ELEVEN

"Did they die or something?"

"I think that's too much to hope for."

The Headmistress's office was eerily silent except for the soft whirring of silver instruments and the occasional rustling of parchment. Golden light from the many candles cast dancing shadows across the markings on the map, making them appear older, more haunted.

"They're not moving," Harry muttered, his finger tracing the cluster of dots near the ancient oak. Each name seemed to pulse like a heart of evil blood. "Just… waiting."

Hermione's breath caught as she read one particular name. "Thorfinn Rowle," she whispered, her hand finding Ron's automatically. "He was there that night in London, remember? When we fled the wedding?"

Ron's freckles stood out starkly against his pale skin. "Yeah, nasty piece of work, that bugger. Nearly took my head off with a Blasting Curse."

"And zere," Fleur's accent thickened as she pointed to another cluster of names, her hand trembling slightly. "Mon Dieu… Jean-Paul Rousseau. 'E was expelled from Beauxbatons years ago for practicing ze dark arts. We 'ad 'oped 'e 'ad fled to Russia…"

"Looks like he found some friends there," Harry observed grimly, noting the Cyrillic script beside several dots. "Hermione, can you make out those names?"

Hermione squinted at the unfamiliar letters. "I think… that's Dmitri Volkov? The others are harder to read, the map seems… unstable somehow."

Harry sighed and nodded. "It's like you said, the wards are failing, yeah?"

As he continued looking at the map, the edges of the long-used parchment appeared to ripple and shift, reflecting the nature of the very boundaries of Hogwarts that were quickly becoming uncertain. Harry felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine as he watched the usually crisp lines of the castle walls waver and blur. He'd never see the Marauders Map ever react so strongly to what went on with Hogwarts. It made sense that the magic of the map was deeply tied to that of the castle, but he hadn't realized just how deep the magic ran.

"But why wait?" Ron asked, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "If they can get through now, why not just-"

"Because zey are waiting for ze others," Fleur interrupted, her blue eyes dark with worry. "See 'ow zey are positioned? Zis is not ze full attack force."

"She's right," Hermione agreed. "They're arranged in a holding pattern. These gaps here and here-" she pointed to specific spaces between the dots- "they're leaving room for more."

"How many more?" Harry asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. Before anyone could respond, however, the office door opened with a soft click.

McGonagall strode back in, her emerald robes swishing against the stone floor. Her face was lined with tension, but her voice remained steady as she spoke. "I've alerted Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and Vector," she announced, moving behind her desk. "They're securing the dormitories and strengthening what protective enchantments they can. Madam Pomfrey is preparing the hospital wing." She paused, adjusting her spectacles. "Now, about the Aurors-"

A sharp crack interrupted her, making them all jump. One of McGonagall's silver instruments had split clean down the middle, its delicate mechanisms spilling across her desk like scattered stars. Probably a warning system of sorts, if Harry had to guess.

"That can't be good," Ron muttered, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Hermione.

"The Aurors, Minerva?" a familiar voice called from one of the portraits. Harry looked up to see Albus Dumbledore's painting leaning forward in his frame, his half-moon spectacles glinting in the candlelight. "I trust Kingsley was notified first?"

"Of course," McGonagall replied, though her eyes never left the map. "He's mobilizing a response team as we speak. But with the current state of the wards-" The Headmistress trailed off, her meaning clear. Even if help was coming, there was no guarantee they could arrive in time. The Aurors had quite a flight to make.

"Professor," Harry began carefully, "how much time do you think we have before-"

Another crack echoed through the castle, this one deeper, more resonant. The very foundations seemed to shudder in response. On the map, the dots near the ancient oak shifted slightly, like predators adjusting their stance before a strike.

"Not long," McGonagall said grimly. "Not long at all."

Fleur moved closer to the window, her silhouette stark against the ink-black sky. The grounds below seemed unnaturally still, as if the very earth was holding its breath. "'Ogwarts," she murmured, almost to herself. "Of all ze places zey could attack… why 'ere? Why now?"

The question hung in the air like an unpleasant spell. Harry watched as McGonagall's fingers traced the edge of her desk, following a groove worn by decades of similar contemplative moments. When she finally spoke, he could tell she'd had been pondering the same question for a while. "Because, Miss Delacour, Hogwarts represents everything they lost." She gestured to the sleeping portraits of previous headmasters, to the ancient stones that had witnessed centuries of magical Britain. "Not just a battle, but a future they believed was their birthright."

"And everyone they want revenge against is here," Hermione added softly, her analytical mind connecting the invisible threads. "It's not just about the school, is it? It's about who's in it."

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Bloody efficient, when you think about it. Everyone they hate, all in one place."

"The kids," Harry said suddenly, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. The candles flickered as if responding to his emotion. "That explosion at the Quidditch pitch… they weren't just trying to weaken the wards, were they? They were trying to-"

"To weaken ze students," Fleur finished, turning back from the window. Her face was pale in the candlelight. "Make zem easier targets when ze real attack comes."

McGonagall's lips thinned to a dangerous line. "Yes, I believe so. Though they'll spare the pure-bloods, no doubt. Can't risk alienating their potential future allies."

"Of course," Ron muttered darkly. "Same rot, different day."

Hermione's fingers drummed against the arm of her chair, a nervous habit Harry recognized from their study sessions. "There's something else," she said slowly. "Something we're missing. Why now? Why not wait until summer when the castle is empty?"

"Because zis is not just about killing," Fleur replied, her accent thickening with emotion. "Zis is about sending a message. What better way to break ze spirit of ze wizarding world zan to attack its most cherished institution?"

"Its future," Harry added grimly. "Every child here represents a family's hope for tomorrow. If they succeed-" He couldn't finish the thought.

McGonagall stood, her shadow stretching across the office floor like a sentinel. "They want to prove that nowhere is safe. That even Hogwarts, with all its ancient protections, can fall. The psychological impact alone would be…"

"Devastating," Hermione whispered. "The magical community is still recovering from the last war. Another attack on Hogwarts-"

"Would shatter what little faith remains in the Ministry's ability to protect us," Ron concluded, and Harry could only nod dumbly. A heavy silence fell over the office, broken only by the soft whirring of McGonagall's remaining silver instruments. Even the portraits seemed to be holding their breath, their painted eyes fixed on the group below.

"And ze timing," Fleur added after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. "With ze wards weakened, ze children exhausted from zeir studies, ze staff stretched thin with end-of-term duties…"

"They've planned this well," Harry acknowledged, feeling a familiar cold anger settling in his chest. "Too well. Almost as if they had help from-"

A sharp, authoritative knock at the office door made them all jump. The sound echoed through the room like a thunderclap, causing several of the portraits to mutter in alarm. McGonagall's hand flew to her wand, even as Harry and the others did the same.

"Minerva?" a muffled voice called through the heavy oak. "It's Kingsley. We're here."

Harry and Ron exchanged startled glances. "Already?" Ron breathed, voicing the exact question Harry was thinking. "How did they get here so fast?"

The question remained unanswered as McGonagall moved toward the door, her wand still raised. Harry noticed how Fleur's eyes darted away, how her fingers twisted nervously in her robes. Something was troubling her, but he didn't know what or how.

Professor McGonagall moved toward the door with measured steps, her wand still raised. The candlelight caught the emerald silk of her robes, casting shifting shadows across the stone floor. "Your patronus, Minister?" she called, her Scottish brogue thick with tension. "Just to be certain."

A smile ghosted across Harry's lips despite the gravity of the situation. Some habits from the war, it seemed, died hard. He watched as silvery light seeped beneath the door, taking the familiar form of a lynx that padded silently across the office floor before dissipating into mist. "Constant vigilance," the patronus murmured. "Mad-Eye would've been proud."

Harry felt Fleur shift beside him, and he turned to meet her questioning gaze. "'Arry," she whispered, her accent thickening with worry, "ze map… 'ow many are there now?"

He glanced down at the parchment still spread across McGonagall's desk, trying to count the clustered dots near the ancient oak. The task wasn't made easier by how the map's edges continued to ripple and blur, as if the very boundaries of Hogwarts were becoming uncertain. It was just his familiarity with the map after years of using it that was helping him navigate it at this point- some parts of the Forbidden Forest had turned into something that bordered an illegible scrawl.

"Still around twenty," he reported quietly. "But the names… some are harder to read now. Like the map can't quite get a fix on them."

"The wards," Hermione breathed, leaning closer to study the phenomenon. "They must be interfering with the map's magic somehow. See how the lines are starting to-"

The door creaked open, cutting off her observation. Kingsley Shacklebolt's tall figure filled the doorway, his royal blue Auror robes a stark contrast against the darkness beyond. Behind him, Harry could make out more shapes moving in the shadows of the spiral staircase, their movements precise and controlled. The Aurors. They were here.

"Minerva," Kingsley's deep voice filled the office with its reassuring gravity. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley…" His dark eyes swept the room, landing finally on Fleur. Something passed between them, too quick for Harry to interpret. "Miss Delacour. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

McGonagall gestured sharply with her wand, conjuring additional chairs with practiced ease. "Indeed, Minister. Though I must say, your response time is… remarkable." Her tone made it clear this wasn't entirely a compliment.

"Especially with the wards in their current state," Hermione added, her natural curiosity evident despite the situation. "The standard emergency apparition points shouldn't even be functional right now, unless…"

She trailed off as the first of the Aurors began filing into the office, their boots oddly silent against the stone floor. Harry recognized the standard Notice-Me-Not and silencing charms - basic Auror protocol for covert operations. The thought sent an uncomfortable chill down his spine. How long had they been preparing for this? And why did they seem oddly unsurprised?

"The how of our arrival can wait," Kingsley stated firmly, though Harry noticed his eyes flickered briefly toward the door where more Aurors were still entering. "First, I need to know exactly what we're dealing with."

More Aurors filtered into the circular office, their presence transforming the familiar space into something altogether more militaristic, reminding him of the Order. Harry watched as they moved with practiced efficiency, each taking up strategic positions that somehow made the room feel both more crowded and more organized. Some covered the nearby windows and immediately kept watch, others encircled the entry and exit points- which weren't many- while a few sat down. Several, he was pretty sure, were covering different points of the stairs and Hogwarts itself, no doubt.

A flash of purple caught his eye – a young Auror with close-cropped hair who reminded him painfully of Tonks. She caught his gaze and offered a quick smile as she passed. "All right, Potter?" she whispered, her voice carrying that particular mix of flirting and camaraderie he'd grown accustomed to since the war. "Seems you can't stay out of trouble, eh?"

"Trouble usually finds me, Violet," Harry replied softly, earning a quiet snort from Ron beside him. The familiar banter helped steady his nerves, even as he noted how her wand hand never strayed far from her pocket. "Hope you're finding the job fun though?"

The older witch shrugged. "Its…got its benefits, sure," she said, before winking at Harry. "Certainly get to run into handsome wizards every now and then."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Stop teasing, Violet. My girlfriend will kill you."

"I'm an Auror darling. Hard to kill," she winked, and Harry had to hide a laugh. Violet and him had bonded through shared difficulties in the past war, and he knew the good-looking witch was simply teasing, though he noticed Fleur give her a stare from across the room. "Though I must say," Violet remarked, creeping closer. "A veela, huh? And a rather attractive one at that. Looks at those-"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Alright then," Violet laughed. "No need to get angry. See you around, prettyboy."

Harry shook his head, trying to decide whether to smile or frown. He decided on neither, choosing instead to continue scanning the room. A subtle movement drew his attention to the far corner where several Aurors in slightly different robes were gathering. Their cut was similar but not quite identical to the British standard, and they carried themselves with a distinctly continental bearing. Fleur was talking animatedly to one of them, but he couldn't understand a word of what they were saying.

"French Auror Division," Hermione murmured next to him, following his gaze. "They typically only deploy for international incidents."

Her analysis was interrupted by Kingsley clearing his throat. Harry turned back to see the Minister stood before McGonagall's desk, his presence somehow making the cluttered office feel more like a war room, a sensation Harry was far too familiar with. "The situation, Minerva?"

His deep voice carried a sense of authority as Head Auror, but Harry detected an underlying note of… something else. Concern perhaps? Strangely, just like Fleur, he seemed to be worried about something. Or someone.

McGonagall gestured toward the Marauder's Map, still spread across her desk like a prophet's scroll. "Twenty or so Death Eaters, probably more, gathered near the ancient oak in the Forbidden Forest. They appear to be waiting for something – or someone." She paused, adjusting her spectacles with a hand that trembled almost imperceptibly. "But that's not the worst of it."

One of the older Aurors – Williamson, Harry remembered from Order meetings – stepped forward, his gruff voice cutting through the tension. "The wards? We felt them failing as we approached. Never seen anything like it, not even during the last war."

"Precisely," McGonagall confirmed. "They've been systematically weakened through the theft and destruction of various artifacts linked to the castle's protective enchantments. The explosion at the Quidditch pitch was merely the latest in a series of calculated strikes. As you might already be aware."

Harry watched as the assembled Aurors exchanged dark looks. The portraits of former headmasters leaned forward in their frames, their painted faces grave with concern. Even Phineas Nigellus Black had abandoned his usual pretense of disinterest.

"Minister," Harry began, unable to contain the question any longer. "How did you respond so quickly? We only just discovered this ourselves, and with the wards compromised…" He trailed off as he noticed something odd. The French Aurors had drawn closer to Fleur, one of them placing a hand on her shoulder in what appeared to be a gesture of comfort. She was speaking to them in rapid French, her accent thicker than usual with what sounded like worry. Kingsley's dark eyes flickered briefly toward the French delegation before returning to his. There was something in his expression – a knowing look that set Harry on edge.

"Let's just say," the Minister replied carefully, "that we had some advance warning about tonight's events."

"Advance warning?" Ron echoed, his brow furrowing. "From who? How did they-"

A sharp crack from somewhere in the castle cut him off, the sound reverberating through the stone walls like a gunshot. Several of the silver instruments on McGonagall's shelves began to spin wildly, emitting high-pitched whines of distress. The very air seemed to pulse with magical instability.

"They're doing something in the forest," Hermione whispered, her face pale in the flickering candlelight. "A ritual of some sort maybe?"

The soft murmur of urgent conversations filled McGonagall's office like a tide, each whispered word adding to the mounting tension. Everyone had taken to peering at the map in turns and discussing amongst themselves while McGonagall and Kingsley spoke in low tones near the center of the room. Harry found himself drifting toward a cluster of younger Aurors near the window, drawn by their familiar faces from his occasional visits to the Ministry. The moonlight streaming through the leaded glass painted silver patterns across their robes, making the official insignias gleam like newly minted coins.

"Savage was telling me you're planning to join us after graduation," Marcus Proudfoot, a stocky Auror with kind eyes, said quietly. His scarred hands rested casually on his wand, a veteran's practiced vigilance. "Might get that chance sooner than expected, eh?"

Harry managed a small smile, though his eyes kept drifting to the Marauder's Map. "Not exactly how I pictured my first mission."

"Never is," Sarah Chen, another Auror he recognized from Order meetings, added with a grim chuckle. "My first day on the job, I thought I'd be filing paperwork. Ended up dueling three smugglers in Knockturn Alley." She paused, studying Harry's face. "Though I suspect you've seen worse."

"Haven't we all," Harry murmured, watching as the Head Auror and Headmistress of Hogwarts bent their heads together over her desk, their urgent whispers carrying both reassuring and worrying notes at the same time. Across the room, Ron had somehow ended up in an intense discussion with Williamson and two other senior Aurors, his hands moving animatedly as he described something. "-and the timing of the artifact thefts," Harry caught him saying, "it's like they were testing the defenses, yeah? Seeing how far they could push before anyone noticed."

Hermione stood slightly apart from Ron's group, deep in conversation with a severe-looking witch whose intelligence badge marked her as part of the analytical division. Parchments floated between them as they compared notes, their voices low and urgent. Probably something to do with the wards and the artifacts, if he had to guess. Not that he was too interested- what concerned him the most right now were the Death Eaters in Hogwarts, and how he could stop them.

Inevitably, Harry's gaze drifted inevitably to where Fleur stood with the French Aurors, their huddle tight and protective. One of the older Aurors – a distinguished-looking wizard with silver at his temples – the same one he'd noticed before, kept nodding gravely, his hand resting on her shoulder in an almost paternal gesture. Harry forced himself to look away, tamping down the urge to join her. Whatever was happening there, she clearly needed space to handle it. His french wasn't good enough to understand what they were saying anyway.

"You know," Violet said softly beside him, making him start slightly – he hadn't noticed her approach. "It's funny how history has a way of echoing." She gestured around the circular office, at the portraits of former headmasters watching the proceedings with grave attention. "Another generation, another battle for Hogwarts."

"Not if we can help it," Proudfoot responded firmly. "This time we have warning. This time we're ready."

"Are we though?" Harry couldn't help asking, his voice barely above a whisper. "Last time we at least knew what they wanted. This time…" He trailed off, watching as another group of Aurors filed in, their faces set with grim determination.

Chen's hand found his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Sometimes knowing the enemy's motivation isn't as important as knowing your own strength." She paused, a shadow crossing her face. "Though I admit, the speed of their organization is… concerning."

"Almost like they never really stopped," Violet added quietly. "Just regrouped. Waited."

"Planned," Harry finished, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the night air seeping through the ancient stones. In the background, he could hear McGonagall's voice rising slightly with urgency, though her words remained indistinct. Whatever she and Kingsley were discussing, it didn't sound good. Finally, though, she looked up, and, to Harry's bad luck, locked eyes with him exactly across the room. She suddenly looked in shock, as if she'd forgotten about him until just then. Harry felt his shoulders tense. He knew what would come next.

McGonagall's voice cut through the quiet like a well-honed blade. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley." Her tone was gentle but firm. "I believe it's time for you to return to your dormitories."

"What?" Ron's indignation burst forth immediately. "Professor, you can't be serious! We've fought—"

"Precisely, Mr. Weasley." McGonagall's emerald robes rustled as she moved around her desk, her eyes softening as she regarded them. "You have fought. Again and again, you three have stood between this school and darkness. You've carried burdens no children should bear."

"We're not children anymore, Professor," Hermione interjected, her voice steady despite the emotion Harry could see building behind her eyes. "And with all due respect, we know these grounds better than—"

"Than trained Aurors?" Kingsley's deep voice held a note of gentle amusement. "Miss Granger, your capabilities have never been in question. But perhaps, just this once, you could allow others to stand guard?"

"Professor," Harry finally spoke, stepping away from the window. "These Death Eaters… they're here because of us. Because of what we represent. We can't just—"

"You can, Mr. Potter," McGonagall interrupted, and for the first time, Harry heard a slight tremor in her voice. "You can, because I am asking you to." She moved closer, close enough that Harry could see the candlelight reflecting off her square spectacles. "Do you know what it does to me, to all of us who have watched you grow, to see you constantly throwing yourselves into danger?"

"But that's exactly why we should help!" Ron argued, his freckles standing out against his flushed face. "We've survived everything they've thrown at us. We—"

"Have earned the right to live," McGonagall finished firmly. "To complete your education. To have futures beyond being soldiers in an endless war." Her gaze swept over them, carrying decades of fierce protectiveness. "Let others bear this burden. Please."

Harry felt something twist in his chest at her words. He glanced around the office, taking in the determined faces of the Aurors, the worried expressions of the portraits, the way Fleur's hair caught the candlelight as she continued her intense discussion with the French delegation. The room seemed to pulse with preparation and purpose, a stark contrast to the chaos of their previous battles.

"Harry," Hermione's hand found his arm, her touch grounding him in the moment. "Maybe… maybe she's right. Not because we can't help, but because-"

"Because we don't have to," Harry finished quietly, understanding blooming even as frustration churned in his gut. "Because for once, we're not alone in this."

Ron made a sound of disbelief. "You can't be serious, mate. After everything we've been through, you're just going to—"

"I don't like it either," Harry cut in, his voice low and intense. "But look at her, Ron. Really look."

They all turned to McGonagall, who stood straight-backed and proud, every inch the formidable witch they knew her to be. But there was something else there too – a desperate need to protect them that went beyond mere duty. Harry recognized it because he'd seen it before, in Sirius's eyes, in Remus's smile, in every adult who had tried and sometimes failed to shield them from harm. Even if they knew better.

"It's not about whether we can fight," Harry continued softly. "It's about letting her keep us safe, just this once."

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken emotion. Harry found his gaze drawn to Fleur again, but she was still deep in conversation with the French Aurors, though he noticed her hands were clenched tightly at her sides. He made his decision.

"Alright, Professor," Harry said finally, his voice carrying clearly across the office. "We'll go. But we're taking the map with us." He held up the Marauder's Map, its edges still rippling unnaturally. "You have enough people to search on foot, and this way…" He trailed off, letting the strategic advantage remain unspoken.

McGonagall's relief was palpable, though she tried to hide it behind her usual stern expression. "Very well, Mr. Potter. Though I trust you understand that this agreement assumes you will actually return to your dormitory?"

The ghost of a smile touched Harry's lips. "Of course, Professor. We would never dream of doing anything else."

Ron snorted softly beside him. He could practically hear Hermione roll her eyes. It was just like this every night before they snuck out of the castle. The familiar interaction felt surreal against the backdrop of preparation for battle.

Harry's tried to catch Fleur's attention one last time, but she was still absorbed in her rapid French conversation, her back partially turned to him now. He pushed down the urge to wait for her, to demand answers about her apparent connection to whatever was unfolding. There would be time for that later. He hoped.

"Come on," he murmured to Ron and Hermione, starting toward the door. "Let's give them space to work."

The torchlit corridor seemed to hold its breath as the trio descended the spiral staircase from McGonagall's office. Their footsteps echoed against ancient stone, each step carrying them further from the war council above. The portraits lining the walls watched their passage in unusual silence. Not even the jesters were laughing.

Hermione's whisper barely disturbed the quiet. "We're not actually going back to the dormitory, are we?"

Ron let out a soft snort. "Course not. That's why Harry grabbed the map, isn't it?" He glanced at Harry, a familiar gleam of anticipation in his eyes. "Though I suppose we should at least pretend to head that direction, yeah?"

"That was the general idea," Harry murmured, his hand instinctively brushing the map in his pocket. The parchment felt warm against his fingers, almost alive with the magic that made it work. "We just need to—"

The sharp sound of hurried footsteps behind them cut through his words. Harry turned, his heart leaping into his throat at the flash of silver-blonde hair in the torchlight. Fleur stood at the top of the stairs, slightly breathless, her blue eyes bright with emotion.

"'Arry Potter," she said, her accent thickening with what might have been worry or exasperation or both, "were you really about to leave without saying anything?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, aware of Ron and Hermione's presence beside him. "You seemed busy with the French Aurors. I didn't want to interrupt-"

"Interrupt?" Fleur descended the stairs with fluid grace, closing the distance between them. "You think I am ever too busy for you?" Her hand found his, fingers intertwining with gentle insistence. "I am sorry. It was…a long time since I 'ad met anyone from ze other side of ze channel…Je suis désolé, mon cœur"

"I'm assuming that's French for sorry, yeah?"

Fleur nodded earnestly, and Harry smiled. He couldn't find it in his heart to stay angry at her when she looked at him like that.

"Do not shut me out, s'il te plaît. Not now," she whispered. The torchlight caught the shadows under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, and Harry felt something in his chest constrict. "I won't," he promised. "I just… wasn't sure if…"

"If what?" Her thumb traced circles on his palm, sending shivers up his arm. "If I would want to come? If I would try to stop you?"

Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah, about that – are you going to try to stop us? Because we've got quite a bit of experience sneaking around professors, and—"

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed, but Fleur's laugh cut through the tension like silver bells.

"Stop you?" She arched an elegant eyebrow, her eyes never leaving Harry's face. "I think I know better zan zat by now, non?" A wink, quick and conspiratorial, made Harry's heart skip. "Besides, someone needs to make sure you don't do anything… too reckless."

"Us? Reckless?" Harry felt a smile tugging at his lips despite the gravity of their situation. "Never."

"Right," Hermione interjected dryly. "Because sneaking out to confront Death Eaters is completely sensible."

"More sensible than letting them destroy Hogwarts," Harry countered, his grip tightening unconsciously on Fleur's hand. The reality of what they were about to do – what they were risking – settled over him like a heavy cloak. This wasn't just about the three of them anymore. Until then, everything Harry had done was to a singular cause- defeating Voldemort. And until recently, in the back of his mind, he knew that no matter how bad things were, somehow, some way, Dumbledore would hear about them and usually send help in time. All Harry had to do was take care of himself until then.

But now there was no Dumbledore. And Harry had more to take care of than himself. His life wasn't merely inhibited by his former rival's existence- he had a future he could actually dream about and look forward to. A beautiful girlfriend- who was now looking at him with concern. Funnily enough, he had more to lose personally from this fight than anything in the past. And the thought scared him more than it should have.

Fleur seemed to have read his mind, however. "I can take care of myself, 'Arry," she whispered, her free hand coming up to touch his cheek. "And I can take care of you too, if you let me."

Ron made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh. "Right, well, if you two are done having a moment, maybe we should figure out how we're actually going to do this? Preferably before McGonagall realizes we've all gone missing?"

"'E is right," Fleur sighed, though she didn't step away from Harry. "We need a plan. And quickly."

Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map with his free hand, unwilling to let go of Fleur's grip with the other. The slight tightening of her grasp in his told him he had made the right choice. Trying to steady his mind that was racing a mile a minute, Harry focused on the map in front of him, the parchment's edges that rippled unnaturally in the torchlight, a visual reminder of the weakening wards. "First, we need to find somewhere quiet to look this over properly. Somewhere the patrols won't think to look for us."

"The Room of Requirement?" Hermione suggested.

"Too obvious," Ron shook his head. "That'll be one of the first places they check when they realize we're gone."

"I know a place," Fleur said softly. "In ze west tower. It's meant for professor use, but…" She squeezed Harry's hand. "I think this qualifies as an emergency, non?"

The sound of voices drifting down from McGonagall's office made them all tense. Harry met each of their eyes in turn – Ron's determined, Hermione's calculating, Fleur's fierce and bright. His team. His family.

"Lead the way," he whispered to Fleur.

As they moved silently through the shadows of the corridor, Harry felt the familiar surge of pre-battle energy coursing through his veins. It was like an old friend and a welcome enemy. A sickening feeling made him question why it was always when he was closest to death that he felt the most alive.

The west tower room was a revelation in itself – a circular chamber bathed in silvery moonlight that streamed through tall, narrow windows. Worn leather chairs clustered around a sturdy oak table, their surfaces marked with decades of use by countless professors before them. Tapestries depicting ancient magical theorems hung between the windows, their threads gleaming with faint traces of protective enchantments. There were enough charts here to cheat for practically every NEWT test, which was probably why the students were allowed here.

"Lumos intimum," Fleur whispered, and dozens of tiny lights bloomed in the air around them, casting a warm glow that seemed to embrace rather than illuminate. "It's not much, but it's private."

"It's perfect," Harry agreed, already spreading the Marauder's Map across the table. The parchment's edges continued their unsettling dance, but the crucial details remained clear enough. "Look – they're still gathered near the oak tree."

Ron leaned forward, his finger tracing possible routes. "If we loop around here, staying in the deeper shadows…" He glanced up at the others. "We could get a decent vantage point without being spotted."

"We should only intervene if absolutely necessary," Hermione added. "The Aurors are highly trained for exactly this sort of—"

"They're bloody brilliant, actually," Ron interrupted, earning surprised looks from the others. "What? Dad's told me about some of their operations. These aren't just regular patrol Aurors – they're the elite squad."

Fleur nodded, a flicker of something – pride? anxiety? – crossing her face. "Ze French team especially. They are… 'ow do you say… special forces? The best of ze best."

"Which brings up an interesting question," Harry said slowly, his eyes finding Fleur's across the table. "Why are they here? French special forces at Hogwarts seems a bit… unusual."

The silvery lights danced across Fleur's face as she hesitated, her fingers drumming a nervous pattern on the ancient oak. Once again, Harry felt the familiar feeling that Fleur was hiding something from him.

For a moment she paused, as if trying to chose her words. Finally, however, his girlfriend sighed. "It is… complicated," she began. "Some of ze death eaters out zere, zey were part of an old smuggling operation. Very dangerous people 'oo eventually joined Voldemort and 'is cause."

"A smuggling operation?" Hermione's curiosity was instantly piqued. "What kind of—"

"Dark artifacts, mostly," Fleur continued, her accent thickening slightly. "Zey caused… many problems in France. Ze Ministry there has been tracking zem for years-"

"So when they showed up at Hogwarts…" Harry began.

"Ze French Aurors came to finish what zey started all zose years back," Fleur finished, though Harry noticed she wouldn't quite meet his eyes. He would have to wait.

Ron whistled softly. "Blimey. International dark wizard smuggling rings turned Death Eaters. Just when you think you've seen it all."

"Focus," Hermione chided, though her eyes sparkled curiously. Harry knew he wasn't the only one who was biting down questions. "We need to plan this carefully. That part of the forest…" She traced a section of the map with her wand. "It's supposed to be particularly dangerous. Even Hagrid avoids it sometimes."

"Why's that?"

Hermione frowned. "I don't exactly remember. But he told me something along the lines of the fact that there are creatures in the Forbidden Forest we know nothing about, and it's kept that way for the sake of our own lives."

Ron turned pale, and Harry felt a pickle of fear shoot across him. "Well when you put it that way-" the redhead began, but Harry beat him to the argument. When it came to things like this, fortune usually favored the bold. And he wasn't feeling particularly bold right now, but perhaps that was what real boldness was.

"Come on, Ron," Harry argued. "We're Gryffindors-"

"Yeah but still-"

"Gryffindor spirit lacking in you?" Harry teased.

That was enough- Ron immediately flared up, and shook his head. "Of course not!" he argued. "Let's do it. It's the least patrolled path anyway." Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry's obvious tactic, and he simply grinned. He wasn't Ron's best friend for nothing.

"It's also our best shot at staying hidden," Harry pointed out, studying the contours of the terrain. "If we follow this ridge line, we should end up with a perfect view of the clearing."

"And a perfect view of whatever nasty creatures live in that part of the forest," Ron muttered, but his tone was more resigned than resistant. They spent the next few minutes working out the details – timing, signals, emergency plans. The tiny lights Fleur had conjured swirled around them like curious fireflies, casting shifting shadows across their determined faces. Harry had to learn that particular casting some time later. It was definitely more refined than the standard Lumos he was used to.

"Right then," Ron finally said, straightening up. "Hermione and I should go first. We'll signal once we're past the greenhouses."

Hermione nodded, already moving toward the door. She paused with her hand on the handle, looking back at Harry and Fleur. "Give us three minutes, then follow. And Harry?" A knowing smile touched her lips. "Try to actually follow in three minutes this time."

"Oh get a move on 'Mione," Harry huffed. "Be careful yeah?"

"I'll try to keep Ron in line," the brunette smiled, before turning around the leaving. As the door closed behind them, Harry became acutely aware of being alone with Fleur in the moonlit room. The tiny lights seemed to dance more slowly now, as if trying to stretch the moment out like spun silver.

"'Arry," Fleur said softly, moving closer to him. In the gentle light, her eyes seemed to hold entire constellation.

"You're hiding something," Harry said softly, trying to make it sound less like an accusation and more like an observation. "I can see it in your eyes, Fleur."

Fleur's fingers trembled slightly against his. "Oui," she whispered, her accent thickening with emotion. "And it is… it is killing me, 'Arry. To keep this from you."

"Then don't." Harry stepped closer, close enough to see the moonlight catching in her eyelashes. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together. Like everything else."

A shaky breath escaped her lips. "It's not that simple. I made promises… took oaths…"

"To protect someone?" Harry guessed, watching as emotions played across her face like shadows on water.

"To protect many people," Fleur corrected, her voice barely above a whisper. "But yes, one in particular." She pulled away slightly, moving to one of the tall windows. The moonlight transformed her silver-blonde hair into a luminous halo. "Someone I've known since Beauxbatons. A friend."

Harry followed her to the window, giving her space but staying close enough to touch. "Tell me?"

Fleur's laugh was soft and bitter. "Where do I even begin? 'Ow do I explain years of… of secrets and fear and 'oping every owl that arrives isn't bringing news of another death?"

"Start at the beginning," Harry suggested gently. "With your friend from Beauxbatons."

"'E was older than me," Fleur said, her eyes fixed on the distant forest. "A seventh year when I was in fourth. Brilliant, charming… everyone loved 'im. We were very close. Our families, vraiment, they were practically one. 'e was always a sort of...mentor I could look up to." She paused, her fingers tracing patterns on the ancient windowsill. "But 'e 'ad another life, even then. Another purpose. "

"He was working for someone?"

"For ze French Ministry." Fleur turned to face Harry, moonlight catching the unshed tears in her eyes. "Zere was zis smuggling ring, like I said. Very dangerous people, mon coeur, trading in ze darkest of artifacts. They 'ad connections at Beauxbatons – we didn't know 'ow deep until…"

Her voice cracked slightly, and Harry reached for her hand. She gripped it like an anchor.

"'E volunteered," she continued, her voice stronger now but thick with emotion. "To be their eyes inside ze organization. To pretend to join zem, to gain zeir trust. It was supposed to be temporary, just long enough to expose ze corrupt professeurs at Beauxbatons."

"But it didn't end there," Harry guessed, pieces starting to fall into place.

"Non," Fleur agreed softly. "Because then ze smugglers began working with ze Death Eaters, and suddenly 'e was perfectly positioned to…" She took a shuddering breath. "'E 'as been undercover for so long, 'Arry. So many times we thought 'e 'ad been discovered, that 'e was dead. But somehow 'e always survived."

Harry felt his heart beating faster as a suspicion began to form. "Fleur," he said carefully, "this friend of yours…"

Her eyes met his, bright with tears and something that looked like fear. "You know 'im, 'Arry. You've known 'im all year…"

The moonlight seemed to catch in Fleur's tears as she finally met Harry's gaze, her blue eyes luminous with a pain he'd never seen before. The tiny lights she'd conjured danced around them like fallen stars, casting gentle shadows across her face.

"It's Graves, isn't it?" Harry's voice was barely above a whisper. "He's the double agent you're talking about."

Fleur's breath caught, a soft, broken sound in the stillness of the tower room. "Oui," she whispered, her accent thickening with emotion. "All this time, 'e 'as been… 'e 'as been protecting us. Protecting 'Ogwarts."

"And you couldn't tell anyone." It wasn't a question, but Fleur shook her head anyway, silver-blonde hair catching the ethereal light.

"The oaths I took…" Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her robes. "If anyone discovered 'is true allegiance… if ze Death Eaters even suspected…"

"Hey," Harry stepped closer, close enough to see the individual tears clinging to her lashes. "I understand about keeping secrets to protect people. About carrying burdens alone."

Fleur's laugh was watery but genuine. "Of course you do. You, of all people…" She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. "Sometimes I forget 'ow much you 'ave been through, 'Arry. 'Ow much you understand."

"Did anyone else know?" Harry asked softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm. "Here at Hogwarts, I mean."

"Only McGonagall," Fleur replied, her voice steadying slightly. "She 'ad to know, to maintain 'is cover as a professor. But even she does not know everything. Ze full extent of 'is mission-"

"The French Ministry's investigation," Harry pieced together. "The smuggling ring that turned into something darker."

"Exactement." Fleur's grip on his hand tightened. "Years of work, of sacrifice… and now 'e's out there, surrounded by ze very people 'e's been fighting against."

Harry watched as emotions played across her face – fear, guilt, determination. He recognized that look, had seen it in the mirror enough times during the war. The weight of knowing someone you cared about was in danger, and being unable to do anything about it. He'd lost too many of his friends- the least he could do was ensure Fleur didn't lose any more of hers'.

"'Arry, I am truly sorry for hiding it from you. But you must understand, the French Ministry swore me to-"

"I understand, love," Harry smiled. "You don't have to worry about that."

Fleur gave him a quick hug, and he could sense he sag in relief into him. "Merci beaucoup, mon coeur."

Harry smiled, running his hands up and down Fleur's back in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. They stayed there, like that, for a few minutes, and for a moment Harry could feel himself forget about the attack and the infiltration and everything that was going on. For a few seconds it was just him and Fleur, in the moonlight.

"We better get moving," he said finally, his voice gentle but firm. "We're not losing anyone else tonight. Not if we can help it."

Something shifted in Fleur's expression at his words. The tears didn't disappear, but they were joined by something else – a fierce, almost primal determination that seemed to ripple through the air around her. Harry felt the familiar surge of her Veela aura, not wild and uncontrolled as it sometimes manifested, but focused, honed like a blade. As he watched, his brave, brilliant Fleur transformed before his eyes into something familiar, that he had seen before – the Champion of Beauxbatons. Her chin lifted, her spine straightened, and when she spoke again, her voice carried echoes of ancient magic.

"Oui," she said simply. "We will save 'im. And zen…" A dangerous smile curved her lips. "Zen we will make zem regret ever threatening our 'ome."

The night air clung to his robes like a gossamer shroud as he slipped from the west tower's sanctuary. Harry's hand remained firmly entwined with Fleur's, their footsteps falling in perfect synchronization across the ancient stones. The Marauder's Map glowed faintly in his other hand, its edges still rippling with the castle's failing wards. He quickly shoved it into his inner pockets. If it came to a fight- he'd need both his hands.

Fleur's breathing came quick and shallow beside him, betraying the tension that thrummed beneath her composed exterior. Harry could feel it in the slight tremor of her fingers against his, in the way her Veela aura flickered like candlelight in a storm. They moved like shadows through the darkened corridors, past sleeping portraits and empty classrooms. The moonlight painted silver paths before them, guiding their way toward the grounds.

Harry couldn't help but notice how Fleur's eyes darted to every shadow, every corner, as if she expected to find Graves' broken body lying in wait. The fierce protectiveness that had blazed in her eyes in the tower room had transformed into something more vulnerable, more raw.

"I can 'ear you thinking, 'Arry," Fleur whispered suddenly, her accent thick with emotion. They had reached the great oak doors, and paused in their shelter. "What is on your mind?"

Harry turned to her, studying how the moonlight caught in her silver-blonde hair. "I was thinking about you, actually," he admitted softly. "About how deeply you feel things. How completely you love the people you care about."

Fleur's breath caught, a small, wounded sound in the darkness. "Oui," she murmured, her free hand coming up to touch his cheek. "It is my greatest weakness, is it not? This… this tendency to care too much, to feel too deeply. It was why I was not able to zink clearly in ze Tournament, all zose years back. Why I failed to save Gabrielle."

"But that's not your fault-"

"But it is, my love. You see-"

"Fleur—"

"Non, let me finish." Her thumb traced the line of his jaw. "For so long, I kept myself apart. Built walls. It was easier, you see? To be ze untouchable Veela, ze ice queen." A bitter smile touched her lips. "Because when you don't let anyone close, you cannot be 'urt by losing them."

Harry shifted closer, worried. He remembered the night back in Godric's Hollow, all those years back. Of the people who'd sacrificed everything around him in the name of love. Of how even Narcissa had lied to her own Master, simply because of love. "That's not weakness, Fleur," he argued. "That's love. Love… love is what saved me. Multiple times."

"Per'aps," Fleur conceded, her voice barely a whisper. "But 'Arry…" Her fingers tightened on his cheek. "If anything 'appens to you tonight… if you are 'urt because I brought you into this…"

"Hey," Harry interrupted gently. "I've faced worse, remember? Basilisks, dragons—"

"Don't." The word came out sharp, almost desperate. "Please do not joke. Not now. Not when I feel like my 'eart might shatter from fear."

The moonlight caught the unshed tears in her eyes, and Harry felt something in his chest constrict. He pulled her closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry," he whispered against her skin. "You're right. Bad timing."

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in moonlight and shadow, before Fleur took a steadying breath. "Allons-y" she murmured. "Ron and 'Ermione will be waiting."

"Are you sure you're ready?" Harry asked. "I don't mean to be rude but to fight you've got to have a clear mind. You of all people would know that."

Fleur nodded, and took a few deep breaths. Harry stroked her hair absently, keeping an eye out for patrols in the mean time. After a few minutes, her breath eased to a steady rhythm, and Fleur looked up, a determined glimmer stealing over her features. "Let us go," she said quietly, and Harry nodded. They silently made their way to the Greenhouse, each busy with their own thoughts.

"Took you long enough," Ron whispered as they approached, though there was no real reproach in his voice. "Thought maybe you'd changed your minds."

Hermione's eyes darted between Harry and Fleur. Her expression softened with understanding. "Are you both alright?"

"No," Fleur answered honestly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her fingers. "But we will be. We 'ave to be."

"No matter what," Harry agreed, steeling himself. "Fear or no fear. Pain or no pain. We fight till the end."

"Hopefully," Ron pointed out, "the Aurors get there in time and we don't have to fight at all."