffened as he approached.
"How did you find me?" she asked, turning her head so he could see her tear-stained cheeks.
He stopped several feet from her, making no move to go for his wand. He wasn't here to fight, not again. Not now. Not in this place.
"I did some looking, when you told me she died," he admitted. "Not because I suspected anything, but because I wanted to know more about her. All the papers had was a death announcement and where she would be buried. I figured this would be the most likely place you'd go."
Fleur laughed softly behind her tears.
"I come here sometimes. When I'm lost."
Slowly he moved closer and when he was sure she wouldn't run, closed the distance between them. He sat down in the soft grass next to her and looked at the gravestone with the name Gabrielle Delacour carved into it.
"How do you find your way back?" he asked.
She gestured at the gravestone.
"I ask Gabby what to do."
A stilted silence settled between them and he didn't press further, just kept looking forward, allowing her the time she needed to gather her thoughts. She had more to say, he could sense that much, but he also knew she would say them in her own time. He was an uninvited guest in a spot she held dear to her. The least he could do was give her time. Regardless, he was too drained to muster much else.
"I was so lost after the explosion," Fleur said after several minutes. "I got pulled out of the wreckage by a dear friend who gave me purpose, but it was difficult. So, so difficult. Some days I would wake up and just lay in bed for hours, because my sister was gone, taken from me and it was all my fault. In the beginning, I was the Shadow because it was fun. The thrill of stealing from people who'd likely stolen things themselves was a rush unlike any others."
She looked at him as the tears continued to fall.
"Then I stole from the wrong person and they took their payment in blood. They stole from me tenfold." She wiped her face with her hand, trying desperately to stop the tears. "The Shadow changed. It was no longer fun. It was work, a job to find and bring to justice the person responsible for my sister's murder. We pulled off a string of break-ins that eventually led us to Britain."
She looked up at him.
"And then I met you and everything changed."
"Me?" His heart ached, desperately wanting to hear the words, knowing he shouldn't trust them, as sure as he knew he would. For better or worse. "What did I do?"
She smiled, though it wasn't the full, room-brightening smile he was used to. It was sad, containing a loneliness he'd never, ever seen her express before.
"By the night of the Malfoy party I was tired of being the Shadow. I told the French Ministry they didn't have to worry about me anymore and made my way to another country. The night you caught me was the first time I'd ever been seen and it…rekindled something within me. As cliche as it may sound, it sparked the magic I'd felt years before when operating as the Shadow. The connection I felt with you that night changed how I viewed the world. Breaking into your flat, leaving you the scarf, it was a risk I took because you had brought me back from the edge."
Mentally he winced at the memory of that night. His flat had been messy, dirty laundry on the floor and a pile of dishes in the sink. Idly, he realized his girlfriend had seen his flat before she was his girlfriend. A blush of embarrassment washed over his cheeks, thankfully not enough to be noticed by moonlight.
She blew out a long breath and looked back at the gravestone, chewing her bottom lip slightly.
"Then I met the real you. As we grew closer, saw more of each other, I started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I would have an idea of what a normal life was like when I finally put away the Shadow for good. Once I'd finally brought my sister's killer to justice. I didn't think I'd hurt you and me in the process."
"Hurt yourself?" Harry asked.
She nodded, pointing at Gabby's gravestone.
"I realized it tonight. Gabby told me. I knew the moment I decided to start lying to you, trying to throw you off my trail, that I'd broken your trust. That you'd probably never forgive me, and I'd accepted that. What I didn't know, however, was that it would hurt me just as much because I think I've started to fall in love with you."
Harry's eyes opened wide at her words, and the stabbing pain in his chest lessened some. He didn't know where they'd go from here, if he were honest with himself. Their relationship was damaged. Damaged by lies and half truths, some greater, some lesser, but it didn't feel broken. He had expected to come here feeling nothing for her. He intended to tell her to leave Britain and never return, but he couldn't stop the butterflies in his stomach as he replayed her words over in his head.
Perhaps there was a way forward after all.
"Would you have given what you stole back to them?" he asked. She looked up at him, wiping her tears away once more. "The person you stole from. The one responsible for killing Gabby. Would you have given it back to them?"
She nodded.
"When they asked for it back, I wasn't aware of how far they were willing to go. Had I known, I'd have given them everything I'd ever stolen and offered to steal anything they wanted if it meant my sister was still alive."
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him.
She'd made mistakes in her life, learned a hard lesson in consequences, and had lived with guilt for such a long time that he was surprised she was so composed. That she could even go on without it completely consuming her. Yet, she hadn't let it consume her, which spoke to the strength of her character. More importantly, it made him realize that she was still lost. Maybe she never truly left the wreckage of the explosion that killed her sister, but he couldn't turn away when he had it in his power to help her get past it.
"Then I'll help you find them," he said.
She leaned away from him, eyes wide.
"What?"
"I said I'll help you find them," he repeated. "I'll help you find them and bring them to justice."
"But why?" she questioned. "I lied to you, Harry. I tried to tamper with your investigation. I could have gotten your team killed at the Nott manor!"
"And the deception hurt," he admitted. "It still hurts."
"Then why?"
He smiled.
"Because I help those I care about," he said with a reassuring look, "and it seems like you could use some help. Despite the destruction we caused tonight, I still care for you Fleur. I wanted to hate you, to tell you to get lost, but I can't and I won't. It would be so easy to turn away, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did. And I realize now that maybe…maybe I can help you and be Auror Potter at the same time. Maybe the two don't have to be mutually exclusive."
She cupped his cheek as a fresh round of tears fell from her eyes, but her deep azure pools told him they were happy tears. She leaned in and kissed him softly. There was a tenderness to the act, one that hadn't been there before, as if their relationship had deepened in a way that was completely unexpected yet exactly what they both needed. He kissed her back before pulling back slowly.
"Not that snogging and the potential for a makeup shag isn't appealing," he said teasingly, "I don't think in front of your sister's grave is the right location for that."
She laughed as she settled back next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. There was no tension in the air, no electric charge of emotion that had permeated their fight. Instead, it was calm, natural, as if this was where they should have been the whole time. He looked back over to the gravestone.
"Tell me about her," he said softly.
He could hear the smile on her face as she started talking.
"Gabby was life incarnate. She was bright, and upbeat, with a mischievous streak longer than a quidditch pitch. I think you two would have gotten along splendidly…"
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AN: Thanks for reading!