A familiar creak echoed through the quiet hallways as Professor McGonagall pushed open the door to the hospital wing and ushered Harry inside. Early morning light shone through the eastern windows, melting the night's frost from the glass. The beds arrayed across both sides of the room sat empty, their sheets and pillows all sat identically atop each one.
"Ah, thank you, Minerva." Madam Pomfrey said, stepping from her office at the back of the room. Professor McGonagall nodded and bid Harry a quiet goodbye. "Stand over here," the matron instructed. "The sooner we check those muscles of yours the better."
Moving forward, he obeyed, his steps still sluggish after the subpar sleep he'd snatched from the intervals between nightmares.
He shook the memory of the chanting faces from his mind, their words echoing even as they vanished.
' Worthless'.
"Any pain or stiffness this morning?" she asked, her wand tracing a line up his left arm and circling his shoulder.
"No more than usual," he said.
"That's good." More tracing, this time lingering on either side of his chest. "And how are you doing otherwise?"
"Otherwise, Ma'am?"
Her wand continued its trail, but she focused on him instead, making him fidget and break the eye contact.
"If I recall, yesterday you were made to dive into a nearly frozen lake, rescue a friend, then had to go back and do it all again!"
His involuntary step back made her grimace and she refocused on her work, her wand hovering over his right shoulder.
"Not to mention," she continued, calmer. "You had to watch someone die in front of you."
His spine went rigid as more of his dreams flashed across his vision. "I-She didn't…She's fine, though."
"But you didn't know that." She let her wand fall to the side and took a step back.. "Just because she was resuscitated, doesn't mean that it didn't happen. That you didn't experience it."
His shameful tears in front of Hermione prickled at the corners of his eyes, threatening to return.
No. No more. That blubbering mess couldn't be him.
"I'm just glad she's okay," he said. Small truths.
Madam Pomfrey nodded, her countenance softening even further. He scanned her features. If he knew how she was feeling, he'd know what to expect next.
Was she…nervous?
"If I may, Mr. Potter," she said. "I have been at Hogwarts for a long time. I've helped students through any number of physical and emotional stressors that come from living in a place so saturated with young people learning to control their volatile magic. My time here has given me insight into not only magical healing and potions, but practical healing as well."
He nodded, fighting against the desire to flee the sudden shift in conversation.
"I would like to think that I know you well enough, Mr. Potter, to know that you are not going to like what I am about to say."
Tension rippled through his body, the muscles across his chest giving a feeble protest.
"I have yet to encounter a student that hasn't, in the long run, benefited from discussing such events and difficulties with someone." Her hand raised as if to stop his protests but he had none. His jaw creaked as he clenched his teeth in an effort to remain composed. "I do not require an answer. I only ask that you consider what I have said, in your own time."
She sighed as she let her hand drop. "Your teachers are here to help you learn and grow. You can go to them at any time, myself included, should you need help."
He nodded dutifully, eying the exit.
"Think on it," she said, moving to the side and out of the way of his path to the door. "That is all I ask."
"Thank you, Ma'am," he said, before rushing out of the doors and into the freedom of the empty halls.
His heart beat hard against his ribs, his thoughts stumbling through her words, despite his wishes.
Talk about it? About her limp form? The easy-to-ignore pain of torn muscles? Of a booming, enraged voice that followed him to Hogwarts, reminding him who he was? What he was?
A failure.
Worthless.
His stomach interjected itself into the spiral, reminding him that a missed opportunity at food was unforgivable and that he had already skipped dinner the night before. The thought of being around so many people in such a state put him on edge. Hermione's worried gaze had followed him out of the common room when he'd been summoned by Professor McGonagall so early in the morning. He doubted he could handle any more questions.
Maybe he could get Ron talking about Quidditch instead.
XxX
Fleur let out a silent sigh as her mother slipped into her room, her presence promising yet another day of introspection and talking about what had happened. She had barely left her side in the week following the Second Task, opting to ensure Fleur had left no aspect of her trauma in the lake unexamined. The attention had been comforting at first, a warm blanket of love to push away the cold fingers that had reached to steal her life away.
But a week of it had become a bit much.
"No need to sigh at me," her mother said, tossing her heavy cloak onto Fleur's desk chair. "I only want to make sure you're okay."
"I know."
"And I know you are growing tired of these conversations, Fleur." A change from her usual, 'How are you feeling?'
Fleur nodded in reply, taking the requisite moment to amend her reflexive reply. "I know you want to help, but…"
Her mother nodded. "I could see that you weren't gaining anything more from our conversations, and I don't want you to…" Fleur glanced over in surprise as her normally unflappable mother hesitated. "I don't want you to resent me."
Before she could do anything more than stare, her mother was speaking again, her voice rushed and nervous.
"The talks were for both of us, really," she said. "I'm still far from over what happened. We almost lost you…" she paused, letting out a breath. "Again."
Fleur froze, her irritation abating. Before she could answer, a memory bubbled to the surface, a question escaping before she could hold it back.
"Why did you and Papa tell Gabrielle about the Louvre?" she asked in a voice far steadier than she might have expected.
"We only told her that someone tried to kidnap you," her mother said, defensive. "She's twelve for goodness sake. We wouldn't have said anything at all if she hadn't asked."
"She specifically asked what happened to me at the Louvre?"
"Of course not. When your father and I first sat her down for the talk, we asked her if she had any questions when we were done. She asked if anything bad had happened to us because of what we are."
Fleur nodded, her own version of 'the talk' rising in her memory. Along with the parts that had frightened her.
"I think it all scared her," her mother continued. "She was interested and engaged at first. Towards the end, she began to shut down, and after that, she began to avoid the discussion at all costs." She turned to Fleur, a warm smile lifting her cheeks. "Thank you for talking with her. I could tell she was more at ease after that."
"I just want it to be easier for her," Fleur said. "For her to have someone who understands what it's like."
"I understand," her mother said, a hint of teasing in her tone.
"Someone who doesn't still call it the 'Veela Charm'," Fleur replied, taking the bait.
"It's just a phrase."
"One that promotes the misguided image people have of us and our heritage. It's why it's known as the lustful 'allure' instead of simply our Veela abilities…or our Veela Curse," she added, petulance seeping into her tone.
"Oh, hush," her mother said good-naturedly. "You have a friend now. There's no reason you can't get more."
"I do…" Fleur said, her shoulders sagging. "But it feels like he's been…distant, since the Ball. I could tell the prospect of having his emotions made clear to me did not sit well with him."
"Everybody has things they don't want to share with the world. I'm sure he has his reasons for being protective of his privacy," her mother said, a frown furrowing her brow. It was gone in a bare moment. "The only thing you can do is respect that. He will grow used to the idea, with time."
Fleur nodded, unsure if the few months they had left would be enough to bridge that gap. She allowed her mother to turn the conversation back to more idle topics, detailing her father's monumental tasks as ambassador, and long nights alone at their home in France.
XxX
Harry sat with Ron and Hermione in the library with parchment and books spread across the table as Hermione worked, her quill scratching as she wrote. In the week since the Second Task, the whirlwind of questions and praise had slowed, due in no small part to Ron running interference as necessary when curious students got too pushy.
He had spent the time glued to his friends, ruminating on Madam Pomfrey's advice and doing his best to get back to normal. He found himself understanding Fleur's desire to see him after the First Task, to reassure herself that he was okay. Every time he saw her at one of the meals, he wanted to go up, to talk to her. But the sight of her helped push the reminder of her cold body from his mind.
He was shaken from his thoughts when a small gray owl landed on the table, skidding across a pile of Hermione's parchment as it came to stop. Ron let out a snort of laughter as Hermione shooed the bird to another spot on the table. It waddled over to Harry and offered up its leg.
Mr. Potter,
I apologize for not meeting you in person to make this request but I find moving through the castle onerous and difficult for reasons I'm sure Fleur has explained. I will be returning to France tomorrow, and I was hoping you would agree to meet us for dinner this evening at the Three Broomsticks. We will be there at seven.
I look forward to meeting you properly.
Yours,
Apolline Delacour
Harry folded the letter and tucked it into his robes. He bid a quick goodbye to his friends and left, trying not to notice their stares as he left.
XxX
They watched him go, both considering their departing friend.
"Something's eating him up," Ron said, startling Hermione.
"Well…yes," she said, caught too off-balance to offer a more intelligent reply.
He stared at her a moment, his blue eyes wide. "You know what it is."
She nodded, dropping her eyes to the table, preparing to reject his questions.
"I guess-" he said after a moment. "I guess he'll tell me if he wants to."
She blinked. "That's very mature of you, Ron."
"Well, it's like you said." He rubbed at his nose with his thumb. "It's not enough to want to be better. I have to actually be better, right?"
A burst of warm appreciation resounded in her chest at his words. She never thought he'd have taken her advice to heart so readily. She smiled at him and returned to her project. Sirens really were interesting creatures.
XxX
Harry trudged through the snow towards the Three Broomsticks, the cold evening air rushing by, stinging his exposed ears. He tugged the large cap down over his head, the worn elastic failing to keep it snug. He followed a seventh-year couple into the pub, a rush of warm air fogging his glasses as he stepped through the threshold.
"Mr. Potter!" Madam Rosmerta called, waving to him from behind the bar. "They're upstairs waiting for you. Second room."
He ignored the whispers that sprang to life around him as he passed occupied tables on his way to the stairs. At least now they sounded positive and speculatory.
He took the stairs two at a time, wiping his glasses on the front of his robes as he climbed. His stomach did nervous flips as he approached the door that held Fleur and her mother. He took in a deep breath and knocked.
The door swung open to reveal Fleur's mother, who beckoned him in with a welcoming wave of her hand.
"Come in, come in," she said, stepping aside to let him through.
The private room was small, with a single window opposite the door looking out onto the snow-covered roof of the building next door. To the right were two chairs sitting in front of a blazing fire. The added heat washed over him, and he pulled his outer cloak off and hung it on a peg next to the door. Fleur stood behind a chair at a small circular table and offered him a brief smile that only made it partway to her eyes. He frowned inwardly, then jumped when her mother placed a hand on his shoulder. She too frowned, then favored him with another wide smile.
"Please, join us," she said, holding a hand out to the table. "Sebastian asked me to offer his apologies. He wanted to meet you as well but his work often gets in the way."
"Fleur said he was the ambassador, Ma'am," Harry said, sitting down.
"Apolline is just fine, Harry," she said, taking a seat of her own with a smile. Her accent was less pronounced than her daughter's, leaving his name more complete. "Or Mrs. Delacour, if you must." Harry nodded his agreement, taking a quick bite of the food in front of him. "I see Fleur was truthful in telling me that you are immune to our allure."
He swallowed, sparing a glance over at Fleur who was staring pointedly at her mother. "Not completely, Ma'am…er, Mrs. Delacour."
"Well, you are a blank wall to me," she said with a smile. "My senses aren't nearly as sharp as Fleur's but if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were an Occlumens."
Harry shook his head, finishing his bite. "I don't even know what it is. I'm just…not usually affected."
Apolline nodded, taking a bite of her food. "Yes, she told me of your…unusual moment during the Ball." She grinned. "Be glad she told you when she did. The first time it happened with her father, who was an Occlumens even back then, I didn't say anything. It came out during an argument much later."
He looked over to Fleur who colored slightly at the comment and focused on the table.
Silence sat between them, the clink of silverware on plates the only sound to match the crackle of the fire.
"I suppose I should come out with it then," Apolline said, setting her fork down on her plate. She turned to face him fully. "Part of the reason I asked you here tonight was to properly thank you for what you did for my daughter. For us. Not only did you save her life but you returned it to her by releasing your well-earned debt. Thank you."
He sat, frozen, staring at the woman's open, honest expression. He could see Fleur in her earnest blue eyes.
Eyes that grew wide with panic. Begging. Frantic.
Slow in. Slow out.
"I couldn't do nothing," he said, clamping down on runaway thoughts with a grip strengthened by recent exercise.
"And I'm glad you didn't," she said. "But you deserve our thanks, and if there is anything we can do to repay you, you need only ask."
She shifted the conversation to less treacherous waters, talking of their home in France, Gabrielle's enthusiasm for school, and the beginning of a story about a much younger Fleur, which was promptly stopped by the person in question. He answered questions about himself as best he could, deflecting the ones about his family under his usual guise of, 'They don't like magic much.'
As the evening began to wear away, Apolline stood and excused herself, citing an early morning's return to France. She stood and donned a deep blue cloak before turning back to Harry.
"You should expect an invite to our home this summer," she said, pulling her garment tight around her.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," he said, staring at a point on the wall over her shoulder. "I'll be busy this summer."
"Perhaps on one of the holiday breaks then, during the year," she continued, undeterred. "Sebastian may very well drag you to France if you deny him for too long. You've made quite an impression, for obvious reasons, and Gabrielle thinks the world of you."
"Yes…Mrs. Delacour."
"I'll see you later, Fleur," she said.
"Goodnight, Maman."
The door closed behind her, leaving Harry and Fleur alone in the room. They sat in silence for a moment before Fleur spoke. "Could we…move to those chairs? It will be much warmer over there."
Harry nodded and moved across the room. He tossed another log on the fire before sitting in the chair on the right, while Fleur sat opposite.
She smoothed the front of her robe as she sat on the edge of her seat, crossing her ankles. "I need to thank you as well."
"You don't-"
"I do." Her tone was stern and final, her brilliant blue gaze even more so. "I would have died down there without you. What kind of person would I be if I did not thank you?"
"I just…you needed help," he said, shrugging.
She nodded, hair spilling over her shoulder with the motion. She sighed and bundled it up, this time tying it back with a black ribbon she pulled from a pocket.
"How are you?" she asked, pulling the bow tight. "I know it was no easy task for you to haul so many people from the bottom of that accursed lake."
"I'm fine," came his automatic answer. "How are you?" The question came more emphatically than he had planned. He hoped the firelight covered the heat he felt growing in his cheeks.
"I am…better," she said, a hand straying towards her throat.
After a moment, she frowned at him before relaxing back into her chair.
"I realized," she said, "that I have spent much of our time together talking about myself, and the things I can do. I have, very rudely, asked you little about yourself. What do you like to do, when not at Hogwarts?" she asked, offering a small, teasing smile. "Not saving people from dangerous situations, I hope."
He stilled, his hand finding its way to his arm where the basilisk fang had pierced him.
Her question came careful and slow. "Have you…had to save others before?"
He stopped rubbing his arm. In their time together, she had shared so much of herself and her experiences. She told him she could sense him and promised to let him know as soon as it happened again.
If it happened again.
In his lingering silence, she began to backtrack. "You do not have to tell me if you are uncomfortable."
He looked up to find an anxious expression staring back at him. A smile crept across his face, some of his own anxiety abating.
"I have," he said, the idea of volunteering information about himself feeling bizarre. "It was mostly luck though."
"How so?" she asked, intrigued.
"Well," he said, glancing out the dark windows. "How long have you got?"
"As long as it takes."
XxX
"You do realize this sounds insane, no?" Fleur interjected as he finished detailing the dying screams of an evil, sentient diary.
"Yeah," he said, deflating as the remnant adrenaline from the memories faded. He had been hoping she would believe him, though there was no denying how outlandish his claims sounded, even to his own ears. "I don't have any way to convince you, really. Besides taking you to the chamber."
"Oh," she said, her eyebrows rising in surprise. "I believe you. I worded that poorly. You have given me no reason to distrust you."
"Even I barely believe it," he said, sinking back into his chair. "And I was there."
"Well," she said, offering an apologetic smile as she tapped gently on her forehead. "It is not the only unbelievable thing about you. I think that makes it a little easier to accept."
"Still," he grumbled. "I wish I could prove it."
"You could swear an unbreakable vow that you are telling the truth," she said, waving the suggestion away the moment it left her lips. "The downside being that you would die were you being untruthful."
"I'll do it!"
"You do not need to, 'Arry," she said. "I do not actually trust you if I require proof."
He stared at her, her words echoing through his mind as though she had shouted them.
"Thanks," he finally managed. "For always believing me. Most don't."
"Your two friends do though, do they not?" she asked.
"Hermione does. Ron comes around eventually." She frowned at him, drawing her lips together into a line. "He does," Harry said with a laugh. "He's not that bad."
"I did not say he was," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"I know," he said. "It's just…you can be easy to read…sometimes. Easier than most people, anyway. Sorry." She arched an eyebrow at him and he felt the inexplicable need to explain. "It's not a bad thing! I just…most people…It's nice."
Fleur seemed to hesitate, one corner of her mouth curled into a mischievous smile. She let it fall and regarded him sincerely. "Why?"
"Lots of people are two-faced," he explained after a moment's thought. "Or they aren't, but the only one they've got is a bit of a bastard."
Fleur laughed and he felt his cheeks warm.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"Do not be sorry," she said. "It is true."
He felt the warmth travel down to his neck as his mouth spoke of its own prerogative. "That's why I like talking to you."
The pure, dazzling smile she offered him in return was a balm to soothe his lingering embarrassment.
XxX
Harry trod a familiar path through Hogwarts, turning down corridors and passing tapestries that he had seen uncountable times during his frequent trips to the library to find Hermione. Most of the time he didn't even bother checking the Marauder's Map for her whereabouts, but it wasn't often that he was the herald of a potential friendship.
"If she is the…good…one of your friends," Fleur had said at the end of their meeting, her distaste for Ron's actions early in the year lingering where Harry's had faded, "then I would like to meet her. If you think she will not mind…me." She had waved a hand over her face as she finished, a nervous frown wrinkling her brow.
He had assured her that Hermione would be happy to meet with her, though as he drew nearer to the library, he found himself growing more nervous than he had expected to be.
He found Hermione at her usual table at the center of the library. She was surrounded by books, as was her custom, but the stacks weren't as high as usual. He wandered up to see what she was working on. If it were an essay then at least half the table would be covered in research materials. He peeked over at the nearest stacks to see what she was reading. "Barrelbore's Guide to Sentient Magical Beings" and "The True and Accurate Accounts of Sirenum Scopuli" lay on top, each marked with half a dozen strips of colored paper for bookmarks.
"Hermione?" He asked, taking care not to be too loud, lest he surprise her. She nearly jumped out of her chair anyway.
"Harry! I didn't expect you." She glanced over her work and a familiar glint sparked in her eye. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask-"
"Before that," he interrupted, trying not to wince at the offended look on her face as she glared up at him for standing in the way of whatever she was researching. "Fleur asked me to see if you wanted to meet up with her one evening. She'd like to get to know you too."
"She-" Hermione gaped, then shifted her glare over to her small pile of books. "I do have some questions," she muttered. She turned back to him. "Did you know that Sirens and Veela-"
He held up his hands to stop her, earning him a look of confusion from his friend. "I think it's a little strange…to be able to read all about someone in a book before meeting them properly."
She flushed up to her roots and nodded, no doubt remembering their first interaction on the Hogwarts Express. He had read the books she mentioned eventually. Not a single one was accurate in the least.
She looked up at him, her hands clasped in her lap. "Are you going to be there too?"
He nodded, leaving Fleur's similar request unmentioned.
"You can use Hedwig to send her your reply. Trust me, it's easier than trying to track her down."
Hermione nodded, shutting her book with a resolute 'thump.' The front read; "The Collected Works of William Shakespeare, the Greatest Muggle Playwright of the 16th century."
"I'll send her the letter tonight."
XxX
The following week, Harry and Hermione walked in silence to the agreed-upon classroom, both lost in thought. Ron had taken the polite exclusion well, though Harry had noticed the falsity within his friend's answering smile. He rubbed his hands together as they passed one of the courtyards, the early March air still frigid as it blew. He picked up the pace, looking forward to the fire he knew would be blazing in the classroom when they arrived.
A flickering light beneath the door to their destination told him he had been right in his guess. Hermione stepped forward, squared her shoulders, and rapped lightly on the wooden door.
"Come in!" Fleur's answer came a few moments later, and a little too loud. Harry smiled inwardly. It seemed Hermione wasn't the only nervous one.
He followed Hermione inside to find three chairs arrayed near to the fireplace. One, he noticed, was quite a bit closer to the fireplace than the others. Fleur waved them closer, taking the warmest seat for herself.
"Hello," she said, glancing from Harry to Hermione. "Thank you for coming."
Hermione didn't answer right away, instead staring at Fleur in the flickering firelight for a moment, her eyes wide. She shook away whatever was bothering her and pasted a smile on her face. "Thanks for inviting me," she said.
Harry pulled his chair slightly away from the other two, content to watch one of his best friends learn about his newest one. His stomach did an uncomfortable flip. He hoped it went well.
"Of course," Fleur said with a deliberate nod. Her hair was tied back as it often was, her black ribbon tied loosely at the base of her neck. "Harry speaks quite highly of you. I thought it might be nice for us to meet and get to know one another." Hermione nodded, prompting Fleur to relax. She blew out a slow breath. "Harry has told you some of my situation? Of what it is like to be Veela?"
"Well, no. He's good at keeping secrets. He won't talk about someone's personal business like that." Fleur shot him a grateful smile while Hermione hesitated. "I did do a little research, though."
That caught Fleur's attention, though Harry saw no anger in her, only that intense curiosity of hers. "Oh? What did you find?"
"Surprisingly little. Most Veela seem to prefer heat to cold," she said, looking over to the nearby fire.
"A downside to having a fire affinity," Fleur said with a nod. "The colder winters here compared to home are torture."
Hermione stared at the fire, nodding slowly.
"Can you really throw fire when you're not...?" she asked, jumping as she spoke. Her eyes went wide but Fleur just smiled.
"I can," she answered, raising a steady hand. A roiling ball of bright orange flame leaped into existence above her palm.
Harry leaned back against the painful, pulsing heat that washed over him and Hermione scooted her chair away from the fireball.
"Doesn't it burn to be so close?" Hermione asked, wiping at her brow with her sleeve.
"It is my fire," Fleur said simply, waving her free hand through the flame. "It cannot hurt me."
She snuffed out the fireball and glanced over at Harry. He could see…something in her gaze but he wasn't sure what. He opted to smile back, which made her smile in return.
"Amazing," Hermione whispered, scooting her chair back to where it had been. "It's like your own personal wandless, non-verbal magic."
"Not exactly. It is as though there is a fire inside me, and I can draw from it. However, as with any fire, it needs fuel, so doing so is exhausting. If I have my wand to hand, I have no reason to use it."
"And they grow even larger after your transformation, right?" Hermione leaned forward in her chair.
"They do."
"Can you change whenever you want?"
"I can." Fleur allowed the unasked question to hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "But I will not. I am not a carnival animal for performing tricks."
"Of course not," Hermione answered, a little too quickly. "So…what do you like to do for fun?"
Fleur stared without speaking for a long moment.
"I like to read," she said after a time.
"Really?"
Harry smiled. He doubted Fleur could have chosen a more perfect hobby to mention.
"What do you like?" Hermione continued, her nerves fleeing from the familiar topic. "I really enjoy historical books about the magical world or biographies of famous witches and wizards."
"I prefer fiction over non-fiction."
"Oh, I enjoy fiction as well. Particularly mysteries. Do you have a favorite? I'm terrible at choosing mine."
Fleur smiled and tapped a finger on her chin. "I would probably have to choose… 'The Witch's Niece'."
"That one was quite good. An interesting re-imagining," Hermione said. "I thought the Chronos Circle was enjoyable, if a bit slow in the beginning."
Harry relaxed back in his chair as they delved into a world of books that he did not know. Even so, he found himself smiling as they traded titles and the nonsense names of characters that they loved. With each laugh and smile, he felt the specter of the Second Task falling further away from his mind. He made a game of trying to figure out how the names of the characters they were mentioning were spelled. He let out a contented sigh, enjoying the warmth of both the fire and his friends.
The evening wore on and eventually, Fleur had to call a stop to their conversation. Hermione talked excitedly all the way back to Gryffindor tower, mostly about books Harry had never even heard of. He bid her goodnight at the base of the stairs up to the dorms, walking quietly up the fourth-year rooms so as not to wake anyone already in bed.
Once settled, it wasn't long before he drifted into sleep, his thoughts wandering back to the pleasant conversation.
Dreams burst fitfully to life behind his eyelids, his thoughts recreating the room from earlier. Hermione and Fleur still sat by the fire, each one gesturing as they spoke.
It looked just as it had…but…
Rather than her black bow tied by her neck, Fleur was wearing an orange ribbon tied around her head that held her hair back away from her eyes. On the side, just above her ear, was a matching orange flower.
It was the flower that caught his eye.
It bloomed from a bud, its petals the same sunset orange as the ribbon. While most of the flower was vibrant ocher, the tips of the petals glowed a luminescent purple, pulsing gently as he stared.
A loud, melodious laugh from Fleur caught his attention and he was lost to the fiction of the dream.
XxX
"You've got to give me something, Dumbledore," Moody growled. "It's been months since Potter's name come out of the Goblet, and over half a year gone since the murders at the World Cup. Are you planning to sit around and wait for the worst?"
"Certainly not, Alastor," Dumbledore replied from where he stood behind his desk. "I am quite aware of the situation."
"And we've made no progress at all?" Sirius asked. A tall fire roared in the fireplace next to him and he held his bone-thin fingers out for warmth.
"We have, as yet, been unable to determine the motivation behind Harry's inclusion in the tournament."
"It's him," Moody spat. "He's on the move. I can feel it."
"We do not know for certain that Voldemort is the driving force at work behind Harry's predicament."
"You've got to be joking," Sirius interrupted, turning. The firelight hung off the sunken angles of his face. The steely glint in his eye shifted his visage into every inch the hardened criminal the Ministry claimed him to be. "Are you willing to bet Harry's life on it?"
Thunder flashed behind half-moons.
"Do not insult me, Sirius." There was no change in tone or inflection but Sirius felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Moody's rough chuckle made him jump.
"Theatrics aside, Potter's life is still on the line here, nefarious plot or no. We need to come up with some sort of plan. Even a bad one is better than none."
"I assume you mean your suggestion to place a tracking charm on Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
"It would help," Moody said with a shrug. "No denying that."
"It is the not insignificant invasion of privacy that concerns me. He is a very private individual. I doubt he would acquiesce to constant monitoring. Regardless, if the Death Eaters from the World Cup are behind this, they will be unable to harm him within Hogwarts."
"Like Voldemort couldn't?" Sirius growled, taking sadistic pleasure at the guilt that flashed where anger had lived moments before in Dumbledore's aged eyes. "I'm not against a trace on Harry, even if it is overly paranoid. I'll talk to him about it. If he says no, then we figure something else out. If nothing comes to us, we do it anyway."
A nod from Dumbledore and a less-than-polite grumble of assent from Moody were his answer.
"In equally frustrating news," Dumbledore continued, lowering himself into his chair. "Sebastian has yet to uncover anything to aid us with your mistrial, Sirius."
"I'll only be pardoned with Pettigrew or Veritaserum, and they'd have me kissed if I show up asking around for a truth potion."
"Bureaucratic bastards the lot of em," Moody said. "If there's nothing else, I'm off to stalk Karkaroff. He's been too good lately, like he's trying to be on his best behavior. It's suspicious."
"Please do not antagonize Igor any more than necessary, however, I will not attempt to dissuade you any further than that," Dumbledore said before turning to Sirius. "We'll keep working on this. I have others out searching for word of Peter. We think he may be back in the country, though we are unsure where. We will get you your freedom as soon as we can."
Sirius nodded from his chair, hope burning a feeble flame in his chest. So long as he could help Harry, he'd be happy.