"Goodnight, Harry," Mrs. Delacour said, sitting on the edge of his bed. Harry - now washed and dressed in conjured pyjamas - had been given the guest bedroom for the night. "We'll see about getting you back to England tomorrow, yes?"
There was nothing Harry wanted more.
"Okay," he said.
"Sleep well," she replied, and she got up to leave. "Albert and I will be downstairs if you need us, and Fleur and Gabrielle are just down the hall."
"Thank you," Harry said, just before she left. She turned to look at him, and Harry couldn't read her expression. Without saying another word she tapped the light switch - magical, not Muggle, of course - and left Harry in darkness.
She was already in bed at the Burrow - the Weasleys being somewhat stricter about bedtimes than the Delacours - and restless. While he'd spent the afternoon with Fleur, eating so many cherries that Mrs. Delacour had been forced to cast a sobering charm on them, she'd been shut in her room, too scared to talk to the Weasleys lest she make another mistake. So she had experimented with the horcrux, determined to understand what it was - and accordingly, what she was.
She had made no progress in that regard. However, using what she had learnt the last time, she was now able to avoid putting the diadem on, so long as she remained focused. But that too presented a problem: unless she put it on, the amount she could learn from the horcrux was limited. But if she put it on again, who knew if she'd manage to escape, like she had before?
For now, she decided to play safe, practicing resisting the weaker attacks. There was plenty of time for riskier action later.
Tap tap.
Harry stilled. He thought he heard a sound.
Tap tap.
There! He got out of bed, trying to locate it.
Taptaptap. More insistent, this time. It was coming from his wardrobe. He grabbed his wand from underneath his pillow and opened the wardrobe door.
Inside there were clothes, and nothing else.
Taptaptaptaptap.
It wasn't coming from inside the wardrobe - it was coming from behind it. Harry knocked back, and received more exited tapping in response.
"Okay..." he said to himself. "Alohomora."
The back of the wardrobe swung open. On the other side were Fleur and her little sister, Gabrielle.
"Enfin!" whispered Gabrielle. She didn't speak much English.
"Come on," said Fleur, gesturing for him to follow, "Look what I have!"
She brandished a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky at him.
"Je veux un peu!" said Gabrielle as Harry climbed through the wardrobe to the room next door, pulling the door ajar behind him. He wanted to get back, after all.
Fleur pulled out three shot glasses, grinning.
"My fazer has never let me have it," she said as she poured three equal measures, "but today he left ze bottle after drinking himself silly. We shall try it together, yes?"
Harry nodded nervously. He didn't feel comfortable drinking Albert's drink without his permission, but... Fleur was rather pretty, and he didn't want to look boring. So he raised his glass with the others, and said "santé!" before knocking it back.
The drink was not called Firewhisky for nothing. The amber liquid felt hot in his mouth, and when he tried to swallow it his tongue rebelled. Gagging, he sprayed the drink back out, thankfully missing Fleur and Gabrielle. They seemed to find it hilarious.
"Ah, you English cannot hold your drink!" Fleur teased.
"Again!" Gabrielle said through her giggles.
Fleur went to pour another round, but suddenly stopped.
"What-" Harry began, but he was quickly shushed. Fleur held her finger to her lips.
There were footsteps outside. They walked past the door, and entered Harry's room.
"You said he'd be here," said a man with a strong German accent. Harry didn't recognise the voice.
"I assure you, he was here but five minutes ago," replied another, and this Harry did recognise. It was Albert.
Fleur's eyes widened, and she crept forward, peeking through the thin gap Harry had left when he closed the wardrobe door.
"He can't have gone far," said Albert nervously. "We'll search the grounds. Come."
The sound of footsteps came and went, and the three children were alone once more. The firewhisky lay forgotten. Fleur turned to Harry, and she looked severely shaken.
"But... papa... he wouldn't-" she said, and Harry thought she was crying.
"What's the matter?" he asked. He gripped his wand. He had a bad feeling about this. "Who was it? Did you know them?"
Fleur wiped her eyes and scowled.
"Only from ze papers. It was him, 'Arry. 'Ans Schiller."
It took only a moment for Harry to process it. Hans Schiller, the last of Grindelwald's lieutenants. He was supposed to be locked up, facing trial by the ICW for war crimes. Instead, he was walking free. And he was looking for Harry.
And Albert was helping him.
Betrayal hurts in a way like no other. It stuck physically, right in the stomach. Harry wanted to throw up.
"You must run," said Fleur, pulling out her own wand. "They must not find you."
Harry looked at Fleur, suddenly seeing her anew. To defy her father for him, to risk her life even, when she barely knew him? It was inconceivable.
It was the kind of thing he would do.
"My cloak," he said at last, "my invisibility cloak. I can use it to get out."
Fleur nodded. "I'll get it," she said, and she slipped into Harry's room, wand at the ready. Luckily, it was truly empty.
She returned with the silvery cloak and passed it to Harry.
"My books," he added, realising that they would slow him down. "My photo album and Dumbledore's book. Can you hide them?"
"I will," said Fleur, and she looked out the window. "Come, there is not much time. I can see them searching the greenhouses."
She opened the window and the cool night's air came into the room. Harry remembered he was wearing his pyjamas. No time to change now.
"I'll lower you," Fleur said as Harry wrapped the cloak around himself and climbed onto the windowsill.
"Thank you," he said.
"Now!" Fleur replied, and, trusting her, Harry let go.
He saw Fleur wave her wand and his fall slowed. He floated down from the third floor to the back garden like a feather on the breeze. When he looked up, the window was already closed.
His pursuers were still in the greenhouses, if the wandlight there was any indication. Harry decided to try to get round to the front of the house and leave through the front garden. He tried the back door, and found it unlocked.
The kitchen in which he had sat earlier with Albert was dark. He could see, sitting on the stove, the large pot that contained the soup he'd had earlier. Trying to keep quiet, Harry crept through the kitchen, then the dining room, finally emerging in the small entrance hall. The Delacours' house wasn't big - sitting in the middle of Paris as it was - but it was well furnished, and magically expanded.
Harry looked around. He couldn't see anyone. He walked to the front door - running would just draw attention - and opened it.
Jean-François Flamel was waiting on the other side.
"Hello, Harry," he said and he waved his wand, summoning Harry's cloak. Harry raised his wand. Flamel laughed.
"Come now, Harry, you don't actually think that -"
"Expellia-"
Before he could finish, Flamel's wand flashed and the spell was blocked.
"Furnuncu-" Harry tried again, only to be blocked once more.
"Enough of that, I think," said Flamel, and there was a flash of red.
Harry jumped out of her bed with a gasp, feeling like she'd been struck by lightning, and began to panic.
She was alone.
It was like when you slept on your arm, and you woke up unable to move it. You knew it was still there, but you couldn't feel anything, or do anything.
In that moment, she thought her other body might be dead.
But then, as she paced, she began to calm. No. If he were dead, she'd know. She could still sense the connection between the two bodies. Between the two minds. Her original body was still alive. Just... unconscious.
And captured.
Harry kicked her trunk with a curse, and then cursed again at the pain in her toes.
He'd been captured. Captured by Flamel and Reya and Edwards and now, it seemed, Schiller. At least now she knew four of the five.
Not that it would do any good. Who knew where they would take him - what they would do to him? Would they kill him? Torture him? Give him some sham trial and send him to prison?
Harry wouldn't let that happen. She wouldn't let them win. They thought they'd won - that it was over. But it was just beginning. They had no idea what Harry was. No idea that even as they locked him away, unconscious, he was plotting his own rescue.
In the end, the decision wasn't hard. She'd deal with the consequences later.
She got dressed. She briefly considered bringing her ratty invisibility cloak, but decided against it. Flamel had some way of seeing through it.
She left her room silently and walked downstairs. Everyone was in bed. Good.
The back door was unlocked. Once outside, she hurried to the broomshed.
"Alohomora!" she whispered, and the padlock clicked open. She expected an owl from the Ministry any moment now, but that didn't worry her. By the time Mr. and Mrs. Weasley saw it, she'd be long gone.
There were anti-flight enchantments around the house - made by Bill at his parents' request, Harry knew, after Fred and George managed to crash their brooms through Ron's window - so she'd have to walk to the orchard to fly off. But that was just five minutes walk. And what was five minutes walk compared to the long flight to France?
The orchard was creepy at night. Harry saw a fox chasing a rabbit, and an owl was hooting in one of the trees. Thinking she might get hungry during the flight, she went up on tiptoes to pick some apples.
She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and she jumped back, brandishing her wand.
A huge, black, dog was sitting in front of her, staring. Harry backed away.
"Good dog..." she said, trying to sound friendly. "Good boy..."
And then the dog transformed into a man. He was tall, and haggard, and wearing torn up robes.
It was Sirius Black.