Chapter 5: Orders

Angèlique's Home, Landes, France, August 23rd, 1936

Harry accepted Monique's offer a few times over the following weeks. The visits to the forest bled into her work routine, which she justified by foraging for ingredients whenever convenient. Sometimes Harry would quietly join her, picking herbs and berries on their way and handing them over for inspection. Other times, he would prefer solitude, sitting somewhere with a good viewpoint and solemnly absorbing the wild liveliness of his surroundings.

Other than these trips to the forest itself, August passed under a somewhat comfortable routine. Amèlie appeared by the house every workday, pretending to be hurt by Harry's abandonment of her for a while before allowing herself to be magnanimously forgiving and asking to play something.

"I bet you that she'll let it go before lunch this time," Angèlique said to him one morning.

"After lunch, but before tea," he replied. Angèlique won.

Whenever Amèlie wasn't around, there was a great deal of silence in the house. It was a contemplative, pleasant silence, sparsely broken by Angèlique rambling about something she was reading or by Harry being curious about something. He would take quiet walks around the house, read whichever books he was recommended by his guardian, and think about his amnesia.

It was good for him to see Angèlique's mood improve as they got further from the 6th, though a part of Harry he refused to acknowledge felt a twisted satisfaction in knowing he wasn't the only broken person in Landes.

The most aggravating thing he had to deal with was the visits from Monique and Maurice. Their pitying looks as they spoke of the lack of progress in recovering his memory burned into his mind, demanding attention.

"Your brain isn't receiving any new stimuli," Maurice told him one day. It was a strange attempt at commiseration Harry didn't appreciate, coming from a man who was still clearly ill at ease in his presence.

"You just need to get out of the village. Beauxbatons will do wonders to your mind, I'm sure," Monique concurred in another visit.

Harry wondered if this was the furthest he would ever go in his recovery. Soon, it became apparent that both healers had the same suspicions.

After another visit from Monique, he felt the need to be alone. As soon as she left, he all but ran towards the garden, climbed a tree, sat on a sturdy branch, and looked out into the vast expense of the forest surrounding Landes. In the distance, a slight bump appeared and disappeared seamlessly, and he wondered if those were the hills over which its magical wilderness lurked.

"Enjoying the view?" Angèlique asked casually, as she levitated a cup of tea in front of him. He took it but didn't take a sip.

"They're lying to me," he answered instead, swirling the beverage around and observing the ripples that formed.

"Of course they are," she confirmed. Harry froze, an electrical shock of indignation passing through him.

"I thought you had hopes for my recovery," he said, trying to mask his hurt. He didn't know why, but the shuffling of her feet beneath him told him that he did a poor job of it.

"That's beside the point," she said calmly. "I won't lie to you. I refuse to tell you a comforting lie, particularly when you know best."

Her words triggered a surprise defensiveness from Harry as he tensed on his branch. "I can still get my memories back," he insisted. "I can still get my life back."

"Perhaps you can," she agreed, still serene. "All I'm saying is something you already know. That it is unlikely."

The woman's even and reasonable tone dismantled his anger before it grew, and he felt himself sag in disappointment. Now that the tea had cooled, he took a sip, but it felt blander than usual.

After a moment, she walked away from the tree trunk and put herself into his field of vision. They locked eyes, her looking up and him looking down. Angèlique looked so sorrowful that Harry was struck for a moment. "The issue with what Monique and Maurice have been telling you is that they're trafficking in blind hope. You need to understand that you're probably going to fail. The faster you accept that the better off you'll be."

"Should I give up then?" He asked, raising his voice by a fraction. Angèlique was pleased to see some anger back in him, and not the dejection she feared most. "Should I just give up and accept that I'm here forever, in a place I don't belong?"

"Of course not. Fight like hell."

"But you said–"

"That it is unlikely. Because it is. That doesn't mean you shouldn't try to fight against it."

After a few seconds, Harry spoke in a low, timid voice that didn't fit him. Angèlique thought he looked too small then, smaller than any child of any age had the right to be.

"What should I do? What would you do?"

"I write. Some people dance. Some people run, and other people fight. At the end of the day, Harry, we all do the only thing we can do," she smiled at him. It was apologetic, and he wondered what she was apologizing for. "We live."

"That's it?"

"Do you think it's easy?"

"No, no, it's not that. It's just..."

"Vague?" He nodded, and she snorted. "Yes, it's vague. Terrible advice, isn't it? It's not actionable, there's no obvious beginning, and there's no obvious end either. It's the sort of thing that's often best left unsaid. But it's also true. Truth is frustrating like that."

"I can agree with that much," he murmured. She gave him a short, sudden laugh.

He took another sip of the tea, and the usual strong aftertaste filled his mouth.

Angèlique's Home, Landes, France, August 31st, 1936

Amèlie visited them earlier than usual. She had been clinging onto Harry more and more as September approached, and now that it was upon them, she entered the cottage looking nothing like the lively girl of a previous couple of months. Amèlie sullenly dragged herself to the center of the living room before shyly raising her face and looking at Harry with suspiciously watery eyes. The room was silent for a few seconds before her chin began wobbling, and he reflexively stood up.

As soon as he moved, the dam burst. She crashed into him, hiding her face in his clothes.

"Don't leave me alone," she begged him with some heavy sniffling, holding his shirt as though that would anchor his presence to hers. "Please don't go."

"I have to go to school," he said, patting her back hesitantly. She squeezed him with more strength than he thought she could muster, pressing painfully on his ribcage.

"I'm not angry with you for leaving my house," she clarified in nascent despair. Harry sent Angèlique a helpless look over the little girl's shoulder, but she just shrugged back. "Please don't leave."

"I know you're not angry," he said slowly, trying to appease her. "But I have no choice, I have to go to school."

"No, you don't," she insisted. "You can stay here and learn with Angèlique and mommy."

"I am not a teacher, Amèlie, and neither is Monique," the woman intervened. "Harry deserves to learn from actual teachers."

"But mommy is really smart, and you're really smart too!"

"Amèlie, don't you want to go to school and make new friends?" Angèlique asked her. The girl pried herself slightly away from her crushing hug on Harry but kept one hand on his sleeve to stop him from stepping too far away.

"I have Harry, and you, and Auguste, and Raoul is nice to me, too," she sniffled.

"But you want more friends, don't you?" The girl didn't answer, looking at her feet. "Don't you think Harry wants to know more people too?"

"He has me. I'm his friend."

"You won't stop being his friend, Amèlie."

"Yes, I will!" She cried out, beginning to cry in earnest. "He'll make friends in school, and he'll forget me now that he doesn't live with me anymore!"

Harry froze in place. Before he could figure out what to do, Amèlie pushed him away and ran to the back garden.

"Amèlie!" He called out, starting to walk after her before Angèlique stopped him.

"Give her a minute," she advised. Harry warily sat back down, keeping an eye on the door. "I told Monique that staying in Landes would make Amèlie feel too lonely. But she doesn't listen."

"The people around here seem to like her."

"Everyone loves Amèlie," Angèlique agreed. "But as much as they love her, there's no one her age around here. There are a few teenagers, but other than Auguste and very occasionally Raoul, none of them pay attention to the whims of a little girl, no matter how well-loved she is. Bordeaux would be much better for someone like Amèlie. Even Bagnères would work."

"Bagnères?"

"The city around Beauxbatons," she explained.

"I see."

"The problem is that Monique is far too much in love with continuing the tradition of cultivating and exploring the magical forest without moving from Landes," Angèlique sighed. "The woman is too damn stubborn."

Harry was silent, listening to Angèlique lose herself to her rambling. It had been happening more often as they spent more time together. It was amusing to him, hearing her judgments on people, and he realized that traveling with her had to be amazing, for her commentary if for nothing else.

"Her husband just wants to live out his days in as peaceful a place as possible so he won't object. It doesn't help that Maurice is a self-preserving coward," she said. "She doesn't learn from the mistakes of others and would never admit to being wrong about anything."

She suddenly shook her head and cut herself off. "You should go look for Amèlie."

It didn't take long for Harry to find Amèlie. She was sitting by a tree, curled into a ball, her head downcast. He stood by her side and waited for her to acknowledge him. When she didn't, he sat in front of her, but she still didn't move beyond sniffling and occasionally rubbing her nose.

"Amèlie?" He asked calmly. When she didn't respond, he continued. "Why do you think I won't be your friend anymore?"

"You'll make older friends," she mumbled. "And then you won't want to play with me anymore because you'll be with them, and I'll be just a little girl."

"I won't do that," he promised, but she was unconvinced.

"Auguste said that too," she told him, "and he never plays with me anymore."

"He comes to talk to you."

"But he's always too busy with his broom," she sulked. "And with Raoul. And you'll be too busy with your friends to talk to me."

He looked at her steadfast refusal to change her mind, seeing a mirror image of her mother there. That gave him an idea, and he stood up, dusting himself off.

"Come with me," he told her. As she followed with a confused frown, he opened the door to the kitchen and cried out to Angèlique, without peeking in, "We'll be right back!"

"Where are we going?" Amèlie asked him, still looking downtrodden but taken by a morsel of curiosity. Grasping at it, he grinned over his shoulder in her direction.

"You'll see. Stick close to me," he instructed her, and she nodded, jogging for a second to stand by him.

Walking through Landes without any adults to escort them made Harry a much easier target of recrimination for the villagers. Harry was too concerned about Amèlie's mood to give it much thought beyond inwardly grumbling. But she had no such qualms and was growing angry at their whispering, glowering, and frowning. When an older man in his fifties crossed the street when he saw Harry approach, she snapped.

"What are you doing?" The man looked like someone had caught him with his pants down. "Why are you moving away from Harry?"

"He's dangerous," the man said with a scowl. "You shouldn't stay close to him."

"No, he isn't," she crossed her arms. "You're all cowards."

"We're just looking out for you," he spoke. "Please go home, and stay away from him."

"He's my only friend here!" She yelled, her face turning red in anger. "None of you care!"

"What have you been telling her?" The man demanded, turning to Harry with a deep frown. "That's not true! He's been telling you lies. We all care about you."

"If you cared, you wouldn't treat my friend like this!" She yelled before turning away and ignoring the man's calls. Huffing, she turned to Harry and spoke. "Let's go."

"See, I'm your friend, aren't I?" He asked with a small teasing smirk. She pouted his way, and his gaze softened. "Thank you for defending me."

"I don't like mean people," she decided with the ringing authority only children and monarchs possess. With that firm decision under her belt, they reached the edge of the woods. Amèlie looked slightly wary but was too tempted to turn back. "Mummy isn't going to like that I'm here without her."

"Are you telling me you've never been here by yourself?" He asked, incredulous. She grinned at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, and he laughed.

The trek through the woods to the magical forest wasn't as smooth as it had been with Monique. Harry had been there enough times to take cues from his surroundings, but the maritime pines all looked the same, and he sometimes walked in circles before remembering the proper path. He could tell that Amèlie was beginning to grow nervous as he struggled to find his footing.

"If we go around there, we can see a bird nest," he claimed whenever he felt lost, giving him an excuse to wander. "There's a hill there, it should give us a nice view!" He said instead of admitting he needed a vantage point to find his way again. "Do you want to climb a tree? I found a nice one to climb in a clearing the other day," he spoke, using the time to look around and locate himself again. All the while, he coated his voice with a shining outer layer of confidence and resolve that rang hollow to his ears but seemed to work in calming Amèlie, who turned lively and spirited once more.

Birdsong and trees that weren't pine finally arrived. Amèlie happily ran down to the gazebo at the center of the magical forest. He followed her at a more sedate jog, grinning at her enthusiasm.

When they arrived and sat down, she grew quieter again, tracking a phoenix with her eyes. "I'm glad I didn't take Nicholas with me today," she decided. "He gets jealous of real phoenixes."

"For a wood bird, he's very complicated."

Amèlie didn't say anything for a while, before adding in a small voice. "He doesn't like you."

"So you do know", Harry commented, struggling to keep the surprise out of his voice. "I thought you didn't."

"I thought that I could make it true if I said it enough," she replied quietly. "We're magical, aren't we? We change the world with words, right? Then why can't I make my two friends like one another?"

Amèlie seemed to be sinking deeper into herself, and he watched in alarm as her expression drooped.

"You have other friends," he tried to argue, but it failed to break through the walls that began to grow around her. Channeling Angèlique as best he could, he spoke more earnestly. "I don't think you can force Nicholas to like me, even with magic."

"Then what good is it for?" She demanded, tearing up.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Even with magic, we're still people, and people are difficult sometimes. Angèlique was right earlier; I do want to go to school," a flash of betrayal lit up Amèlie's eyes as he said those words, but he continued before it grew. "I don't like being around people who hate me and think I'm going to hurt them somehow. I'm not cursed," he sighed, his shoulders sagging. "It's impossible to ignore."

"If I get everyone to be nice to you, will you stay?" She asked with fiery determination.

"You can't change their opinions," he told her with a fond smile, putting his hand on the crown of her head. "But even if you could, I'd still go to school, even if it wasn't the law." She looked down to the floor, defeated and fearful of being alone. He continued to pat her head, communicating through the gesture the affection that he couldn't convey through words. "I don't know my place here. I need to find it, and Beauxbatons can help me."

Amèlie stayed quiet, though she looked less despondent. He continued.

"That doesn't mean we won't be friends, or that I'll forget about you, your mother, or Angèlique when I'm there."

"Do you promise?" She said in a tiny voice, barely a mumble.

"Of course."

"Okay, then," she nodded. Amèlie still looked sad, and there was more resignation than acceptance in her posture, but he didn't know what else to do to change that. "Can you write to me? I want to know what school is like, and mommy only tells me to wait and see; she wants me to be surprised. Daddy doesn't like talking about it."

"I'll write, but why don't you ask Angèlique? I'm sure she'll tell you all about it."

"She always gets sad when I ask her," Amèlie spoke, looking at him with knowing eyes. They seemed a darker hazel than usual. "I don't like seeing her sad. When she thinks I'm not looking, I see how sad she is. I like visiting her because she seems happy to see me."

"You should keep company with her while I'm away," he suggested, and she nodded.

"I don't think she'll be able to hide her sadness when you leave," she spoke. "But at least we can be sad together."

Harry didn't have an answer for that. They stood there for a few more minutes before returning to the village proper to prepare for his departure the following day. He couldn't shake off the unpleasant anxiety that something ought to stop him from attending school. He could see it: a missive from some Ministry bureaucrat, and that apologetic smile on Vincent's face.

When they arrived back at Angèlique's house, Monique was already there. "Amèlie, come here!" She angrily demanded.

"I'll tell mommy that I was the one that dragged you into the woods," Amèlie said, turning her back to Harry and walking towards her mother.

"You don't have to do that."

"It's okay," she shook her head. "Please write to me." Then she left, pulled back home by a furious Monique.

"She won't let her daughter see you off to school," Angèlique said, looking on with evident disappointment.

"You think so?"

"I know so," she replied. "Monique's temper consumes her. It burns too brightly for her to see that she's hurting other people."

Harry looked at Monique and Amèlie as they left, and he wondered about what — and who — he was leaving behind.

Ponton d'Honneur, Bordeaux, France, September 1st, 1936

"We'll leave in half an hour to Bordeaux," Angèlique told Harry after they finished breakfast.

He opened the bags he would take with him to school. After spending weeks with barely anything to his name, it felt comforting to have possessions to his name, and each item felt like a gemstone to him as he carefully checked if he had forgotten something.

Angèlique knocked on the door, and a minute later they were leaving for the communal hall and its Floo connection. Harry tugged at the collar of his uniform's shirt, grimacing at the tight fit around his neck.

"You haven't asked about Beauxbatons," Angèlique asked with a sly look from the corner of her eyes. "For someone whose first major discovery about themselves was that they hated not knowing things, that seems odd."

"I wanted to form my own opinions about it," he spoke in a halting tone.

She cast him with the long-suffering glance of a parent dealing with a child caught in an obvious lie. "Do you want to try again, or shall I guess it?"

Harry's sight snapped to his feet as he tried to translate the unease that had laid inside him for the past weeks. "I was hoping that maybe if I closed my eyes, it would all go away and I would wake up with my memories intact at home."

"But it didn't happen."

"It didn't," he lamented in a quiet, subdued voice. "I wish it did."

Angèlique sighed, before crouching so that their eyes were level with one another. "I understand what you're saying," she offered him a glassy smile, which felt bound to shatter at a touch, "but pretending something isn't happening doesn't make it go away."

He nodded.

"Are you excited to go?" She asked cautiously, after a moment.

"I am. At least there'll be a lot of things to learn in Beauxbatons," he looked marginally more excited, the idea of leaving Landes and the rancor within it bringing him some respite. "Maybe I can find out more about what happened to me."

"And you can build a place for yourself," she advised him. "Don't get too enamored with the idea of solving a puzzle that might not be solvable, Harry, and forget to live your life."

"It's easy for you to say," he grumbled with a frown. "I'm not supposed to be here."

"And yet, here you are," she raised an eyebrow, standing up and motioning to the village around them. Some other students were wearing the same uniform he wore, though they were all older than him. "This might be the only home you'll have for several years. And if you're too focused on the life you've had in your memories, you may find yourself with neither."

He nodded, though he hoped that a hidden book in Beauxbatons would reveal everything to him. When they entered the communal hall, everyone inside turned to face them.

"Harry!" Auguste greeted him with an animated wave, approaching them rapidly with his characteristically firm and assured cadence. Raoul lagged behind with a lazy stride. "How are you, Angèlique?"

"I'm fine, Auguste," she responded with a polite nod. "Are you excited about your upcoming year? Is this your last?"

"Second to last," he corrected her with a soft smile.

"Hello, Angèlique," Raoul greeted her with a small gesture of the head before turning to the young boy. "We haven't talked much, have we, Harry? Good luck at school."

"Thank you," Harry responded, unsure of what to make of the tall and wiry blonde boy. He seemed sedate and languid, bathed in an easygoing nonchalance.

"Don't thank me yet. You'll need a lot of help," Raoul grinned before looking around and catching sight of a brunette blue-eyed girl talking with her mother on the far side of the room. "I'll talk with you at the school, Auguste."

"I'll save you a seat on the boat," his friend smirked once he noted where Raoul was heading, this time with a much more confident and determined posture.

"No need," he turned with a flourish, smiling widely. "I feel lucky today."

"It won't work!" Auguste called out to him, laughing when he received a rude gesture in response. Then he turned to Angèlique. "Will you be accompanying Harry to Bordeaux?"

"Yes, I'll take him to the boat and then come back."

"Alright, then," he nodded. "I'll talk more with you on the boat, Harry."

Contrary to their previous trip to Bordeaux, the guard standing by for the students' arrival was alert and amicable, greeting each passerby with a polite nod and a smile, saving more effusive flourishes to any unaccompanied mothers escorting their children. Angèlique ignored the flirtatious guard, dragging a distracted Harry from the front of the fireplace just in time for another uniformed student to appear where he had just stood.

Angèlique guided him through the city as throngs of students followed the same path. None of them wandered under the watchful eyes of their parents, but they still looked around, pointing and whispering to one another about the Muggle world that seemed so unfamiliar. Perhaps in smaller groups, the presence of strangely-dressed teenagers would have drawn some unwanted attention, but the mass of people traveling through Bordeaux in the same uniform just drew some benevolent curiosity, as people eyed them speculatively from the cafés outlining the streets, not with fear, malice, or derision but with the mildly absent yet polite interest of someone fingering through the photo album of a friend's wedding.

Their destination was within sight rather quickly. Just a few streets away, through some well-pruned and colorful shrubbery, a wide river divided the city in half, calm waters lazily flowing on their way to meet the Atlantic ocean downstream. A bustling port was on the horizon to their left, carrying crates of wine that would sail across the seas to markets everywhere, and the marine merchant fleet tasked with carrying them traveled impatiently through the river, leaving puffs of smoke in its wake.

Their ship was in a smaller marina, looking strange and out of place. It was a sternwheel steamboat stretching at least a hundred meters in length. From where he stood, the inside wasn't visible, but he could see windows and viewing galleries all around the deck. On its hull, an intricate crest in gold and turquoise had pride of place just to the side of the main ramp, with the name Académie Beauxbâtons written in lavish golden cursive.

"The school is upstream of the Garrone," Angèlique explained to him, bowing slightly to be heard in her low-timber, calm voice in the middle of the animated conversations held as the students waited to board the ship. "It will stop at several cities on the riverside to take you all to Bagnères and then towards Beauxbatons proper."

"Wait, isn't Beauxbatons in the Pyrenees? As in, up the mountains?"

"So you're not going in completely blind. But yes, it is. You'll see how it works," she grinned.

Before he could ask for more clarification, a deep, resonating horn grunted across the marine, informing the waiting students that the ship was about to accept their entry. Angèlique kissed his cheeks, once on each side, and with an enthusiasm so clearly forged that it was saddening, spoke.

"Enjoy your schooling, Harry, and do write regularly."

She left, leaving him to shuffle his way to the ship's entrance in the sea of students clad in light blue. He managed to steal a last glimpse of her fading figure before she disappeared behind a building, and he did not think he had imagined the slight trembling of her silhouette.

A House in Champel, Geneve, Switzerland, September 1st, 1936

"I simply don't understand," a skinny and mild-mannered man in his mid-thirties said in a calm and polished voice that hid only the barest sense of annoyance. "Why we couldn't let the boy go to England after we retrieved the necklace."

"Once again, Cuthbert," Vincent Aubin replied, not bothering to hide his irritation. "Just because you are English doesn't mean you'd be able to keep a close eye on the boy."

"The Carrows are influential in my country," Cuthbert returned, a frown prominently displayed on his dull, narrow face. "My family members are sympathetic to our cause. They would have managed."

"You know damn well he would have gone to the Potter family if we notified them," Alphonse Rappine said with the slightest snarl. The discussion had lasted for far too long by that point. "And you know the Potters are too close to Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore is a fool," Cuthbert scoffed.

"If you believe that," a raspy, lilting voice broke into the room, catching everyone's attention. Cold blue eyes roamed over the three men in the room, who only failed to avoid their gaze with practice. Vinda Rosier had mastered the art of being unsettling when she wanted. "You are an idiot. Don't let your ego stand in the way of your intellect, Cuthbert. It's unbecoming."

"He spends all of his time in Hogwarts," Cuthbert dismissed the notion though the annoyance in his timber had vanished. "He wouldn't have time to interfere."

"Albus Dumbledore can affect and control more things sitting in the lavatory of a remote Scottish castle than you can from inside the French Ministry," Vinda countered. "Make no mistake. He is a larger threat to us than any."

"Regardless of what you think, Carrow," Alphonse said before the other man could. "We have our orders. Harry Potter is to remain in France for observation."

"It's not like you to be questioning orders," Vinda concurred, stepping forward and fingering her wand. "Should I be concerned, Cuthbert?"

The threat infuriated the man, who dropped the mask of civility he wore like a second skin to throw a truly hateful glower at the woman. "You know where my loyalties lie, Rosier. Holster your wand. We're forbidden to draw wands against one another, and I will not tolerate this joke."

The woman stopped mid-step and stilled for a moment, the tension growing in the room before she offered him a small smile, making her eyes crinkle slightly. "Very well, Cuthbert. I've always trusted you," she said before turning to Alphonse and letting the warmth seep out of her gaze. "The next time you question the loyalty of an acolyte, I will kill you."

The Junior Auror mumbled a hushed apology and bowed his head slightly. After a few seconds, Vinda resumed her musing. "But then again, Rappine is correct. We have our orders. I'm not questioning your loyalty," she intervened, just as Carrow tried to defend himself again. "I'm just curious."

Cuthbert stood still for a few moments, eyeing Vinda suspiciously. Finally, he frowned slightly. "It's a waste of resources," he grumbled. "Our network in Beauxbatons isn't what it used to be. Most of them graduated, and we haven't replaced them fully. We have more important things to be concerned about. Who gives a damn about what an eleven-year-old boy is doing in his spare time between Charms classes? The Spanish are far more important."

"He had an unaccounted necklace," Vincent reminded them. Vinda thoughtfully fingered the one she wore on her neck and watched in amusement as Cuthbert frowned. Grindelwald had been too busy in Spain to charm his necklace, despite his recent ascension to acolyte status. She wondered if that was where his anger truly lay.

"Which we took from him," Carrow answered.

"And who did Harry Potter take the necklace from?" Vincent asked. After a few beats of silence, he sighed. "We stayed here too long. We have to return to Paris for our duties."

He left after sparing a polite nod to Vinda and Cuthbert, followed closely by Alphonse. The two acolytes remained alone in the room, lost in their own thoughts. Finally, she spoke. "Young Vincent is promising."

"Young Vincent?" Cuthbert scoffed. "Isn't he only a year younger than you?"

Instead of answering, she grinned, making him laugh.

"If Gellert has decided to keep the boy in France, I will do my best to ensure he doesn't leave until his graduation from Beauxbatons," Cuthbert declared, adjusting his posture. Throwing Rosier a look, he continued. "But be honest with me, Vinda. This whole thing cannot possibly be about the necklace. Not after we've already secured it."

She stared back at him, weighing her choices, before deciding to trust Grindelwald's judgment of the man. As shifty as he could be and as newly minted as he was, Cuthbert Carrow was still an acolyte. "You're right. He was curious about the necklace but wouldn't pursue the matter himself after we retook it. He grew invested once he heard the boy's surname."

"Potter?" Cuthbert asked, narrowing his gaze in concentration. "They're a fairly harmless family. I'm afraid I don't understand the concern."

"I cannot tell you more than that," she said. Before Carrow could question it, her look silenced him. That had been a directive from Grindelwald himself, not something Vinda Rosier had decided to keep privy. "But know this, Cuthbert. Gellert is supervising this personally."

"He is?" He asked, surprise evident in his features. "I suppose I'll pay more attention to the Potters. I will do my duty."

She nodded, pleased. "In which case, I will take my leave."