Something was very wrong, Fleur could tell that much. For one thing, it'd been days since Bertha Jorkins escorted her back to her room (although, with no signs of day or night, it was hard to tell just how many). For another, she'd only been fed once since then, and it'd been less than the previous ones. Kreacher had apparated it in, set the small scrap of bread on the floor across the room for her, and then vanished before she could say so much as a single word to him. Lastly, though, not once had Lily come back to her since she obtained their way of escape, and Fleur was beginning to be very worried.

All she could do to while away the time was play with her stolen knife in the dim light of the room. She'd toss it into the air, catch it, spin it between her fingers, carve messages into the wood (Fleur was here or Dear God please get me out of here, mostly, but she also left a long letter to her sister under the mattress), and whatever else she could think of to entertain herself other than turning it towards her own body. She wasn't that far gone, and she hoped she never would be. Although, she had once slipped and cut herself fairly badly. That was, thank Merlin, after Kreacher delivered the food, and she hadn't done anything quite that dangerous since. Her hand was currently bound by a scrap of linen she tore off her uniform. She just had to hope it would fully heal before anyone saw, but that was becoming increasingly unlikely the longer she went without-

Footsteps above. That was potentially terrible- or, more hopefully, exactly the news she'd been waiting for.

She tucked the knife under her mattress and tried to hide her injured hand behind her back. All she could do was hope this was Lily coming back. If it was somebody calling for her, they'd likely see, and then she'd be completely out of luck. She could hear the desk being lifted from above the little trap door, and, when it opened, what followed was several seconds of silence.

Not Lily, she thought, wondering if she should go for her only weapon and desperately wishing she still had her wand. She almost did, too, but then somebody was climbing down into the room, and she saw the plate of food in his hand. As much as she wanted to go for her escape, the instant waterfall in her mouth at just the sight of curry, of all things, had her mind changed in a heartbeat. Hungry as she was, there were few things she wouldn't put up with for a filling meal, and that smell was currently irresistible.

"Stay where you are," the man's deep voice said as she started to move towards him. She recognized that voice, but she couldn't place a name to it. Not with his face blocked by the skull mask, anyway. "There are things I must explain to you, and I have precious little time to do so. The Dark Lord has permitted you a special dish in celebration of his upcoming victory, but nobody knows I am the one bringing it to you, and I would like to keep it that way. The longer I am absent, the more likely it will be noticed."

"Explain?" Fleur repeated, wondering if that word meant what she thought it meant. Why would the Death Eaters want to tell her anything?

"Potter is not returning," the Death Eater said, and, by speaking that name, she knew he was on their side. "The Dark Lord is moving into his final phase, and she will be permanently moved to his personal chambers. There is only one hope for the both of you."

"Why should I believe you?" Fleur asked, speaking slowly and clearly on each word. Her voice was already hoarse; it'd been a long time since she was allowed to use it.

"Do, or don't," the man said with a shrug. He set the plate of food down in front of him, and Fleur watched it with eager eyes. "You will escape. Tonight."

Fleur blinked slowly and managed to raise her eyes from the plate, suddenly a lot more dubious about the quality of the thing. Poison, then? But why kill her now, and that way? She would have thought Voldemort would have wanted to have it done in front of Lily, at the very least (and as horrifying as that idea was).

"Why?"

"Potter will not allow me to break her out until you are safe," the man said, sounding bitter about it. "We are quickly running out of opportunities. "You will go, tonight, so I will not miss our last one."

"'ow?"

"Eat," the man said, sliding the plate slightly forward.

"'ow am I to escape wiz curry?"

"It is the potion in the curry that will make escape possible, you idiot girl," the man said, and, suddenly, Fleur knew exactly who it was.

Professor Snape, the Potions Master at Hogwarts, and the bane of every Beauxbatons student who had dared to ask for a little extra help during lessons. If she squinted, she could almost make out the greasy hair hidden by his hood.

My savior, she thought grimly. And what a heroic figure he makes.

"And what potion ees zis?" she asked, doing her best not to show irritation at the remark. If Snape was the only one on her side, she could put up with a few jibes, so long as it meant escape.

"Felix Felicis," Snape said, tapping the plate with a long, pale index finger. "Enough to last you for three hours."

It took Fleur a while to understand what he was saying, but it did eventually click. In France, they didn't call it Felix- they called the golden, wonderful potion nothing less than Lady Luck.

"You will eat the curry as soon as I leave," Snape said when she didn't respond. "In half an hour's time, I will persuade one of my fellow Death Eaters to come pay you a visit- I need not explain what he will be visiting for, as I'm sure you can imagine how… eager some of my compatriots are to spend some time alone with you."

"And?" Fleur asked, trying to ignore the shiver of fear he'd sent through her.

"And you will kill him," Snape said simply. "You will take his wand, his robes, and his mask, vanish the plate so they cannot test it, and you will make your way out of here."

"Kill?" Fleur repeated, feeling her stomach drop a bit.

"Yes, kill," Snape said. "If he were to live, he would then be able to tell the Dark Lord about how I convinced him to commit his folly. He must die so that my secret remains safe- otherwise, I will not be able to help Potter."

"'e will die, zen," Fleur said, swallowing down the last bit of her reluctance.

"He will," Snape agreed with a nod. "Follow what the potion tells you to do unquestioningly- Felix knows the way. Once you are out of the manor, you will proceed as quickly as you can towards the trees- we are near Sherwood, if you have any idea where that is. It is currently night, and a cloudy one, at that, so you won't have stars nor the moon to guide you- again, you must trust that Felix will not steer you wrong. Head north until you hit a small stream, then follow it down the flow. You will come upon an old rusty bucket. It is a portkey, designed to trigger on touch. I cannot give you the secret, as I am not the keeper- but the portkey was made by Dumbledore and, as such, it will be treated as permission."

"Where will eet take me?"

"Foolish girl," Snape snapped, "Think. I cannot say. It is a secret."

"And why me?" Fleur asked sharply. "Why not wait for Lily?"

"I just told you, did I not?" Snape said, sounding like he was explaining things to a five year old. "She will not go without you- make no mistake, fool. I am assisting you only so that I can free Potter. Everything I've done has been for that sole purpose- up to and including the Felix Felicis. That I must waste it on you is a tragedy of the highest degree, but I do not believe it is possible for you to live without it and, were you to die, Potter would undoubtedly refuse to trust me. You will eat the curry, you will do as I have told you, and you will escape to be just as insufferable in the future."

"Zat did not answer my second question," Fleur said, holding her head up high. "We could wait for 'er, and escape togezer."

"Have you listened to a word I said?" Snape said. "Or are you truly incapable of understanding English? How about this," he added, speaking in a surprisingly fluent French. "You must escape, tonight, or the Order must risk a frontal assault to break you out- and, after the Dark Lord succeeds on his mission tonight, that will mean the death of us all. Including your parents."

"My parents?" Fleur asked, the surprise from that overwhelming the anger from Snape being his usual self.

"Yes," Snape said with an audible sneer to his tone. "They are quite desperate to have their 'little flower' returned to them and are attempting to assemble what remains of our pitiful forces into a strike team at this very moment. If you would like to see them survive, then do as you are told, girl, and do not question me any further. Eat and escape, or stay and die. It is your choice."

Fleur could feel her face burn, but Snape was starting to stand- and she had something else to cover.

"There is one problem left," she said, and Snape stopped moving. She pat her leg and grimaced. "Even if I am disguised, they will be able to tell who I am by my limp."

"Ah," Snape said, digging into his robe. "I almost forgot. Wear this. It was Potter's, but she won't need it anymore."

She didn't recognize the small, black thing he tossed at her- not until it was in her hands, anyway. It was a knee brace- the same one Lily had been wearing all last year, the one that gave her own bad leg strength.

"Why doesn't she need it?" Fleur asked, but Snape was already fully upright, his own face was gone as it went out the trap hole.

"I must go," he said, lifting one leg over. "Remember- half an hour. Eat quickly. You will need every drop of Felix if you are to be successful."

And then he was gone, and Fleur could hear him set the desk back above her.

The curry proved to be the greatest meal Fleur had ever tasted, but she doubted very much that was due to the abilities of the chef. No, Lady Luck was on her side, and every little spoonful was better than the last, every bite filled her with such a wonderful warmth and confidence. She knew, instinctually, that everything was going to be alright. As soon as she was done eating, she pulled the knife out from under the mattress, moved to directly under the trap hole, and set in to wait.

Lady Luck was strange. Whenever Fleur tried to think, she couldn't. It felt like every little thought that creeped into her head belonged to another- and, yet, that didn't seem to be worrying in the slightest. It was quite the opposite, in fact; it all felt very comforting, as if somebody else was in control, and they knew exactly what they were doing. Not even the sudden appearance of eager footsteps above her did anything to dispel it, nor did the lifting of the desk above her head.

Fleur moved quickly. She crouched directly underneath the trap door, knife clutched between both hands, and waited for just the right moment. The instant the door started to lift upwards, she pushed up with her legs and stabbed upwards with the knife.

Whoever Snape had sent to "enjoy" time with her had proven to be a complete and utter buffoon. They were, presumably, a wizard, after all, and, yet, rather than use their wand to open the door by magic, they'd chosen to use their hands like a common Muggle. As such, they were in a prime position for Fleur's knife to sink directly into their neck, and all without her even needing to aim.

The man made a strange sort of gurgling noise as he jumped backwards, one hand clutched to his now bleeding throat, the other reaching into his robes. Fleur didn't waste a single second. She hopped straight out of the hole and took a quick glance at her would be attacker. He started to draw a wand out from his robes, but Fleur acted on pure instinct and threw her knife at him. Really, it wasn't what she would have done, had she been in control, as she most certainly would have missed. No, it would have been much better just to try and get in close, risk it all on being faster than the man.

But Lady Luck was in charge, now, and she had a much surer throwing hand than Fleur Delacour did. The knife spun end over end and, miraculously, embedded the sharp end firmly in the back of the man's hand. He tried to scream, then, only for it to come out in a weak sort of moan. Most importantly, though, he dropped his wand- and, as if luck itself were on her side (and it most assuredly was), the weapon even happened to roll towards her. She hardly even had to take a step before she was snatching it off the ground and levelling it at the man's chest.

"This is mine," she said, pulling the knife out of the man's hand and causing him to groan again. She glanced at it, then, before looking at the man, who, at this point, was attempting to crawl away from her. "On second thought," she said, taking a step towards him, "you are more than welcome to it."

The man was still clutching at the wound on his neck with his good hand, crawling on his stomach towards the door, more gurgles coming from his throat that Fleur supposed were supposed to be cries for help. It took three short steps to stand over him, and then she crouched, raised the knife above her head in both hands, and brought it down one, two, three times into his back, until the man was finally laying still.

Fleur Delacour might have been sick at taking the man's life, but Lady Luck was in control- and it wasn't giving her even a second to process it. Fleur stood, quickly, and used the man's wand to roll him over onto his back, and she ignored the man's lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling as she stripped him of his dark robes- black, like all Death Eaters, which would be very convenient to hide all the blood currently coating it. She had to use a quick spell to wash off the mask and her hands, though. She even tore off her makeshift bandage and used wonderful, beautiful magic to heal the wound on her hand. It left a scar, but that was preferable to a filthy strip of linen that would give herself away.

Once she was dressed, she tossed the man's body into the dark room, followed by the knife on top of him (as she did promise he could keep it), and then sealed it with the desk (and only after vanishing the empty plate of food, just as Snape had told her). Then, with a few more spells, she made sure to clean any sign of struggle from Lucius's office. The first time anybody would know something was wrong was when the trap door was opened once more. She'd have more time, that way, in case Lucius intended to use the office for a meeting before somebody came to call on her.

She paused at the door for exactly seventeen seconds before entering into the hallway, although she had no idea what she was waiting for. As she came into the brighter area, that became clear enough- just down the corridor, she could see another Death Eater patrolling, their back towards her as they headed towards the grand staircase. Fleur went the opposite direction until she came upon a different set of stairs, smaller and tucked away so servants could go about without their masters having the misfortune to see their existence, next to two matching suits of armour. Those, she took down exactly two flights, and then exited onto a new floor. This time, she ducked into the nearest door, which turned out to be a bedroom of some sort, and closed it behind her.

She raised the wand in front of her and cast a silent lumos to fill the dark space with light. There was a large, king-sized bed with purple drapes along the wall to her left, and a chest of drawers to the right. All along the walls were posters, each of them signed and in pristine condition. She didn't know her British Quidditch teams well enough to identify them, but she thought she saw a bat on two of their robes. There was also an immaculately polished Nimbus 2001 sitting in the far corner that, if she had been in control, she likely would have stolen and attempted to fly off on- of course, it was a good thing Fleur was not currently the master of her own self, as she was an absolutely dreadful flier and most certainly would have gotten caught.

She had no reason to, really, but she hurried over to the drawers and opened the second one on the right side. Inside, she found a bunch of folded robes- and, after digging through three sets of them, found a small, leather bound journal, as well as another wand. She pocketed both, not bothering to inspect or even wonder why or how she was taking them, extinguished her own wand, and stepped back into the hallway just in time to see a trio of patrolling Death Eaters vanish down the staircase. She waited twenty-three seconds before following after them.

This time, she took the stairs all the way to the ground floor. This particular servant's staircase led directly to the kitchen. There was no going unseen, this time. Not when it was crowded with House Elves preparing a feast for their masters. Even Kreacher was busy with work, his tiny little hands frantically chopping onions in the far corner. Fleur held her chin high, as if she was disgusted by the mere sight of them, and walked briskly into the crowd.

She was lucky the Death Eaters trained their elves to fear them, even if that would have disgusted Fleur Delacour to take advantage of. Not one, single elf looked at her as she passed, and quite a few even began to shake from fright as they heard her come near. Fleur kept moving until she hit the back entrance, which the servants would use to bring in supplies without having to clog the main entryway with their filthy presences, and took her first unsupervised step outside in what felt like years. She even took a moment to breath in deep, an immense sense of satisfaction filling her chest along with the cool night air. She made sure the door was shut tight behind her before turning right. The direction was south- but Fleur Delacour didn't know that.

She kept walking until she hit the gardens, taking care not to trod on any of Lucius Malfoy's precious peacocks. That seemed more likely to gain her pursuers than anything else she'd done this night; they were the one creature on the grounds that Fleur was never allowed to care for, as Lucius preferred to do so himself. She wasn't sure what she was looking for- up until she turned the corner near the Malfoy hedge maze and found two people sitting at one of the many tables, surrounded by blue and red flowers. One was Bertha Jorkins- the other was Lucius's son, Draco, who perked up the instant he saw her, his fingers no longer drumming irritably on the table.

"It's about time, Bell," he said, standing immediately to his feet. "Guarding this wench is a waste of my time. You take her. I'm going to find my father."

Fleur stood by and said nothing, but Draco didn't seem to expect a response. He pushed right past her, and she could swear she heard the words 'duty for a mudblood' pass his lips in a mumble.

Fleur Delacour might have considered it odd that Draco and Bertha were enjoying a cup of tea together well into the night (or Bertha was, anyway, as there was no cup set in front of where Draco had been sitting). She might have questioned it, considered it a trap, and made a break for the other direction. Lady Luck, though, knew better, and she certainly knew how to take advantage of a situation, no matter how astronomical the odds were.

Fleur raised her wand and aimed it at the back of Bertha Jorkins's head. The woman was humming to herself as she sipped from her cup, as if she hadn't even noticed her presumed guard had left her presence. There was a brief flash of red, and then Bertha lurched forward, her cup dropping and spilling to the ground. She was stunned- and not likely to wake up any time soon.

Fleur was lucky Bertha Jorkins was such a small woman. She might not have been able to lift her, otherwise. Fleur Delacour might have used the wand to levitate her, rather than exert herself physically, but Lady Luck knew better. She'd need her wand free, just in case they were pursued. And, now that Fleur was moving north, with the unconscious body of Bertha Jorkins slung over her left shoulder, with a stolen wand and journal tucked away in her robes and a dead man hidden under the floorboards, that possibility seemed more and more likely.

It took only ten minutes to reach the forest. It took almost an hour to find the stream, by which point Fleur was feeling an ache in her back from the weight of Jorkins. She stopped only briefly to rest and catch her breath, creating a stream of water from the tip of her wand to drink (as she didn't have time to boil and purify stream water). Then, she slung Jorkins back over and followed the water downstream.

It took another hour to find the bucket Snape had described, and by the time she did come upon it, she was really wishing that he'd mentioned how far she'd have to go. By that point, Lady Luck was beginning to leave her, the pure joy that had been flowing through her veins now replaced by an increasing sense of horror as what she'd done fully settled into her mind.

Think later, she thought, only to realize that she could think again. First, we go home. That thought made her remember what Snape had told her- her parents were here. Had they brought Gabrielle, too? At that precise moment, there was nothing Fleur wanted more than a hug from her favourite person in the world, and, picturing her sister in her mind, Fleur seemed to gain a second burst of energy.She had to awkwardly hold onto Bertha, as well as tuck the Death Eater's wand into her robes, as she squatted down low and placed a hand upon the portkey.

When the spinning vortex was done and over with, she found herself standing on the front porch of a rather large house. Unable to hold Bertha any longer, she dropped her body next to the door and leaned on her own knees to catch her breath. She could feel Lily's knee brace- hers, now, she supposed- under the robes. She lifted her head, again, to get a better look around at her surroundings.

The bucket was still sat in front of her, but she moved it away with her foot. She was standing in what looked like a Muggle neighbourhood- likely in London, if she really had to guess, but that was the only British city she could think of at this particular moment- although none of the other homes seemed to be nearly as large as the one she was in front of. Nor did any of the others have a large motorcycle sitting in the drive. There weren't any outward signs of it, but, somehow, she knew she was safe.

She turned back around and knocked on the door with her knuckles, three times, rapid and sharp. She hoped her family was waiting inside for her, but, even if they were, it wouldn't matter. A reunion would have to wait. She had something more important to do, first.

It took only a moment for the door to open, and, this time, the face was undeniably a friendly one, even if the girl did freeze and pale upon the sight of her robes. Fleur doubted very much that the younger girl had even noticed the second body laying on the ground- her eyes did not once move from the skull mask Fleur was wearing. It was only when the girl's limbs started to tremble that Fleur remembered that her calming smile wasn't currently visible.

"'ermione," she said as she pulled it off and removed her hood. "Thank Merlin you are 'ere- please, where ees Dumbledore?"