Wind and light rushed past; a disorienting mess of nauseating tumult that he could only beg to stop. The hook in his stomach dragged him through the maelstrom, relenting only to deposit him onto rocky earth. His back hit first, driving the wind from his lungs.
He blinked up at the sky, the spots in his vision resolving into stars between the branches of a spindly tree. A groan from his left told him Fleur hadn't landed any more gracefully at their destination…wherever that was.
He sat up, forcing himself to breathe the musty, dirt-filled air. Fleur followed suit, her exhausted blue eyes sweeping across the moon-lit graveyard around them.
"There is more?" she asked, her voice a whisper. "In a… cimetière ?"
"I don't…" He hesitated, a painful throb bursting to life in his head. He pushed it away, rising to his feet. The throb became a stab that burst anew with each heartbeat. "Something's wrong."
The air lay solemn around them, leaving the chirps and scrapes of the twilight animals to his rampant, fatalistic imagination. He spun at a hollow thunk in the near distance to find the cup resting against the base of a gravestone. He heard a rustle of fabric behind him and whirled, wand aloft.
"Something is wrong," an accented, familiar voice said from inside a cavernous hood. Shadow draped the face, leaving nothing exposed. They held their arm up to match Harry's, an almost black, reedy wand held in his hand. "There are two of them!"
A heartbeat of silence. " Kill the spare ."
Harry's blood ran cold while his forehead became white-hot agony. That voice…
He stumbled to the side, putting himself between Fleur and the man in the dark robe.
If it was him they wanted, they wouldn't risk hitting him with a stray killing curse. Would they?
He ignored the shaking hand on his shoulder and blinked away stinging tears of pain.
"She is weakened," the man said, his voice shifting down to something coarse; harsh. It chilled Harry's bones until they creaked beneath the increasing pressure of Fleur's hand, her nails digging into his skin through his shirt. "We could capture her instead. Imagine it, Barty…"
Before the horrible snake-like voice of before could speak, Harry stepped into motion. Moody's words rumbling through the pain in his head.
' If you react, you lose, whether you're fighting beast or man. Be proactive and dictate the engagement.'
" Expelliarmus!" The burst of scarlet lit the hill, streaking towards the figure. He grabbed Fleur's hand from his shoulder and spun. If they could get behind a gravestone…
" You fool!" the voice hissed from the darkness around them.
There was a shout from his right and his leg locked beneath him, the rest of his body following suit. His momentum carried him to the ground, his immobile hand dragging Fleur down beside him.
She hit with another grunt, pulling with feeble, exhausted attempts to free her hand from his. She dug at her right pocket with her off-hand, fumbling for her wand. Ropes sprang into existence in the air above them and snaked their way around his body, pinning his arms to his sides and wrapping around his middle. They cinched themselves tighter with a final twitch.
Fleur's pulls at his hand became frantic, her nails scratching him as she fought to get free. She whimpered unintelligible words, her voice breaking with strain as she struggled. He strained against the spell, willing his hand to let her go, so she could run.
A shadow blocked the moonlight.
Fleur began to scream.
It was not the fury-filled shriek of the duel nor of frightened surprise. It was of terror. Of primal agony torn free. Fear harmonized in his chest, dousing him in a cold sweat.
" Silencio ," the man snarled.
Her screams vanished and she thrashed beside him, her feet flailing against the ground.
The man turned as his companion approached, wand still in hand. "Well well, Igor. You almost ruined all your hard work with your banal desires."
Karkaroff let out a grunt but was interrupted by a furious hiss. " Enough. We do not know how much time we have. If we fail tonight, it will be one of your bodies I take. "
Without further debate, they lifted Harry into the air with a twist of their wands, Fleur's thrashing body rising alongside. He twisted in the air, his body still locked mid-run. He revolved until he spotted Pettigrew and a horrible misshapen form held in trembling arms.
" Here we are again, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, directing Pettigrew with a thin, pointed finger.
The squat man turned and led them on a winding path, passing gloom-covered gravestones with dusty tops glinting in the moonlight. Mausoleums followed, their walls strangled by vines that climbed to their roofs.
They stopped at a makeshift clearing where remnant stone bases and rubble gathered at the edges, the grass flattened by heavy, frequent footfalls. A cauldron full of a simmering white liquid sat prominently in the middle, its tall, polished sides reflecting the glint of the moon. Smoke poured from a steady fire beneath, the acrid stench of it coating his nose and throat. Coughs caught in his chest, his ribs refusing to expand enough for the reflexive motion.
They were dropped in front of two gravestones along the edge of the clearing. The ropes around his middle coiled and shifted, twisting as they reached for the marble memorial behind him. His side scraped the ground as he was pulled against the stone, then lifted upright. The ropes cinched tighter, driving the air from his lungs. Barty stopped in front of him, a wand that was shorter and the same color as his own pointed at his chest. With a mutter, the body-bind curse broke.
He began to cough, the tickle of smoke long since transformed into a painful burn. Fleur was bound to the stone marker next to him, her feeble protests still silent. Hair, that on any other day would shine in the sliver of moonlight above, pulled taut with the frantic motions of her head, its length slick with sweat and pinned behind her. It pulled at her head as she rebelled against the entrapment with the little strength she had left.
Tears and sweat tracked paths down her dirty face as she raged in utter, torturous silence.
" Get on with it , " Voldemort hissed.
Pettigrew and the robed figure in front of Harry moved to the cauldron while Karkaroff stepped to the side, wand pointed at Fleur and Harry. Barty stoked the fire with a wave of his arm and stood behind the cauldron, his arm raised towards them.
"Bones of the father, unknowingly given."
The ground beneath Harry shuddered and cracked, leaving his ears ringing. A fine white powder floated up from the unknowable depths below, trailing a dry rotten stench behind. It streamed into the cauldron, turning the contents a deep, lightless black. Barty stepped around and pulled an ornate knife from the depths of his robes and removed his mask, sliding it into a pocket along with his wand.
"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken."
Fleur kicked against the gravestone, her voice bound by its own magical ropes. Barty's manic gaze slipped to her, the grin flashing into boiling hatred. He focused on Harry, raising the blade. The metal brushed Harry's cheek, the tip cool against his skin. A quick pull left a swath of stinging pain that Harry packaged away. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
"So brave," Barty mocked, dragging the blade up Harry's cheek to catch the blood that flowed from the wound.
He carried it back to the cauldron and let a drop of the crimson liquid fall inside. The potion stopped boiling, instead giving off a scarlet mist that flowed over the iron lip and cascaded across the grass.
"Flesh of the servant, willingly given."
The bloody blade sliced the air, bisecting his wrist. The hand splashed into the potion, mist coiling in on itself with the disturbance. He stared at Harry as he stepped away from the cauldron to make room for Pettigrew. He cradled his bloody stump against his stomach and let the knife fall to the ground.
Without a word, Pettigrew dropped Voldemort's horrible miniature body into the churning mists, the small form hitting with a sickening splash. The liquid reacted with ferocious violence. It spit and sparked, throwing a roiling mass of smoke and mist high into the air. The column of particulate and vapor thickened and grew, lifting to vanish into the night.
A metallic crack heralded the final burst of smoke and the cauldron split, falling to either side and revealing a crouched form hidden within. He rose to his feet, stepped onto the grass, and held out his arms. Pettigrew shuffled forward and draped black robes over Voldemort's pale, bald head.
Harry saw only pulsing, dangerous red eyes.
The man who had denied him his parents, a life of happiness he deserved. The man who, on a whim, consigned him to a torturous existence with the Dursleys.
He strained against the bonds holding him, pushing against the gravestone with his feet. The ropes bit into his skin and strangled the air from his lungs.
"Such spirit," Voldemort said, a lipless grin adorning inhuman features. He held a thin hand out to Pettigrew, who placed a wand of light-blond wood into the waiting palm.
"Your reward," he said, addressing Barty, who had gone pale but still stood upright and proud.
A sinuous line of silver leaked from the tip of Voldemort's wand. It floated towards Barty, who extended the stump, arm shaking. A glinting silver hand formed from the base, the silver twisting in on itself until it had formed the tip of the final digit.
"Thank you, my Lord."
Voldemort nodded and turned to Harry. He strode across the grass, black robes fluttering in a warm breeze. He stopped less than a handsbreadth away, close enough for his breath to cool the sweat on Harry's face. Slitted pupils searched him, scrutinizing every facet of his face. They fell upon the scar and a sneer curled the corner of his mouth.
"A mere babe," Voldemort said, his voice subdued; a near-whisper meant only for Harry. "Magic that brought down the greatest wizard of an era. So many have fallen before my might, but you…you survive?"
He lifted a hand and placed a finger on the throbbing scar on Harry's forehead. Searing pain lanced through his skin like a brand. Tears of pain sprung to his eyes and he clamped down on the groan that built in his chest.
"Now you burn at my touch," said Voldemort.
He turned around and motioned Karkaroff forward with a wave of his free hand. The tall man stepped forward and proffered his arm to his master. Voldemort pressed his wand to the Dark Mark and looked up into the night, patient.
"We shall discover who is loyal," he said, banishing the split cauldron with a flick of his wand to impact against a gravestone.
Harry glanced over to Fleur, who panted, pushing against her bonds, her movements weak and jerky. Wide, frightened blue eyes were locked on Voldemort's back as the dark wizard stared to the sky.
"They come."
An announcement and a snarl mixed into one.
Robed forms with silver masks popped into existence, scattered cracks as more than a dozen figures appeared in a semicircle around Voldemort, who stood stoic in the middle of the clearing. Voldemort surveyed his followers with a slow turn of his head once the echoes of apparition had faded.
"My…loyal Death Eaters," he said.
A murmur of agreement swept through the group, a few bowing to their Lord. A vicious shout from Voldemort sent a wave of purple curses sailing into the sky over the Death Eater's heads.
"Only four are loyal!" he sneered, his words an insult tossed at their feet.
"The Lestranges, in Azkaban, Barty Crouch, and Igor Karkaroff!" He held his hands out to gesture to the two men who straightened with the praise. Pettigrew twitched where he stood next to Crouch, but stayed silent. "These two have done what none of you tried to do! You live free, prosperous, complacent, while I endured agony as a phantom. By renouncing your oaths and years of service to me, you gained comfort."
He strode forward to one of the robed figures and jerked the mask from their face.
"Isn't that right, Lucius?" he hissed into the pale face of the elder Malfoy.
"M-my Lord," he stammered. "I used the item you entrusted to me as instructed. I attempted to return you to life."
Voldemort thrust the mask into Lucius's stomach with a growl.
"You did. Eleven years after my disappearance, and even then only after I was forced to make an attempt on my own." He glared at the other Death Eaters as he turned. "We will discuss…lapses in loyalty at a later date. For tonight-" He stopped turning to face Harry and Fleur. "Tonight I will prove that no wizard is greater than I. His wand, Igor."
Karkaroff pulled Harry's wand from his robe and tossed it at Harry's feet. The length of wood rolled to a stop just at the edge of the crack that exposed the grave below. With a lazy flick of Voldemort's wand, Harry's bonds fell away, dropping him onto his hands and knees. Cool grass brushed against his hands and he scrambled to grab his wand.
"On your feet," Voldemort said, walking to the middle of the clearing. "We will duel, and you will die. Then there will be an end to the one who defeated the Dark Lord."
Chuckles erupted from the Death Eaters as Harry stood, wand in hand. He let his arm fall to his side. There would be no fighting him properly. The only thing he could do was deny the bastard his satisfaction.
"I won't." A calm settled over him as he spoke. He'd grasped for control his entire life, a smoky shape that never coalesced between his fingers. To find that control at his death brought a measure of peace.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed and his mouth drew into a line.
"We shall see. Crucio !"
Molten metal coursed through Harry's veins, pumping into his muscles and skin with each heartbeat. The ground rose to meet him, each blade of grass a needle that punctured through to bone. Eardrums burst with the deafening roar vibrating through the air around him. The wind pressed sandpaper across his skin and his sweat burned trails of fire. Time stretched through his body, each convulsion and scream endless agony.
Every thought stabbed at his skull with pointed knives. He tried to push the pain away -to put it in the box as he had always done- but every new moment spun into being with violent intensity surpassing the last.
His screams tore at his throat and set fire to his lungs.
Once the agony had all but stripped him of sense, the spell ebbed away. He convulsed on the ground, each brush of grass a razer's touch.
"Shall we duel?" Voldemort's voice drifted to him, unintelligible through the embers coursing through his body.
Harry forced himself up on one arm, his raw nerves screaming protests with each movement. He made to stand but his legs gave way, leaving him on his knees. Glaring at Voldemort through watery vision, he shook his head.
Voldemort's eerie smile grew and he stepped forward.
"I was hoping you would resist."
He loomed over his captives, Harry staring up at the serpentine features while Fleur still pushed against her bonds, silent tears coursing down her cheeks. Voldemort stared down at Harry, then slowly shifted his gaze over to Fleur, who stilled.
"Let's switch tactics, shall we?"
Another swipe of his wand cut Fleur free, dropping her to the ground. She landed in a heap, arms too weak to catch her. Silver hair spilled out beneath her as she pushed herself up.
Harry had barely a moment to stare into frightened blue eyes before Voldemort spoke again.
" Crucio ."
Fleur spasmed and fell to the ground, her mouth opened in a soundless scream. Her face contorted with the agony whose memory still pulsed through Harry's veins. He forced his arms to move, reaching towards her, mouth open to accept the duel.
Voldemort flicked his wand and Harry's body refused to move. The body-bind locked him in place, unable to look away from the misery Fleur endured.
"That won't do," Voldemort said, twisting his wand in the air causing Fleur to arch her back. He waved a hand over her, shattering the silencing charm.
Her screams filled the graveyard. Wet and shrill, they chilled Harry through the curse that held him powerless in front of her. She bucked against the ground, her head and back creating percussive staccato in her agonized shrieks. Hot tears fell from unblinking eyes as Voldemort sliced his wand through the air, finally ending the accursed spell. She fell to the ground trembling, her breath ragged and shallow.
"So you see," Voldemort said, turning back to Harry. "When you resist, people suffer." The body-bind lifted with a wave of his hand, and he walked back to the center of the clearing.
Harry struggled to his feet, tearing his eyes away from the prone form of his friend. Voldemort turned to face him, eyes alight with malicious glee.
"Once again, we duel." He bowed to Harry, his eyes never blinking, never moving.
A gong reverberated through the graveyard. The Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably and Voldemort straightened, expression thunderous.
"My Lord," Barty said, stepping forward. "The temporary ward. The keystone won't hold long against a concentrated effort."
"I know," Voldemort spat. He lifted his wand to point at Harry. "We have run out of time. Raise your wand. We begin."
Harry bent to pick his wand from the grass where it had fallen during his convulsions. Flayed muscles and shattered bones screamed at him to stop but it grew easier to put away the pain. He straightened, wand in hand. Someone was coming for them. He only had to survive for a few minutes. They'd come back and break that keystone.
And they'd have to beat the resurrected Dark Lord. And he had to survive the whole time.
Ice flooded him, the certainty of death a surprising balm to the remnant fire of the Cruciatus. His arm steadied as he raised it. The longer he survived, the more likely it was that the Death Eaters wouldn't escape with Fleur.
He could do that. So long as he didn't drop to the first spell, he could be bait.
"Begin!" Voldemort thrust his wand forward, cutting a jagged swath through the air. " Avada Kedavra!"
Harry dove to the side, his shoulder taking the brunt of a failed roll. The gravestone he was standing in front of exploded into shards that peppered bruises onto his skin.
Rocks and dirt tore a body still raw from torture as he scrambled behind a nearby marble column. He peeked around the edge and sent pale red stunners towards the fuming dark wizard.
"Stand up and face me!" Voldemort roared.
The air around Harry lifted him into the air and set him back on his feet in front of his enemy.
Harry gripped his wand, his fingers screaming for relief from the pressure. He could collapse. Let the spell fly overhead and…
And…
Do what?
" Avada Ked- "
A blinding flash of warm golden light interrupted the curse, followed by familiar crooning that soothed the aches resting in Harry's bones. He blinked away the spots from his vision to find mayhem unfolding in front of him.
Cackling rugged laughter filled the air while the chaotic mass of Death Eaters scrambled for cover. Shouts of pain and surprise filtered through the laughter along with panicked bursts of, "It's Mad-Eye!"
In the center of the chaos, Voldemort stood unmoving, his wand still held aloft, pointing at the serene visage standing before him.
"Tom."
Voldemort's hand lowered to his side.
"Dumbledore."
Flashes of spells lit the graveyard behind Voldemort, the Death Eaters having scattered for cover. The stone memorials lifted from the ground in front of a lone stocky figure, tossed forward and shattered against their hiding places.
A stream of spells spewed from Moody's wand, most impacting the environment around him to incredible effect. A rolling disaster of stone and earth pushed towards the hunkering Death Eaters, obscuring vibrant spells that toppled them one-by-one.
They returned in kind, gravestones and statues tearing from their bases and shooting towards Moody. With an overloud crack, he vanished. Fire burst to life behind the Death Eaters, and another crack resounded through the night air.
Neither Voldemort nor Dumbledore made to begin the duel, both staring at their opponent, unmoving.
Harry broke from his stupor and moved to Fleur, who struggled to sit up against one of the gravestones. Off to the side of the clearing, where Crouch and Pettigrew had been standing, Harry spied a massive black dog vanishing into the maze of gravestones, nose to the ground.
The fire behind Voldemort leapt at the Death Eaters while another crack sounded somewhere in the near distance. Disembodied laughter rolled through the pandemonium.
In a sudden instant, as though an invisible hourglass had released its final grain of sand, the titans burst into motion.
Voldemort threw a barrage of vivid green curses spiraling towards Dumbledore, a sickly pink one following in their wake.
With a complex curve and subsequent thrust of Dumbledore's wand to the ground, the grass lifted between them, enveloping the spells in an earthy maw. It burst apart in a flash of blinding white light. A cluster of rocks that had been flung into the air crashed together, molding together like liquid upon impact.
They glinted a steely black and sliced through the air, then transformed into a fine gray mist with a twist of Dumbledore's wand.
Red and green curses spilled from the blur that was Voldemort's arm, each impacted in midair by Dumbledore's ripostes. Crackling ozone filled the graveyard as the spells burst apart in showers of mingling liquid energy, the deep bass rumble of thunder growing headier with each colliding spell.
The Death Eaters had spread apart, each searching the area nearby for Moody, who would pop into existence with a flurry of spells, only to vanish a moment later. Shimmering shields stood in front of most of them, their heads swiveling for signs of the ex-Auror. Rogue spells from the duel in the center impacted gravestones and statues, reducing them to explosive rubble. The figure of a now single-winged angel toppled from its high platform onto an unsuspecting Death Eater, hitting with a muted thud.
Harry scooted closer to Fleur and raised his wand in front of them.
" Protego ." A shield of his own sprang into existence, curling around him until it closed against the gravestone that had held her captive.
A thunderclap split the air and tendrils of arcing blue lightning streaked through the ground toward Voldemort. He shifted to the side with a snarl, stumbling back. Dumbledore took a step forward, spells cast with each deft movement of his arm. Every twitch and turn sent another vibrant burst of light streaking towards the off-balance Dark Lord. An orange spell found purchase, grazing the side of Voldemort's head, leaving a bright blistering burn in its wake. Red welts boiled up, marring his unnatural too-smooth skin.
With a sharp cry of fury, a shield coalesced in front of him, catching the rest of Dumbledore's spells on its surface. He thrust his wand skyward, the deafening sound of breaking glass accompanying the falling wards. He twisted on the spot with a crack, a final volley of blood-red curses spewing from the spot he had been standing.
The potent spells shot through the air, one bursting apart against Harry's shield, the light diffusing over the surface. Three Death Eaters fell to the curses while the rest followed their master with simultaneous cracks of disapparition.
Dumbledore sagged as the last echoes of their flight dwindled away. He surveyed what was left of the graveyard around them, then turned to face Harry.
"Sirius! Alastor!" he called as he moved forward, stepping over one of the scorched trenches gouged in the ground by the lightning.
He knelt in front of Harry and Fleur, tired eyes checking them over. The shield had protected them from the spell but had done nothing for the earthen particulate the duel had flung into the air. Fleur lay with her back against the gravestone, hair trapped beneath her. Dust clung to her sweaty skin, streaked with tears and perspiration. Harry crouched in front of her, wand still clutched in a white-knuckled grip.
Sirius appeared around a nearby half-collapsed mausoleum, a limp brown animal clutched in a bony hand.
"I got him," he said, baring yellowed teeth at the rat. "I got the bastard. After all these years…" he trailed off, his manic gaze settling on Harry. He frowned.
Dumbledore nodded and turned his attention back to the two on the ground.
"Are you hurt? Can you stand?"
As if in response to the question, Harry's legs gave out, the painful tremors from the Cruciatus stealing the adrenal strength that had kept him upright in his crouched position. Exhaustion filled the gaps not occupied by leftover stabbing pains. Fleur groaned behind him, her head thudding against the gravestone.
"She transformed," he croaked, his voice wet and shredded from screaming. "She was exhausted even before he…"
An involuntary shudder seized his body, her screams ringing in his ears, his own pain flaring to life in response.
"You will both be treated upon your return," Dumbledore replied. "Sirius, you and I will stay to secure the Death Eaters still living, if Alastor left any. We must also try to…locate him."
Sirius grimaced, his gaze sweeping across the wanton destruction and a small humorless smile flitted across his face.
"Well, he'd have been hacked off if he'd gone out any other way. But still, I hope he's alive."
Harry's heart sank. Moody had likely been killed coming to save him. Killed following the tracker Harry had agreed to. Fleur stirred behind him, slowly raising herself into an upright position from where she had slumped. She drew her knees to her chest, each movement eliciting a wince.
His spiraling thoughts slowed, memories of Karkaroff's heinous suggestions surfacing in his muddled thoughts. If it hadn't been for the rescue, he'd be dead, and she would have endured much worse.
He got his arms under him, pushing away the lancing pain that followed the movement. He rose onto unsteady feet, fists clenched, his wand digging a groove into his palm. Sirius stepped closer, tender concern pulling years from his visage. He wrapped his free hand around Harry's shoulders, sending a painful shudder rolling through Harry's body at the contact.
"It'll be okay," Sirius said, squeezing Harry's shoulder. "He's gone."
"The Cruciatus," Fleur whispered, voice raspy.
"The Cruciatus!?" Sirius echoed in surprise, his rough grip on Harry's shoulder loosening. "It'll linger for a while. You need to rest."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said, rising from where he had knelt. He gestured to the ground next to Fleur. "Please, sit. I will have Fawkes take you and Miss Delacour back to Hogwarts. Poppy can help you get some rest." He helped Sirius lower Harry to the ground next to Fleur, his back against the cool stone.
He settled, letting out a long breath. Fleur shuffled to the side, leaning over so she could lay her head on his shoulder. Her cheek was cool and her hair brushed against his neck. What little energy remained in him fled, leaving him empty, exhausted, and ever so slightly relaxed. His hand moved slowly, trying to refuse his command.
As his eyelids grew ponderous, he saw Fawkes' brilliant red plumage flutter through the air. The phoenix alighted upon his knee. Of their own accord, his eyes closed but couldn't block out the flash as they were whisked from the graveyard by the warm, comforting light.
Instantaneously, Fawkes deposited him onto a firm but comfortable surface. The familiar creak of a door pulled him back from the brink of unconsciousness and the rapid bustle of feet made him open his eyes to the relative darkness of the hospital wing.
"Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey's voice came from a great distance as he forced himself up, tremors crawling through his legs and arms.
"We-" he tried, the word failing against the ragged wet pain in his throat.
The matron stopped at the end of the bed, critical eyes tracing across his body and Fleur's twitching unconscious form next to him. "The Beauxbatons Champion? Mr. Potter, what happened?"
He was spared the agony of a vocal answer by a shining burst of light through one of the windows on the far wall. A radiant silver phoenix landed on the bed next to them and scanned the room. Once finished, it fixed its gaze on Madam Pomfrey and spoke with Dumbledore's voice through a closed beak.
"Poppy, these two have suffered under the effects of the Cruciatus. I can give you more information once I return. I leave them in your capable hands."
With a face as white as the hospital robes she wore, Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand at the cabinet that held her restorative potions and summoned two to her waiting hand.
"Tilt your head back," she said, voice so soft it didn't echo through the painful caverns of his ears. She tilted the bottle just above his lips so it didn't touch, and poured. "Drink in big gulps. They will hurt the same as small ones, but you will have to endure fewer. This will help you sleep while the magic dissipates. It won't be restful sleep but you won't have to endure the after-effects of that horrible curse."
She lifted Fleur from the bed with a flick of her wand, her cool body still a welcome presence, even through the painful contact. He felt his eyes grow heavier, a brief sensation of falling, then-
Nothing.
XxX
Sirius kicked at one of the boots of a dead Death Eater, a pale grimace flitting across his face. "Kind of Voldemort to get a few for us."
"Indeed." Dumbledore pulled another hood from a shadowed face and let out a long, tired sigh. "The blood-boiling curse is a horrible way to go. I expect the ones dispatched by Alastor should be grateful."
Sirius looked to where they had placed Moody's bloody and battered body, his head resting atop a folded set of Death Eaters' robes. "I'll bet he'll gripe about not getting more when he wakes up."
"He's lucky to be complaining about anything," Dumbledore said, pulling the last hood up with a twitch of his hand.
Sirius let out a low whistle at the sight of the exposed face. "Can't say I'm sorry to see that one gone. He always was a complete bastard, even back when he and Cissy were dating."
"Even with his heinous actions, he was still a father and we should treat that loss with its due respect. Many students have lost parents tonight and such a loss can be a pivotal point in a young person's life." Dumbledore stood from the elder Malfoy's body and examined the half-dozen corpses arrayed in front of them. "We have quite a lot of work to do. First of which being your rapid reinstatement. If we are going to convince the Wizengamot to declare war, having your house's backing will make the process far easier."
"If you say so," Sirius said, staring down at the stunned rat in his hand. "I say we give them the memories and be done with it."
"We will, but mobilizing the entire Ministry -ideally the ICW as well- will take a tremendous amount of evidence. Not simply the words of a man at odds with the Minister."
"Fudge is at odds with everyone who's not lining his pockets. The corrupt bastard didn't even try to have me retried."
"That is why we must do things properly. This is too important to allow Cornelius his petty squabbles."
Sirius handed Pettigrew over to Dumbledore, shadowed eyes never leaving the rat. "I'd better not be here when the Aurors and DMLE arrive." At Dumbledore's nod, he shrank and twisted into the great black grim and padded off to hide among the graves.
XxX
Harry blinked bleary unfocused eyes up at the ceiling of the hospital wing. Light spilled into the space through the windows, illuminating the vague shapes of the rafters with the morning sun. Or was it the evening sun?
He sat up to find his covers kicked down around his feet and his clothes replaced with a soft set of hospital robes. He yearned to place his head back on his pillow, to sleep for however many days he could get away with. The tremors and aches that had accompanied the Cruciatus had left, leaving bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. He fumbled at his nightstand for his glasses, the sound cutting a nearby hushed conversation to a stop. He put his glasses on in time to see Dumbledore sit carefully at the end of his bed.
"Hello, Harry," he said. "How are you feeling?"
"Better, Sir. Still tired, though."
"I am exceedingly glad to hear it."
Harry sat up straighter, clear thought blooming through the fog of exhaustion.
"Fleur?"
Dumbledore smiled at him, the edges of his eyes wrinkling. He stood and pulled aside the barrier between his bed and the one next to it to reveal Fleur.
Harry sagged in relief to find her covers rising and falling with the deep breaths of sleep, though her arms and legs still gave an occasional twitch. Her hair was spread out next to her, cleaned of the bits of grass and rubble that had caught in its length during Dumbledore's duel with-
"Voldemort." He found the word escaping him even as the thought barreled through his mind.
Dumbledore returned to his seat at the end of Harry's bed and nodded.
"And Moody!"
To his incredible relief, Dumbledore shook his head with a smile. "Alastor is recovering in St. Mungos. It is a testament to his considerable skill that he survived that night."
"Sirius?"
"I am pleased to say that the capture of Peter Pettigrew will ensure that we can find justice for Sirius. Miss Delacour's father is doing us a special favor and keeping an eye on the situation as a representative of the ICW in addition to his duties as Ambassador. There will be no unjust sham-trials this time. You have my word."
"When will he be free?" Hope bloomed through his sluggish thoughts. If it happened fast, he wouldn't have to see his Uncle after running away. Even a reduced sentence at the Dursleys would be a miracle worth waiting for.
"It is hard to say. The Ministry is reluctant to admit to an error, though they will have no choice in the end. Conservatively I would expect it to be near to the end of the summer."
The world darkened around Harry as Dumbledore spoke. The uncertainty of a mad dark wizard was somehow less oppressive than the certainty that came with his Uncle's rage.
How long did he have left? Had he survived Voldemort simply to be thrust back into a different sort of pain and hatred?
"Sir-"
"You need to rest, Harry," Dumbledore said, lifting the covers up to Harry's chest. "You've been unconscious for days but you were not afforded the relaxation of sleep while your body pushed out the remnants of Voldemort's spell. Rest assured that I will do everything in my considerable power to see Sirius freed as soon as possible. Perhaps you might have the opportunity to visit once it is all over."
No matter how he pushed against the anxiety that crept into his chest and the intrusive thoughts of his relatives, sleep took him anyway.
XxX
Harry was jerked awake by a light prod on his shoulder.
His hands scrambled around him. It was somewhere in the grass nearby. Soft earth met his probing hands, his wand nowhere to be found. Fleur's screams echoed in his mind as Voldemort twisted his chalk-white wand with a snarl.
He had to do something. Anything. Anything but continuing to sit, paralyzed.
"'Arry," Fleur's voice said through her screams. A warm hand on his chin brought the world around him into existence as she pushed his head gently up. "Look at me."
He blinked at her fuzzy outline, unable to distinguish much more than the shine of her hair in the light, and the general shape of her face. The familiar touch of her accent on his name brought a slight smile through the fading gloom.
"Fleur?"
"Your glasses," she said, placing them into one of his hands and letting her hand fall from his chin.
"Thanks."
"I woke up in a similar state," she said, her hands clasped in her lap. She sat next to him on the bed, wearing a similar white robe to the one he had been dressed in. "That was…" she hesitated, rubbing her upper arms with her hands. "That really happened. With Voldemort?"
He could only nod.
"It is not the first time you dealt with him, no? Your story is well known, even in France. The hatred he so clearly held for you…" she shuddered.
He shook his head.
"The Chamber wasn't even the first time."
"I would like to hear more," she said, a weak smile flitting across her lips. "But…some other time. There is plenty to deal with in the present, if any of your other stories from the past are comparable to the first."
He felt his spirits bolster a little at her words. He would have expected her to hate him for dragging her into the mess he always found himself in with Voldemort. Before he could say anything, she barreled on, her hands wringing the ends of her hair.
"I-I want to talk to you about a few things," she said, accent thick for her rapid nervous speech. "I know you have just woken up and I can wait if you prefer, but in the time we have gotten to know each other, I have seen that you do not often share your thoughts or feelings."
He sat up straight, alert. He couldn't say she was wrong but there was nothing wrong with being a private person. There was so little he could keep back from others of himself. The entire wizarding world had known his name when he'd been called 'worthless' instead and had known his history when he had known nothing of his origin.
There was nothing wrong with keeping things back. Just for him.
"And that is okay!" she said, hands bobbing in a placating gesture. "It is just…I am being selfish again." She muttered to herself in French, then fixed him with a solid, determined stare. "I would ask you how you felt about…about…" she made vague gestures in front of her face, before letting her hands fall to her lap. "About that…thing that you saw in the maze."
"Your transformation?" he asked, frowning. A violent twitch preceded a flush that bloomed across her face and neck. Her gaze fell to the floor and she nodded. "It was…pretty cool," he said, thinking back. He had been curious since Hermione had brought it up. He had been too far from the Veela on the field at the World Cup to get a good look.
"Pretty cool?" she echoed, turning an incredulous stare on him. "I turn into a rampant monstrous creature, and you think it is 'pretty cool?'"
"Well," he said, shifting positions while he searched for the words. "It didn't seem monstrous to me. I think it's cool to be able to change. My dad was an animagus, so I'm a little jealous. Besides, you still…seemed like you."
She stared at him, her usually open expression unreadable. After a moment, she smiled at him. "Thank you. My parents asked me to once again extend the invitation to our home. Father was beside himself that he has yet to meet you properly."
Harry stared down at his blankets and shook his head. "I can't," he said.
"You will still be welcome at Christmas," she said. "Until then, perhaps we could write to each other? I will be leaving this afternoon. My parents are speaking with your headmaster right now."
His heart ached as he shook his head again. "My relatives…"
"Do not like magic," she finished for him. "I remember." She tapped a finger on her chin and smiled. "What about the muggle post? I am sure it will take longer for letters to get from England to France with that method, especially compared to your lovely owl, but it is better than nothing, is it not?"
He hesitated, quelling the impulse to deny the possibility. Getting the mail was one of his morning chores. It could work.
"Yeah," he said, nodding slowly. "That should be fine."
Her answering smile lit her face with excitement. "I have never had someone to write to that was not family. I am looking forward to this." She rose from his bedside and brushed at her white robe. "Please, owl me your address before you leave Hogwarts? I will forget if you tell me now."
He nodded, the oppressive specter of his uncle a little fainter for her luminous smile.