"You shouldn't be alone with just your mum for support; she's struggling with this too," Harry argued gently. "I can tell Kingsley to send someone else to France to oversee things."

"No, I shouldn't," Daphne admitted. "But you have a job to do. My father is still out there, and he and the Death Eaters need to be stopped. You're the only one I trust with this."

Harry grimaced in agreement. Daphne hadn't shifted her position on the necessity of the death of her father for even a moment. If she ever wavered, she did so in private where he couldn't see. Sometimes he wondered how little she actually revealed her fears and worries to him. She always strove to be as sturdy and powerful as possible—it was a necessity as her profession as a member of the Wizengamot—and the only time he really saw her ever be vulnerable was when it came to her sister and mum.

"Will you at least go spend some time with Draco? Or maybe Hermione?" Harry asked hopefully. It'd make him feel better to know that she was being looked after while he was away.

"I'll probably see Draco at St Mungo's," Daphne replied evasively, not committing to anything yet.

"I'll send Hermione an owl and ask her to check in with you," Harry insisted. "Maybe the two of you could get supper and talk."

Daphne hesitated before opening her mouth. "That sounds… nice."

He could tell that she was only going through with this because he wanted her to, but that still helped to put his mind at ease. If Daphne wouldn't reveal how much grief and turmoil she was truly feeling, then Harry was going to assume she wasn't handling things well.

"Thank you," he said as he leaned in for a kiss.

Daphne kissed him back, and for just a brief moment, her desperation became evident. She clung to him, going slightly weak in the knees. Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and held her against him, offering what little physical comfort he could before he had to leave again.

"I love you," Daphne murmured softly before kissing him again.

"I love you too," he replied sincerely. "I'll floo you later tonight."

"Okay."

Daphne pulled away then, and Harry was grateful that she did. He didn't know if he had the strength to leave her now while she was going through so much. When he didn't move, she gently pushed his chest, forcing him back a couple of steps.

"Go," she told him with a small smile. "I'll be fine."

"If you need anything—"

"Go," Daphne repeated, giggling quietly. She shook her head and gave him that sweet, love-struck smile that always made his heart flutter.

He blew her a kiss and apparated away.

Time in France seemed to pass by slowly. Day in and day out, Harry and Gabrielle performed stakeouts across various Death Eater safe houses. The Death Eaters had been laying low since their attack on Place Cachée. There were few sightings of anyone leaving or entering the safe houses.

The anticipation of what was coming next was clearly leaving everyone on edge. The French Aurors were all struggling to find leads that would satisfy Sebastian, the public, and the Minister, Liliane. The British Aurors were all bored of spending the last couple weeks doing nothing but stakeouts. They had come here for action and the hopes to impress on the global stage, not to wait around and deal with the constant stream of unpleasant comments from the anxious public.

Harry had ended up calling in a favour with Rita back home to try to stir up some positive press while they awaited more results. Sebastian seemed dead set on waiting until they had something big to act on. He feared that smaller raids against mostly abandoned Death Eater safe houses or arresting low-level Death Eaters would lead to more public criticism of the Auror Department, which they sorely didn't need right now.

In truth, Harry didn't entirely disagree with Sebastian's decision. The public could be fickle, and even if you were making consistent progress, they could lambaste you for not doing enough.

But even still, waiting around didn't sit right with him. Death Eaters continued to roam freely while the Aurors waited and scouted. They were planning something, they just had to be, and Harry didn't want to wait to find out what it was.

He'd been reactive back in Britain, and look at what that had led to. Now was the time to be proactive.

The man he and Gabrielle had spotted entering a Death Eater safe house had worn robes from Madam Floquet's. They would have the records of any purchases made from them, and Harry hoped that it might give him just what he needed to track the man down.

Sebastian wouldn't have approved, but they were technically equals in this partnership. So, Harry pointedly chose not to inform him of his plans.

On a warm summer afternoon, Harry left the French Ministry and apparated into Place Cachée. Despite the attack barely a few weeks ago, the magical quarter was as livelier than Harry had ever seen Diagon Alley be. Hundreds walked the streets, visiting shops, stopping by cafes, or simply enjoying the open air. The presence of magic was everywhere, and it was a comforting thing to see. Distantly, the sounds of the reconstruction effort still echoed.

It was towards those sounds that Harry walked. People stared at him, some curious as to what he was up to, others with looks of derision. The Death Eaters were Britain's problem, not theirs. They wanted to blame Harry and the British for all they'd lost. Some still looked at Harry with hope and awe in their eyes.

That last group was the one Harry took solace in. It was folly to search for the approval of everyone, but it wasn't weakness or vanity to find strength from those who supported you. Whenever Harry saw someone looking up to him, it reminded him of all that he'd done to help the Wizarding World. Yes, some people stared at him like that because of his fame, but those people were easy enough to spot. It was the people who knew he would do his all to protect them and keep them safe that he felt emboldened by.

He was going to make some progress on that front today.

Madam Floquet's Enchantment Boutique had barely been damaged by the Death Eaters due to the extensive wards placed upon the building due to the potentially-volatile nature of enchantments. The building itself suffered some minor cosmetic damage, which had clearly been repaired in the first wave of the reconstruction efforts. The tall building was distinctive in that the massive windows revealed the fact that it was only made up of three levels. It looked to Harry like a warehouse had been fitted in a residential and commercial area and made to look the part.

The shop was quite busy. The windows out front showed off various enchanted robes and fashion accessories alongside practical goods like cookware, gardening implements, and magical clocks, like the type that the Weasleys have. There were quite a few witches and wizards who stopped to stare at the displays. Most moved on to somewhere else, but there was a steady stream of customers entering and leaving the shop.

Harry joined the latest group heading inside and walked into a surprisingly small shop. It was completely packed; about thirty customers in all, nearly standing shoulder-to-shoulder, and a couple of attendants moving about the shop smoothly, clearly used to the chaotic atmosphere. There was a small desk near the back where the till was and a door behind it leading elsewhere.

The moment he entered, Harry scanned the room for the man he'd seen with Gabrielle on their stakeout. He'd worn a cloak from Madam Floquet's, and while it was unlikely Harry would chance upon him in the shop, he didn't want to be careless. Luckily, perhaps, the man wasn't around.

It took several minutes of shuffling before Harry managed to make his way round to the back of the shop. A young man stood behind the counter with a calm expression on his face as he busily wrote something down on a ledger.

"Can I help you?" He asked without looking up, his words being translated into Harry's ears.

"I'm looking for Fleur," Harry said, the pin on the lapel of his robes translating his words into French. "I'm a family friend."

The man's eyes looked up at him suspiciously. Harry couldn't blame him; there were probably dozens of men who'd claimed to have some sort of relation with Fleur over the years to try to get close to her.

"What's your name?" He asked carefully, eyeing Harry for any signs of deception.

"Harry Potter," Harry answered freely.

The man's eyes widened slightly and flickered up to the faded lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. Suddenly, his mouth seemed to run dry as he panicked a little.

"Oh, yes, monsieur Potter." The ledger clattered as he dropped it onto the desk. "Please, right this way. Fleur's just in the back."

He opened the door behind him.

"Thank you," Harry said with a slight nod, passing by as the man held the door open for him.

He stepped through into a sorting room of sorts. Wooden tables lined with bins and all sorts of odds and ends littered the workshop. Workers sorted through various enchanted artefacts that sat neatly organised upon a series of shelves that lined the exterior of the room, moving them to the appropriate bins on the appropriate tables. Then, another worker marked down what was just delivered and ensured that everything was in the right spot. It was a rather bare-bones, utilitarian space with minimal comfort, but Harry supposed they didn't need much when this was just a sorting area.

A few people noticed him quite quickly. One seemed to recognise him while the others simply seemed curious as to who he was and why he was here.

"Harry?"

To his left, Fleur came walking down a metal spiral staircase, carrying a small wooden box in her hands. Her silvery-blond hair was done up in a high bun, and she was wearing a set of Madam Floquet's robes.

"Hey, Fleur," Harry smiled at her.

She hurried to set down the box on one of the nearby tables before she turned back to him. "Not that you're unwelcome, but I'm surprised to see you here," she said. "Are you… is this official—"

"Can we talk in private?" Harry interjected before she could say anything more. He didn't want to put any of the workers on edge just in case the man he was looking for was familiar with any of them.

Fleur nodded, eyes searching for some sign as to what was going on. Harry didn't let any emotion show on his face.

"Follow me," Fleur said, gesturing to the stairs she'd just walked down. "We can talk up in the enchantment workshop."

Fleur guided him upstairs, away from the noise of the sorting room below. They bypassed the next floor, which simply had a fine wooden door that led to the record-keeping rooms and offices.

"Up here is where we do our enchantments," Fleur explained.

Dozens of spinning spools lined with wool or silk whirred constantly overhead as the two of them arrived at the upper floor. It was a dusty, cool attic that had barely any light filtering in through the lightly-stained glass windows, but it was enough to allow them all to easily walk throughout the workshop.

There were only a few others up here: a woman and a man.

Harry didn't recognise the woman. The man, however, remained a momentary mystery to him until he did a double-take to really notice the man's features.

The memory of his stakeout with Gabrielle flooded Harry's memory. The wind billowing and a cloaked man's short brown goatee arrived presently.

He knew who he was. He was a Death Eater, or a sympathiser at the very least. The top of the MF embroidery was noticeable on the hem of the man's cloak.

There was no doubt in Harry's mind: this was the man that he and Gabrielle had spotted entering a reported Death Eater safe house mere days ago.

The man was taller than Harry had thought, and far more well built. His muscles were apparent, even though his thin robes. He had sharp features on his face, including a prominent nose and fierce eyebrows. He looked like the type that wasn't to be trifled with, not that was bound to stop Harry.

Perhaps it was luck or a fated coincidence that he encountered this man again, but Harry wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste. Instantly, his senses all heightened as he took in the room around him. He wasn't going to risk the health and safety of an innocent, and he needed to know what space he had to work with.

A dozen tables, half on each side of the attic, sat in carefully aligned rows. Each one had a massive spool that was threading textiles into various articles of clothing. Some were more fashionable than others, the rest offered greater function, but Harry recognised that all of them had the possibility of blocking any spells he fired from his wand.

There was a wide-enough walkway in between the tables that Harry could manoeuvre between, but he knew that it still wasn't enough. That Death Eater across the room from him could easily duck into cover and attack him, Fleur, and the other woman in the room. He was close enough to the far wall that he could break through it with a simple blasting curse if he felt the need to escape.

A tumultuous storm arose within Harry's chest. He wished to deal with this man here and now, his wand ached to be used, but he couldn't risk it until he had a clear shot against the man.

Neither Fleur nor the other woman up here noticed anything, but Harry felt like the man had. Harry had brought about a dangerous energy, one filled with animosity and a desire to subdue. The other man up here glanced up at Harry, nearly instantly recognising him from his recent endeavours in France and the countless articles spun about him and his activities over the past several years since the war's end.

Did he know that Harry knew who he was? Was he aware that Harry had plans to take him down?

The world fell into silence. Faintly, Harry could make out his own heartbeat, but everything else was nothing but muted static to him.

"This is Justine," Fleur said with a friendly smile as she gestured towards the dark-skinned woman.

Justine offered a brief wave of her hand before returning to her focus of directing the fabric from a spool into an outfit of sorts. Harry waved back, his wand hand still ready and waiting to draw in case the man realised that Harry knew who he was.

"She's been with Madam Floquet for much longer than I have," Fleur explained. "She knows almost everything about everything here. And that's Roch over there."

Harry turned to face Roch, the man with the goatee. He did his best to mask any displeasure in his expression. He didn't know if he was entirely successful or not, but he knew that Roch wasn't in masking his own fears. The man's face twisted into something resembling displeasure. His lips curled awkwardly, his brow furrowed, and his visage darkened.

"He's been a great help. He joined around the same time as me, and—" Fleur had continued to speak until Harry shoved her out of the way and into cover behind a table.

A gilded storm erupted around Harry. Thick strands of gold and silver danced in the air as Roch fired a series of blasting curses. They all went wide, due to his sudden attempts to flee the scene, and Harry let them all pass by and crash into the walls around him. He didn't particularly care if the building around him crumbled into dust. All that mattered was that he subdued the target and brought him in for questioning.

He needed to know where the Death Eaters were. That was the only way he'd find out where Cyrus Greengrass was. If he could bring a measure of peace to Daphne, Astoria, and Draco, then that'd be good enough for him.

Racks of spinning fabric crumbled beneath Roch's onslaught. Justine screamed as she dove beneath one of the tables in search of some degree of safety. Fleur wasn't far behind her, but at least she had her wand at the ready to counter anything that Roch sent their way.

Harry stood standing tall and proud in the centre aisle of the attic. A panic erupted below over the explosions that rang out throughout the attic, but Harry paid it no mind. His sole focus was honed in on Roch.

"I—" Roch hesitated, backing away with his wand at the ready.

Harry drew his wand and snapped it into position before Roch could react properly. He sent a violet-coloured spell towards Harry a second later, and Harry battered it away with a simple flick of his wrist as he conjured a shield charm.

Roch took another few steps back, suddenly realising the folly of what he'd just done. His hand wavered, his eyes searched for an escape.

Harry's eyes darkened as he stepped forward, matching Roch's pace. His wand was steady, pointed right at Roch's chest.

"I suggest you put down your wand," Harry said dangerously. His magic itched to be used, but if he could put a stop to this without a bigger fight erupting, then he would.

Roch gave a jerky shake of his head. "You should leave. Or I'll…"

"You'll what?" Harry asked seriously, taking another step forward.

A couple of sparks spat out of the tip of Roch's wand. "I'll burn the building down," he threatened.

Harry snorted. "The enchantments and wards on this building will put a stop to that. Do you seriously think that the warders wouldn't have thought about the possibility of an experimental enchantment going wrong and setting fire to this place? Please. You're more likely to burn yourself to a crisp than make a single mark on this place."

In an instant, Harry could see the panic rising in Roch's mind and body. His eyes flickered from side to side more frantically, his body language became tight and timid. He knew it was over.

But Harry didn't ease up for a second. This was the moment when people were at their most dangerous. They knew they were beat, so they had nothing to lose. Either they gave in or fought with everything they had.

Which would Roch do? Harry wondered.

"Drop your wand and you won't get hurt," Harry told him. "I'll arrest you and take you in for questioning. If you choose to fight, I can't promise that you'll come out of this without a scratch."

Roch thought over the decision, his mind running at a million miles a minute. Harry saw him change his mind over and over again as various emotions played out across his face.

And then, Roch sighed.

"Okay, you win," Roch began to speak, lifting his hands up into the air in surrender.

Harry's eyes widened as he saw a malevolence lingering in Roch's eyes. He wasn't going to—

Harry fired first, his incredible reaction speed helping him to unleash a disarming charm as fast as a bolt of lightning. But Roch was already bringing his hands down, and Harry couldn't stop the summoning charm from striking Justine.

The French woman was yanked over the table she'd hidden behind by an invisible force and was sent flying through the air towards Roch. Her body intercepted Harry's disarming charm, knocking her back right into Roch's arms.

The tip of Roch's wand pressed against Justine's throat as she whimpered.

"Stop this!" Fleur shouted as she peeked her head out from behind cover. "Roch, just go with Harry. He can help you sort this mess out!"

Roch let out a strangled, muted laugh. "Help me? He's the reason I'm in this mess in the first place."

"And how is that?" Harry retorted, subtly taking a step to the side so that he could have a better angle at hitting Roch with a spell.

Roch shifted his body, twisting so that Justine remained right in place between him and Harry. "If it wasn't for you, all of these mudbloods would've been purged from the world! Those fucking monstrosities don't deserve to live and breathe the same air as us! I had to take up our Great Lord's work in his name! You didn't have to come here! You could've let progress happen the way it was meant to! If only you'd died as a baby like you were supposed to, then us proper witches and wizards would be in our rightful place in the world! We wouldn't have to scurry around and hide from freaks like you!"

Harry didn't like this. Roch was getting agitated, and now that he had Justine in his possession, he was feeling more powerful than before. His confidence made him more dangerous but also more reckless. Harry needed to find a way to exploit that.

The endlessly spinning spools overhead briefly drew his focus.

"Why don't you duel me one-on-one then?" Harry called back to Roch, trying to buy time as he readied himself. He'd need to be fast.

"I'd lose if I did that," Roch retorted. "Even if you're a filthy half-blood, you're still a fine duellist."

"If I surrender to you, would you let Justine go?" Harry asked.

Fleur gasped in shock. "No, don't."

Roch ignored her, considering Harry's words. His eyes were full of suspicion, which he was perfectly justified in having. Harry had no intention of surrendering today.

"Trust me, Fleur," Harry said as he looked into her eyes.

Silently, he used Legilimency on her. It was just a subtle poke against her mental barriers. Most Veela had some control over the mind arts due to its effectiveness in managing to keep their allure at a controlled level while out in public, and Harry was confident that Fleur, a talented enchantress, was bound to have at least some skill in it.

He felt her mental shields rise up as she recoiled back. Harry made his probe back up and then gently tap her shields again before he retreated completely.

He stared into her eyes intensely, hoping she'd understand what he wished for her to do.

A second later, he felt her probe tentatively touch his shields.

Hiding a smile, Harry pushed an old memory to the forefront of his mind. It was from his time back at Hogwarts in Professor Flitwick's Charms class. They'd each been given a spool of yarn to practise casting the severing charm on. Harry replayed the memory again and then broke off the mental connection as he turned away from her, staring up at one of the spinning spools right over Roch's head.

Slowly, Harry began to lift his hands in surrender, just as Roch had done.

Roch's wand shifted from Justine's neck to pointing at Harry dangerously as he watched for any little sign of movement that'd warrant an attack.

"Roch, please," Harry said loudly. "Let Justine go, and I'll let you take me prisoner right now."

"You're too dangerous to be taken prisoner," Roch shook his head. The tip of his wand began to glow a faint green colour. "I think I'll—"

"Diffindo!" Fleur shouted as she fired the severing charm at the spool Harry had pointed out. It cut through the wool being spun, sending dozens of long lengths of it falling to the floor.

"Avada Kedavra!" Roch shouted, wildly firing the killing curse towards Fleur. She dove to the floor as the spell soared overhead, splashing harmlessly against the back wall.

Though he'd not been around to see this spell used in person before, he'd seen the memory of it enough times to know how it worked.

"Piertotum Locomotor!" Harry shouted as he waved his hands slowly above his head.

The strands of cut wool all animated and took to the air. With a simple thought to direct them, Harry ordered the wool to bind Roch.

Roch was already waving his arm in preparation for another spell when it was suddenly yanked back by the wool. The individual strands bound together, twisting into thick ropes that wrapped around Roch's wrists and ankles. With a simple thought, another rope yanked Roch's wand out of his hand. The man yelped and thrashed about as the ropes pulled his arms and legs apart, freeing Justine from his grasp.

Justine stumbled forward with a half sob as she moved towards Fleur. She tripped and banged against tables as she went, but she was free, and that was what mattered.

"Let me go!" Roch screamed as he tugged at his bonds. The rope stayed strong though, locking him perfectly in place.

With a twist of his wand, the ropes pulled Roch forward towards Harry.

"That was a bad choice, Roch," Harry told him. "You'd better hope that you have some important information to give me or else your stay in Auror custody will be far more unpleasant than you're already imagining."

Roch's head dropped as he hung his head in defeat.

A/N: Hey, thanks for reading! If you are interested in reading more or supporting me, check out at p atreon .com(slash) ashox