Year 7-01: To Arms and Order

A/N: After some deliberation, I have decided to change the rating of this fic from Teen to Mature, as Year Seven is going to get significantly darker and I don't want to sanitize myself for the sake of a younger audience. We're not about to get full-on explicit gore and sex or anything – just be warned that there will be a higher density of adult themes and disturbing sequences moving forward.

P.S. - Am I deliberately referencing my favorite prog metal bands in all my chapter titles now? I can neither confirm nor deny.

UNCERTAINTY LOOMS IN THE WAKE OF DUMBLEDORE DEATH, POTTER ABSENCE

by Regina Hornsby, The Daily Prophet

"The wizarding world was rocked by news last Friday night that Albus Dumbledore, famed 'Protector of Britain' and Headmaster of Hogwarts, was murdered in his own school during a Death Eater raid. All eyes turned to the Minister of Magic, James Potter, to quell fears of an imminent takeover by You-Know-Who, but the public has only received more questions than answers.

Madam Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, gave a press conference early this morning to address the situation.

'Minister Potter has regrettably been forced to take a leave of absence due to a family emergency,' said Madam Bones. 'I have been deputized as interim Minister in the meantime. I can assure the citizens of Great Britain that the Ministry remains secure and the Dark Lord [REDACTED] poses no immediate threat to our safety.'

When asked what measures the Ministry is taking to improve security, Madam Bones had this to say: 'We have closed Hogwarts School early for the summer to ensure the safety of our students. In addition, we have activated the Arthurian Protocol: a runic network of protections housed within the Department of Mysteries, to keep the Ministry safe from assault. The Dark Lord is in for a rude surprise if he attempts to take advantage of the situation and foolishly attacks the Ministry.'

Reporters attending the conference also bombarded Madam Bones with questions regarding the identity of Albus Dumbledore's murderer. Rumors abound to this day, with potential suspects including Severus Snape, a professor and former Death Eater who went missing that evening; Fenrir Greyback, who was seen in the castle and alleged to have attacked several students; and even one of Dumbledore's own pupils in an act of treachery.

'I cannot confirm nor deny any of the theories put forth as to the killer's identity,' said Bones. 'Much of the speculation is baseless and preposterous, of course. I would urge the public to refrain from such conjecture while the DMLE conducts their investigation.'"

Harry set down his copy of the Prophet, which he had already read cover to cover several times that morning. There was little else he could do, hidden away in a tiny trophy room at Grimmauld Place, forced to remain out of sight as members arrived for the Order of the Stag meeting. He badly wished to attend the meeting himself, though he understood the logic – it wouldn't do to distract from proceedings, not when rumors swirled about his possible involvement in Dumbledore's death.

Luckily, Sirius had a solution. A framed portrait of Arcturus Black II hung in the conference room, which had been charmed to function as a two-way mirror from the outside. Harry was able to look in from the trophy room and observe the proceedings without being seen himself. He wouldn't be able to participate, but at least he could stay informed on what was going on with the war efforts.

Harry could tell from the looks of Order members trickling in just how tense the mood was in Britain at the moment. First came Dale Greengrass, who was fretful and paranoid on a good day; now he looked stressed beyond belief. Remus and Alessia arrived soon after, also looking haggard and worn; then Sirius and Amelia, the latter already dressed in official Ministry robes, coming straight from what was clearly a stressful morning at work.

A few unexpected arrivals came in soon after. First was Ted Tonks, accompanying his wife Andromeda, whom Harry knew had been helping her cousin Sirius weaponize the Black fortune against Voldemort. Surprisingly, their daughter was with them, along with Cedric, both wearing their Auror robes and clearly fresh off of a grueling shift (or several). Finally, Mad-Eye Moody limped into the room, looking perhaps the best of anyone – though that could be because war-time fatigue and paranoia was his default state.

James and Lily entered and closed the doors soon after to begin the meeting. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice," said James. "I've called for all members of both Orders, but it seems most of the Order of the Phoenix did not get the memo in time."

"Oh, I'm certain they did," said Mad-Eye bitterly. "They just don't know who to trust at the mo'. What with what people are saying about your boy."

"Yes, where is Harry?" asked Cedric, looking around in confusion. "I've heard some wild rumors about him and the Hogwarts attack. Some people even seem to think he killed Dumbledore, my father included!"

"Harry has been sent out of the country to lay low for a while," James lied smoothly. "Just to avoid the rumor mill. Whatever you've heard about him, I would take with a grain of salt."

"Our investigation into Albus' death is ongoing," Amelia Bones added. "But right now, we need to focus on securing Britain from an attack, as You-Know-Who might use this as an opportunity to strike."

"Yes, about that," piped up Dale Greengrass. "I read the piece in the Prophet about this 'Arthurian Protocol'. What in blazes is that?"

"Wards designed by Merlin himself, back in the days of King Arthur," Amelia explained. "When activated, they can help to repel invasions from hostile enemies and protect the homeland."

"I've never heard of such a protocol," Andromeda muttered thoughtfully.

"That's because it doesn't exist," Amelia said with a wry grin. "We made it up. But You-Know-Who doesn't know that, and hopefully it will buy us a few days while he enlists his spy network to learn more about what this 'protocol' entails."

"That's brilliant," said Sirius, sounding genuinely impressed. "I didn't think you had such deception in you, Lia."

"Looks like Padfoot is rubbing off on her," Remus remarked with a knowing grin.

"Now now, no need to be crass, Moony," Sirius winked, drawing an appalled look from Amelia. But his expression turned dark once again as he turned back to James. "Eventually Voldemort will figure out the truth though, won't he? It won't keep him out of the Ministry for long."

"It only has to distract him for a couple of days," said James. "While we amass support abroad. The next ICW summit takes place in Paris in two days, and Dale will be there to petition for troops to Britain."

"Again?" said Remus. "But they denied the request last year...what makes you think this year will be any different?"

"We have to try," James shrugged. "Maybe Dumbledore's death will spur them into action."

"It would be nice to know what the international reaction to his death is," muttered Dale. "Where's Barty Crouch, anyway? Isn't he our eyes and ears to the continent?"

"He didn't respond to the invite," James said bitterly. "In fact, we haven't heard from him in weeks now. My best guess is he saw the way the winds were blowing and decided to go underground again."

"Bloody coward," Sirius muttered bitterly. Harry did not disagree: while Crouch Senior had been helpful in the past, he clearly put his own personal safety above anything else. That did not sit right with Harry, especially with Crouch's own son spearheading the charge against the Ministry.

"What do our defenses look like, if we can't get the ICW to help us?" asked Cedric.

"As you two know, we've pulled all of our Auror reserves back to the Ministry for round-the-clock monitoring," said Amelia, addressing Cedric and Tonks. "That of course leaves Hogwarts, Diagon Alley and Azkaban exposed, not to mention all the wizarding villages being ransacked at night. We simply have to consolidate all of our resources into holding onto the Ministry for as long as possible."

"And what are You-Know-Who's resources at the moment?" asked Dale Greengrass nervously.

James hesitated slightly before answering. "It's hard to get an accurate estimate of how vast his network is," he sighed. "But between Death Eaters, mercenary recruits, dark creatures, and other allies from overseas...his army could exceed two thousand, maybe three."

Everyone at the table blanched at this information. "There's no possible way we could hold off that many," Amelia fretted. "Even if we mustered every Auror, Hit-Wizard, and Order member in the nation, our forces could barely reach the hundreds."

"How many fighters could we get from overseas?" asked Moody, turning back to James.

"I figure our French and American allies could spare several dozen Aurors to bolster our immediate defenses," said James. "As for the ICW reserves, it depends. If enough nations join the fight, we could see as many as a thousand troops become immediately available for war, with thousands more in conscripts to come later."

"Would they report to a British commander?" asked Cedric thoughtfully. "My father says that the continental nations distrust Britain after the last war."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," said James. "Right now my main priority is getting them here – we can work out the specifics later."

"And if we can't get the reinforcements?" asked Lily worriedly.

"We'll get them," James said firmly. "We have to. There's simply no other option."

An uneasy silence fell upon these words. Harry sensed the worry of the others in the room, realizing that there truly was no backup plan. He could tell James was putting on a show of confidence, but it concerned him that his father was putting all of his stock into this plan that might not work at all. It had failed just one year before, after all.

"There's another problem we haven't discussed yet," Remus muttered to break the awkward silence. "Even if we make up for the numbers disadvantage, there's no one left with the talent to stand up to Voldemort."

"Not one on one, at least," said James. "We'll simply have to use brute force. Myself and Alastor have fought him and know his style. If several of us take him on as a group, perhaps we can overwhelm him."

"Dumbledore seemed to believe the Longbottom boy could beat him," Moody said dryly. "Due to the prophecy and all. The Dark Lord believes it too, if our intel is correct."

"Even if that were somehow true," said James, "we have no idea where Neville is. He and his two friends haven't been seen since the Hogwarts incident."

"How strange," Sirius muttered. "Why wouldn't they go back to the Burrow? I thought both Longbottom and Granger were close with the Weasleys."

"I don't think the Weasleys can answer that, either," James sighed. "They seem to know as little as we do. Arthur gave me the nastiest look in the Atrium yesterday, but he disappeared in the crowd before I got to speak with him."

"Longbottom never struck me as the type to run and hide," remarked Moody. "What are the odds he's plotting some kind of solo assault against the Dark Lord?"

"Without consulting with the Order first?" Remus scoffed. "It would be suicide."

"Our suspicion is that Neville does not trust the Order any longer," James sighed. "Not with Dumbledore gone, and not with— well, everything else going on."

Harry alone knew what was left unspoken in his statement. Neville couldn't trust the Potters after what he had seen Harry do. He had no way of knowing how deep the conspiracy went, or who else might be compromised within the Order or the Ministry. Every day that Harry was not arrested was a day that Neville would believe he was truly alone in Britain.

"Severus seems to believe Dumbledore gave Neville a mission," Lily piped up. "Something to help with the war, separate from the Order. But Dumbledore wouldn't tell him what it was."

"You're in touch with Severus Snape?" asked Amelia Bones, surprised. "He is our top suspect in Dumbledore's murder at the moment."

"I haven't heard from him in days," Lily clarified. "But what could Dumbledore have possibly asked a sixteen-year-old boy to do? And why couldn't he trust the rest of the Order with it?"

"Surely it's something to do with the prophecy," Moody suggested. "And this 'power the Dark Lord knows not'. The Prophet has been calling him the 'Chosen One' for months now—"

"We can't make the mistake of putting the weight of the war on a teenager," said James. "I don't care what Dumbledore believed – we have to make our own preparations and assume Neville is irrelevant."

"So what should we do to prepare, then?" asked Cedric.

"Reach out to anyone with fighting experience and warn them that war is imminent," said James. "Other Order members, relatives, former classmates, anyone you can get in touch with. If Voldemort is plotting an attack on the Ministry, we'll need to meet him at the front gates with as much resistance as possible."

"Well, you can count on me," said Ted Tonks matter-of-factly. "I'll be on the front lines."

"You most certainly will not!" gasped his wife, Andromeda. "Ted, you're no fighter!"

"I may not be an Auror like our Dora, but I know how to use a wand," Ted reassured her. "I placed third in the Dueling Club tournament in my seventh year, don't you remember?"

"That was nearly thirty years ago, Teddy!" Andromeda groaned. "We're talking about skilled dark wizards who are half your age!"

"Things are different for you than they are for me, my dear Andy," Ted smiled sadly. "I'm Muggle-born...I won't be welcome here if things take a turn for the worst."

"That's just talk," Andromeda denied. "The days of blood discrimination in Britain are long over."

"The tides are turning," Ted said grimly. "I've gotten far more nasty comments in public in the past year than in the rest of my life combined. If You-Know-Who wins, I fear the supremacists will have their way at last."

"Well, he's not going to win," Andromeda said firmly. "And I'll be right alongside you, my love. Just don't put yourself in any situation you can't handle, that's all."

"We'll need all the wands we can get," said James diplomatically. "If anyone here has relatives or associates overseas, get in touch and see if they can offer help. Britain will fall otherwise, and if it goes, the rest of the world may soon follow."

And on that grim note, the Order meeting drew to a close. The members gradually trickled out, each to perform whatever duties they could to improve their slim odds of success in the coming battle, none looking confident about it. Harry couldn't blame them – things had been looking dire before, and now with Dumbledore gone, the chances of surviving an all-out assault by Voldemort were close to zero.

Eventually the conference room emptied out, leaving Harry alone in the trophy room with his thoughts. There came a knock at the door, and James slipped into the small space with Harry. "Alright there, son?" he asked. "Were you able to listen in?"

"Yes, just fine," Harry nodded. "Everyone seems on-edge."

"Hard to blame them," James nodded tersely. "The next few days are going to be full of uncertainty. War is coming, that much is clear; the only question is when."

Harry nodded forlornly – he'd had that feeling for years now, and it now felt like they were knocking on the door of all-out conflict. "What's your plan now?" he asked.

"Your mother and uncles and I are going to make the rounds," said James. "And try to round up support from whoever we can reach. The other Order members can ignore whatever invites they want – the war is coming either way, and I'd rather they be in the loop than out of it."

"You aren't going to be seen, are you?" asked Harry worriedly. "Voldemort said that if the Potters don't leave Britain immediately—"

"I heard you loud and clear," James nodded. "Luckily, if there's one skill I pride myself on, it's not being seen when I don't want to be. You forget that I was a Marauder before I was a Minister – avoiding trouble is my specialty."

"Just be careful," Harry said with a small smile. "What can I do to help?"

"You can do exactly what you've been doing thus far," said James. "Keep your head down and stay out of trouble. I have enough to worry about without wondering if you are in danger."

Harry sighed, but knew there was no arguing with James on this one. "What about the ICW summit?" he asked. "Can I go with Dale Greengrass? I can act as a bodyguard, in case the Death Eaters catch wind again like last year."

James looked uncomfortable with this idea. "I don't like the idea of you being out in public right now," he sighed.

"But surely I'll be safer in France than in Britain, wouldn't you say?" Harry insisted. "Besides, I can use a glamour." And to prove his point, he waved his wand over his face, applying a glamour to take on the appearance of a nondescript blonde man in his late twenties. James arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed with the level of the disguise.

"Very well," he sighed. "I will contact Sebastian Delacour to see if he can take you and Dahlia in for a while. I would feel much safer knowing the two of you were out of the country."

"Agreed," said Harry quickly. He didn't love the idea of splitting up the Potter family at this critical juncture. However, getting Dahlia to safety was an important factor, and Harry could always fashion himself a Portkey to return home if needed.

James pulled Harry in for a tight hug. "Stay here with your sister until you hear from me," he said. "If I tell you to run, you run straight away, without argument. Is that understood?"

"Understood," Harry nodded. His father flashed him a roguish grin, one that Harry hadn't seen in ages...perhaps a sign of the old James Potter rearing its head, back for another bit of mischief. He left the trophy room, disappearing through the Floo and leaving Harry with his thoughts.

Dahlia was eager to hear all the details of the meeting as soon as Harry returned upstairs to his bedroom. He recounted it as best as he could remember, doing his best to keep things upbeat and positive for his sister's sake. "And I convinced Dad to send us to France, to stay with the Delacours," Harry concluded. "We'll be leaving in the next day or two."

"I don't want to leave Britain if Mum and Dad are staying!" Dahlia protested.

"Neither do I," Harry sighed. "But we'll be safely out of the way there, at least for a little while. We need to lay low if this plan is going to work."

Dahlia still looked uncertain, but she did not press the issue. "It would be nice to see Gabrielle again," she conceded. "She's starting at Beauxbatons this fall, you know...she writes me almost daily about how excited she is."

Harry listened to Dahlia recount her most recent correspondences with Gabrielle as he tried to take his mind off of the war. He would quickly go insane if he remained cooped up in this house with no distraction, nothing to stave off the gnawing dread that war could break out at any moment. Voldemort could choose to strike, to take the Ministry whenever he chose – the only thing stopping him now was the false threat of the 'Arthurian protocol' that Amelia Bones had concocted. The second he realized it was a farce, it would all be over.

What would Harry do if it came down to a fight? Would he be able to challenge Voldemort with the Elder Wand? It was a tremendous risk – not only could he potentially lose the wand's loyalty to the most dangerous wizard alive, Harry knew the man could not even be killed. The best he could hope for was to capture Voldemort alive, or at least detach his spirit from his body and buy them time to find the remaining three horcruxes. Either way, the inevitable showdown felt like it was coming far too soon for comfort.

And where was Neville during all of this? Would he show up for the battle and take on Voldemort once more? He presumably still had his holly and phoenix feather wand, which had the twin core that could stave off the Dark Lord. And maybe he did still have the fabled 'power the Dark Lord knows not' that could take him down somehow. What that power was, Harry had no earthly idea, as Neville had shown no particular talent at anything besides Herbology. And he strongly doubted Voldemort would be defeated using magical plants.

He wondered where the trio was at this very moment and what their plan was. Harry knew now that they were after the Deathly Hallows...they had the Cloak and knew Harry had the Wand, but still did not know where the real Resurrection Stone was. That was likely their main objective at the moment. The good news was that their road eventually led back to Harry, as they would need to confront him in order to reclaim the Elder Wand. Hopefully by that point he would be able to talk some sense into them.

Should he send Neville a Patronus attempting to explain things? Harry didn't see what good it would do. The boy already distrusted him, and claiming to have the Resurrection Stone would sound like an obvious trap. Maybe Hermione could be convinced, the proverbial angel on Neville's shoulder, but Ron was on his other shoulder, convincing him Harry could not be trusted. No, Harry would just have to wait for them to re-surface somewhere, so that he could explain his side of the story.

Harry and Dahlia spent the day playing games, reading, and wandering about the townhouse, just trying their best to keep their minds occupied. Dahlia didn't wear her emotions on her sleeve, but Harry could sense her tension and fear all the same. She did not like knowing how much trouble their family was in, and how quickly the tentative peace could take a turn for the worst. When she snapped at Harry for accidentally dropping a book while she was reading in the library, he decided to give her some space.

Later that afternoon, Harry stopped by the kitchen to fashion himself a snack when he heard a light tapping on the windowsill. A tawny owl sat just outside, clutching a letter in its beak. Harry let it inside and relieved it of its burden – the letter was addressed to him. He ripped it open and read the short missive inside:

Harry,

We need to talk. Meet me at my place at nine o'clock this evening.

-B.W.

Harry frowned at the short missive. Bill rarely initiated their meetings as of late, and he hadn't attended the Order meeting that morning. But maybe that was because he wished to discuss more confidential matters, like the horcrux hunt. It made sense – he was prone to paranoia on a good day, and was likely freaking out in the wake of his hero's death. Besides, if the rumors had truly spread beyond Hogwarts, he likely wanted an explanation about Harry's involvement in the plot. Harry supposed he owed him that much.

That was not the only letter Harry received that day, either. As he and Dahlia ate dinner alone that evening, an official Ministry owl arrived, clutching a bulky package. Harry opened it, revealing a short letter and a small pendant with the official Ministry seal on it. The letter read:

Harry and Dahlia,

Sebastian Delacour has responded to my request, and he agreed to take you both in for the next few days. I have attached a Portkey that will take you both directly to his estate in France. The activation phrase is 'bouillabaisse'. Pack your things and make the journey as soon as possible – your mother and I will be busy for a while and will try to join you as soon as we can.

Harry, you may attend the ICW meeting with Dale and Sebastian, on two conditions. One, you must maintain a glamour at all times, and two, you will not leave their sight once. Even outside of Britain we cannot be certain what Voldemort is plotting, and I do not want you getting caught up in any international incidents.

Your mother and I send our love and will try to get in touch as soon as we can.

-Dad

"Want to go now?" asked Dahlia, as she finished reading James' scrawled handwriting over Harry's shoulder. "I can be packed in five minutes."

"Take your time," said Harry. "I have a couple errands to run first."

"Nothing dangerous, I hope!" Dahlia groaned. "We're not supposed to leave the house!"

"It's not dangerous," Harry reassured her. "Just a quick meeting with a trusted friend, then I'll return and we can leave straight away." Dahlia did not look happy with this, but she nodded her assent.

He was only partially fibbing, after all. He did plan on returning right after meeting with Bill, but had one other thing he wanted to take care of beforehand. He hadn't gotten the chance to visit Diagon Alley since leaving school, and knew this was a good opportunity to take care of something he'd nearly forgotten about in the chaos of recent events. So at half past eight, he bid Dahlia farewell and Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron for a quick pit stop.

Harry could not recall a time when Diagon Alley looked more bleak. The streets were desolate and empty; more than half of the storefronts were boarded up and abandoned. Seedy characters roamed the cobbled roads now, looking more like Knockturn Alley than its sunnier counterpart. There wasn't an Auror in sight, as they had all been called back to defend the Ministry, leaving the shadier denizens of the wizarding world to roam free.

But Harry was accustomed to such an environment. He strode purposefully down the main road, concealed beneath his glamour, acting cool and confident so that no one would bother him. He drew a few leering gazes from the shadows, but no one dared disturb a man walking with such purpose and self-assurance.

He located the correct store and entered. It looked just as he'd left it months prior: half-empty, with rows of boxes interspersed with the various trinkets and ornaments on display. Harry rang the bell at the counter and waited patiently for the storekeeper to arrive.

The familiar witch looked tired and worried when she emerged from the back, eyeing the disguised Harry with mild distrust. "Can I help you?" she asked warily.

"Good evening, Mrs. Watson," Harry greeted her with a slight bow. "I've come to pick up the Pensieve I ordered."

Mrs. Watson's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "You're the man who came in some months ago!"

"I am," Harry nodded. "Is it ready?"

"Yes, of course, of course!" said Mrs. Watson. She hurried back to the storeroom, returning a minute later with a wide, flat box. She set it gently on the counter for Harry. "I cannot tell you again what a windfall this was for us. I thank you kindly for your patronage."

"My pleasure," said Harry. He shrank the box and slipped it into his robes pocket, before glancing around the store once more. "Still staying open in this environment?"

"We don't have much choice," Mrs. Watson muttered nervously, glancing out the window towards the shady main road. "Too many bills to pay. Just have to weather the storm and hope this war business ends soon."

"I fear it will get worse before it gets better," Harry remarked. "What is your family's blood status?"

Mrs. Watson blinked in surprise at the question. "My husband is two generations pure," she said. "But my parents are Muggles. You don't think that will be an issue, will it?"

"It might," Harry admitted. "Things are going to get difficult for Muggle-borns soon. Have you considered leaving Britain?"

"I have a cousin who lives in New York," said Mrs. Watson. "D'you think it would be safer there?"

"Much safer," said Harry. "Take your family and go to America, today if possible. Enroll your daughter at Ilvermorny. Britain will not be safe for you much longer, not while the Dark Lord remains influential."

Mrs. Watson looked even more concerned now than she did before. But she nodded resolutely at his words. "Thank you," she said. "I will talk to my husband about it."

"Best decide soon," said Harry, turning for the door. "Storm's coming, whether you're prepared for it or not."

"What about you?" Mrs. Watson called after him. "What will you do when the war comes?"

"Fight," Harry said simply. "And make way for your family to come back safely someday." And he exited the shop, returning to Diagon Alley, hoping sincerely that the Watson family would survive.

Harry planned to make a quick stop at Raven House to drop off his latest purchase, before making his way to Bill's apartment for a chat. But as he headed out of the Alley, he was drawn to a disturbance down the road, veering off-course to see what was the matter.

Three men in intimidating black robes had cornered a young woman in her early twenties, cowering before the men. "What's the matter, luv?" chuckled one of the men. "Think we're ugly or summat?"

"J-just going home to my husband," the woman said shakily.

"Nah, you ain't got no husband," another man scoffed. "He wouldn' let you wander Diagon alone. It's dangerous these days, ain't ya heard?"

"Give us a smile, gorgeous!" the third man grinned toothily. "Why're ya keeping those cute dimples hidden from us?"

"Leave her alone," Harry barked as he approached the group. The three men turned, sneering at the sight of the lone man approaching them.

"Mind yer business, wanker," one of the men spat. "We'll talk to whoever we damn well please."

"Yeah, piss off!" another man spat. He drew his wand and pointed it in Harry's direction. But the next moment, there was a bang and a flash of light, and suddenly the man's wand was on the ground – still clutched in the hand that had just been severed from his wrist. The man howled in agony, falling to his knees and clutching the bleeding stump that was left behind.

"Leave, now," Harry said warningly, pointing his wand at the remaining two men. "Take him to St. Mungo's, before I decide to do the same to you."

The men didn't need telling twice. They scooped up their injured friend (and his hand) and hurried off down the alleyway. Harry turned to the young woman to check if she was alright, but she was already long gone, disappearing down a side road and out of sight.

Harry glanced curiously at the wand in his hand. He'd unconsciously drawn the Elder Wand instead of his usual wand – he hadn't remembered bringing it with him, and yet here it was, as though he could not be rid of it. He hadn't intended to hurt the man so severely, either. It was as though the wand acted of its own accord, seeking violence even when Harry resisted it. Still now it continued to whisper to him: Go after them. Strike them down. Silence them for good, so they can't bother anyone else ever again…

But he resisted the call of the wand and pocketed it again, hurrying off to the Apparation point. He needed to be more careful – the Elder Wand was powerful, but it was also bloodthirsty, and drove him to take actions he wouldn't normally take. It would take a stronger willpower to resist the call for blood and master the wand's impulses, as Dumbledore clearly did for half a century.

Harry reached the ward boundary and Apparated to Raven House, where he un-shrunk and un-boxed the Pensieve. It was simpler and less weathered than the one in the Headmaster's office, but it contained the same mystical aura, radiating with complex magic Harry did not understand. Perhaps someday he would look into how the wondrous devices were made, if this war ever came to an end. Harry stowed the Pensieve away in a cabinet before returning outside and heading for his final destination of the evening.

The London neighborhood that housed Bill's apartment was eerily quiet at this late hour. Or maybe that was just Harry's paranoia playing tricks on his mind...the Muggles here had no reason to believe war was imminent. Harry shook off the feelings of dread that no doubt lingered from the Alley and headed for the correct complex.

But Bill appeared no less fretful and concerned when he answered the door minutes later. He peered through the crack in the door as Harry stood outside, waiting to be let in. "You came," he muttered.

"I did," said Harry. "Are you going to let me in?"

Bill opened the door the rest of the way, but instead of letting Harry in, he slipped out to the hall to join him. "Not here," he said in an undertone. "Let's walk. I know a quiet place nearby."

Harry was confused by the suggestion, but shrugged and followed Bill towards the exit. "What's wrong with your place?" he asked.

"Don't know who can be trusted nowadays," said Bill. "Someone could have bugged my place for all I know. There's a park just down the road – we won't be disturbed there."

Harry thought Bill was being overly-cautious, but went along with it anyway. He must be going through quite a lot at the moment, given Dumbledore's death and his brother's sudden disappearance. The two walked in silence for several blocks, until they reached a quiet wooded area, giving them ample cover and privacy. Bill stopped in a clearing, glancing around nervously before turning to Harry at last.

"Right," he said. "So, what the hell happened at Hogwarts last Friday? I've heard rumors that you were there."

"I was," Harry confirmed. "I showed up just as the attack was underway."

"And you decided to join in?" asked Bill, puzzled. "I heard there were witnesses who saw you leaving with the Death Eaters afterwards."

"It's complicated," Harry sighed. "But we should talk about what happens next—"

"We'll get to that," Bill interrupted. "But first, I just have to know...is it true, Harry? Were you the one that killed Albus Dumbledore?"

Harry could sense the tension in Bill's words, the subtle accusation of wrongdoing. He knew how loyal Bill was to Dumbledore, and how resistant the man was to Harry's policy of keeping the late Headmaster in the dark. He had to choose his words carefully.

"He was dead no matter what I did, Bill," Harry sighed. "Yes, I happened to be the one to say the words that ended his life. But if I hadn't done it, he would have suffered a far worse fate."

Bill nodded thoughtfully, scratching his chin in silence for a moment. "Thank you for being honest with me, Harry," he said. Then, he took two steps backwards and made an odd gesture above his head.

"What are you—?" Harry began to ask, just before his senses alerted him to imminent danger. A split second later, half a dozen voices rang out from the darkened treeline all around him:

"Stupefy!"

The Elder Wand was back in Harry's hand before he could consciously draw it. He dropped to one knee and erected a golden dome around himself, as the barrage of Stunning Spells gonged loudly off of his shield. As soon as the barrage ceased, he rose and sprinted across the clearing for the safety of the trees, feeling additional spellfire following him all the while.

Harry dove behind a tree for cover and assessed his options. He felt the magic in the air shift, telling him he would not be able to Apparate away. And he had no clue how many assailants there were, or what they wanted from him. They likely weren't Death Eaters, since they didn't aim to kill and were somehow friendly with Bill. In fact, he had a sneaking suspicion who the group was.

"Come on out, Harry!" a familiar voice called after him – Arthur Weasley's, confirming his suspicion. "We don't want to hurt you!"

"Drop your wands and I'll come out," Harry shouted back. "There's no need for trouble."

"Don't listen to him, Dad!" shouted Fred (or George) from nearby. "He's working for You-Know-Who now...we can't trust him!"

"I don't want to hurt any of you," said Harry. Already the Elder Wand was singing in his palm, eager for the chance to maim his new foes limb from limb. "Whatever this is, we can work it out peacefully."

"We want to know what happened to our boy!" demanded a tremulous voice – Molly's. "What have you done with Ronald?"

"I have no idea where he went, or Neville or Hermione!" Harry insisted. "You've got the wrong idea about me!"

"We'll see about that," another voice snarled. That was Percy...clearly he was back in his family's good graces, united by a common enemy. "Submit yourself to Veritaserum and maybe we'll believe you."

Harry certainly wasn't risking that outcome. He knew far too much that he did not want getting out to the world, especially given the Weasleys' predisposition towards distrusting him. "Not happening," he said flatly. "I suggest you lower the wards so we can all go home in peace."

"Not until we know where Ron is!" said Arthur. "Now, come quietly, or we will have to—"

"There he is!" exclaimed George (or Fred) as he rounded the tree. A jet of light was sent Harry's way, forcing him into action. He sprinted through the trees towards the park exit, hoping to escape the wards and Apparate away before he was forced to fight. But he would not get away cleanly.

A figure stepped out of the shadows to block Harry's path, sending a volley of spells his way. Harry deflected them with a Shield Charm, but did not slow or alter his trajectory; he slammed directly into the person, knocking the both of them to the ground. The figure grabbed the front of Harry's robes, and he found himself face to face with his former Defense Professor, Percy Weasley.

"Let me go, Perce!" Harry growled. He wrenched himself free of the taller man and rolled away; however, Percy lunged and grabbed Harry's ankle, preventing him from escaping. Harry kicked back hard, eliciting a yelp as Percy recoiled and Harry leapt to his feet, spinning around, wand at the ready—

Kill him, the Elder Wand whispered in his ear. Harry hesitated – he certainly felt resentment and anger towards the man who had made his fifth year a living hell, but death was not an appropriate punishment. Still, there was no denying the thrill of power the thought gave him, as Percy cowered at his feet, at the whims of whatever Harry decided to do to him…

Then, Harry was tackled from behind by a powerful force; the wind was ripped from his lungs as he was roughly pinned to the ground. He squirmed and wriggled to get free, but the figure atop him did not budge; Harry caught a glimpse of Charlie Weasley on top of him, raw fury in his expression. Clearly, all those years of wrangling dragons had molded him into a strong physical specimen.

"That's enough from you, Potter," Charlie growled, pointing his wand in Harry's face. "Stup—"

There was a flash of red light, and Charlie suddenly went limp, slumping over and falling off of Harry. He jumped to his feet, looking around for the mystery assailant; the Weasley twins were stood nearby, but they too looked confused, looking around for Harry's mystery rescuer.

Then, another Stunner erupted from the treeline and took down George. Harry and Fred dove off in opposite directions as more spells began to shoot out from the darkness. Harry did not know who was friend and who was foe anymore – all he could do was try to survive the chaos.

"Arthur?!" a voice shrieked from nearby; it had to be Molly. "Arthur, where are you? Arth—"

Harry caught Molly with a Stunner, catching her before she could crash to the ground and laying her down gently in the grass. The Elder Wand continued to scream retribution in his ear, but he forced it to the back of his mind. The Weasleys were not his enemies...he just needed to end this fight as quickly and painlessly as possible.

He turned to find only two fighters remaining, engaged in a fierce duel with one another across the clearing. One was Bill Weasley, fending off a ferocious attack from a hooded figure Harry did not recognize. He raised his wand to intervene, but quickly realized his mystery rescuer did not need the assistance.

Bill was backed into a corner, the high walls of the park boundary preventing him from retreating further. He did his best to fend off the assault, but his attacker's relentless, ferocious spell work kept him on the back foot. He was finally felled by a Scorching Charm to the left foot, putting him off-balance for the follow-up Stunner to end the fight.

Harry strode forward into the clearing, wand trained on the unknown arrival out of caution. But the figure raised their hand and called out: "Peace, 'Arry! It is me!"

The figure lowered their hood, causing a tangle of silvery-blonde hair to tumble out across their shoulders. "Fleur?" said Harry, surprised, lowering his wand. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, it would seem," Fleur huffed, glancing around at the slew of Weasleys lying unconscious on the grass.

"How did you know I was here?" asked Harry.

"Bill 'as been acting strange in the past few days," Fleur muttered. "So I placed a Tracking Charm on 'is jacket like before, to see where 'e went. I came here when I was alerted that 'e had left his apartment, and zis is what I found."

Harry too glanced around sadly at the fallen Weasleys. "Guess we know now what they think of my involvement in Dumbledore's death," he sighed. He'd hoped otherwise, but the sheer number of absences at the Order meeting had been confirmation enough. Even the Potters' own allies were unsure if they could be trusted in the wake of the recent rumors, which saddened him.

Fleur, however, looked angry. "Zat absolute batard," she spat, stalking over to where Bill lay crumpled by the wall. "Betraying you, after everything you 'ave done in zis war?"

"Careful, Fleur," Harry cautioned as she brandished her wand at Bill's form. "He's a prat, but he's not the real enemy."

"I still want answers," Fleur muttered, pointing her wand in Bill's face. "Ennervate."

Bill jerked awake, eyes wildly looking around for a threat. He spotted Fleur and Harry standing over him and made to stand, but vines erupted from Fleur's wand, pinning his arms and legs to the earth. "Fleur?" he said in disbelief. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I should ask you ze same thing," Fleur huffed. "Why are you attacking 'Arry?"

"He killed Dumbledore, Fleur!" Bill groaned. "And I know he had something to do with Ron's disappearance! We talked about this yesterday—"

"And I told you zat we do not 'ave the full picture yet," Fleur reprimanded him. "You did not think to ask 'im first?"

"He can't be trusted!" Bill spat, glaring daggers at Harry. "Are you going to let him lie his way out of this again? He's gone dark, Fleur! How can you not see it when it's so clearly right in front of you?"

"You never trusted 'Arry, not once!" Fleur shouted, tears in her eyes. "You never gave 'im a fair chance!"

"And I was right not to!" Bill said defiantly. "Face the facts, Fleur: Harry betrayed us, not the other way around!"

"You never gave me the chance to explain," Harry said calmly, hoping to defuse the tense situation. "Can we start over from the beginning and talk about this like adults?"

"Not until you tell me what you've done with my brother!" Bill snarled.

Fleur threw up her hands in exasperation. "I am done with 'im," she said angrily, turning away from Bill. "Do whatever you want with 'im."

Kill him, the Wand whispered in Harry's mind. He knows too much. He'll only create more problems for you down the road.

He doesn't deserve death, Harry fought back. He's still a valuable asset against Voldemort.

Bill doesn't distinguish between you and Voldemort any more. He will make your journey more difficult. Eliminate the problem here and now.

And make a permanent enemy of the Weasleys? No chance.

They're already your enemy. It would change nothing.

It would make me a murderer.

Aren't you one already?

Harry fought to Occlude the bloodthirsty whisperings of the Wand from his mind. He knew killing Bill would only create more problems than solutions. But what was the right course of action? Bill would be a constant thorn in his side if he continued campaigning against Harry and turning former allies against him. Even with the Unbreakable Vow preventing him from sharing the underlying truth, he could cause a lot of damage.

"We should wipe his memory," Harry suggested. "He knows too much that could hurt the war effort."

"Is zat possible?" Fleur wondered. "We are talking about over a year's worth of memories. You would really take that much time away from him?"

Harry remembered what Lockhart had done to Tonks, and did not want to subject Bill to the same fate. "Not completely, no," he muttered. "But we can take away the memories that relate to the horcrux hunt."

"How?" asked Fleur.

Harry knew the answer, and regretted what it would mean. "You and me," he said. "If I remove every memory he has of both of us, that will include everything we did together for the war. I can remove Saul Croaker as well for good measure."

"Every memory of us?" asked Fleur, brow furrowed in thought. "So it would be like my relationship with him never 'appened in his mind?"

Bill's eyes widened in fear at this thought. "Wait...you can't do this," he stammered. "Fleur, darling, I know we've hit a rough patch, but we can still work things out...I still love you…"

"Whatever I felt for you before 'as gone after tonight," Fleur said sharply. "We are done, Bill. I want nothing more to do with you."

Something broke behind Bill's eyes at her words. He looked up at her with a look of deep betrayal and despair. "I've lost you, my flower," he said shakily. "I'm so sorry."

Fleur took in a shuddering breath and turned away. "Just do it," she sniffed, walking away quickly from the two of them. Bill turned his attention back to Harry, panic in his expression.

"Harry, please," he begged. "Don't take her from me. She's the best thing that ever happened to me."

Death would be preferable, the Elder Wand agreed. Put him out of his misery now.

"Shut up," Harry muttered, both to the Wand and to Bill. He pointed his wand in between Bill's eyes before guilt (or bloodlust) could change his mind. "Obliviate."

A flurry of images entered Harry's mind. Bill tried in vain to keep him out, but the Elder Wand tore down his defenses like paper, giving Harry unfettered access to his memories. He saw his own face floating through Bill's subconscious and went after it.

Harry traveled backwards in time, viewing every memory Bill had of him from the opposite perspective. Harry could feel the underlying emotions Bill held towards him: distrust, frustration, resentment. Even jealousy, as he saw the way Bill viewed him as a stronger wizard and leader. Harry erased everything he saw, all the way back to their first meeting at the Quidditch World Cup, until there was nothing left of him in Bill's mind.

He turned next to Fleur. The emotions attached to her were far stronger: infatuation, protectiveness, longing. Images of their relationship flitted through his mind: arguments, make-ups, courtship, and some moments of intimacy that Harry sped past quickly. It took far longer to remove Fleur from Bill's mind – she was more deeply embedded, Bill's mind clinging to her as possessively as he did in real life. Eventually he reached the terminus, which was the beginning: fleeting glances at Gringotts, mutual interest from afar, until they too were scrubbed from his mind forever.

Harry felt extremely guilty as he cleaned up the last few loose ends in Bill's mind. Conversations with Saul Croaker; stray thoughts of the horcruxes; half-hearted plans to break into a Gringotts vault. Then, satisfied with his handiwork, Harry exited Bill's mind, finding himself back in the park, Bill lying blankly at his feet.

He Stunned Bill once more and turned away. He knew this would not stop Bill from distrusting him, especially once his family filled him in on everything that had been removed. And it would only intensify the Weasleys' hatred of him, once they realized what he had done. But they would all live to fight another day, hopefully on the same side sometime in the future. Harry could live with their resentment in the meantime.

Harry found Fleur weeping quietly underneath a tree nearby. "Is it done?" she sniffed quietly.

"Yes," Harry nodded. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," Fleur muttered stubbornly, though she turned away from Harry to conceal her tears. He pulled her in for a hug; she clung to him tightly, trembling and crying softly into his chest.

"Thank you for rescuing me," he said softly.

"Any time," said Fleur. "I told you I can fend for myself."

"I always believed you," Harry chuckled. "But why do you still trust me? Even with all the rumors about what I did at Hogwarts?"

Fleur pulled away from Harry and looked up at him. "Did you kill Dumbledore?" she asked.

"I did," Harry nodded glumly.

"And did you 'ave good reason to do so?"

"I did."

"Then I believe you," Fleur said matter-of-factly. "I know you, 'Arry, and you are not evil. I trust that whatever happened, you did what you thought was best."

A surge of relief rushed through Harry at her words. He hadn't realized it before, but having Fleur on his side was just as reassuring as having his family's support. "Thanks, Fleur," he said. "That means a lot."

"Don't mention it," said Fleur, hastily wiping away her tears. "Now, we should go before they wake up. Take me home – you owe me a very long explanation, young man."

"I'll do you one better," said Harry. "I'm taking Dahlia to your father's home in France tonight. Come with us, and I'll explain everything."

"I 'ave not seen Papa in ages," Fleur said thoughtfully. "Very well, I will come. Your sister will be the first to tell me if you need to be put in your place."

"That she will," Harry agreed as he held out his hand. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way," said Fleur, accepting his hand. Harry Apparated them both back to Grimmauld Place, feeling grateful that he had at least one ally still on his side in the dark days to come.