A/N: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and her associates. Please support the official release.

A metallic twang sounded as Barty Crouch Jr. cast a silent Alohomora on the small iron lockbox in his hands, the simple mechanism coming undone as the spell worked its magic. The sound of the pins sliding into place felt deafening in the strained quiet of the medium-sized office, yet Barty ventured on, flicking open the latch with deft movements to free the lid from its captivity.

Outside, a full moon stood proud amidst the clouds in the night sky, basking the world in silver-tinted light. Glimmering snowflakes descended on a white cityscape, drifting back and forth in the gentle breeze.

Sweaty palms came to rest on the rosewood desk in front of him as Barty's eyes scanned through the contents of the lockbox. Unsurprisingly enough, the item he was looking for was not there. Just a haphazard collection of dry potion ingredients and a few loose Galleons. A sneer crossed his face, before he closed the lid again and returned the box to the drawer he had found it in.

Time is running out, Barty thought to himself. Soon, the master of the house is going to come back, and I don't want to be here when he does.

The Dark Lord's orders had been absolute; Barty was not to be discovered, lest he wanted the risk of death to skyrocket well beyond reasonable levels. The person whose apartment he was breaking into was not a wizard one easily meddled with, after all.

But where else am I supposed to look? I've already scoured through every cupboard and drawer in this blasted place!

Frenzied eyes wandered across the office-space, searching every nook and cranny for possible clues or hints. Several large bookshelves covered every wall in the room from floor to ceiling, containing a variety of tomes and grimoires, most of which Barty had never even heard of before. In the corner, a cold fireplace rested, accompanied by a large table and a recliner. Clearly a reading space of sorts, constructed for late nights spent pouring over volumes of text and ancient scrolls. On the far side, a great rosewood desk, upon which several documents lay spread out in a state of disarray. An intricately detailed writing set comprised of quill, parchment and ink could be seen sticking out from an open drawer.

However, for all its intrigue, this office – nay, this entire apartment – had failed to produce any real results. It had proven to be a fruitless venture. Nothing more than a dead end. A waste of time.

My Lord will not be pleased, Barty thought. But there is nothing more to gain here. I should leave before…

As he made the decision in his mind, the double doors at the opposite end of the room suddenly flew open, revealing a tall figure taut with fury.

The man standing in the doorway looked to be in his early forties, with long strands of blonde hair framing purple eyes that shone with a supernatural glow. A modest layer of neatly-trimmed scruff covered his sharp chin, and his lips had been drawn back into a snarl that revealed two rows of pearly-white teeth. Every now and again, a faint light would race down the length of his neck, illuminating his veins from the inside as they went along.

"You have made a grave mistake coming here tonight, Death Eater," the man said, a dangerous undercurrent present in his burly voice. "Are you prepared to die for your foolishness?"

"I am a servant of the Dark Lord," Barty responded, tightening his grip on his blackthorn wand. "Dying in his service would be the greatest honor of my life."

"Spoken like a true sycophant," the man grunted. "Face your death, then."

There was a moment of silence as both men regarded one another with open hostility. Barty noted with some degree of satisfaction that the man did not seem to have his wand with him.

Good... That'll help even the playing field.

A sudden shift in pressure was all the warning Barty got as the man shot into action, lifting his hands to call upon his power. A roiling cloud of energy sparked to life around him, causing the very air to vibrate with ill-restrained tension.

Here we go...

Red, orange and green curses suddenly flew from the man's now outstretched digits at absurd speeds, without so much as a single incantation spoken. Barty tried his best to deflect as many of them as he could with his wand, but found his own skills severely lacking in comparison. The curses were simply coming at him too fast; he couldn't possibly hope to match the insane tempo of the wizard in front of him. And so, he had to get creative.

Abandoning defense with a desperate lunge to the side, Barty opted to return the favor with curses of his own, casting two Severing Charms and a Blood-Boiling Curse in rapid succession. The blonde-haired man responded to this by pointing his finger at the ground and yanking upwards, causing the wooden floorboards between them to lift skyward, forming an impromptu wall. Barty's curses hammered into the raised surface with violent intensity a moment later, but did not break through.

Wandless, wordless spellcasting, Barty grimaced as the floorboards suddenly exploded outwards, sending splinters of wood flying at him. Not good.

"Incendio!" he cried out, conjuring a bright jet of flames from the tip of his wand that consumed the wooden nails with ravenous hunger. A couple of the splinters managed to break through the inferno, but none had the correct course to hit him.

"Where is it?!" Barty snarled as he cut off the Incendio spell and ducked underneath an incoming Bone-Breaking Curse, the crackling orb of yellow energy passing mere inches above his head. "I know there is another!"

"Stand still, scoundrel!" the man bristled, before flinging out yet another volley of multi-colored orbs in his direction. "And let me kill you!"

"Where is it?!" Barty repeated, casting a quick Protego to shield himself from the spellfire. Two of the four curses splashed harmlessly off the magical barrier, before the third one broke through, forcing Barty to sidestep.

"I said stand still!"

Barty's eyes widened in shock as the fifth curse, which had been obscured from view by the other four, impacted his arm, tearing open skin and flesh to expose the bone underneath. A deluge of blood followed shortly after, spraying from the fresh wound in great bursts.

"Argh, fuck!" Barty screamed, before throwing himself to the side in order to avoid an incoming stunner. The maneuver landed him behind an upturned table, which granted him a few seconds of reprieve from the onslaught.

"You are no match for me, child!" the man roared, purple eyes glowing ominously in the soft darkness of the room. "I had walked this Earth for centuries before your master was even born!"

Panic and fear welled in Barty's chest, gripping at his heart with icy fingers. The man was right; they had only fought for a minute or so, but Barty could already tell he wouldn't stand a chance against him in a prolonged encounter. His stamina and reflexes would give out long before his opponent's.

In other words, Barty needed to escape, and quick, before the wound in his arm could drain him of more blood.

"I have no time for petty games!" the man sneered, and a moment later, the table shielding Barty suddenly broke in half, as if an invisible axe had been plunged straight through its middle.

"Neither do I!" Barty replied, rolling hard to the left to avoid a vicious green curse. "Reducto!"

A miniature explosion went off somewhere on the other side of the room, sending great chunks of wood, stone and metal flying across the open space. The blonde-haired man turned to face the devastation as a bright shield shimmered into existence in front of him, deflecting the incoming debris with ease.

"You think such a pitiful explosion will hurt me?!"

No, I don't. But it will distract you.

And distract him, it did. In the moments it took the man to summon forth the shield, Barty had sprinted over to a nearby window and pulled it open. A brisk current of wind tore at his clothes as the glass pane lifted, causing the man behind him to spin around on his heels. Purple eyes widened at the realization of his mistake.

Too slow, Barty thought with a grin, before he threw himself out of the window and into the open air beyond. He felt his body cross the Anti-Apparition wards mere seconds later, and contort in on itself as he was whisked away by the activation of the spell.

A bitter expression fixed itself on Nicolas's face as he watched the Death Eater disappear out the window, vanishing from sight. The loud crack of Apparition that followed shortly after did nothing to soothe the angry tempest raging inside of him.

"Blasted Death Eaters…" he muttered, before letting a fatigued sigh leak from his lips. This evening had turned out to be rather more exhausting than expected, and it wasn't over yet. Swooping a tired hand across the devastated room, he set in motion a complex piece of spellwork that regressed time in an oddly particular manner to return the space to its former glory. Bits of rubble and debris moved in reverse as they zipped back to where they belonged, reconstructing furniture, walls and ceiling with jaw-dropping speed and finesse.

The appearance of a Death Eater in his apartment could only mean one thing; Tom's resurrection efforts had borne fruit, and now, he was coming for the Philosopher's Stone yet again.

But… how does he know about the Second Stone? Not even Dumbledore has that information… And after everything that happened at Hogwarts…

A deep frown etched itself on his features, the cloud of confusion growing thicker and thicker in his mind the more he contemplated these questions. There were no obvious answers to be found. There was only one person who knew about the existence of the Second Stone, and there was not a snowball's chance in hell she would have volunteered that information to Tom. Perenelle was much too smart for that.

It can't be. Even if I haven't seen her in a decade, I can say as much with absolute certainty. But then the question becomes… who?

A dagger of anxiety burrowed its way deep into his chest.

I must speak with Dumbledore, he thought, as he turned to face the newly reconstructed fireplace. A snap of his fingers was all it took for the wood to catch fire, orange flames coming alive with an audible roar. Even if he is likely to scold me. Damn that man and his incessant scheming.

The Owlery

A freezing wind tore at Harry as he slowly made his way up the rickety steps of the Owlery. The iced stone was slippery beneath his feet, forming an impromptu death trap that could easily send him spiraling into the abyss below, should he make the wrong step.

The biting cold filled his lungs with every breath he took, and he felt a shiver run down his spine, despite the powerful Heating Charms placed on his robes. Late December was a chilly period to be at Hogwarts, as the ancient school lacked anything in the way of a centralized heating system. This went doubly true for exterior locations such as the Owlery, which could feel cold even in the warmest of months, due to its high altitude and open-air solution.

If it hadn't been for the existence of Heating Charms, Harry was sure navigating Hogwarts in the winter would have proved a fatal endeavor for more than a few unlucky souls.

With such happy thoughts occupying his mind, he soon reached his destination; a large, circular room at the very top of the tower, filled to the brim with nesting owls. Most of them were asleep at this hour; their feathered bodies sitting perched upon wooden beams, eyes closed in rest after a long night of hunting and other activity.

None of the windows here had any glass in them; the room had been designed that way on purpose, in order to allow the owls easy access to come and go as they pleased. As practical as that was, it had the unfortunate side effect of making the room rather draughty and cold, especially during the winter season.

Harry's eyes quickly scanned the room in search of his companion, Hedwig. Her snow-white body was usually quite easy to spot, as she had a tendency of standing out amidst the other owls. This proved to be the case yet again, as he soon laid eyes on his beloved companion, which…

A surprised look formed on Harry's face.

Hedwig was not alone.

Standing next to the bird was a certain French Veela, dressed in an indigo winter coat that reached all the way down to her lower calves. Her platinum hair, which held a nice sprinkling of snowflakes and melted droplets, had been dragged back into a ponytail, and her piercing blue eyes lifted to meet his own, followed by a tiny sound of surprise.

"'Arry," she said, her hand drifting away from his owl. "Good morning."

"Fleur," Harry blinked, coming to a halt some steps away. "I… didn't expect to see anyone here this early in the morning."

"Oui. It is indeed quite early," she said, the tiniest of smiles playing at her lips. "Alas, I was awoken by Raphaël, our family owl, tapping 'is beak on my window."

"Got a letter, did you?" Harry asked, doing his best to mask his surprise. Her explanation sounded an awful lot like his own. He, too, had been awoken by the sound of an owl hooting at his bedside. The blasted thing had somehow managed to find its way into the Room of Requirement and past the trapdoor, down into the bedroom he shared with Hermione. How it had accomplished such a tremendous feat of navigation, he had no idea.

"I did," Fleur responded, resuming her petting of Hedwig. His owl gave a low hoot of approval at the renewed attention. "It was a very unusual letter, as well. So unusual, in fact, that I 'ad to write a reply right away."

"Huh. Interesting," Harry said, before a second thought struck him. "Oh, uh… How's your wound, by the way? I didn't get a chance to ask you about it at the Yule Ball, since I was kinda… well, preoccupied."

"My wound is 'ealing well," Fleur smiled. "The damage was severe, but you 'ave a very talented 'ealer here at 'Ogwarts."

"Oh, you mean Madam Pomfrey?" Harry replied. "Yeah, she's great. I doubt I'd be standing here right now if it wasn't for her."

"The dragon left its mark on my body, there is no denying this, but I shall learn to wear my scar with pride," Fleur continued. "After all, it is proof that I persevered against such a fearsome foe."

"That's a good mindset to have," Harry nodded. "Plus, you know… battle-scars like that are kinda hot."

A delightful laugh slipped from her lips at his comment.

"You are not wrong, I suppose. It does have a certain… adventurous quality to it, at least," she agreed.

"Precisely. So I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"Thank you, 'Arry."

"You're welcome. Now, I'm not going to pry any further into your personal business, so…" Harry started, moving closer to Hedwig before Fleur stopped him in his tracks yet again moments later.

"In this instance, I think you should," she smirked. "The letter I received was about you, after all."

"About me?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "From who?"

"From Maman. My mother," she revealed.

"You got a letter from your mum talking about me?"

"Oui."

Harry was sure there was an inappropriate joke to be found somewhere in that statement, but he wasn't going to look for it. At the moment, his curiosity burned far brighter than his need to banter.

"Okay… Uhh… What did the letter say?" he tried.

"It said that she 'as spoken with your Godfather," Fleur continued. "And that the French Veela 'ave agreed to enter an alliance with your people, and a group of Werewolves."

"Huh," Harry frowned. "So we pretty much got the exact same news, then."

Fleur's eyes widened a bit in surprise.

"Your Godfather sent you a letter?"

"Yup," Harry nodded, before lifting his hand to reveal an envelope addressed to Sirius Black. "And I came here to send him my reply."

"It would seem we 'ad the same idea, then," Fleur smiled, fishing out a letter of her own from within her coat. "What a funny little coincidence."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Funny."

An uneasy silence followed, as Harry walked up to Hedwig and tied his letter to her proffered leg. The snowy owl seemed positively exhilarated at the idea of taking to the skies, and quickly dashed out the window as soon as Harry had finished. He watched her fly off with an affectionate smile on his face.

"You care a great deal about your owl, don't you, 'Arry?" Fleur suddenly asked, pulling him back to the present.

"Uhh, yeah… I guess I do," he shrugged, turning to face her. "Hedwig has been with me since my First Year here at Hogwarts, and so far, she has never let me down. She's quick, reliable, and smart-witted. I couldn't ask for a better owl."

"She sounds great," Fleur beamed. "Maybe I should ask to borrow 'er sometime, if she'll 'ave me. Rapaël rarely sticks around long enough for me to give 'im my reply."

"Sure," Harry nodded, not seeing any real reason to deny her request. "Hedwig loves taking letters. I bet she'd enjoy a trip to France."

"Thank you," Fleur said, before turning to face a light-brown barn owl that sat perched on a nearby windowsill. "For now though, I shall settle for a school-owl."

Harry watched in silence as she tied her envelope to the somewhat sleepy-looking bird, and sent it on its way. A tired sigh escaped her lips as she followed it with her eyes, and wrapped her coat tighter about her slender figure.

"England is much too cold this time of year," she frowned.

"Meh, you get used to it," Harry said. "Besides, you can always cast Heating Charms on your clothes if you're feeling chilly."

"You think I have not already done so?" Fleur said, as she brushed back a strand of platinum hair that had come loose with the wind. "Veelas are hot-blooded creatures, both literally and metaphorically. Our body temperature is much 'igher than yours, and we prefer warmer climates to cold ones. I would not 'ave left the Beauxbatons carriage without first casting at least three Heating Charms on my clothes."

"Fascinating," Harry blinked. "I didn't actually know that. A higher body temperature, you say? Mind if I… check for myself?"

"Go ahead," Fleur nodded, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. "I do not mind."

Placing a gentle hand on her pale forehead, Harry was surprised to find it feverishly hot, as if a subdued fire burned beneath the skin. The heated surface was a welcome respite for his cold hands, and he found himself letting it rest there for a bit, before a noticeable shiver ran through Fleur.

"C'est très froid," Fleur breathed. "Your hand… It is cold."

"Oh. Sorry," Harry said, letting it fall back down to his side again. "Got a bit carried away there. It's just… It's almost like you have a fever, or something."

"I suppose it would feel that way to you, yes," Fleur nodded. "But in reality, this is 'ow we always are."

"I wonder why I didn't notice it last time then," Harry wondered. "When I, uhh…"

"Grabbed my 'air in anger?" she asked, one eyebrow raised in mock-indignation.

"Y-Yeah," he coughed. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"It is okay. You 'ave already apologized, and to be 'onest, I did deserve it, to a certain extent," Fleur shrugged. "I should not 'ave tried to charm you with my Allure like that. It was not… how do you say it? Cool of me?"

"I suppose," Harry breathed. "Still though; I apologize if I hurt you."

"Do not worry. I am fine," she replied, before a playful smirk appeared on her face. "As a matter of fact, I actually enjoy 'aving my hair pulled. Just under different circumstances, and with a little less force."

"Ahh," Harry said, smiling at the innuendo. "Well, I hope someone told Roger Davies that."

"Hah!" Fleur laughed. "So you noticed me at the Yule Ball, then?"

"Kind of hard not to," Harry shrugged. "People tend to stare a lot whenever you're around."

"It is due to my passive Allure, as you know," Fleur sighed. "It can be extremely exhausting sometimes."

"Didn't seem to bother Davies much," Harry joked.

"Oui. That is why I chose 'im as my date. He is not as affected by my Allure as a lot of other people, meaning I can 'ave an actual conversation with 'im. He is not immune like you are, though."

"A true shame," Harry nodded sagely. "I guess I'm just special like that."

"I suppose so," Fleur smiled. "Who knows? If you were not already spoken for, I might 'ave invited you to the ball instead."

"Now wouldn't that have been something?" Harry said. "Two Triwizard Champions from rival schools, showing up as each other's dates. That's front-page material for The Daily Prophet right there."

"Sharing a front-page with you does not sound too bad," Fleur shrugged. "You are the Boy-Who-Lived, after all, and quite 'andsome, at that."

"Thank you for the compliment," Harry scoffed. "Alas, I am no longer a free agent. Any applications for romantic endeavors shall have to go through Hermione."

"'Ermione is a cute woman," Fleur grinned. "I am sure we could work something out between the three of us."

"Damn, you're really gunning for it, aren't you?" Harry chuckled. "I thought you got your fill with Roger Davies. I saw you in those bushes, you know."

"We did not sleep together," Fleur replied, without the slightest trace of embarrassment. "Roger was a pleasant enough man, and a nice distraction, but I did not wish to share such an intimate thing with 'im."

"Hey, I'm not accusing you of anything here," Harry said, holding up his hands in surrender. "It just looked an awful lot like you wanted to suck his face off, that's all."

"Us Veela are passionate creatures," she smirked. "We do not do things 'alf-'eartedly."

"I could see that."

A moment of silence passed then, which saw Fleur's teasing grin gradually vanish from her lips. A strangely melancholic expression settled on her features in its wake, as she shifted her eyes to stare out across the winter landscape beyond the walls of the tower.

"An alliance…" she sighed, pale hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of her coat. "He truly is back… isn't he?"

"He never left," Harry replied, the humor from earlier all but gone from his voice. A familiar weight settled in his chest as he spoke, turning his heart to stone, and leaving room for little else but the sobering realization that this time of peace was nothing but a lull before the encroaching devastation. "He was always there, lurking in the shadows. Even now, he's probably off gathering his strength somewhere, waiting for the right moment to strike."

A cold shiver ran through Fleur's body at his words. Sky-blue eyes turned to meet his, a determined yet fearful gleam present in their depths.

"Then I suppose we 'ave no other choice than to stand together, and prepare for the worst," she said, her lips drawn into a strict line.

"I'm afraid so," Harry nodded, his stare hard and resolute. "Only one thing is for certain. There is a storm coming, Fleur. And we best be ready when it hits."

A/N: This chapter marks the introduction of one of my favorite characters to this story, namely Nicolas Flamel. As you can probably see, he's quite different compared to his Canon counterpart. I hate how he is portrayed in the second Fantastic Beasts movie, as this decaying skeleton of a man who can barely lift a book on his own. Nicolas Flamel is one of the few people in the world known to have figured out the mystery of immortality. He has lived for centuries, and as such, I believe it is only fitting that he is portrayed in a manner befitting his stature: as a complete fucking badass.

You can look forward to seeing much more of him in the future.

I also hope you enjoyed Harry and Fleur's talk in the Owlery. I figured it would make sense for Fleur to be told of the alliance, seeing as Apolline is her mother and all that. Her dynamic with Harry is also quite intriguing for me to explore, so please forgive the indulgence.

As always, if you enjoyed the read, please do leave a review, as they honestly make my day. More chapters to come soon. Twisted out.