Chapter 39

AN: Beta'd by the ever helpful Sedition, Sam, and Kaladin1707

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On the Morn of 27th August, a silence of three parts dominated the Main Hall of Black Manor.

The first one was the hardest to notice, yet the easiest to break. It came from the lack of natural noises a wonted house should hear; almost as if the shut doors and windows of the hall sealed the people present in a tight jar, warding them away from the outer world.

The second was easier to notice, yet harder to break. It came from the people themselves, gathered in the Main Hall, saying nary a word. Silence; a furtive and nervous quiet of the black-robed figures, added to the already established stillness of the Hall. If one were to exert themselves however, they may just be able to hear the silent burning of the fireplace, the calm flames lapping & dancing in the air. But none present were brave enough to do so, lost in the fears their minds conjured as they were.

The last one was special; a powerful paradox that maintained its silence yet spoke louder than any capable in the room. It was special; for it alone could break the other two. It came from the man lounging upon his grand throne, replacing the chair reserved for the Lord of the house. Eyes closed and a slight hum on his lips, the silence he created was one of anticipation and suspense.

Yet, silent though his lips were, his power spoke on its lonesome—spreading through the crevices, proclaiming the presence of a god amongst men. It permeated the air; inducing fear and awe in equal parts, demanding supplication from the ones present.

And they gave it to him; for Lord Voldemort was his name, and denying him was the highest of follies.

A whine of complaint finally dared to break the silence, and without turning, the Dark Lord laid a lazy Cruciatus upon the black Grim lounging —now writhing—at his feet.

It wasn't truly his fault, being bullied as he was by a gigantic Python, who took a strange fascination with his morose tail.

"Quiet, Ssirius." Lord Voldemort snapped. "It is her playtime, indulge her until I say otherwise. It's the least you could do after your recent…failuresss."

The depressed dog bowed down and let his tail be wrapped by the snake.

Thankfully for Sirius Black, the Dark Lord received no further chance to truly show his displeasure as the rumbling of doors announced the arrival of their last member.

The clicks of his steps echoed around the hall, the doors closing themselves behind him.

"Ah, Ssseverus." The Dark Lord hissed, lips twisting up in a homicidally welcoming smile. "Had a good flight?"

"Enchanting, My Lord." Severus Snape bowed, hooked-nose turning to the ground.

"Come," The Dark Lord waved at his right side, the place of honor no longer occupied by Sirius Black. "We've saved you a seat."

Some of the gathered Death Eaters—Pureblood and old—bristled as the dark-haired man was soon seated at the right hand of the Dark Lord, unsatisfied at what they considered a traitor and a lowblood assuming a higher position.

None, however, dared verbalize their disgruntlement.

"You have news for me, Ssseverus?" The Dark Lord turned to his servant, red vermilion eyes boring into the dark ones.

But the dark pupils did not flinch; cool and steady, they met their superior. "It will happen on Monday's Eve, sharp at five."

The Dark Lord nodded painfully slow, eyes fixed and unmoving. "…And he will be there, you are certain?"

"Certain, my Lord." Snape nodded once.

A gesture from Voldemort had him elaborating. "Dumbledore was detailed by Frank Longbottom, who has inside knowledge of the Minister's meetings with Potter. Should they follow the plan, Harry Potter will be making his first public appearance on the day after tomorrow."

The Dark Lord hummed. "…And what does your preciousss Headmaster make of this?"

Snape stayed quiet for a long second before answering. "He does not doubt the validity of the information. Though he does believe the Minister—and Harry Potter—are making a grave mistake by leaving Azkaban under the dementors control. He suspects an attack to take place soon."

"He suspects correctly then." Voldemort turned to the one seated further back to the left. "And you, Yaxley? Do you have an answer for our dear Headmaster's inconvenient suspicions?

"My Lord," Yaxley stood, bowed, and sat back down. "I don't think we have anything to worry about. From the looks of it, the Minister has been placing too much trust in the boy's words. They spend entire nights locked away in her office, coming up with one foolish idea after another. Some of our spies even heard about the boy suggesting a possible alliance with the goblins! As if the pitiful creatures would be of any help."

A low chuckle went through the group present, all peering at the Dark Lord—hoping to see their amusement returned.

It wasn't.

"…Won't they, Yaxley?" The Dark Lord purred—red baleful eyes brimming with a dark fury that was concealed beneath a twisted smile—and all the amusement drained out of the room in an instant, bringing back the powerful hold of silence upon the room.

Seconds passed by as the wide-eyed Death Eater stared at his Lord, knowing he'd erred but not knowing how, before he finally squeaked out 'My Lord?'.

"Crucio!" Voldemort thundered, leaping to his feet.

His fury was well felt by the writhing Death Eater—whose painful wails drowned the room in abject fear.

"Severus here informs me that those 'pitiful' creatures have supplied the Ministry with a gallon of Thief's Downfall." Voldemort slowly made his way towards the downed figure of Yaxley desperately gasping for breath. "Would you not say that I should've received this knowledge from you, Yaxley?"

"Forgiveness, my lord!" The man whimpered, nose still stuck to the marbled floor. "Please, I did not pay it suitable importance…I didn't think—"

"Your job, my dear Yaxley, is not one to think, but to keep an ear on those capable of doing so." Voldemort's feet came to rest upon the back of his head. "You will not fail me again, I trust?"

"No!" Yaxley shook his head, feeling the soft toe of his lord pressing it to the ground, forcing him to mumble out the words—his lips kissing the cold marble floor. "Never, my lord! Never!"

"We shall see." The Dark Lord hummed. "Perhaps you might have something more…useful now?"

"O-of course, My Lord!" Yaxley exclaimed, his mind scrambling for any drop of valuable information. For some reason however, every time he came upon the ones that gave him a feeling of importance, they slipped away from his mind like a quickly fading dream; directing his attention to the more…mundane ones.

Even with his face still eating dust, Yaxley was aware that every eye was upon him now, some no doubt hoping for him to fail and lose his place within the elites, some simply glad they weren't in his position.

Panic was just beginning to set in when Yaxley finally decided to simply reveal everything he knew. Or at least…everything he believed he knew.

"Potter has caved into the Wizengamot's demand to take part in the Tri-Wizard Cup, My Lord! My reports suggest that he is very fearful of their influence, and will be doing everything he can to gain their favor….especially in front of the public."

Voldemort hummed, crimson eyes like shining rubies flickering to the ceiling thoughtfully.

Yaxley continued, now unable to stop himself for some reason. "He also trusts the Dementors a great deal, My Lord, having successfully convinced the Minister to let the creatures have sole control over Azkaban. There is not a single Auror or Hit-Wizard, not even a trained guard, upon the island currently. The boy is overly paranoid, not willing to step out into the public without every available Auror and Hit-Wizard present. This…beg your pardon, My Lord, but this could be a great opportunity for us."

Voldemort stared down for a long moment before his lips finally curved up slightly, his foot sliding down from his servant's head. "Nothing that I do not already know, my useless servant. Still, it gladdens my heart to know how close we are in reuniting with our…misssing friends."

The Dark Lord retook his seat, shoulder straight and noble. "Though it is regrettable that I must discontinue the plans of attacking the Ministry, or perhaps…you would like this honor, Lucius?

The blonde-haired man, sitting much further down the right side—slouched and doing his best to disappear in his seat—slowly and painfully turned to face his nightmare, his skin pale and clammy. "M-my Lord?"

Voldemort tsked, addressing the man like a baby. "Come now, Lucius. Surely you must want this chance to prove yourself? I've heard your son shares classes with Harry Potter...perhaps he might lead a raid upon the ministry? A distraction if you will, to assure our plan works unhindered."

Lucius' pale face went white with fear—his body stilling completely—a second away from bolting—even knowing its futility.

Everyone present knew that such a mission would be utterly suicidal. And everyone present knew that it was meant to be.

The Dark Lord was punishing the Malfoy Lord with the death of his son.

"M-my Lord…please." Lucius stared at his lap, desperate tears welling up in his eyes. "H-he is not ready…"

"Ah Lucius, but one is never prepared for things like these." Lord Voldemort purred. "But never think me unreasonable, my dear slippery friend. You may have rejected me when I needed you the most, but I value your council still. One year…I shall give you the time to prepare your son. Then, he will lead the new batch of recruits into the Ministry, taking upon a mission of utmost importance. Who knows, the son might prove more useful than his father. Rejoice my cowardly Death Eater, you may yet have a chance to earn back your seat."

Lucius bowed low, relief spreading through his chest, even knowing the dark fate awaiting Draco. "Thank you, My Lord. I will not disappoint you this time."

Not that he truly had any intention of following upon such orders. But one year was a long time…and it would surely present the Lord of House Malfoy with plenty of chances to arrange something for his son.

"And until then…gather me some recruits to storm the walls of Azkaban."

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The night of 28th of August found Apolline Delacour sitting in the Main Hall of Potter Manor; alone and waiting. Her daughters had gone to sleep early; the eldest too tired from another day of preparation for the upcoming Tri-Wizard Tournament, using the Dueling chamber that Lord Potter had so graciously offered them to use.

The unsettling gloom of the room—lit up only by a smoldering fireplace—matched well with her uncertain heart, the hollow darkness that was trying to fill itself with means Apolline did not dare think about—thoughts of the devilishly handsome green-eyed teen, constantly plaguing her heart.

It had been three days since the remaining Delacour family shifted into the Potter Manor. Three days since the new Lord of House Potter—and undoubtedly the biggest overnight sensation of the Wizarding World—welcomed them into his Manor... and Apolline was yet to decide if this had been a good decision or not.

That day was still fresh upon her mind, its events still haunting and painful. The reason behind it however, differed greatly from what the vast majority of people might assume...

No, the memories of that day clenched her heart into a tight knot of fear, not because of some fearsome Dark Lords or trauma-inducing deaths...but due to the actions of an abusive drunkard.

A being who inspired more fear in her than Grindelwald or Voldemort ever could. The man who had made her life a living hell. It was his face that greeted Apolline's nightmare, his presence that woke her up in a sweat each night—heart beating with fear, a hand instinctively raised to protect herself from the blow she knew would be coming...

But it never did. Not anymore. For while that day may have given form to her biggest fear—held captive alongside her daughters by the abhorrent man, a second away from death or worse—it had also given life to her biggest dream.

Henri Delacour's death.

There was a time even thinking of such a notion would've caused her pain; her own magic making her a prisoner. A time when she knew in all her heart that the dream would always stay a dream, never to come true...

That time was long past now. She'd left that ever-consuming darkness of her life, taking the hands of her savior to step into the light.

Her savior, Harry Potter.

Thinking back to that day however, never failed to evoke a wince of shame within her. Harry Potter had changed her life that day, bringing her dream to reality...

And she'd repaid it with suspicion and coldness. Truly, she wouldn't have been surprised had the young man simply left them then, letting them rot alone in the forest.

But he was a better person than her, and clearly cared for Fleur more than Henri had ever cared for his entire family...though that wasn't too high a bar to cross.

Nonetheless, she acknowledged that she'd been wrong about Harry Potter. Judging him had been a mistake, for she knew now the boy followed no forms of logic or normality.

Her guilt—and a great deal of gratitude—had been one of the reasons she didn't simply take the Portkey and leave...

...Though perhaps it was also because she would never have been able to live peacefully with her daughter giving her those accusing, angry feline glances.

Still, she owed her life to Harry Potter. Owed a debt too high for her to ever pay back. Adding to that debt even more had never been her intentions...

And yet, that was exactly what she'd ended up doing. Not that she truly had much of a choice.

For Apolline and her daughters, the week following the Black Day had been—undoubtedly—the best moments of their existence. Everything in their life had seemingly become perfect. Henri Delacour's death was diluted within the thousands of others who'd fallen that day, saving the Delacour females from the pedantic gazes his case would've otherwise produced.

Naturally, as his only living family, they'd inherited his entire fortunes, instantly solving their financial issues.

Yet, the weeks they'd spent out of his grasp—in that tiny hotel room—had given them a taste of freedom the Delacour Manor simply couldn't produce. So they'd sold the property and moved back to the hotel—willing to adjust until they could arrange for a nice house just for the three...

Unfortunately, life often doesn't adhere to one's plans.

In all the mayhem Harry Potter's reveal had created, they hadn't considered the consequences of their own roles in helping The-Boy-Who-Lived. For Apolline—and she was sure, for Fleur as well—helping Harry had never been about themselves. When she'd stood against Grindelwald, pitting her natural mastery over fire against the Dark Lord's Thunderbird, the only goal in her mind was to protect the young man who'd given her a new life at all cost.

They'd never considered that some of his fame might get splashed over them as well. How could they? In front of such a behemothic event, they were simply small fries.

But she should've known it would happen. Should've known the world's growing curiosity for their Messiah would bring them to her family. Worse, she should've known their anonymity was thin and hanging, and it was entirely her fault for being blindsided in such a way. After all...Fleur Delacour had her own share of followers and fame, and even in a night as dark as the Black Day, her beauty simply couldn't fail to capture attention.

It was proven true barely a couple of days after the incident; when the news of the five times European Champion, Fleur Delacour, downing Death Eaters alongside The-Boy-Who-Lived took a hold of the people, starting from the local French media and quickly spreading throughout the country.

It hadn't been long for their location to be unearthed, though thankfully the muggle hotel manager informed them of some strangely dressed people snooping around, giving them enough time to make their escape.

But then the big question came: Escape where? There was a reason they'd hidden away inside a muggle hotel…they simply had nowhere else to go.

And that was when their minds wandered to the offer delivered by Ms. Black.

Coming to Potter Manor shouldn't have been something to be excited about, but the thoughts of reconnecting with the young man—who'd gifted her a new life—had given her some fierce jitters all the same.

She could only take solace in the fact that at least she hadn't been as bad as Fleur, who'd dressed to impress, wearing the type of clothes she otherwise never would. For when a Veela tries to impress, there are very few beings who could deny her.

Yet, just a few days into the Manor, and Apolline was confused between cursing herself for a fool and feeling glad she'd come here.

She knew the young man had been genuine in his welcome, knew the Harry Potter that she'd fought alongside was still the same. Knew he was much too above letting fame get to his head...

No, the problem came not from Harry. It came from the house of Potter.

The Potter family was still grieving and coming here made her feel like an intruder. The events were still too fresh upon the minds of those affected by it, and the Potters had undoubtedly lost more than most.

Normally, she would've made an excuse the next day itself and left the manor for any place providing enough security and comfort for her daughters. For two of the three days that she'd stayed in here, Harry hadn't even been in the house for more than a couple of hours, apart from sleeping. The only time they truly talked was the first night, when she'd caught him up to their situation, hiding nothing.

Yet, she stayed. And now she found herself reluctant to leave. For while she may have felt like an intruder in the beginning, her—and her daughters'—presence seemed to act like a healing balm upon the injured hearts of the female Potters.

Moreover, slowly but surely they made her feel welcome. Well, at least once Harry informed them about their role on that fateful day.

Lily Potter—while hating any subject that touched her other son or dead husband—was a genius witch, the likes of which Apolline had rarely seen. It came as no surprise for a woman like that to be busy all day, studying and experimenting with higher magicas. Yet, even then, the gorgeous redhead made sure to make some time for them, putting in an effort to get to know them.

In the three days that she'd spent in the Potter Manor, she'd already come to count Lily as a friend in her thoughts. They simply seemed to click together; understanding the extreme levels of care they had for their children, knowing there was no line they wouldn't cross to keep them safe.

Though a part of her felt it hadn't quite been the same when they'd first met.

She couldn't quite remember, but the first impression Apolline had gotten from Lily back then—before Harry introduced them properly—was that the woman loathed both her and her daughters.

Clearly it was her own fears speaking however, for Lily was a smart, charming woman who was a joy to talk to. A little too overprotective of Harry—even byApolline's standards—but that was understandable.

Apolline could only imagine what it must feel like to lose a loving husband and son in a single night. It made sense to do everything in your power to save your remaining loved ones.

The best part of coming to the Potter Manor however, had to be Fleur and Gabby's acquisition of a new friend. Dorea Potter took an almost instant liking to the French witch, who herself was all too excited for a chance to know more about the green-eyed young man and his family.

Gabby, on the other hand, took comfort in Rose Potter; both understanding each other's woes as the youngest of the house.

A good thing for Rose and Dorea as well, for Apolline could see how truly miserable they looked in the house.

And thus it was, the house of Potter no longer brewed in silence anymore. It was almost as if the gloomy Manor had turned to an actual home overnight, bringing in the much needed glow that separated houses from homes.

The only person who didn't quite warm up to them yet was Ms. Black. Unfortunately they'd barely exchanged more than a couple of good mornings so there was no one to blame…

Oh, who was she kidding? She knew the woman disliked her for some reason; knew the reason likely revolved around Harry Potter, as everything usually does these days.

And she was the only one Apolline did not wish to meet here tonight.

But life was nothing if not an unwanted adventure; plunging you into things you'd rather avoid.

"Lady Delacour." Her voice came from the entrance of the Potter hall, the rustling of clothes otherwise the only indication of her presence. "I didn't expect you to still be up. Would you like some tea, maybe?"

Bellatrix Black finally turned to her, giving a polite smile that just barely hid the sharpness beneath it.

'Oh god, why now?'

"No, thank you Ms. Black." Nonetheless, Apolline replied politely, dipping her head ever so slightly. "I'm perfectly fine."

"Really now?" The violet-eyed woman slowly sauntered forth, carrying a gait of supreme confidence. "May I ask why you're sitting alone here in the hall then?"

Apolline had to remind herself that the woman was hailed as the greatest Dueler of their generation. You wouldn't think so, looking at her delicate beauty.

A part of her—aware of the interrogation taking place—did not wish to answer the woman with anything other than a cheeky, 'You may not.' A shame she was sure Harry would side with Black over Apolline any time of the day.

So she answered simply. "I was waiting for Harry."

Instantly she could see the change. The tightening of her lips, the arching of her brows, the curling of her fingers….yet, the most noticeable: Her eyes.

The bright violet orbs darkened into a thunderstorm, staring at her like some prey they dearly wished to pounce upon.

'Why are both of them so overprotective of him?' Apolline couldn't help but wonder in frustration. 'They treat him as if he's some naïve maiden about to get taken advantage of.'

A strange streak of jealousy suddenly ignited in her heart, only to be quickly squashed into the ground.

"Oh?" Bellatrix Black cocked her head, cool violet eyes still fixed upon her. "Whatever for?"

Apolline smiled politely. She could only hope she succeeded. "It's…personal."

The raven haired woman stared at her for a long second—no doubt wondering if it was worth pushing—before simply humming and turning away.

She walked to the dining table, pouring herself a glass of cold water. "Harry won't be back for another few hours. He has business with the Minister."

Apolline glanced around the hall, trying to think of a subject they had a shared interest in, hoping to soothe whatever offense she'd caused the woman.

Yet, nothing came to mind.

For the only thing they had in common was Harry. At least, that she knew of.

Sighing, Apolline curled locks of hair upon her finger, deciding to simply be candid.

"Ms. Black...I know you are not too fond of me." She started, watching the woman slowly turn to her with a raised eyebrow. "It is easy to see, truly. You do a horrible job of hiding it. Though for the life of me I cannot think of anything I may have done to offend you. Do you, perhaps, not wish to see us in this Manor?"

Bellatrix was quiet for a long second, before her lips pursed, giving a tsk and releasing a sigh. "No, that is fine. The fault isn't with you. And call me Bella, Bellatrix if you must. It's just...you may have noticed Harry isn't your typical fourteen year old."

"I suppose you could say that, yes." Apolline snorted.

"Well... I'm not ashamed to admit that he is one of the very few people I've considered a friend. For the largest portion of this summer, we spent most of our time together...yet now suddenly he just doesn't have time for his poor old Godmother. And when you two came ..."

Apolline nodded. "He spent the entire day with us. Though I assure you our conversation was neither fun nor light-hearted."

"Well neither is mine, but I still enjoy any time spent with him. Unfortunately most of our time in the Ministry passes separately."

The dark-haired woman plopped down with a tired sigh on the opposite end of the sofa, draining her glass of water in quick gulps. "I'd thought we might get some free time after the World Cup. Maybe for a small vacation; Harry, me, Lily...out on some muggle beach."

She shook her head with a snort, leaning forth to place the glass down on the table. "Now we'll never get a chance again."

Apolline grew somber, having never truly considered such thoughts. For them, every moment was a vacation right now, away from the dark shadows that had plagued them for most of their lives. Their days of freedom had just started…

But that wasn't entirely the truth, was it?

"How long will the war last?" She asked, aware how quiet her voice sounded.

Bellatrix shrugged, her pretty hair locks dangling down her brow. "The last one lasted for years. This time, Grindelwald is at the peak of his might. And Voldemort has already started to target the Ministry. The only good comes from the fact that they don't seem to get along very much. But I don't doubt for a second that we're in for a desperate struggle ahead."

Apolline swallowed, feeling her throat to be uncomfortably dry. "Will Harry…do you think he can do it? All this Boy-Who-Shall-Conquer…do you think he is truly fated to vanquish the Dark Lords?"

Bellatrix closed her eyes, a hand massaging her forehead. "I…don't know what to think anymore. Life was much easier a month ago, and each day I felt we were growing closer and closer. But suddenly this attack happens, and Harry comes in to save the day, and I realize he's stronger than most level six duelists, all without a drop of Elemental Magic at his belt…sometimes makes me wonder if I truly know him at all. All the secrets he's hiding—and I'm certain there are many—would it make him someone completely different once they come to light?"

Apolline maintained her silence, a sudden realization going through her head: this woman needed a shoulder just as much as Lily, if not more.

It was a startling thought, but she knew it to be true. Surprising; for how can the legendary Bellatrix Black be in need of companionship? That was something most people would have a hard time believing in.

"Still, I trust him." The woman continued with a shrug. "Do I think he can defeat the Dark Lords? No. Not yet. And certainly not without help. Yet, I trust him. Something tells me he won't fail. And I'll be there to give him all the help he needs."

Apolline found herself wondering then, her mind asking herself the same question.

'Will I be there to help him if he needs it?'

She wanted to say 'yes'. Wanted to believe that her determination was as strong as Bella's...and she certainly wanted to stand beside the green-eyed wizard who was slowly starting to replace her nightmares with dreams that made her feel guilty every morning…

Yet, could she truly? Could she give up her newfound freedom—and her daughters, for they would certainly be dragged in the midst—to take up a war that mattered little to them?

'The freedom that he gave you.' She reminded herself sternly.

Yet, was she ready to give it up and dive into another war?

'I have to be.'

"Come on," Bella stood up, tiredness clear in her slumped posture. "Harry will be giving a public speech tomorrow, so the Ministry has declared a nation-wide holiday. You can ask him whatever you want then. We'll be going back home together. You are going to attend the event, yes?"

Apolline didn't reply, her eyes stuck on the witch as she arched her back in a stretching yawn, her huge twin peaks straining against her top like two round globes, bigger than her palms could ever hope to fit…

'How can I compete with that!?'

She blinked, hiding the random flames of jealousy suddenly igniting within her behind a frown.

Still, for all her doubts and conundrum, one thing she knew for certain...

Whatever future this war holds for the members of Potter Manor, they will not be facing it by their lonesome selves.