Shoutouts: Thanks to x102reddragon for their awesome beta work.

The Shadow of Death

Chapter 26: Phantom Lives

Rays of weak light shimmered over the sprawling valley outside Fleur's room. Purples, yellows, reds, and oranges of all shades swirled on the horizon, casting a hazy glow over distant rolling hills. The grey of night retreated once again to slumber, allowing the light of day its reign over mortals.

Fleur took in the splendour, its usual lustre dull and lacking life. It was very much like her home.

'Others only see what we wish them to, a falsehood. There's no life within. A mimicry, a shell.'

Silk cloth shifted over her exposed shoulders and she curled into it. The comforter clung to her like a second skin, allowing her to keep some purchase on the world around her.

It'd been six days since Boxing Day, six days and she'd hardly slept a wink. Despite the blanket covering her and the heating charms layering her room, she shivered, her grandmother's words ringing in her head.

'For her to be so openly hostile at the ball…' Fleur flung the blanket from her shoulders. It landed in a crumpled heap atop the undisturbed sheets adorning her bed. 'The animosity goes both ways, it seems. Perhaps there was more to what Harry was saying. But what?'

Her eyes fell on a small marble statue of a fully transformed Veela sitting on her bedside table. It'd been a gift from her grandmother when she'd undergone the maturing, something she'd always believed was beautiful. An outward reflection of what lied within.

Disgust writhed in her gut. A sneer crept across her face. 'And it seems some are no better than him: beautiful on the outside but rotten within.'

"I am no different," she muttered, tearing her eyes from the statue. "I blackmailed him and I've forced him into all this."

"You're no different than who, Fleur?"

Fleur's heart jumped in her chest as she twisted round to meet her mother's amused gaze. The older Veela leaned against the doorframe in her sleepwear, a small smile gracing her lips.

"Don't do that, Maman!" Fleur levelled a scowl at the woman.

"Don't change the subject." Apolline's lip twitched as she walked into the room. "I've noticed how tired you've been recently. You haven't been sleeping."

"I've been sleeping just fine, thanks." Bedsprings groaned as Fleur plopped onto the mattress. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

Apolline's padding feet whispered in her ears. Fleur tilted when her mother's weight settled next to her. Warmth cascaded off Apolline's body in waves, alluring as a siren's song during a storm.

Her arm wrapped around Fleur's shoulders; her spine stiffened.

"Your magic can only keep your exhaustion from showing for so long, Daughter," Apolline whispered. "Tell me what is wrong."

Her voice, so sincere and caring, so unlike the cold demeanour Sebastien required of her, broke Fleur. Her body melted and she wrapped her arms around Apolline's middle. Like she'd done as a small child, Fleur buried her face in her mother's neck.

Just as it'd been years ago, gravity loosened its hold on Fleur and she soared. The feeling soured as memories of the past three months flashed through her mind.

"There's been so much," Fleur breathed. She clenched her eyes shut, savouring her mother's scent. "Between my relationship with 'Arry and the mystery that surrounds him. Papa's pressure… And you… You've—"

"Not been here for you as I should have been." Apolline squirmed as Fleur nodded into her neck. "I know, and I'm sorry, Fleur. Your father wants me to stay out of this betrothal. He wants—"

Fleur's eyes snapped open, a growl reverberating deep in her throat. "He wants to be the only one controlling me- controlling us, rather. And he is only making it worse. 'Arry is more distant than Papa and pressuring him will only see him pull further away. I know."

"He isn't as distant as he appears."

Breath caught in her throat. Fleur looked up at her mother, an eyebrow arched in disbelief. "You've met him, Maman. You've seen how emotionless he is, how resistant he is to this betrothal."

"You see what he wants you to see." Apolline pulled back, taking Fleur's hands in her own. "I see a broken boy struggling to keep everything in. It's obvious he doesn't know what to do with his own emotions and soon everything he keeps hidden will boil over."

Fleur snatched her hands from her mother's, shooting to her feet and storming circles around the room with clenched fists.

"So that's why…" Fleur rapped her knuckles against her forehead. "Idiot! I've made it worse."

"What did you do, Fleur?" Apolline stood with flowing movements, placing her hands over her daughter's shoulders.

Backing away, Fleur walked over to the window overlooking the meadow. Birds began their morning songs as they fluttered about in search of food. The crickets, not done with their nocturnal tunes, answered in kind.

It should've been peaceful, a time of relaxation before the stress of the looming day could catch her. Instead, uncertainty clouded her mind. Fleur bit her lip and shook her head.

"Fleur?" Her mother's tone wouldn't allow her to not dismiss the question.

"I may have… blackmailed him," she muttered, "into accepting Papa's initial terms for the contract so he'd get off my back."

Apolline's blue eyes, so similar to her own, widened, her arms dropping to swing bonelessly at her sides. Fleur looked down at her feet to avoid that ocean of disappointment.

"Fleur, you didn't…" Apolline collapsed into the chair next to the window, looking at Fleur as if she didn't know her. "I'd have expected such a thing from your father, but from you? You may have ruined everything with him, Fleur!"

"You think I don't know that now, Maman?" Tears stung Fleur's eyes. She'd condemned her own dreams through her actions. "But it's too late. I tried to force this, but he won't play Papa's games, and now…"

Emotion drained from Apolline's face, her eyes icy. "You'll be forced into a marriage just like mine." She held a hand up as Fleur made to protest. "Don't deny it, Fleur, you were thinking it."

Fleur lowered her head, cursing when a tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek. Pain blossomed in her chest and her breath caught as she replied, "S-so you think so, too?"

"I didn't say that." Apolline stood and embraced Fleur, gentle hands combing through her hair for the first time in years. "It'll be difficult, but I believe you can still work past this. You can't force him to, but if you are patient enough 'Arry may come around yet."

She leaned into her mother's embrace and drew slow, deep breaths through her nose. "But Papa never did, and they are much the same."

"No, Sebastien never did." Apolline placed a finger under Fleur's chin, forcing her eyes up. "But our marriage was only ever a political one. Harry's not been given a chance to truly feel. Be there for him, help him as best you can, and you might have a chance at the happiness your father and I will never have. Just be the Veela I know you are, Fleur."

Fleur choked at the kind, loving words, and nodded as tears flowed down her face.

The two stood in perfect, content quiet as Fleur let go of her worries and stress. The sun continued its ascent into the heavens, casting an ethereal glow over the room, but neither woman cared to see it.

0v0—

Bright beams of light reflecting off the towering white marble building pierced his eyes. Harry forced his gaze away, snapping to the glistering armour and axes worn by the building's guards.

The goblins' beady eyes traced his every movement as he walked up the steps of the bank, distrust apparent on their mostly-hidden features. Harry stopped before them with his hands at his sides.

"Gringotts is closed today, wizard," one of the goblins growled through sharp, yellow teeth. "Be on your way."

Harry stared the creature down. "I have an appointment with my account manager, goblin."

Well-worn leather creaked beneath the goblin's spindly fingers, drawing his eyes to the sharp axe in its hands.

"It's New Year's Eve," the goblin hissed, "and there's no business in the Alley today, as you can see. Leave. Now."

His lips curled in a sneer. "And I have an appointment with my account manager, Rotgut. You will let me enter or I will do so myself, guard."

Steel ground steel as the two stared the other down. Harry's hand twitched toward his wand.

The goblin looked away and Harry smirked.

"If you're lying then I'll kill you myself, wizard." The goblin unfurled its fingers from its axe. "Follow me."

Their footsteps and the goblin's metallic clanking echoed across the entrance. Tellers did not so much as glance up at their entrance, busily counting gold and precious, twinkling gems.

The guard growled, muttering something in Gobbledegook, as they approached a teller seated higher than the rest. A placard engraved with looping golden letters sat atop its tall desk.

Griphook, Senior Teller.

"This human claims he has an appointment," the guard grunted. "I wasn't aware we had any today."

Griphook sneered at the guard, its beady black eyes shimmering with malevolent shrewdness. "And what is this human's name?"

The guard shuffled, tossing a glare at Harry. "He didn't say and I didn't ask."

"Yet you brought him here anyway." A wicked smirk curled Griphook's wrinkled face. "A breach of protocol which requires retraining."

Griphook scribbled something down and glanced at Harry. The guard's glower turned feral.

"And what is your name, wizard?"

"Potter," Harry replied, resisting the urge to smirk at his guard. "Here to see Account Manager Rotgut."

Parchment hissed as Griphook perused several documents. Its eyes snapped up, yellow teeth glinting like poisonous daggers as it glared at the guard over the parchment.

"It seems Master Potter told the truth," Griphook said. "It also appears your training was inadequate. A fortnight in the schtamk should set you right."

A pair of guards in gleaming, golden armour darted from the shadows and snatched the other's arms. The guard howled, spitting and cursing Harry as they drug him out of sight.

"Follow me, please." Griphook waved a long, taloned hand to a door at the rear of the bank.

The sounds of their feet plodding over marble bounced off the walls as Griphook led him through the maze hidden behind the tellers' lobby. Images of goblins in battle, most of them against wizards, littered the halls.

"You were promoted," Harry said as they took an abrupt left. "I suppose congratulations are in order, Senior Teller."

"Would that I cared for your congratulations, Master Potter," it snapped. "But, yes, I was. My predecessor met a most… unexpected end."

'I can imagine what sort of end he met.' Phantoms shimmered in the air at the corners of his vision.

Harry looked up at the marble ceiling and ignored their whispers. "May his gold line your vaults, goblin."

Griphook grunted, continuing on its hobbled path through the maze of halls and rooms. The phantoms, unseen to the goblin, harried his every step.

"Murderer."

His teeth groaned beneath straining jaws.

"Thief."

They swarmed around him, blood staining their torn robes. Their milky eyes stared through him and into his very soul.

Harry's hand twitched toward the Elder Wand.

"We'll take back what you took from us."

"Your end is close, so very close."

"You'll suffer with us."

"Weak."

"Fake!"

Phantoms, too many to count, shot about the corridor and through the unseeing goblin. Their jeers echoed in his ears. Walls, which had stood for years, seemed to crumble to dust beneath their assault.

'Go away,' he pleaded.

They did not. They would not.

"You'll die, Harry Potter. The Dark Lord will win."

Harry's eyes flitted to each of the spectres, sweat beading on his forehead. 'It's only been two hours… Less time between each appearance. Please, just leave.'

He shook his head.

"I'm going mad," Harry whispered.

Griphook stopped in front of a large door and glanced up at him before rapping on it with large knuckles. Harry wiped his forehead and squared his shoulders.

"Enter," came Rotgut's gravelly voice as the door swung open.

Harry walked forward, his eyes trained on the account manager in an attempt to ignore the ghosts haunting him.

He bowed, placing his left fist over his right pectoral. "Well met, Account Manager Rotgut."

Rotgut returned the salute, though it was shallow. "It's best we get straight to business, Master Potter. Time is gold, after all. Have you seen Gringotts's full accounting of your holdings?"

Harry nodded, pulling a thick sheaf of parchment from his robes.

"And do you have any concerns?" Rotgut's dark eyes flashed in the low light, its knobbly fingers tightening around a tankard.

Piss and oil stung Harry's nostrils. He suppressed a shudder. 'Goblin drink truly is abhorrent.'

"Only some minor details, Account Manager." Harry thumbed through the documents. "I expected more properties—"

"They were razed during the wars with Grindelwald and the Dark Lord." The goblin took a long drink of its swill. "Your grandfather saw little reason to rebuild and fell ill before he could sell the land. Your father… well, you know what happened to him. Next."

"It's your fault he's dead." Neville's spectre floated above Rotgut's desk, a savage grin on his face. Dark flakes of skin drifted to the wood surface. "It should've been you, Potter."

Harry stared at the apparition, his stomach tying itself in knots. A faint shiver ran through his body. He looked back down at his holdings, his ears straining to hear anything besides the spectre's voice.

"I-I see my physical and liquid holdings…" Harry cleared his throat of its shaking voice. "But I have no basis for comparison."

Neville floated toward him. Dark stains glittered in streaking paths before pattering on the floor below. His milky eyes glistered above rotting teeth.

"I died because of you, friend," he whispered. "It should've been you."

'Sod off.' Harry looked away. 'You died because of your choices… and mine.'

"Are you well, Master Potter?" Rotgut's gravelly voice cut through Neville's muted tones, through the barrage of murmurs assaulting Harry.

"I have not slept well recently," Harry replied. "I-I am well enough. There is no cause for your concern."

"I wasn't." The account manager growled low in its throat. "I wanted to know if I was wasting my time meeting with you. Focus, Master Potter."

Harry released a slow stream of air from his nostrils, waving the goblin on with a trembling hand.

"To answer your statement," Rotgut continued, "You are wealthy enough to live comfortably the rest of your life if you are frugal."

"And the list of investments I sent you last week?" Harry pulled out the short list.

"Gringotts is still researching your suggestions." Sharp, dark eyes scanned the list in front of it. "Do you really think it wise to invest so much in the muggle world? Apple? Who in their right mind names a company after a fruit?"

"The muggle world is expanding," Harry said, "as is their technology. I suspect it will pay dividends in the next decade."

Rotgut rolled its large shoulders, causing ripples to dance over its belly. "It is, of course, your decision, but should you lose your holdings because of this then you will lose more than just gold, Master Potter."

"I am confident we shall become richer for it." Harry eyed the tankard at Rotgut's lips, his nose wrinkling. "Did you find anything of note in my vaults?"

The goblin stilled, its sharp eyes flashing in the low firelight. "Mostly sentimental effects and gold. But there was one item among the artefacts I believe that will be of interest to you."

Harry raised a brow. 'Hurry, goblin. I need to be away from these eyes, from these ghosts.'

Large-knuckled fingers pulled out an old, musty tome from the depths of the desk. The book slipped from its fingers and onto the surface with a resounding smack. The cover was adorned in peeling, gold, illegible scrawl.

"The Potter Family Grimoire." Rotgut wiped its hands on a cloth, staring at the book as if it were particularly dangerous. "I perused it and found new additions, additions which shouldn't be there."

"What additions?" Magic leaked from the book, a somewhat familiar foulness.

"That you must discover for yourself," Rotgut whispered. "I only understood enough to be wary of it."

Harry swiped the tome from the desk, resisting the sudden urge to wipe his hands on his robes. "Is there anything else, Account Manager."

"Just one item, Master Potter." The old goblin's eyes followed the item as Harry placed it in his robes. "In light of recent events, I believe it wise that you enact a will."

Harry pondered the suggestion for a moment. "Prudent, and simple enough. Should Fleur Delacour become Lady Potter I believe all holdings will default to her if I die?"

Rotgut nodded. "Unless otherwise stated, they will, but you cannot leave her nothing according to your laws."

"I see no reason to worry over the details," Harry replied. "Dead men do not need wealth. Leave it to her. If I die before we marry then leave everything to Luna Lovegood."

"Her?" Rotgut took another drink of the swill. "Ah, you do not wish for Sebastien Delacour to gain your political power. But a Lovegood of all people?"

"You care?"

"No," Rotgut grunted, shrugging its broad shoulders. "Merely curious."

"She is a friend of sorts," Harry said. The spectres' mutters reached a fever pitch. "I believe she would appreciate the gesture and not squander it. She's the only one worthy."

The goblin snorted something in its language about "human sentimentality."

"Very well." Rotgut sneered, its eyes focussed on the small bulge in his robes. "I'll have the documents owled to you within the week. Good day to you, Master Potter. Now leave. I have business to attend to."

0v0—

"How long do you think you can keep this up?" Oswin Nott whispered in his ear.

"Not too much longer," Theodus Greengrass jeered. "Soon you'll join us, Potter."

"Forever." Brea Greengrass's cackles weaved into the creaks and cracks from the old home.

Harry clawed at the itch crawling over his chest, fought the tightness in his lungs, as his eyes sought the comfort of familiarity. He jerked the door to his old study open.

Documents littered the floors, and faces, most of them dour, stared up at him from black and white pictures. He glowered at the offending photographs.

Whispers raked his ears. Harry closed his crusty eyes. 'I have barely even slept. Can they not not leave me alone for even a moment?'

"You have been busy the last week, Harry."

He jumped, turning toward the voice with his wand in hand. Dumbledore's blue eyes bored into him from over a book.

'I forgot I was to meet with him.' Harry slipped his wand up his sleeve. 'I need sleep… desperately.'

"How did you find your time with the Weasleys?" The Headmaster closed his book and set it down on the table beside him. "A pleasant affair, I hope?"

Harry took a seat in the chair across from the older wizard, his eyes lingering on the faces staring at him from the floor. Whispers caressed his mind. Utterances of death and promised power.

"This is why I fight, toiling against ever-encroaching darkness." He palmed the letter that lay in his pocket.

'Why do I fight?' Harry thought.

"I don't have all the answers, Harry. Nobody does." Arthur's words trickled through his mind. "But I do know if you don't do something, and soon, then the past will consume you and leave you a shell of a man. That isn't something your parents would have wanted for you. It isn't what I want for you."

"Confusing," he sighed. "I have more questions than answers. I thought I would have figured everything out by the end of the holidays."

"Such is life." Dumbledore reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I can see the burden you carry, my boy, and I feel I must apologise for my part in it."

Harry looked up, eyes wide. "Headmaster, you—"

"Call me, Albus, Harry, at least in private." Dumbledore's hand retreated to the chair's arm. The aged wizard's lined face seemed older than it ever had. "I will apologise, Harry. I have had much time to think recently, and I have failed you. In more ways than one."

"You don't deserve it," Neville hissed from beneath his chair. "You left me to die. You—"

"I fear I have been too heavy handed with you." Albus turned to stare at the fire in the hearth. "I wished to treat you as an equal, and I failed to do so."

"Headm— Albus," Harry sighed, "I have made mistakes, I went against your orders. You are my master. I should be the one apologising to you."

The old wizard shook his head. Fire danced in his sorrow-clouded eyes.

"I expected too much from you too soon." Albus dabbed at his eyes. "I wished for you to grow, but how could you when you are caged? Tell me, Harry, what is your greatest wish?"

Harry thought back to his conversation with his old master. "To be free… from them, from you, from myself…" He shifted in his chair. "Will you release me from my contract?"

"I cannot help you with two of those items," the headmaster murmured, "but I can feel it. You are close to a breakthrough."

"And the other?" Harry leaned forward, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Will you free me?"

"In a manner of speaking." Dumbledore pulled out a sheaf of parchment and handed it to Harry. "Read it. But I promise you, Harry, from this point forward I shall endeavour to treat you as a true equal. You will have room to grow, to make mistakes and learn from them."

His heart stilled as he thumbed through the parchment. 'The contract… And a will?'

Harry's eyes blazed across the surface of the papers, absorbing their contents at an unnatural pace. He stilled as he reached the final item.

"Why not release me from your service now?" he asked, wondering if this was how Greengrass had felt those weeks ago.

Yet another mistake he had made.

"If I were to do so then, according to the contract I signed, you would be owned by your prior master once again." Albus plucked the sheaf from his numb fingers. "I am protecting you in my own way, but as you have seen, you will be free."

Harry nodded, a lump lodging itself in his throat.

"Did you learn anything of note during the holidays, Harry?"

"Someone told me that I had to accept who I have become." Harry stared into the fire. "I am not sure how to proceed, but I know if I keep suppressing these emotions then the results could be disastrous."

"Wise words." Albus nodded. "I have faith that, between Miss Delacour and yourself, that you will grow into a man to be proud of. You have made tremendous progress in a short time, Harry."

He shook his head. "No."

Albus cocked an eyebrow and reached a hand to stroke his beard.

Memories of his first Christmas with his parents flitted through Harry's mind.

"I don't think I can be what they wanted," he muttered. "What you want me to be. I'm a murderer, a thief… but I want to be better…more. I want to understand why you fight, why I fight. And I want to be powerful so I can be free."

"Wise words, indeed." Albus turned to the documents littering the floor. "And an admirable goal."

Silence settled between the two. Harry felt no need to fill it, instead listening to the moans and whispers floating through his mind. Dread curled in his gut, but he found it was not quite so bad as before.

'They are right,' he realised. 'All of them have been. I'm a murderer, a thief, an assassin, but I'm also Harry Potter. And I'll find out just who I am. I'll win this war and be done with this phantom life. Then I'll be free.'

"Tell me, Harry." Albus shifted to look at him. "What should we do next?"

Looking down, Harry stared at Neville as the spectre clawed at the hem of his robes. Fire and resolve scorched his veins. 'I will be better… I will win.'

Harry stood and took in the tired form of the Headmaster.

"Kreacher."