A/N: Thank you all for the feedback on the last chapter. I know Harry is frustrating to follow at times, and no, we are not meant to side with every decision he makes. He is a flawed narrator and will make bad choices at times, even if it isn't always acknowledged as such in the narrative. I will do my best in the future to balance his self-defeating tendencies with smarter thought processes and more self-awareness. Turns out that writing flawed protagonists is hard!

For two months, Harry had been a good boy. He'd walked the straight and narrow, doing everything that was expected of him. Attended all his classes, kept his grades up, ran the Dueling Club on Sundays, held weekly Quidditch practices, and performed his prefect duties. He'd even taken the time to spend more time with his classmates to head off any accusations of isolating himself from his peers like in years past. Despite his disagreements with Dumbledore behind the scenes, in public he'd played the role of Golden Boy without complaint.

But two months was long enough. Harry had come back to Hogwarts on one primary condition: that he be given the freedom to move about, to attend to the war outside the walls of the castle as needed. Bill and Fleur were anxious to speak with him about the horcrux hunt, and he had his own preparations he wanted to make at his safe house. It was time to put his weekends to work.

Harry had a checklist of things he wanted to do and supplies he wanted to purchase. He hoped to set up a makeshift potions lab in Ashewick, brewing whatever he might need – Polyjuice, Blood Replenishers, Stamina Potions, you name it. He also wanted to explore some of the minor blood rituals in Krum's book, most of which required ingredients that could only be found in seedy places like Knockturn Alley. All of this cost money that Harry did not have.

Harry had ruled out the possibility of entering sanctioned dueling tournaments, which were occasionally held in Ministry-approved environments. For one, he was not legally allowed to join, being underage; for another, it would only draw attention to himself as the son of the Minister of Magic. He needed anonymity, and he could only get that in the illegal, underground fighting scene.

He'd heard his father speak of such events being held in Knockturn Alley, and the difficulty the Aurors had in breaking them up. Krum had also spoken of Bulgarian fighting rings in a recent letter, where talented fighters could make a killing if they were willing to take the risk. It would be more dangerous, but far more lucrative, and Harry felt somewhat confident that he could make some quick profit without exposing his identity. He just needed to figure out where they were being held.

So Harry planned his big excursion for the first weekend of November. He sent letters off to Bill and Fleur to schedule their next meeting for that Saturday, figuring he could also use the opportunity to check in with them. He didn't want the progress of the horcrux hunt to depend entirely on the Hogwarts holiday schedule. Hopefully he could make a quick pit stop with them before moving on to his own hunt, a similarly dangerous one.

As a bonus, it was a Hogsmeade weekend, meaning Harry wouldn't need to utilize Dobby to leave the school grounds. He could simply hitch a carriage ride to the village and Apparate away from there, with no one being the wiser. He had to politely decline a few invites from his classmates to join them for drinks at the Three Broomsticks, and a few not-so-subtle invites from girls to walk with them to Madam Puddifoot's, but he managed to slip away undetected down a side alley once students dispersed to take in the delights of the village.

Harry Apparated to a quiet side street in the London suburbs and made his way down the road to Bill's apartment. He barely knocked twice before the door flew open, revealing a stressed-out Fleur standing on the other side.

"'Arry!" she greeted him with a hug. "Come in, come in! 'Ow are you?"

"Fine," Harry shrugged. Bill stood in the entryway behind Fleur, giving Harry a grim nod. "What's been happening with you two?"

"Things have been tense," Bill sighed. "It's been quiet since the Ministry raids last month, but everyone is on edge, waiting for a retaliatory strike of some kind."

"Has the Order of the Phoenix been meeting?" Harry asked.

"Not since the summer," said Bill. "Not that it matters much – your dad has brought in most of the old Order members into his administration, to act in an official Ministry capacity. Makes things easier when we can work with the Ministry instead of against it."

"How about Gringotts?" asked Harry. "What's changed since my dad took office?"

"Ze goblins are resisting Ministry efforts to seize Death Eater vaults," Fleur muttered. "They still do not trust wizards, and refused to take sides in zis war."

"Don't they realize how much worse things will be for them if Voldemort takes over?" Harry groaned. "Surely the goblins recognize that would be a worst-case scenario for them!"

"Things aren't exactly great for them now either," Bill chuckled. "They've been making demands for years now, and still haven't gotten their way. Your dad is trying to negotiate more reasonable terms, but I don't think the goblins care about reasonable – they only want to use this war to seize as much power for themselves as possible."

"How does this affect our plans to search for a horcrux in the vaults?" asked Harry. "Any luck there?"

"Sadly, no," Fleur frowned. "Most of ze high-level Death Eaters are from old pure-blood families, and their vaults have the highest protections in the lower levels of the bank. Only high-ranking goblins are permitted to service those vaults."

Figures, Harry thought. If Voldemort had indeed planted a horcrux in Gringotts, he would want to ensure it had the strictest possible defenses surrounding it.

"And I don't suppose we could just break in?" he suggested.

"I hope for all of our sake that was a joke," Bill said grimly. "Unless you actually intend to go to Azkaban and trigger another goblin revolt."

"Just weighing all our options," Harry shrugged. "If a horcrux is in there, we have to get it at all costs, don't we?"

"What if we could bargain for it?" Fleur wondered aloud.

"No chance," Bill shook his head. "Goblins don't care about gold and can't be bribed."

"But what if we had something besides gold?" said Harry thoughtfully. "Something they wanted more?"

"Like what?"

"Like the Sword of Gryffindor," Harry shrugged.

"Which we also don't know the location of," Bill pointed out.

"But we might know how to get it," said Harry. "With the Sorting Hat. And we need to find the Sword anyway – what if we get it first, then use it to bribe our way into the vault we need to access?"

"That could work," Fleur said, looking surprised. "Ze goblins would also be able to destroy the horcrux within the Sword for us."

"You're not seriously considering this?" Bill scoffed. "Goblins are not to be trusted! Bargaining with them is a surefire way to get betrayed and lose everything in the process."

"Would you rather go with the heist plan, then?" Harry deadpanned.

"I'd rather ask Dumbledore for help," Bill scoffed. "But I don't suppose that's on the table, is it?"

"What d'you reckon he could do about it?" Harry asked pointedly. "Not like he's a professional bank robber, either."

"He's the cleverest wizard of the age," said Bill. "And the only person who can stand up to You-Know-Who."

"Then let's leave him to that job, and not burden him with anything else," said Harry. "You two know more about how Gringotts works than he does. It's not as if Dumbledore's succeeded in solving the wizard-goblin conflict in his lifetime, is it?"

Bill grumbled discontentedly at this response, but he did not press the issue further.

"How are things at Hogwarts, 'Arry?" asked Fleur.

"Quiet," Harry shrugged. "The Slytherins are staying far away from me and my family...I think they were ordered to by Voldemort, or at least by their fathers. I'm positive Malfoy is up to something, but Dumbledore told me to stay away."

"You are taking private lessons with Dumbledore, non?" asked Fleur. "What 'as he been teaching you?"

"How to fail, mostly," Harry laughed hollowly. "It's been bloody frustrating, to tell the truth."

"What do you mean?" asked Fleur.

"We're dueling, but he's not showing me any new magic I can incorporate into my arsenal," Harry said bitterly. "Keeps going on about small, incremental improvements, and not giving me any concrete progress to hang onto."

"Well, I'm sure Dumbledore knows what he's doing," Bill said matter-of-factly. "He knows best with matters like this."

"Except he seems to think we have all the time in the world," said Harry. "I don't have years and years to take tiny lessons from him. Voldemort is here, knocking on our front door, and I don't want to be caught unprepared just because Dumbledore thinks I'm moving too fast."

"If he thinks that, he's probably right," Bill shrugged.

"Pah! Do not be naive, Bill," Fleur scoffed. "Your old Headmaster is too passive for 'is own good. I think 'Arry is right: he is not taking the threat of Voldemort seriously enough."

"More accurately, I think he's not taking me seriously enough," Harry corrected. "He doesn't think I will play a crucial role in the coming war. He's putting all his hope in Neville, and assuming I'll just be an Auror clearing a path for him. Besides, I think he's only doing this to appease my father, and to use me as a morale boost for the other students."

"But doesn't the prophecy refer to Neville?" Bill frowned. "Isn't he supposedly the one who can defeat You-Know-Who?"

"Dumbledore thinks so," said Harry. "But he doesn't know what we know: that he has a horcrux in his head. Makes it kinda difficult for him to defeat a Dark Lord when he's also the one keeping him alive."

"So tell Dumbledore about the horcrux!" Bill groaned. "Then he'll take you more seriously, won't he?"

"At the expense of Neville's life," Harry pointed out. "We've been over this. I want to explore our options to remove the horcrux first before putting the decision in Dumbledore's hands, because he'll jump at the opportunity to sacrifice Neville without a second thought."

Bill still looked supremely frustrated by this logic. Fleur piped up in an attempt to defuse the tension.

"Bill, did you speak with zat necromancer you were talking about?" she asked softly.

"What necromancer?" asked Harry, intrigued.

"Bloke I met in Egypt a couple years back," Bill muttered. "He's difficult to get a hold of. I sent a vague letter asking for a meeting, but he hasn't responded yet."

"Do you think he could help with Neville's horcrux?" asked Harry.

"If anyone could, it would be him," Bill said grimly. "We employed his services once, to deal with a malevolent spirit that was still tethered to a tomb we were attempting to raid. He managed to capture it, but he's a freaky bloke. Not someone I'd want to cross paths with in normal life."

"Well, our lives are far from normal at this point," Harry chuckled humorlessly. "I'd like to meet with him."

"I can try again to get in touch with him," Bill shrugged. "But he's paranoid, considering his line of work is illegal in every developed country, and he may not take kindly to us dropping in unannounced."

"Right," Harry sighed. "Keep working on that and exploring other options. Fleur, you keep looking for ways into the high-security vaults, and I'll learn what I can about the Sorting Hat. We can meet again over Christmas Break to discuss progress."

"What? You're leaving already?" said Bill. "You barely just got here!"

"I have other plans tonight," Harry said evasively. "Errands to run, supplies to pick up. No need to linger around here if we have no tangible progress yet."

"All the more reason to involve more people in the hunt," Bill muttered mutinously under his breath.

"Or to work a bit harder ourselves," Harry retorted. "We can still do this on our own. With a little luck, we can have this done in just a few months and no one will be any the wiser, including Voldemort."

Bill still looked uneasy, but he shrugged and gave Harry a parting handshake before retreating to his bedroom. Harry gave Fleur a reassuring nod before heading for the door.

He exited the apartment building and headed for the back alley where he knew he could safely Apparate away. But before he got there, a voice called after him: "'Arry, wait!"

Harry turned; Fleur was hustling down the stairs behind him. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Where are you going?" Fleur demanded.

"Er...Hogsmeade," Harry lied. "Gonna buy a few things, then return to the castle."

Fleur crossed her arms and gave him a scathing look. "Bill may not know you well enough to tell when you are lying, but I do," she said. "You 'ave that look in your eye, the one when you are about to do something foolish. What are you planning?"

Harry hesitated. He didn't want anyone to know what he had planned for the evening. But deep down, he knew it was foolish to attempt what he was about to without backup. Perhaps he should let someone know, in case things went wrong.

"I'm going to Knockturn Alley," he admitted. "I'm gonna ask around about dueling competitions to try and make some money."

"That is incredibly dangerous!" Fleur gasped. "What if you get caught? What if you get hurt?"

"Wasn't planning on it," Harry shrugged. "And I think I can win...I just need to find it first."

"Knockturn is unsafe to wander around asking questions alone," Fleur muttered. "Especially at night."

"I can handle myself just fine."

Fleur tapped her foot thoughtfully, eyes narrowed at Harry. "Very well," she said. "Give me two hours. I will meet you at the entrance outside Flourish and Blotts."

"Huh?" said Harry. "What do you mean?"

"I am coming with you, obviously," Fleur scoffed. "I will not let you get yourself 'urt without anyone being able to help."

"You don't have to do that, Fleur," Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes. "I think I know what I'm doing by now."

"You may be older than you look, but it does not mean you are experienced enough to do this by yourself," Fleur pointed out.

"Please, I've got plenty of experience," Harry smirked. "If I can handle a few Death Eaters, I think I can handle – oi!"

Harry reeled back as Fleur angrily slapped him across the cheek. "You arrogant leetle boy!" she chided him. "You are not invincible, and you do not always know what is best! I will not stand by and watch you get yourself killed because you do not know when to ask for 'elp!"

Harry massaged his jaw, stunned at the raw emotion in Fleur's expression. She was a beautiful witch, but she could look downright terrifying when she was angry. And he knew she was right...he was biting off more than he could chew, and putting himself in unnecessary danger.

"Okay," he sighed. "You're right. I suppose you can come."

"Good," Fleur sniffed. "I will make my excuses to Bill and meet you there at eight-thirty."

"You're not going to tell Bill?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Bill is too much like 'is mother," Fleur scoffed. "He would only fret and try to convince you otherwise."

"You're probably right," Harry chuckled. "See you at eight-thirty then."

So instead of heading straight to Diagon Alley, Harry Apparated to his safe house in Ashewick, where he'd stashed his collection of carved rune stones in an upstairs closet for safe-keeping. He might as well use the time productively and get started on protecting his property. He grabbed the stones and brought them out onto the grounds to begin setting up his defenses.

Harry measured the length and width of the property by counting steps from one end of the fence line to the other. He then marked out seven equidistant points along the boundary, carving out a shallow hole at each spot. He placed one of the carved stones in each hole – they would serve as the anchors for his planned magic, keeping them active indefinitely, even if he was not present to replenish the wards.

One by one, he tapped his wand to each rune stone to activate them before burying them beneath the soil. Shen – protection. Isfet – repellant. Maat – harmony. He could feel the magical pull of the anchors as they came alive, feeding off of one another, seeking more magical fuel to power themselves.

With the last rune stone buried, Harry stood at the center of the property and closed his eyes, wand pointed to the sky. "Salvio Hexia," he whispered. "Protego Totalum...Repello Muggletum…"

He felt pulses of magic wash over him as the wards erected around him, latching onto the rune stones and building a powerful network of enchantments around the property. To Muggles, nothing would appear amiss; even to wizards, nobody would notice unless they attempted to set foot on the property itself, which Harry strongly doubted would happen. When the magic settled in the air, Harry was standing within an invisible dome, ensuring that no one could enter the property without his knowledge.

It wasn't a perfect solution, of course. If someone learned the location of the property, they could destroy the runic anchors and bring down the wards quickly enough. That may not be an issue now, but it would if Harry accidentally left a trail to his safe house that Death Eaters or other bad actors could trace. It was, after all, how the Ministry had discovered the location of Voldemort's safe houses weeks prior. But for now it gave Harry a small sense of comfort that he would not be disturbed here.

With the wards complete, Harry walked back into the house and began the meticulous process of clearing out and refurbishing each room. There were many rotten boards to replace, weeds to clear out, lights to string up. When he was done, he was left with a sizable downstairs living area, plus two additional rooms upstairs. And he already had ideas for how to put them to use.

One of the upstairs rooms would become a potions lab, where he could have cauldrons simmering at all hours of the day, even when he was off at Hogwarts. He would have to reinforce the room to prevent any fires or spillages from causing issues, but there was plenty of space for what he had planned. The other upstairs room would be used for rituals – it had just enough room to draw a pentagram and spread the appropriate ingredients evenly to conduct them safely. Rituals were a branch of magic remarkably similar to Potions: as long as you followed the recipe and understood how each ingredient affected the whole, anyone could perform them without issue.

With his housekeeping work done, Harry checked his watch. It was quarter past eight, meaning it was nearly time to meet Fleur. After applying a glamour to himself, he Apparated to a quiet alley in downtown London and walked across the street to the Leaky Cauldron. He drew no attention from Tom the barman or any other patrons as he walked briskly through the pub and tapped the brick wall in the back to gain entry into Diagon Alley.

The alley was quieter now than Harry had ever seen it. Gone were the throngs of students and parents excitedly looking for school supplies. Gone were the extravagant store fronts advertising their wares. An atmosphere of fear pervaded the place now; people walked in tight-knit groups, not interacting with anyone else or slowing to window-shop along the way. Aurors strolled up and down the road, glancing suspiciously at each passer-by before moving along.

Harry reached Flourish and Blotts and immediately spotted Fleur waiting for him. He could tell she was nervous; she was shivering quietly as she clutched her heavy cloak to herself, and he could feel her passive Allure wafting down the alley, which she struggled to suppress during times of stress. Occasionally a passing wizard would pause, as though sensing the allure but not knowing where it came from, before shaking it off and moving along.

"You're standing out too much," Harry whispered as he came up behind her.

Fleur jumped a foot in the air and spun around in surprise. "'Arry?" she whispered uncertainly, squinting at his unrecognizable face.

"Yes," Harry replied. "Mind if I make a few improvements?"

Fleur nodded, and Harry drew his wand. He lengthened the hood of her cloak so her silvery blonde locks couldn't be seen, and altered her complexion so her unnaturally pale, smooth skin was not quite so pronounced. When he was done, Fleur glanced into the window of a nearby shop and scoffed at her appearance.

"Merde, I look 'ideous," she sighed. "How do I look so different now?"

"Illusory spells are kinda my specialty," Harry shrugged, pocketing his Kneazle core wand. "And you do not look hideous...you just won't draw as much attention to yourself this way."

"Fine," Fleur moped. "What is ze plan?"

"Walk with me," Harry said, grabbing her arm and leading her into Knockturn Alley. "Walk straight and act like you know where you're going, and no one should bother us."

"But 'ow will we ask around if we do not wish to be bothered?"

"I know of a couple pubs deeper in," said Harry. "We can ask around discreetly in there. Just don't be too obvious about it."

Harry and Fleur walked arm in arm down the decrepit streets of Knockturn. Although Harry was older now and knew he could defend himself if needed, the place still gave him the creeps. Long shadows were cast over every narrow walkway, and shadowy figures lurked in seemingly every alleyway, watching them from afar. Harry was grateful for the company now, both for the moral support and the decreased likelihood of anyone messing with them.

They rounded a corner and came across a dingy pub, which appeared to be bustling with activity. A weathered sign over the door heralded it as 'The Spiked Chalice'.

"Odd name for a place that sells drinks," Fleur remarked as they approached. Harry didn't disagree, and yet it was an oddly fitting choice for the environment. He doubted the place cared if they scared away casual visitors – in fact, that was probably a perk of the name, not a drawback.

Harry led the way into the pub, and immediately sensed the hostility in the place. Everyone in the tiny space continued their conversations as they entered, but there was no mistaking the suspicious glances thrown their way, as each patron clocked the new arrivals before returning to their drinks. Keeping an eye out for Aurors? Harry wondered. Or maybe even more dangerous visitors?

"Right," Harry muttered under his breath. "I reckon we'll order drinks at the bar and see what the bartender knows."

"You do that," Fleur suggested. "I will float around and see what I can learn myself."

"Are you sure—?" Harry began, but Fleur was already off, headed to the back of the room. He watched her nervously, wondering if she would be able to blend in with the rough-and-tumble crowd here. But to his surprise, she seemed to meld into the environment seamlessly; she slid past a burly wizard and ran a delicate hand across his shoulders, winking as she passed and earning an appreciative grin from the man. She can handle herself, Harry figured.

Harry walked in the opposite direction and slid into an empty bar stool. The barman sauntered over soon after, a wizened, bearded man who eyed Harry with mild suspicion and intrigue.

"What'll yeh have?" grunted the barman.

"Firewhiskey, please," said Harry. The barman gave him an odd look – it dawned on Harry that being polite was probably not common around here. Don't stand out, Harry chastised himself as he settled into his stool while the barman poured him his drink. At least they aren't carding me.

"You local?" the barman asked as Harry took a small sip of his drink. It burned something fierce going down his throat, but he resisted the urge to cough and played it off as cool as he could.

"Nah," Harry shrugged. "Not from here."

"But yer British, if yer accent's to be believed," the barman noted, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "Not many Brits I ain't familiar with."

Shit, didn't think that one through, Harry thought. "Er...moved around a lot growing up," Harry lied quickly. "Parents left Britain during the last war."

"Hmph," the barman sniffed. "What brings ya back to the kingdom?"

"Heard there was money to be made," Harry said casually. "For folks with the right skills."

"Yeah?" said the barman, folding his arms. "What kinda skills?"

"The kind that keeps you alive during a war," Harry said cryptically. The barman studied him closely, as though judging his character from afar.

"You an Auror?" the barman demanded.

"Nah," Harry chuckled. "My old man didn't raise no copper."

"Pah," the barman snorted; Harry couldn't tell if he believed him or not. "Enjoy yer drink, foreigner, but don't linger too long. Outsiders aren't welcome 'round here as of late." And the barman moved on to tend to the other patrons at the bar.

Did I blow it? Harry wondered as he forced himself to take another gulp of Firewhiskey. Did he suspect me to be untrustworthy? Oh, well – best try somewhere else then.

Harry took a casual glance around the pub, spying Fleur in a corner booth sitting beside a large and scary-looking man. She was smiling and obviously flirting with him, but it was hard to tell if it was working. Careful, Fleur, Harry thought. Don't get yourself caught up in something I'll have to get you out of later.

Harry forced himself to finish half of his remaining drink to avoid suspicion, then dropped five Sickles on the counter and stood to leave. He casually made his way towards the exit, and Fleur got the hint, excusing herself to join him. However, as Harry reached for the door, Fleur gently pulled him aside and into an empty booth.

"This is ze place," she whispered. "Zey are hosting a fighting competition in the basement."

"They are?" said Harry, surprised. "How did you know that?"

"He told me," said Fleur, surreptitiously jerking her head towards the burly man in the corner booth Harry had seen her flirting with earlier. "I asked 'im if there was anything fun to do in Knockturn, and 'e invited me to watch 'im fight in an hour. Gave me the password and everything."

"Huh," said Harry, eyeing the man more closely now. He did not look familiar to Harry – in fact, he didn't even look British. Harry remembered the Prophet's coverage of the recent Ministry raid, and the fact that numerous mercenaries had entered the country seeking to profit off of the war. Was this one such man?

Harry raised a Notice-Me-Not ward around their booth so that they could strategize and people-watch without being bothered. It made sense that there was a secondary location in the basement...there were far more people entering and exiting the pub than the small room could possibly hold. Harry watched them filter through, trying to determine which of them might be here to fight like he was.

"You do not 'ave to enter, 'Arry," Fleur insisted. "We do not know 'ow dangerous it will be."

"Can't get more dangerous than Voldemort's top Death Eaters," Harry shrugged.

"But there are plenty of non-Death Eaters who are trained duelists," Fleur pointed out. "Zis is what they do for a living."

"But they've been trained to duel a specific way, against other trained duelists. I don't fight like one, which gives me an advantage."

"These are dangerous men, 'Arry," Fleur said worriedly, looking around at the various tough customers milling about the pub. "I worry you will not be strong enough."

"It's not about raw strength," said Harry. "I doubt any of these men have seen real fighting before. I've been fighting for survival for a decade now...I bet I have more combat experience than all these men combined." Fleur still looked worried, but she eventually nodded in grim acceptance.

After a while, they watched as the burly man in the corner stood and slipped into a back hallway of the pub. Harry had seen a few other intimidating-looking customers go through that hallway and not come back, confirming his suspicion that it was the way to the basement. He got up from the booth and signaled for Fleur to follow as he headed for the hall himself.

The narrow hall terminated in a lone doorway, where a large wizard stood guard. He eyed Harry and Fleur suspiciously as they approached. "Ain't no exit through here," he spat.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Fleur beat him to it. "Devil's Gateway," she recited. Harry realized this must be the password. That was confirmed when the man stood aside and opened the door for them, allowing them to slip through and descend a narrow spiral staircase into the basement.

Harry gawked at the magically-enlarged space they found themselves in. In sharp contrast to the dingy pub overhead, this place was more like a raging nightclub, filled with dozens of hooded wizards laughing and sharing extravagant-looking drinks. Scantily-clad witches roamed the space, serving drinks and smiles to the patrons, most of whom Harry hoped to never cross paths with in the real world. He immediately got a bad feeling and started to reconsider his plans to fight.

But before he could plan an escape, a heavily-tattooed wizard marched straight up to the pair of them. "Who're you?" he demanded. "Never seen you lot down here."

"I'm here to fight," Harry said as confidently as he could muster.

"Fresh meat, eh?" the man sneered. "Very well then. It's a hundred Galleons to enter."

"Oh," said Harry, crestfallen. "I...haven't got the gold."

"I'll cover it," said Fleur, reaching into her robes.

"What?!" Harry hissed, grabbing her wrist. "I can't let you do that."

"You'd better win, then," Fleur said pointedly. And she withdrew a small coin purse, emblazoned with a gold letter 'G'. It didn't look large enough to hold a hundred Galleons, but when Fleur tapped her wand to the brim and tilted it over, the gold poured out into the man's eager hands. He counted the coins and, satisfied, retreated to a dark corner of the club.

"Gringotts purse," Fleur explained at Harry's incredulous look. "It's charmed to my bank account so only I can withdraw from it."

"Never mind that," Harry hissed. "I'm willing to risk my own money, but yours…?"

"I figure you are good for it," Fleur shrugged. "Besides, I 'ave seen you fight, and know you 'ave been training with Dumbledore. I think you can win."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. It felt good to have such a vote of confidence in his corner, but it only increased the pressure he felt to win. He didn't know what Gringotts paid its first-year employees, but he had to imagine a hundred Galleons represented a significant chunk of her wages.

But Fleur seemed nonchalant as she wandered off across the club floor to mingle. Harry headed for the corner where the man had retreated to after taking his (or rather, Fleur's) entry fee. He knew it had to be the right place, because all of the toughest, scariest-looking wizards in the club were gathered there. They all eyed Harry suspiciously; he remained impassive, grateful that he was disguised beneath his glamour. He couldn't imagine what would happen if the Minister's son was caught in a place like this.

The heavily-tattooed man came back soon after, consulting a clipboard of names. "Right, so we have eight entrants tonight," he announced. "That means a clean three-round bracket, winner takes all. Any objections?"

No one spoke up. The contenders seemed to be sizing one another up, leering at each other, as though judging their strengths and weaknesses. Harry didn't recognize any of them, which he wasn't sure was a good or bad thing...no renowned fighters, sure, but maybe they were simply smart enough to keep their talents hidden from the real world.

"Good," the tatted man continued. "Only two rules: no Unforgivables, and no destroying the arena. We don't want to attract any Auror attention. Got it?"

The men nodded in agreement. The organizer strode across the room to a small stage, and pointed his wand at his throat as he stood atop it.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced to the room, "your entertainment for the evening is about to begin! Please make your way to the north side of the room if you wish to spectate our fighting tournament. Witness these brave wizards as they risk life and limb to be crowned champion of the evening!"

As he spoke, the wall behind him dissolved, revealing a hidden chamber beyond. Harry approached curiously; the wall had been replaced with a translucent enchantment barrier, providing a window looking down upon a small fighting arena. It had clearly been put to frequent use: there were scorch marks on the walls and deep gouges in the stone, indicating that fierce battles had taken place here.

Harry felt a pit in his stomach as club-goers began lining up along the barrier to watch the matches. He saw money changing hands and realized this must be a major gambling operation as well...no wonder it took place underground, away from prying Ministry eyes.

A whistle caught Harry's attention, and the organizer beckoned him over. "You're up first, string bean," he told Harry. "I need a name."

"Er—" Harry stammered, unsure if he should make one up on the spot.

"Just a stage name, kid," the organizer groaned, rolling his eyes. "No one's asking for your Ministry I.D. here."

"Right," said Harry. "Er...call me Thestral."

The organizer snorted in approval. "Ominous...I like it," he said. "You're up first. Head down into the pit and we'll get started."

The knot in Harry's stomach intensified...he hadn't expected to be thrown in right away. But he nodded and made his way towards the stairs that led down into the fighting arena. Fleur met him halfway there, whispering "Good luck" into his ear, before he descended the steps and entered the arena.

"And here we have our first match-up!" Harry heard the organizer announce from beyond the barrier above. "On the left is an old returning favorite, Carnage! And on the right is a newcomer: please welcome Thestral!"

The crowd cheered and booed for each of the respective fighters as they took their places across the room. Harry eyed his opponent warily…'Carnage' leered menacingly at Harry, glaring daggers and pacing back and forth like a caged animal waiting to pounce. He was a shade taller than Harry and at least fifty pounds heavier, with heavy muscles and a thick-set jaw. Harry had no idea what his magical prowess was, but given his body type, Harry hoped he could out-maneuver him with agility and speed.

"Fighters, get ready," said the organizer. "Three, two, one, fight!"

Carnage launched out of the gates with a furious salvo of spells aimed directly at Harry. Harry spun out of the way, noting with mild relief that he recognized each of the incoming spells – a mix of basic hexes and jinxes standard to a traditional dueler. He's no Death Eater, Harry thought to himself.

Harry remained patient at first, dancing elegantly around Carnage's spells, taking a measure of the man's style. There was undeniable power behind his casting, and he was fairly accurate to boot, but Harry noticed one clear weakness straight away. Carnage remained mostly immobile, feet planted firmly on the ground, taking a traditional duelist stance. This isn't a sanctioned duel, my friend, Harry thought with a smirk.

Harry began his own assault with a mix of standard hexes of his own, not wanting to tip off his opponent to his true strength. Carnage Shielded them well enough, though he stumbled slightly as he side-stepped Harry's follow-up Blasting Curse. Harry kept his feet moving, slowly advancing, decreasing the distance between them. He just had to wait for an opening.

Soon enough, it came. Carnage attempted a counter-attack, only to be forced on the back foot by Harry's more powerful return. He lost his balance as he back-pedaled, forced to cancel his Shield Charm, and Harry pounced.

Harry transfigured the ground beneath Carnage into ice, causing the man to slip around comically for a second before crashing to the ground. Harry rushed forward and pinned the man's wand arm to the ground with a conjured vine, before immobilizing Carnage in a Body-Bind Curse and standing over his fallen enemy, looking up to the barrier above.

"Winner: Thestral!" the organizer said, sounding somewhat surprised. The crowd applauded politely, though Harry noted some sour looks from the onlookers. How many of them made wagers against me? Harry wondered. Bet they won't make that mistake again. Harry freed his opponent and made his way back up to the main club, slipping into a sofa beside Fleur in the back to avoid notice.

"Well done," Fleur whispered. "I heard ze other competitors talking about ze match...they think you just got lucky."

"Let them believe that," Harry shrugged. "All the better that they underestimate me."

Harry watched with great interest as the next three matches played out. The first two were fairly close; one was won by a man nicknamed 'the Butcher,' who won with a combination of savage Cutting Curses that nearly amputated his opponent's arm. The other was won by 'Viper', a short and nimble man that reminded Harry a bit of a young Flitwick, who merely avoided being hit by any of his opponent's spells until he managed to land a Stunner to end things.

But the final match of the round made Harry's neck hair stand on end. It was won by 'Reaper', the scary-looking bloke Fleur had flirted with earlier, and he was downright terrifying in the arena. He wielded a powerful arsenal of spells and was deadly accurate with them, combining maneuverability and strength for a nasty combination of skills. He won by simply overwhelming his poor opponent with curse after curse until he was felled by a nasty Blasting Curse that knocked him into the back wall, unconscious.

"Get your bets ready for Round 2!" the organizer announced gleefully as a pair of bouncers dragged the unconscious man out of the arena. "First up is Thestral versus the Butcher!"

Harry made his way back down into the arena, facing off against the man dubbed the Butcher. Harry was grateful he'd had the chance to see the man fight first...he knew that Shield Charms would be less effective against his style. The Cutting Curses could overwhelm such protections and even get around them under repeated pressure. Harry would have to stay nimble and avoid the wide swath of damage he could create.

"Fighters ready!" the organizer shouted. "Three, two, one, fight!"

Harry did not remain passive this time, starting his own offense before the Butcher could do so. He forced the man to Shield and dodge his attacks as Harry began to slowly close the distance between them. He did not want to give the Butcher too much space – his last opponent had made that mistake, allowing the Butcher to dictate the pace of the fight and corner the other fighter into a tighter and tighter area. Harry would not let himself be constrained this way.

But the Butcher was wise to this plan, perhaps from watching Harry's own match. He spun and flicked his wand in a broad circle, sending a wide swath of Cutting Curses that forced Harry to roll close to the ground to avoid them. Harry tried the same trick as before, summoning ice beneath the Butcher's feet, but he was ready for it, leaping aside and shattering the ice with a Blasting Curse to keep Harry several paces away.

Harry could tell his enemy was far savvier than the last and wouldn't be easily tricked. He would have to figure out some way to get his defenses down before striking. He reversed tactics, beginning to back away, allowing the Butcher to regain his footing and advance. He skillfully used crowd control tactics to force Harry into a corner, much the same way he had won his last bout. Harry willfully entered the Butcher's trap, knowing that he was about to spring one of his own.

Finally, the Butcher pounced. He sent a volley of hexes Harry's way, forcing him to erect a Shield, before sending a devastating flurry of Cutting Curses to overwhelm him. But to his surprise, Harry was not there when the Shield dropped; Harry had jumped high into the air, aided by a summoned gust of wind to send him airborne. Harry directed the gust directly at his opponent, who was stunned by the sudden burst of speed and barely had time to raise his wand in defense before—

Wham! Harry's elbow connected with the man's head, sending him sprawling across the arena floor. Harry landed in a roll and swiftly Disarmed the Butcher before Freezing him in place, panting, his foe finally defeated.

"Winner: Thestral!" the impressed organizer announced, as the crowd once again descended into hushed murmurs at the surprising result. Harry released his opponent, but to his surprise, the Butcher jumped up at once, looking furious.

"But 'e cheated!" he shouted in a thick Eastern European accent. "'E hit me like a common Muggle!"

"And why'd you let him do that?" the organizer chuckled. "No rule against it."

The Butcher glowered angrily at Harry before storming out of the arena. Harry returned to his spot beside Fleur, feeling the eyes of everyone in the club upon him. He was starting to get concerned about his safety beyond the tournament now, and was eager to get the night over with and get himself and Fleur out of here in one piece.

But he had one more match to go first, and he had a good idea who it would be against. The second semi-final match commenced between Viper and Reaper, and it ended in a similarly brutal fashion as the first round. Viper attempted to repeat his tactics of keeping a small target and dodging dangerous spells, but Reaper was simply too accurate, forcing him to slow down and summon Shields to stay alive. Viper was forced to back-pedal away from his dangerous foe, realizing he could not out-maneuver him.

Eventually Viper was corralled back into a corner, and unlike Harry, he had no plan of escape. Eventually his Shield flickered and died under an onslaught of dangerous curses, and the man raised his hand at once. "I yield!" he shouted. But Reaper either didn't hear him or didn't care. He fired a nasty yellow curse that caught Viper directly in the chest, causing him to keel over unconscious at once as the crowd roared its appreciation.

"Winner: Reaper!" the organizer announced, as a pair of bouncers rushed in to drag Viper out of the arena. Harry watched as they rushed him into a back room, presumably to attend to him medically. Harry saw the organizer chewing out Reaper as he exited the arena, perhaps chastising him for not taking the peaceful conclusion. But Reaper just sneered coldly, clearly not caring what became of his felled opponent.

"Now we have the grand finals!" the organizer said gleefully. "It's the reigning champ, Reaper, against the challenger, Thestral! Who will claim tonight's top prize?"

Harry re-entered the arena for the final time, doing his best to calm his nerves. He had not seen any weakness in Reaper's game...he was a powerful fighter, more powerful than any Auror he'd met, even rivaling James. But unlike his father, who had certain tics and tendencies Harry could try to exploit, he could not see any obvious holes in Reaper's strategy. He fought smart and efficient, leaving little room for counter-attacks or reprieve.

Reaper too looked confident as he faced off against Harry. "Any last words?" he taunted in an American accent. "I'll be sure to relay them to your pretty girlfriend after I take her home tonight."

Harry did not give him the satisfaction of a response. He got into a fighter's stance, his full focus on the task at hand. He would have to be perfect to have a chance.

"Fighters ready!" the organizer said gleefully. "Three, two, one, fight!"

Neither Harry nor Reaper made a move straight away. They slowly circled one another, waiting for the other to strike. Harry knew he could not overpower or out-maneuver the man so easily...he had to prepare for a prolonged bout and be patient, which was not his strong suit. Luckily, Dumbledore had forced him to slow down and put more thought into his attacks...perhaps he would have to thank the Headmaster if he got out of this in one piece.

Finally, Reaper made his move. He sent a few light hexes Harry's way, probing him, testing his defenses; Harry merely side-stepped them, conserving his energy. He cast a few minor jinxes in response, including a Tickling Charm; Reaper smirked in recognition as he too spun away from them. They were just toying with one another now...but not for long.

Reaper made his first major attack next, sending a rapid-fire assault Harry's way. Harry did not recognize half of the incoming spells; he batted aside the Bone-Breaker before flattening himself to the ground to avoid the others. He spun out of the way of the conjured boulder Reaper summoned to slam into the ground where Harry had just been, then melted the rock into molten lava and sent it flying back towards its creator. Reaper chuckled and conjured a thick metal sheet to deflect the burning liquid into a nearby corner, where it sizzled and ate into the stone floor.

Harry got to his feet and began his own assault, mixing curses and transfiguration in an attempt to distract the man. But Reaper was unfazed, blocking the curses while undoing every transfigured attack coming his way. He still had a broad smile on his face, feeling confident but recognizing that he had a real fight on his hands. The two best fighters had reached the finals, and only skill would determine the outcome now.

Both Harry and Reaper continued to alternate offense and defense, pressing harder and harder into the other's defenses, but neither was giving much ground. Harry tried to gain a spatial advantage by closing the gap between them once again, but Reaper skillfully kept him away with powerful area attacks to keep Harry at a distance. Harry could not see an easy way to win this, and while he was starting to get winded, Reaper didn't appear to be tiring. He would have to try something drastic.

Harry hadn't devoted as much time to learning illusory magic as he would like, but it was rarely utilized in combat and he knew he had to try every trick in his arsenal to have a chance. So when Reaper let up on his next assault, rather than return fire, Harry shouted, "Homunculi speculo!"

He felt the uncomfortable tearing effect as his consciousness was split into separate entities, staring at Reaper from three separate locations. He heard the crowd murmur in surprise, but Harry ignored them, putting full focus on his enemy. Reaper appeared slightly bemused by the gesture, pausing only to give a nod of acknowledgment at the advanced magic, before resuming the bout.

He alternating firing at each of the three copies, forcing Harry to switch rapidly between the three to avoid being hit. Harry slowly tried to advance again, but Reaper wisely stood his ground, not letting any of the three copies get too close. His attention was split, however, which gave Harry an opportunity to strike. He just had to pick the proper moment—

Suddenly Reaper pounced, charging headlong at the leftmost copy of Harry. If Harry had anticipated such a tactic, he would have simply canceled that copy of himself and focused the other two on Reaper's retreating backside. Instead he panicked slightly and focused entirely on the targeting copy, sending up a Shield Charm and trying to slow Reaper down.

But Reaper's strategy was more cunning than that. He put on the brakes and flicked his wand with a smirk – it had been a ruse to distract Harry from his planned attack from behind. Harry turned just in time to duck away from the still-steaming pile of lava sizzling in the corner, which had been hurled towards him. He knew Reaper would not remain idle, either, and had to prepare quickly for the follow-up attack.

"Protego duri!" Harry shouted in a fit of desperation. The much-maligned Barrier Charm, which he'd all but sworn off using in battle, was erected just in time to absorb the onslaught of spells Reaper had hoped would end things. Harry felt it drain his magical stamina and knew the fight would soon come to an end, one way or another. It was now or never.

Harry dropped the Barrier Charm and threw everything he could think of at Reaper. The man was closer now thanks to his charging maneuver, and his reaction time was more limited. It gave Harry an idea, as he kept pressing forward to prevent Reaper from backing too far away from him. He would need to take advantage of their closeness if he was going to win this fight.

Reaper launched his own counter-attack soon after, throwing another furious salvo his way. Harry knew this was his best chance. He summoned a Shield Charm to deflect the onslaught, knowing Reaper would expect him to keep it active through the last incoming spell. But Harry dropped the Shield early and fired a quick response earlier than expected, hoping it would catch Reaper off-guard.

Reaper clearly did not expect the counter-attack so soon after his own. He raised his own Shield to deflect them, but Harry's Blasting Curse shattered it, allowing his follow-up Stunner to hit the man in the chest, sending him toppling over.

But Harry's tactic cost him: the final curse Reaper sent his way connected with his wand hand, sending a sharp, searing pain shooting up his arm. It took all of his willpower not to drop his wand, instead transferring it to his off-hand and pointing it at Reaper in case another attack came. But his opponent was fortunately unconscious on the ground, leaving Harry to sink to his knees, clutching his wrist in agony.

"Winner: Thestral," the stunned announcer said, followed by a chorus of gasps and murmurs. Clearly no one had expected the upset. The two bouncers swarmed onto the arena; one moved to revive Reaper while the other tended to Harry's hand.

"Necrotic Curse," the man muttered; Harry watched in disbelief as his skin bubbled and burned, as the curse burrowed its way deeper into his hand. The bouncer wove his wand over the affected area, but it seemingly had no effect; Harry continued to feel excruciating pain as the curse ate away at his flesh.

"We need the counter-curse!" the bouncer shouted at the other, who was helping Reaper to his feet. The fight organizer rushed into the arena soon after, seeing what was happening and wincing at the sight of Harry's dissolving hand.

"Undo that curse, now!" the organizer demanded of Reaper. "Or we'll have to send him to St. Mungo's, and this whole operation is bust!"

Reaper sneered, but he approached Harry and flicked his wand. The searing sensation ceased as the Necrotic Curse was lifted, leaving a nasty open wound on the back of his hand. It did nothing to cease the pain, however; Harry gritted his teeth to stop himself from screaming in agony, allowing the bouncers to lift him to his feet and guide him out of the arena towards a back room.

They set him down on a chair as one of the men rifled through a series of cabinets. He returned with a bottle of murky yellow liquid, which he immediately emptied into a large bowl. "Murtlap essence," he explained as he forced Harry's injured hand into the liquid. "Should accelerate the healing process."

Harry once again resisted the urge to shout out as the murtlap essence got to work on his open wound, intensifying the burning sensation. He instead focused on his breathing and counted his lucky stars that that he'd survived...he could only imagine what the curse might have done if it had connected with his head or torso, or if Reaper had refused to perform the counter-curse.

The organizer entered the back room soon after, surveying Harry's hand and nodding tersely at the sign of progress. "Nice fight, kid," he said, tossing a hefty bag of coins on the counter beside him. "Eight hundred Galleons, as promised. Hope you realize you pissed a lot of people off tonight, don't you?"

"I don't plan on sticking around to talk to fans," Harry deadpanned as he grabbed the coin purse with his free hand and stuffed it into his robes.

"Good," the organizer nodded. "I would lay low for a while – if you choose to fight again, I'm sure the betting odds will be more in your favor. We can't tell you when the next fight will be, because the Aurors might sniff it out, but keep your ears open and come back any time."

"Will do," Harry nodded. He didn't expect to be returning to The Spiked Chalice any time soon – he was eager to get out of there before anyone decided to make their displeasure with his victory known. Whether it was an angry better who'd lost it all, or Reaper himself, he wouldn't stick around to find out.

Harry stood, waving off the bouncers' insistence that he stay and let his hand soak for a few minutes longer. He paused only long enough for them to apply a few drops of dittany on the wound and conjure a bandage to cover it. Harry exited the room and spotted Fleur anxiously hovering in a corner; he wordlessly gestured for the door, and she nodded, following him to the exit.

Harry stumbled up the steps and through The Spiked Chalice back onto the streets of Knockturn Alley, Fleur close behind him. He blinked in surprise; the sun was already up, heralding Sunday morning to the world.

"I can bring you back to my flat if you wish to rest," Fleur suggested.

"No, I have a place," Harry muttered. He offered his arm; Fleur eyed it warily for a moment, then accepted it. Harry Apparated them to the dirt road just outside his property in Ashewick, which, as expected, remained totally deserted.

"Where are we?" Fleur muttered, looking around in confusion.

"One moment; I'll need to walk you through the wards," said Harry. He kept hold of her arm as he approached the ward boundary; Fleur shivered in discomfort as the enchantments attempted to repel her, but Harry guided her forward until they were through them all and onto the property itself. Fleur saw the house for the first time and clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"Must you choose someplace so grim?" she sighed. But she followed Harry into the house nonetheless.

Harry flicked his wand to activate the makeshift lights he'd strung up the night before. He immediately sat at the ruined wooden table and plopped the sizable coin purse onto the surface. "I figure it's only fair to split it fifty-fifty," he offered. "Since you paid for my entry."

"Keep it," Fleur smirked. "I made a nice profit of my own tonight."

"How?" Harry frowned.

"I bet another hundred Galleons on you winning ze tournament," Fleur shrugged. "Odds were fifteen to one. I knew you could do it."

"I…" Harry stammered in disbelief. Apparently Fleur had profited even more than he had tonight. All he could really do was laugh at the absurdity of how lucky they had both gotten tonight. "You're absolutely mad, did you know that?"

"Yes, perhaps you are rubbing off on me," Fleur winked. "Now, you need rest, or zat hand will never heal itself."

"Right," Harry muttered as he unspooled the bandage to check the wound. The back of his hand had thankfully blistered over, but it still stung mightily and he yearned for the release of sleep to ease the pain. He headed into the next room, where he'd transfigured himself a small cot, and flopped onto it, totally exhausted. "You don't have to stay and babysit me, you know."

"Well, excuse me for walking you home," Fleur said, pretending to be scandalized. "Sleep well, 'Arry. You fought well tonight."

Fleur bent down to give Harry a kiss on the forehead. He mumbled his thanks, but wasn't sure if it was coherent or not, before Fleur disappeared out the front door and Disapparated with a crack. He couldn't muster much energy for anything right now.

He realized with a dull pang that he was meant to lead a Dueling Club session at Hogwarts in just a few short hours. Dumbledore would be expecting him there – it was one of the stipulations of their agreement, after all.

Screw it, Harry thought blearily. It won't hurt to miss one lesson...Neville can cover for me. And he slipped into a heavy slumber, putting all thoughts of responsibility and agreements out of his mind.