Harry had never said anything to Griphook or anyone else about his reconnection with Fleur. It was partly because he had no interest in sharing her, however ridiculous that sounded – even to him. Their friendship was forged from something that made them both unique individuals. His was Voldemort's accident at his birth. Hers was what she was born as. Half-blood and half Veela strolled down the street in the late afternoon sun, struggling to burn through the smog of London. "Harry Potter," she said by way of greeting, "You said you would owl," she hesitated, "I honestly did not think that you would."
"I try to keep my word," he said easily, reading the unease in her eyes, "and forgive the mistakes that friends make, especially when they don't know the whole truth."
She relaxed, "so where would we be going this afternoon? Ice cream, coffee, and then dinner?" the French lilt was perhaps the most attractive thing about just her voice, but then, the rest of her was definitely attractive. It made the vowels and consonants roll. He mentally slapped himself before his thoughts wandered in completely the wrong direction.
"Whatever you desire," he said with the slightest of bows.
Her smile, it was clear she was playing with him, "Perhaps, we should go shopping?" Shopping… the terror-torture tactic that every woman uses to gauge, assess and evaluate a man.
Harry glanced at his watch, and then raised an eyebrow, "I suppose I could do with some new clothes."
"Why? You are cute enough as it is," she retorted, as she offered him her arm.
He took it, linking hers with his as he snorted, "Cute?" he was serious, deadly serious for a moment, as he ran a hand through his untamable hair. "That is precisely the reason I need a new wardrobe. I have a Dark Lord and his Death Eater minions to exterminate. I can't do that looking cute."
"You've changed, Harry," she said quietly, almost whispering to him, "Cute you are." He tensed when she flicked the braided length of hair behind his ear, "You just don't look like the boy who has defied a Dark Lord so many times since birth. To avoid cute, you will need more of a uniform, a soldier's uniform. "
They were standing on the sidewalk, somewhere in muggle London. Harry had no idea where, but he did not care as he looked up into the sky for a moment. He was gone, she realized. She had seen it, so many times during the long nights after the third task. He was staring at something only he could see, some memory – more likely some nightmare – which he would not share with anyone. Though with Voldemort, Hermione, and Cedric, she thought bitterly, she could guess.
They walked in silence, Fleur leading them through the streets she was somewhat familiar with, heading towards the bright lights of the London shopping scene that kept going until the later hours of the evening. They walked through the city together, not saying anything at all. She knew what he was like when living through the nightmares while awake. She wondered sometimes if things would have been different if it had been her, instead of Hermione that had captivated him and taken his heart so thoroughly. She knew it was a non-starter. Harry Potter was still in love with Hermione, and nothing she could do could change that and she was part Veela. She would never, could never settle for second place.
They stopped for a light snack, and he picked up the thread of their conversation as if ten minutes of silence had not passed between them, "So, young and cute is something that works for French girls?" he raised his eyebrow suggestively, "I knew that the French were, amorous but Fleur, I'm younger than you... "
Fleur laughed, "But of course! Older men want one thing and are determined to get it. They meet a woman they think that they love but then try to change her to be the thing that they want. Younger men, they are more open, more willing to accept us for whom and, what, we are." Her hair trailed out behind in a gentle breeze. Harry was not sure if she was being honest or teasing him, and he found himself wondering about it, "But I am just under two years older than you. So who is supposed to change or be changed?"
Fleur played tour guide a little, as they walked along the streets. The sun had set and the lighting gave everything a somewhat peaceful, slightly magical feel to everything. Maybe there was something in the air, "teenage hormones," mused Harry, and the people were friendly in every store they stopped in, especially those that catered to tourists with too much money in their pockets. More than one couple, a number of men and even a scattering of women paused as Fleur walked by; arms linked with Harry, laughing at something he had said. They couldn't help themselves. They had to stare at the magical beauty on his arm.
With the contents of his vault at his fingertips, he let Fleur pick out some pieces of clothing from several pricy stores, including Harrods, holding him to his promise to start a new wardrobe, all paid for by the Gringotts credit card. There was no sign of the magical world in London, and in a quiet store at the higher end of the high street that smelled of freshly printed money, Fleur upped the game, getting him to stand while they fitted him for a dark suit, matching shoes and overcoat. Harry knew just from the price tags that the few thousand pounds of extravagance here meant he was getting something that was a cut above the rest. He did not mind, spending the money or the time. She made it all worthwhile. In many ways, he was suddenly alive again. "I know muggle fashion is several centuries ahead of the wizarding world, but I'm not sure you're prepared to spend so much on just one set of clothing."
"Look darker? More mature? Serious? Perhaps, dangerous or does it give me an intimidating look?" She nodded and Fleur's reflection in the mirror gave him a subtle smile, "It's no soldier's uniform, but I'll take it." They walked, shopped a little more but invariably they returned to Diagon Alley, where once again, he escorted her to the front door of the building. She hesitated and before she could get away, Harry had embraced her. It was a quick hug, at least it was supposed to be before the smells of spring rain and apples overwhelmed him. One of her hands settled on his back and she relaxed into the embrace.
He held her longer than polite friendship than even close friendship would have allowed, and he was still the first one to pull away. His eyes were readable to her, like an open book. He was at war with himself, about his feelings, for her, for Hermione. She shook her head ever so slightly. Perhaps, she dared hope; perhaps there could be something more than just friendship between them someday if he was ready.
"What did you say?" he asked. With a start, she realized that she had said the last aloud instead of just thinking it.
"Coffee?" she said the first thing that popped into her head. She was not sure if he bought the line, as he stepped back from her, "Places to be?" he nodded, "When can I… we…"
He smiled, "Owl me." He turned and walked down the street towards the bank and did everything he could, to keep from looking back over his shoulder at her, standing on the top step, door half-open. An invitation if there ever was one.
She stared at his retreating form and recalled something her mother had once told her, "Remember, it is not the ones that look back when they leave, but those that do not look back when trying their hardest to look. Those are who want you, for you. Not because of what you are." He did not look back, but she could see it, in him, the way he half twitched, and tensed, fighting the urge. He needed time to come to terms with things. She needed it too. She turned and walked inside, and Harry caught the barest glimpse of her before she vanished and cursed himself. If only… if "ifs" were wishes…
A pattern repeated itself for the next week. They had lunch and dinner together, never really saying much of anything important. They grew close but there was always something holding the two of them back from one another. They met for dinner, they went shopping - mostly window-shopping, and they spent time together. They talked about everything and nothing.
Harry's friends accepted her presence without comment as they began to just, "hang out" together, welcoming her back into the fold as it were, strengthening the friendship that they had built the year before. Sometimes all of them were there, other times just a few but the constant presence beside a glamour-wearing Harry was Fleur. Harry was not sure if she was teasing or genuinely jealous that she had not been there when Harry knocked Dumbledore and the rest of his precious Order down a few pegs. There was laughter, happy memories, and a good time, but at the back of everyone's mind, Voldemort was out there. The question was what exactly he was doing. The more immediate concern was Colin Creevey. There was a hard edge to the young teenager and Luna had done her best to help him through his own personal hell. However, what else could they do for him? Nothing. He had not opened up to any of them, and not even Luna could get him to talk.
Harry's trial before the Wizengamot was only a week away and he was not worried about it. The facts would speak for him, and if that were not enough, he would worry about that bridge when he came to it. He sat back from the table in the ice cream parlor as his friends laughed as each of them sprouted antlers or feathers or in Neville's case, a very fine pair of wings. Even Colin had laughed when he had sprouted a small pair of horns.
Harry just absorbed it all, taking it all in. It snuck up on him suddenly, almost as if his Occulemency could not contain the memories, hopes, and dreams from a past life, of Hermione of how they would be together, having ice cream, wandering through Flourish and Blotts together. His thoughts turned to Crookshanks for a moment. He wondered how the demented creature was adjusting to life without Hermione. Sure, Griphook and Marinashka had not minded her, as she tended to stay in his room most of the time, and that she was smarter than the average feline that avoided many problems - except for Crookshanks and Hedwig going at it with fang and claws every now and again - often over who got the warmest spot in the room.
He realized that there were a number of things left on his to-do list, and as he glanced around the table at his friends, he realized now, was a good time as any, "Let's go," he said, "there's something that needs doing." With Harry leading the way, disguised as he always were, they drew a few glances and a couple of stares as they wandered towards the far end of the alley
"Harry, I hope you don't plan on taking me home so early in the afternoon," said Fleur.
"Not unless you want to," he said, "Have I been that boring today?" There was a breakout of laughter, as Harry led them. They were on the edge of Knockturn Alley and it had them all slightly on edge, but nobody had reached for a wand as they slipped into the alley itself.
Knockturn Alley was an odd place. Granted it was darker and had a slighter meaner atmosphere, but it was much like its Diagon Alley counterpart, but also boasted a number of knick-knack and miscellaneous item stores. There also seemed to be an inordinate number of stores dealing with animals and familiars of all kinds. "Knockturn Alley," said Fleur, "whatever does not have a place in a store in Diagon Alley, you can find it here."
"And you know this, how?" asked Luna dreamily.
"I work for Gringotts." She answered calmly as they crossed into "Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment" after their circuit of the infamous Knockturn Alley. Wiseacres's was located literally on the edge between Diagon and Knockturn, and when looking around the store, it seemed that things got more bizarre, abnormal, and darker as you stared from the side of the store in Diagon Alley towards its other half.
The store was not overly larger, perhaps the size of Harry and Fleur's favorite ice cream parlor, and what Harry had brought them here to buy was stacked in the middle of the store. "Like the arrangement?" Seven wands rose, four shields were cast and two stunners were ready to fly in those few moments, "All right, then, I'll stop surprising my customers." He was a wizard, perhaps in his mid to late forties, "Harry? You mind?"
Harry chuckled, "Look on the bright side: Nobody hexed you."
"This time!" snapped the proprietor, "When you came in here two weeks ago, I was walking out of the back room," he was clearly enjoying telling the tale to his audience of six wands, "tea tray, a selection of snacks, hoping to read The Quibbler. I dropped the sugar tongs and woke up with the mother of all headaches!"
"Yeah. Yeah," said Harry, "You got a headache in an exchange for a lot of business and a bone china tea set." The others relaxed. Clearly, the man was a friend or acquaintance of some sort. "So how's tricks Gerard?"
"Haven't been hexed in two weeks," he replied.
"You're never going to let me live that down are you?"
"I was hexed by the trunk shopping, Harry Potter? Would be great for business if it wasn't for the shit in the Prophet."
Fleur cottoned on almost immediately, "How are the banking relations?"
"It shows, or you work for them," muttered Gerard, "Doing well." He turned to the surprised teenagers, "One-quarter Goblin on my grandmother's side." He became all business as he led them into the basement, "Shall we?"
"Prepared as you asked," he explained when they were standing before a collection of ten matte black trunks, "Seven compartments in each. Two regular compartments and the other five compartments make up an apartment inside. All empty and devoid of furniture for the moment," he handed out a selection of catalogs, "Pick and choose what you like - later." Gerard continued his spiel: Basically, the trunks were dragon hide and charmed against most hexes, spells, curses, proofed against water, flame, and boasted a number of very impressive security features. "Can't be moved when you're inside it, and anyone trying to access it without your permission is in for nasty surprises of increasing lethality that culminate in a long stay in St. Mungos. You shrink them or enlarge them with their own charms so you can use them all the time. "
"Did you get those other features I wanted working?"
"The intertrunk systems?" he hesitated, "Sorta. I've got communications and a floo network between the trunks but connections to the outside are unstable. The… self-destruct, works just fine. You set your own phrase and counter phrase, just like you wanted." Gerard handed Harry what looked like a stack of leaflets, "User guide for each trunk."
It was a crash course in their use and operation and Harry was clearly setting them up for something: Something big as they shrunk their new trunks and pocketed their own trunks. They made their way back into safer territory and their ice cream parlor. Their customary table was available and the moment they were comfortable and had placed their orders, Harry cast a number of charms, giving them complete privacy, "Here's how it goes, everyone," he said simply, "All of you, have been there for me or fought for me. Now, I want to take that to the next level: War is coming. You all know that. I want us, ready." He held up a hand, not that there was a need to placate his rapt audience, "I will show you, what I'm working on, what I'm trying to create. If you want out, I will ask you three questions, and then you can walk away. Simple. Clean. So for the moment, are you, with me?"
The portkey dropped them off in the garden of a large manor house, "Where are we?" The grounds seem to extend for miles in every direction, and they could just make out the walls, imposing ones almost a kilometer and a half away.
"Somewhere In Scotland," Harry replied, "I don't exactly know where but I trust my, supplier."
"Goblins," sang Luna with a wink. Harry just smiled as Crookshanks trotted out of the house with Blake in tow. The man whistled and Hedwig flapped her way from somewhere to land on Harry's shoulder.
"Welcome, I suppose," said Harry, "to Headquarters." He took a moment to stroke her feathers and she ruffled them with some measure of pride, "Missed you too girl."
"Headquarters of what?" asked Fleur.
Blake answered with a chuckle, "Not got a name for it yet. We'll be looking for suggestions though." He led through the building, and they realized quickly that it was the headquarters for a military organization. He did not say as much but when you have rooms with weapon racks, the equivalent of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, training rooms, and what would eventually be a Security Control Center, it was clear what it all was for. The tour ended in a room like a muggle cinema, and the lighthearted nature of the tour vanished, as Blake nodded to Harry and excused himself, "I've got some paperwork to deal with."
Gone was the somewhat happy and cheerful teenager. In its place was someone dark, serious, and brooding, standing next to a Pensieve, "What I'm about to show you…" he hesitated, already having second thoughts, already uncertain, "What you are about to see is what happened, that night." They knew the night in question. How could they not? "It is not nice, it is not pleasant," he hesitated, "You will see Voldemort's rebirth. I will not… hide the truth. Voldemort is evil in a way that you have never heard about, evil in ways you have never read about. I will show you that the depths of his cruelty know no limits. Nothing is sacred to him. Nothing!" Harry was bitter, "I won't lie to any of you. You follow me, and death may be the end result."
He pulled a version of that memory from the "restricted section" of his mind and deposited it in the Pensieve. It was not the normal silver, just a black thread with red splotches. He showed them, everything. They saw it all, as he had through his eyes. More than once, they looked away from the screen, unable to stomach what it showed. Somehow, hearing it without seeing it was even worse. Neville was bone white and shaking. Colin was frozen in his seat. The twins seemed to take turns, watching and then looking away. Ginny had tried and her stomach had heaved repeatedly until she finally lost. Luna watched it all and was the calmest of them all. Just, calmly accepting what they were up against, what they would fight against.
What had lasted for hours, in reality, he had compressed, allowing them to watch it in minutes. Still, the damage was done. Fleur was holding his hand, tightly and would no doubt have difficulty letting go for a few minutes. When it was over, she was the first to ask, "Who knows, about this?"
He hesitated for a long moment before answering. The memory he had shown them left out a very important detail: His exchange with Dumbledore, the spells he had used on Hermione. His council of advisors had fought hard and he had finally caved to their logic and reason, to avoid shattering the side of light in the face of overwhelming darkness. "A goblin, my godfather Blake, Remus, and now, all of you," he answered quietly. "I won't deny it. I've pulled a fast one on all of you." He faced them, "This is it. You want to walk away, now is the time. Speak up and I won't think any less of you. I don't want any of you following me because you think you have to. I want you with me because you think it is the right thing to do."
"Why show us this Harry?" asked Fleur quietly, "Why?"
"I made a promise, a long time ago, that night on the Quidditch Pitch, that somebody would give you the details, the truth." A stray tear escaped from the corner of Harry's eye, "I, keep my promises." It's what Hermione would have wanted - that last he thought to himself.
"You were, you are not ready to share this," observed Luna.
"But if you're not ready," began Fred.
"Why share it?" asked George.
"I'm asking you to prepare for war. I am asking you to prepare to fight. I am asking you, perhaps sooner than you think, to be prepared to kill. I cannot ask you for that unless your eyes are well and truly open." He stared off into the distance for a long moment, "When it comes to battle, to fight for your life. Stunners and incapacitation are not an option. You fight to kill. You have to if you want to survive."
"My eyes are open," growled Colin, "When do we get to kill some Death Eaters?" The youngest present was too young for such things, but all withheld comment. They were joined by tragedy, different tragedies perhaps but all with a common root cause: Voldemort.
"…when do, how do we, begin?" asked Neville. He clapped Colin on the shoulder, "I have as much reason to fight as you do." That cryptic remark raised one question for many of those gathered: What? However, as far as Harry was concerned, this was neither the time nor the place.
"Fight," said Luna, "Against such evil, standing idly by and doing nothing is the same as helping it."
"Fight!" said Neville.
"Fight!" echoed Ginny
It was decided in moments, "In this to the end," said the twins, "Any bloody end."
Seven teenagers were in agreement about what was coming, and what they would have to do. Now, all they had to do was name this, something. They left by portkey, returning to the ice cream parlor where Florean Fortescue was contemplating giving them a group discount. They tossed out names, started writing them down, and eventually began to whittle down the legion of names. They had narrowed it down to a handful when they realized the time: They all had places to be with family and friends except for Harry and Fleur.
The trunks were given out, one to each of them with a few simple words, "Read the manual, learn the charms, set that self destruct." he said, "These need to be kept secure because if one is breached, all of our trunks will not be secure."
"You know something we don't Harry?"
"Let's just say that the real Mad-Eye Moony would be impressed with exactly how paranoid I'm becoming." They said their farewells and parted, leaving Fleur and Harry alone at the table, "Must be nice being able to spend a few days away from work," said Harry, "and not worry about getting in trouble with the boss."
"Griphook was very clear Harry," she said softly, "You need your friends, and besides," she shrugged with a smile, "It is an internship. Most of it is parchment work these days. I can work nights, even from my apartment if I want to." She stood up and extended her hand to him, "Would you care to see it?"
"Your office or your apartment?" he said as he drained his drink and set the glass on the table.
"My apartment," she cuffed him gently on the back of the head, "Why on earth would I want to take you to my office?! I share it with two Goblins and a Wizard!"
"Lead the way."