Disclaimer: Nothing's mine in RL, sadly, so I had to insert myself into the story, to get at least something out of it. Watch out for Gary the Fanboy, played by me.

Extended Summary:
Five Years Later: All is not well. After the Final Battle with the Dark Lord, Harry's life has settled down and left him unsatisfied. But suddenly, there's a murder, and then, a chance meeting with the beautiful Fleur Delacour changes things completely. In midst of political tensions, schemes start to involve Harry, with more than one obscure agenda. Intrigues, secret projects and lies – and who could resist a fatally alluring woman again?

To Black Knight 03, who allowed me to use her idea and give it my own spin. Read her story More Than A Pretty Face, it's a nice short-story.

To Andromalius, who looked over the chapter and reworked the action scenes. I'm happy that you'll never see my attempts.

To Tinn Tam, who gave fabulous feedback, and helped me patiently with the French parts. If it's still not right, it's my fault, not hers. Merci beaucoup, Tinny. Tu es super.

To Dark Belra and Neisseria, for giving me inspirations for the back story when I couldn't think of anything myself. And to the rest of you guys from DLP, who commented and helped to make the chapter better. So, here is:

The French Affair

Prologue: Five years later

The streets glistened from the rain in the light of the street lamps that illuminated the early October night and a chilly fog had begun to creep into the streets from the banks of the nearby River Thames. The world-famous melody was drifting over from the Clock Tower, followed by ten strikes; but even at this time, many cars were rushing past the ever watchful eyes of Admiral Nelson. Trafalgar Square was the heart of London and never came to rest.

In the little alleyway somewhere off the main streets in Whitehall, though, it was only a distant noise. Nobody was outside and the shabby offices were all dark; only from a pub nearby sounded raucous laughter every once in a while. A lone lamp lit up part of the street, showing a heavily graffitied wall and an old red telephone box, clearly out of order and quite vandalised.

At a particularly loud round of laughter, a cat darted away from the wall, over to a skip; and vanished into the night.

# # #

Eric Munch had long since retired from his profession as the best and only employee of the Ministry Security Guard. There had been many changes after one particular incident somehow involving the Department of Mysteries, and especially in the war, a strong and competent internal security had been needed, so a new office had been created, reporting directly to the Minister.

Gary Frobisher didn't really know more than that, and didn't particularly care to, either. He was young enough, so he took a night shift once a week, got the allowance for that and was free on the weekends. It was a bit boring, sitting alone at the desk, but he entertained himself with thoughts from the last weekend.

Her name was Jessica.

Just as he was idly wondering how her hot step-sister would be or even both together, the lift of the visitor entrance, at the end of the hall, clattered to a halt. The door sprang open, and the world bloomed.

Even from across the long hall, he could see that an angel had just now stepped down into the Ministry, down to him. For him. His eyes were fixed on the apparition. The hall was mostly dark, but lights from the lift behind her illuminated her, surrounding her with a soft glow. Over the low murmur of the falling water from the fountain, heels clicked sharply on the floor, echoing in the empty hall.

An angel with high-heels.

As she had crossed maybe half the distance, she shrugged off her cape, with a graceful, fluid motion, and he was blinded by her. The angel had turned into a Goddess.

A Goddess, with black high-heels, endless legs; in a wonderfully short red dress that clung to her figure and hid nothing, especially not those fantastic tits. His look was stuck there, and the best thing was, she didn't even seem to mind. She simply smiled widely, smiled at him, as she saw where he was looking, and sauntered forwards, until she reached him, extending her index finger and pushing up his chin; burning his skin where she had touched him.

Red lips, crystal blue eyes and white-blonde hair that cascaded down her back and seemed to be waving in a constant breeze. Oh yes, a veritable goddess, indeed. He suddenly felt very inadequate, and an overwhelming urge to help her, with whatever she might need.

Pulling himself together, he asked: "How can I be of assistance, Miss?"

How did one speak to such a perfect, exquisite creature? But apparently, he'd said the right thing, because the smile became radiant.

"Oh, monsieur, if eet eez no trouble …"

She had a throaty, sensual voice that promised all sorts of wicked pleasure with a French accent! Sweet Merlin fucking Morgana. Gary felt like he would die any moment from the sensory overload.

"… I was wondering, per'aps do you know where ze prizoner zat was brought in today eez 'eld?"

She looked at him expectantly. Gary beamed. He could help her with that!

"Yes, madame. As it happens, that was a matter of the Inner Security Office, so I know that he is held in the interrogating cells, in our wing; the new part of Level One. I don't know more than that, it's all top-secret, you see, but Gordon should. He's up there, the senior Guard for tonight. You want to visit Gordon?"

Another brilliant smile. "Oui, indeed. I think I'll pay 'im a visit."

"I'll notify him."

Suddenly, he wasn't all that happy anymore. Why couldn't she stay here? He turned to press the button of the Magicomm, but was distracted by a movement in front of him. The French Goddess had bent forward, offering him a first-class view into her wonderful valley, full of smooth creamy skin and perfect curves.

"I want to surprise 'im."

"Of … course," he said distractedly. There was no other piece of cloth there. Under the dress was nothing else! He tried to prevent himself from hyperventilating, and was mostly successful. "Yes, yes, a surprise. I'll just need – you – want … err, I mean, I'll need your wand, then."

When she said nothing, he looked up.

"Your wand, please?"

His eyes caught hers, which seemed to glow in a pale blue fire, less than an arm's length away, mesmerising him.

"Zere eez no need for zat."

Why ever had he asked such a stupid question?

"No need for that," he repeated, nodding emphatically. "After all, it's not like you can use it up there anyway."

The fire abruptly blazed up.

"What do you mean?"

He cringed. She was angry! He chuted backwards in his chair.

"Hurry up, fool! Why wouldn't I be able to use my wand?"

"The – the wards," he said meekly. "It's on one level with the Minister's office, and the wand has to be recognised by the wards to be allowed to use. Otherwise, the general alarm will be sounded."

The anger seemed to vanish as fast as it had risen. She smiled again, even if appeared to be a bit colder.

"I zank you very much for your 'elp. Now would you be a dear, and open ze gates for me?"

Her deep blue eyes bored into him, and he suddenly felt very tired. He nodded sleepily, and pressed both his hand and his wand onto the Magilock to his left, tracing the intricate rune-patterns after it had recognized him. The golden gates a couple of feet away from the desk clicked open.

"There you are, madame," he yawned.

"Why, zank you. You are tired, are you not? You poor thing, eet eez a awful job, and you've been working far too 'ard. Per'aps you should rest. I'm sure, you'll be fine."

He felt himself nod again, before his eyes closed, and he fell into a wonderful, warm darkness.

# # #

Merde. She stood in front of the snoring idiot, cursing. At least he would remember nothing more than an ethereal vision of beauty from their little encounter, not that she was anything less, of course. But that wouldn't matter if the whole Auror Corps came running when she used her wand up there. Sneaking in and out with the help of magic was out. She had to rely on her other talents.

She stepped through the gates, away from the desk into the smaller hall beyond, which was once again only lit up by dim emergency lights. Long shadows revealed the places in the back where the lifts stood, with their wrought golden grilles, that were now simply black. She stepped towards the nearest and pressed the little 'up' button, entering the lift. The grille slid shut behind her with a clang, and she leaned against the back wall, rubbing her temples while the lift began its ascent.

Even if it had been laughably easy to overwhelm this pathetically weak-minded English excuse of a watchwizard, especially as he seemed to have been in the right mood already, it was still taxing.

She fumed at the thought that at the end of the night, she would have a headache that no potion but rest would cure – just because of him. Oh, she would love nothing more than to fry him alive. Maybe bound to her bed with silk, yes, yes …and then she could slowly torture him, until he begged her for mercy and forgiveness … she got a bit excited at that thought, and the building pressure in her head dimmed.

She sighed in relief.

The cabin was drenched in a dim red light whose source was not visible, and after a few more minutes of continuous ride, it started to grate on her nerves. She pulled her wand from her cloak and conjured a white light, bathing the cabin in brightness, which saved her only moments later, as the lift suddenly shuddered to a halt at Level Two, and the doors opened.

"Argh! What the hell is –"

At once she let her Aura loose on him, wincing at the pain in the back of her head, and hoping that he had been too blinded by the sudden light to really see her.

The man stepped into the lift, still with a hand shielding his eyes, wearing the blue Auror standard-robe, but she discovered the small crest at once. Two rapiers crossed behind a shield, he belonged to the Security Guard as well.

The doors closed again, and he slowly lowered his hand, staring at her, starting to grin.

"Well, what do we have here? Are you lost, girl?"

He was noticeably stronger than the first one. Playing the role he wanted her to made things easier, so she lowered her head demurely, and looked at him trough her eyelashes.

"Oui, monsieur. I was looking for a friend. 'e eez 'ere, tonight."

He smiled at her lecherously, his eyes roaming all over her body, never questioning her presence. She relaxed. It worked on him, as well. Her soft French accent added another layer to that complex web of magic she spun around him, and left him with much different thoughts than duty or profession.

Not that her English wasn't good. But more often than not, her accent made things much easier and worked in her benefit.

She smiled, as his eyes didn't left her body, while mentally suppressing a snort.

Yes, look … because this is the nearest you'll ever get to a woman like me.

He probably even thought he had a chance.

At least the first Guard was good-looking. You, my dear, are simply fat.

Fleur pushed away the thoughts about him, and concentrated on the mission. He puffed himself up.

"In that case, you're lucky that you met me. I'm commanding the Ministry for the night, there's no one here I don't know of. So, who might this friend be?"

Parfait. It had to be the senior Guard, Gordon or how the man at the Entrance called him. She stepped towards him.

"'Arry Potter, monsieur."

She saw the short flash of distrust the moment she said it, just as she had expected, but he was distracted by her chest as she moved, and soon she had him under control completely once again, and he relaxed; enthralled in her web like a fly by a spider, yet happy about it. Men were such simple creatures, n'est-ce pas?

"Yeah, he's here alright. But don't you worry your pretty blond head, he's in a cell, safely locked away."

She giggled flirtatiously as his hand reached out, and roamed over her hair.

"And 'e can't escape, really not?" she asked in a fake small voice, putting a little quiver into it as if she was frightened, and inched closer towards the man.

"Never." He was all but devouring her with his eyes. "We have the newest safety measures, and four of our Guards are watching every exit. And, of course, I am here." He smiled winningly. "He has no chance against me, I'll protect you."

She repressed the urge to roll her eyes. If Harry was out, he'd wipe the floor with you any time, you idiot. And so would I, for that matter.

"So all ze Guards are male, non?"

He frowned. "No, they aren't. In fact, we had to put together a new shift, and since Peters got sick, and Johnson is on vacation, tonight there are only female Guards here, aside from Gary down at the Gates. Odd coincidence. But of course, they are just as competent."

Her little breaking and entering got more complicated by the minute. Cursing angrily inside, she realised that she had to get as much information out of him as she could, because she wouldn't get another chance.

Until now, after the initial all-out attack, he had answered on his own accord, because she had played him right. Time to see how resistant he really was.

"And zes safety measures? What are zey, exactly?"

He grinned and winked at her, probably trying to look roguishly, and failing, badly.

"Top secret, of course. But why are we talking about these boring things?"

He looked directly into her face, and his hand sneaked around her waist, starting to pull up her dress. "I have a better …"

Again, her eyes burned bright blue. The pain shot through her like a pin-prick.

"List all and any safety measures between 'ere and 'Arry Potter's cell."

The man stared at her, nodding dumbly.

"There are four Guards on duty. There is a ward that dispels glamours. It's built into a brass archway, directly at the entrance to the Minister's Lobby. There is a security door, at the entrance of the new wing. There – "

"Wait." The pain in her head started to become massive. She had to be quick.

"'ow do you open ze security door?"

The man continued, never once questioning what he did.

"I press my wand at the plate to the right. Then I press my hand at it. Then it recognises me and I enter the code."

"You will tell me ze code."

Fleur stared at him, fighting through the pain to keep her influence upon him.

He nodded. "I'll tell you the code."

He started to make jerky movements with his hand, she realised that he was trying to show her a sequence of runes.


He nodded once more.


He repeated the sequence, and Fleur was sure that she had remembered it correctly. She bit back a moan. Her head felt like it would split in two.

Just a little bit more.

She gritted her teeth.

"From 'ere to ze cell, 'ow do I get zer?"

The pain in her head became unbearable, and she felt her control slip.

"You walk along the corridor, into the direction you face when you exit the lift. Then you turn left at the first junction. Then you continue until you reach the Minister's Lobby. Then there's the route with the security door, it's completely bare …"

He broke off and his features started to clear, as her power gave out at last. His hand was about to wander up her legs into her dress, so it was just as well. In a swift motion, she grabbed his head, and violently slammed it into the metal wall of the lift with a satisfying crash. He emitted a startled ooof, and for good measure, she repeated the process for a second and a third time, leaving him sinking to the ground unconscious and herself immensely satisfied. Thought he could touch her, did he?

Gros cochon.

Now knowing what do expect, she started to work fast. She pulled the man's wand out of his holster, wincing at the contact with the grey wood. It felt hostile and not compatible at all. She wouldn't be able to cast even the weakest spell with it, that much was certain.

Stripping out of her dress, she stood in the moving escalator with just her blue panties and her heels on, which she transfigured into boots. The coat became a black leather suit, and the dress an equally black beanie. She slipped into the suit, moving her arms experimentally. It fit her snugly, and she was quite flexible in it. But most importantly, it would hide her in the shadows as much as possible, when her Disillusionment Charm was dispelled.

She put her hair into a bun and the cap over it, carefully shoving every blond streak under it; disillusioned herself, and extinguished the light, just as the lift reached the first floor, and the door clattered open. It seemed far too loud in the absolute quiet that was the Ministry at night.

"Gordon? That you?"

She started. The female voice carried over from some corners away.

Hastily, she slipped out of the lift. She hid in a corner, waiting tensely, but the Guard didn't come. Everything was silent again. Just her own soft breathing, and the blood soughing in her ears. She tried to calm herself.

After a few more moments she started to creep down the dark corridor, the noise of her footfalls swallowed by the thick carpet. She passed a few doors to her right, all closed, while the left wall was bare for a long time until a grey rectangle emerged from the darkness. The junction.

She crouched down at the corner and, bracing her body with the right hand on the ground, slowly bent sideways around the wall, only to look directly up to an arriving Guard.

The Guard took another step, treading on her fingers resting out in the corridor. She couldn't suppress a low hiss. Her heart rate sped up, when the woman stiffened at once. She used her wand to light up the area and watch it intently.

Her bruised fingers were throbbing painfully, and she gritted her teeth – the female Guard was now staring directly at her … she held her breath … the Guard was frowning, bending down – and staring through her. The disillusionment worked.

After a small eternity, the Guard shook her head, rose, turned and walked back down the corridor.

She sighed in relief and tried to ignore the lingering pain. Standing up, she followed her. Once again, to the left the wall was without a single door, although now, there were a few paintings on it. For maybe three minutes she walked silently behind the Guard, until the woman stopped, and turned again. Apparently, she was patrolling the corridor.

She flattened herself against the wall, feeling the leather stretch over her chest as she breathed softly. She almost jumped when the sleeve of the woman's robe brushed over her suit slightly, but the Guard took no notice of it and passed her without a look.

Only when there was a safe distance between them, she dared to move again. Her hands went to her head once more. She was constantly on the edge, constantly alert, and it was making her headache worse.

She continued in the opposite direction, and after a few steps, she reached a metal archway that gleamed dully in the dim twilight. The glamour-ward. She took a quick look around, but the light from the Guard was far away, only a little pinpoint in the corridor. She crossed the ward, feeling the warm sensation of the Disillusionment Charm dispelling, and emerged into a wide open space, with a few groups of chairs and small desks scattered throughout, next to some pot plants.

Here her directions ended. She looked for the route that would lead her to the new wing, but it wasn't hard to find, considering one of the Guards was patrolling it, emerging into the lobby on the other side of the room just now.

She went prone, crawling behind the nearest suite, trying to make no sound. She succeeded, until a metal buckle scraped softly over the ground.

The beam of light from the wand slipped over the plant in front of her, and lingered for an excruciatingly long minute. She couldn't see anything from her position. The room seemed to shrink until she was sure that she had to be discovered. Were those steps?

She strained to hear something, but there was just the silence humming in her ears, which suddenly felt heavy and oppressing.

But nothing happened. Finally, the light moved on, over the desk, the chairs, and continued onwards, throughout the room. Lifting her head, she let out a long breath and followed the light; it darted over a clock on the wall to her left and she memorised the time. Twenty-five past ten and four seconds. It had taken much longer than expected up here.

The wandlight receded back into the hallway, and she moved quickly though the lobby. On one table, she found a small pocket watch. Some visitor during the day had to have forgotten it. She picked it up and hid on the right side of the corridor, into which the second Guard had gone; the route that at the other end held the high security door with the entrance to the new wing.

She bit her lip. If the corridor was as the senior Guard had described it, there would be no place to hide. She could perhaps slip in behind the patrolling Guard, while she was standing in the lobby, but then what?

The Guard would be coming after her, and she needed a while to open the locked door, with just his wand. But perhaps the Guard would not walk to the very end? Maybe she could hide in the corner, if she was fast enough.

The steps returned.

# # #

She waited there, hidden, watching a couple of rounds from the Guard, and taking the time. The woman was quite precise, always taking between one minute thirty and one minute forty-four to complete a turn.

She decided to go ahead. There was nothing for it. It was a miserable excuse of a plan, but she had lost too much time already to think up a suitable alternative. The Guard emerged out of the corridor, and once again, the light roamed through the lobby. The clock now read twenty-five to eleven.

While the Guard was facing in the opposite direction, she snuck into the corridor. She moved as quickly as she dared – if the Guard would turn now, alerted by a small sound …

After only a short way into the corridor, she heard what she had feared. Somewhere behind her were now footsteps, evenly and much too fast. She sped up, using her left hand to guide her way along the wall, and her right hand as a buffer; stretched out in front of her to not run headlong into the door.

She was effectively blind. It was pitch-black, the grey twilight that pervaded the lobby had vanished a few steps into the corridor. It seemed to stretch endlessly. From what she felt, it was indeed completely bare, rough stone walls, unadorned and highly practical. Where was the door?

She felt the presence of the Guard behind her. It was like a constant pressure on her back, the subdued echoes of footfalls a heavy weight that spurred her forward, faster and faster. She was walking quickly now, not daring to turn her head to look back, afraid to stumble, and she didn't want to look back, either, fearing how close she would see the light if she did.

But just knowing that the Guard could be getting closer and closer was enough. She tried to rationalise it, while she walked deeper into the new wing. She always had a chance. She could overwhelm the Guard easily. As long as she's surprised and doesn't make enough noise to attract the rest of them.

But she felt little better, after this reassurance.


Her right hand connected with something solid. It was cold, probably metal. She had reached the door. Now, where to hide, until the Guard had completed this round and walked out of the corridor again?

She turned around. The light was not very far away. Once she was near enough to be in its cone, she would be seen. Quick! Where to hide? In the corner and hope for the best?

The light had gotten substantially nearer. The comforting shadows fled in flittery unrest … her hand felt out a protrusion on the door, and with it came a stroke of insight. Up.

She didn't hesitate for a moment. Lifting her right feet, she climbed onto edge, her finger clawing at the door lintel to find hold. She pulled herself up, and grinned satisfied at what she felt; the door was substantially thicker than the wall separating this part of the corridor from the other half; yet it didn't reach up to the ceiling. If she hunched up, she could wait over the door on the ledge… and then hope that the Guard didn't look up.

The cone of light reached the door.

# # #

It was once again a small eternity. She was crouched in a corner, using her hands to prop herself against the ceiling, to not fall down. The woman took her duty very seriously; walking until the door was bathed in light, and there was no possible place to hide, in any corner. The ledge was brightly lit as well, and she held her breath, as the Guard lifted the wand. Seconds passed, in which the position became more and more tiring and her arms started burning.

But the Guard didn't think in three dimensions, she never once looked up. And then finally, she turned and resumed her patrolling.

As soon as the Guard was the barest minimum of distance away, she lowered herself to the ground. Comparing quickly the times she had gotten from the clock, she figured she now had about one minute and thirty-seven seconds until the Guard returned, about fifty seconds of which the woman would spend with her back to her.

She placed the watch on the ground, watching the second hand, and knelt in front of the plate.


She pulled out both wands. Pressing the one she had taken from Guard onto the plate she had seen to the right of the door, she started her work on the lock. A dim light was spreading from the plate, so she could see well enough.

Seventeen … Eighteen …

Now any authorised Guard would have to press their hand against it. She had to do without. A few hasty movements with her own wand traced a runic pattern into the air, glowing golden.

Thirty-one …

The runes were absorbed by the plate, doing absolutely nothing. Frustrated, she tried again.

The first part of the sequence.

Thirty-six …

Nothing. Fifteen seconds at most, and the Guard would turn around to see the glowing plate like a lighthouse in the corridor.

Thirty seven Thirty-eight …

She tried to calm herself. There was enough time for another try yet. She switched hands. The right one was her wandhand, and she had used it to press the borrowed wand against the plate, not to trace the rune grid.

Forty-five …

Suddenly, the plate glowed more brightly, and symbols began to appear. Her wand moved in a blur, disentangling a few, moving others around. She was inside.

Forty-six …

A pattern seemed to evolve. Now for the code.

Forty-seven …

And still five more Runes to go. She wouldn't be ready in time, she saw that clearly, with one Rune taking roughly a second to draw correctly.

Forty-eight …

Her wand sped back and forth over the plate.

Forty-nine …

Three more …


Time was up. Her hand had started to shake a bit, not the most conducive way to draw Runes with accuracy and speed. She finished the penultimate Rune … where was the Guard? Completing the second half of the round already? It had never taken more than fifty-two seconds for the Guard to complete half a turn, and even that was just once.

Fifty two …

The wand was ripped off the plate, which went dark at once. She spun around. The light from the Guard was just a little white dot. There were no steps, no shouts. She had done it.

# # #

In the end, it was almost anticlimactic. She picked up the watch and slipped though the thick door, and it clicked softly shut behind her. That was the first part. She leaned against it, trying to calm herself. Her hands were still shaking; so badly that she almost lost the grip on the wands. She stuck them back into a pocket, and massaged her temples once again, through the cloth of the cap.

A nice, hot bubble bath sounded so tempting right now.

She shook off the thoughts, only now realising the difference. In contrast to the rest of the Ministry, the rooms of the Inner Security Office were brightly lit, somehow, without any of the light crossing the threshold.

On the right, next to the door she just came through, was a floor plan. The added wing was laid out like a T. She stood at the base, with many offices on both sides; the right arm held the cells and the left one only one big room, that was labelled 'Archive'.

Simple enough.

She began to walk towards her destination. The corridor was empty, and she avoided opening any doors. The longer no one knew of her presence, the greater her chances were.

The corridor that held the cells had another security door, but it was open. She frowned, but decided not to question her luck. Cautiously, she peered around it. Halfway down, on the right wall, was a metal cabinet. A bit before that, on the left wall, between two cell doors, was a small, round table and a chair.

And seated in the chair, with her back towards her, was the third Guard.

There was no way she could enter the cell without stomping over the Guard's feet. So this was where the stealth end evading ended. If she was lucky, she could at least take care of one Guard at a time, as the last had to be in one of the rooms, not able to intervene at once.

As quietly as possible, she sidled up to the sitting woman; stopping an arm's length away.

Then, in a sudden move, she seized a handful of the Guard's hair and, ignoring the startled shout, slammed the head onto the table. The two delicate front legs splintered under the force in a loud crash, and she heard an alarmed cry from around the corner followed by rapid footsteps. The last Guard came running.

The weight of the woman she rendered unconscious shifted forward in her seat, unbalancing the chair. It skidded out from beneath the Guard and deposited her onto the ground. At the same time, her hand opened, releasing the wand she had held.

Her own arm snapped forward in an attempt to snatch the falling wand, but she missed by the slightest margin. It slipped through her fingers as they closed only to clutch at air. It hit the tip of her boots at an odd angle and bounced off, rolling out into the corridor. She scrambled after it, but it was too late; the wand vanished mockingly below the cabinet on the other side, beyond her reach.

A red ray of light shot overhead. She whirled around, dodging a second spell the same colour as the first, both most likely stunners, and glimpsed the final Guard standing with her legs apart at the door.

She jumped sideways and behind the cabinet, using it as cover. A yellow-hued curse streaked past the space she had occupied only moments before. It hit the painting at the end of the corridor and set off a brief flash as the enchantment animating its occupant died, amplifying the force of the ensuing explosion. She instinctively shielded her face with her arms, the shower of splinters the size of toothpicks raking at but not piercing the leather covering her body.

"Come out. I don't know how you came in, but you won't be leaving except under ministerial custody. So do yourself a favour and make this easy."

She started to concentrate on the warmth that was always inside of her, feeling it spread, directing it towards her right arm.

"Don't make it harder than it has to be. We have clearance to use any and every curse if the situation calls for it."

She clenched her fist and opened it again, slowly; drawing the warmth out her hand, and concentrating it between her fingers.

"This is your last warning. I'm counting to three. One …"

Her hand glowed from the inside; she felt the fire shape itself into a globe that settled above her palm.

"… two …"

She crouched low, on her left knee, counterbalancing her weight with her left hand and stuck her head out of the cover. The Guard stood in the middle of the corridor, maybe fifteen yards away. With her right hand she reached back and hurled the fist-sized fireball towards the Guard.

"… thr– Scutum Glacies!"

The yellow-white fire expanded as soon it had left her hand. The compressed fire exceeded five times its original mass. It cast a fiery glow on the walls bordering the corridor that roved alongside it as it travelled towards the Guard, who had evoked a shimmering blue-green shield just in time. The fire sizzled and hissed as it dissipated, but the ice-based shield held, albeit not without emitting a substantial quantity of steam that wafted around its conjurer in a vaporous blanket.

She flung a second and a third fireball the Guard as the witch cleared the faint screen of steam, keeping her busy. With a quick jump, she was in the corridor, sprinting past the cabinet towards the Guard. She pressed the fire-assault, but it took a short time to create the next fireball after the previous had left her hand. The Guard capitalized on that weakness at once, starting to attack in-between.

She passed the broken table and lashed at it with her foot, knocking it onto its side and exposing its two remaining legs. Grasping them, she lifted it and held it in front of her.

A stunner ineffectually burst in a festive shower of scarlet sparks against her makeshift shield. She lifted it higher and caught a blue-tinged curse she didn't recognise, but which left a scorch mark and a burning stench that caused her nostrils to flare. She had closed half the distance when the Guard switched tactics.


By instinct, she intercepted the curse with the table, shouldering it and bracing for the impact, which sent her stumbling to the ground and cleaved the round table in two. She rolled out of the way of another curse and was back on her feet in a second, hurling the left half of the now useless shield at the Guard.

The woman ducked down, and swiftly sidestepped the second part of the table that followed, but it distracted her long enough.

She reached her just moments later. Jumping forward, she used her momentum to deliver a hefty kick with her right leg into the woman's midsection. Her leather boot connected with the body, the blow muffled by the cloth and producing only a dull thump. The Guard curved through the air, crashing into the wall beside the door, and slid down; coughing, the breath knocked out of her.

A fireball followed, slamming her in the chest, setting her clothes alight. The Guard screamed in pain, but remained lucid enough able to douse the fire with a fountain of water from her wand. The verbalization of the incantation was slurred, no doubt due to the heated air that infiltrated her lungs, but sufficed.

She had landed in a crouch, cushioning her landing. The woman stared up at her with a hateful expression. The fire had seared part of her skin and ruined the robe, exposing her arms and a fine silver bracelet on her left wrist. The wet cloth clung to her body; she had plain features; brown eyes, chestnut brown hair; the epitome of average.

In a flash, she was grappling with the Guard, grabbing her wandhand with her own. She clutched at the wrist, trying to get her to open her hand and release the wand, but the woman didn't give free reign. Both struggled for control, trying to point the wand at the other.

"You won't get away. Not if – Negaeris!"

The Guard cast the spell without warning.

At the last moment, she wrest the wand away from her. The tip pointed upwards, and the curse that would have suffocated her whizzed overhead, hitting the ceiling instead. However, that short moment of distraction was enough for the woman still pressed against the wall to rip her cap off with her the other hand, freeing her hair from its confinement.

Shock registered in her face as she looked closer.

"Fleur Delacour?"

# # #

Putain. Qui es-tu?

Fleur stared angrily down at the Guard, her face flushed, the body heated under the leather from the exertion. Her long hair had come loose, falling over her shoulder. So close. So close to the goal, and there went her cover. And she didn't recognise her opponent.

"Who are you?"

The Guard laughed.

"Oh, you don't know me, you French hussy. But I know all about you. Fucking Harry Potter, while your fiancé is away in Egypt, why don't you?"

Fleur narrowed her eyes. Something in the way she said it reminded her of a certain someone, and no one could know that, anyway, except –

The bracelet. She was plain – too plain. The bracelet didn't fit her. Fleur's free hand snapped forward and ripped it off, the Guard trying in vain to stop her. Before her eyes, the woman's features seemed to meld, brown hair turning dark blonde, the eyes got greener, features sharpening …

– "Anastasia!"

# # #

Fleur started to grin. Oh, this little mission suddenly got a lot more exciting.


"Yes, me."

"Whatever are you doing here?"

Anastasia rolled her eyes. "My job, of course, and trying to get him to tell me who his contact persons are."

She tilted her head, staring at Fleur.

"It seems that has sorted itself out, however. The real question is, what are you doing here? Trying to free your little sex-toy?"

Fleur smirked.

"Oh, is someone angry? You seem a bit frustrated here, Ana. Didn't you get any since he left you for me, you poor thing? Somehow, that makes me unbelievable 'appy."

Anastasia's eyes literally sprayed sparks.

"So you have an affair with him. I knew it. You may have fooled everyone, but not me. I knew you had something to do with it, the moment he brought up those excuses to break up with me. This is just like you. Weasley's not there, so you simply pump up your Aura and steal another person's boyfriend."

Fleur threw her head back and laughed.

"I, stealing him? This is funny. Oh, how very wonderful. You truly believe that."

Anastasia stared at her furiously.

"God, I hate you Veelas. Always thinking that you have some nature-given right to have any man you want, any time, anywhere – just because you can. You don't even care for him, it's obvious. You care about nothing but yourselves. Feelings of others, existing relationships? To hell with it! He was mine!"

"You amuse me with your jealousy, Ana. Eet becomes you. Now, I would like nothing better than to rub eet in a bit more, but I have things do to. So I'll simply need zat –"

Lunging forward with her right hand, she ripped the wand out of Anastasia's grasp. The other woman reacted at once and tried to wrestle it back out of her hand, and the wand, still wet from the water, slipped out and fell to the ground.

Tangled, they rolled around on the ground. Anastasia seized her wand, but Fleur pressed her hand hard onto a patch of skin on her arm that was red and burnt. With a scream, she curled herself together, and tried to get Fleur's hands off of her, whimpering. Fleur clutched at the wand herself, but Anastasia kicked away, out of either's reach. It flew a few yards, then continued rolling down the corridor.

Fleur scrambled up to run after it, but Anastasia caught her. Dragging her to the ground again, she tried to get up herself.

"Oh no, you don't."

Fleur jumped up, using her left leg to get a safe stance. Bringing up her right knee, she swiftly turned over her hip and then spun on her heel, snapping the right leg outwards just as Anastasia passed her to the left. The bootleg and her shin hit the woman just below her neck and sent her once more flying backwards; through the open door, back into the main corridor.

Fleur followed her, and delivered another straight kick, just as she had risen again from the ground. Anastasia crashed into a door on the other side of the corridor, snapping its brittle hinges and fell backwards into the room beyond.

Fleur pounced on her lithely, but this time Anastasia raised her hands, and used Fleur's own momentum against her. She grabbed Fleur, and threw her over her head, against a table behind her.

Fleur groaned as the edge of the table dug painfully between her ribs, even though the leather of her suit cushioned the blow. She rose slowly, looking around. They were in a little cafeteria, it seemed. There was still a mug with tea on one table, Ana probably had been here when she arrived.

Fleur stalked over to her.

"You are wasting my time."

She grabbed her by the collar of her uniform, and lifted her up in front of her with her left hand, while gathering fire in her right. She ripped her fist open, and flung it forward, with all her might. The fireball impacted at Anastasia's unprotected chest, and she was thrown backwards in a raging inferno, crashing into the vitreous counter. The glass broke, and shards were flying all around, cutting into her skin.

Anastasia fell down on the other side, hitting her head on a rack with tableware, pushing it over. The porcelain rained down on her, burying her in a heap of dishes, mugs and other things. The noise was deafening.

Finally. Fleur turned to walk out of the room, when there was a sound from behind the counter. Disbelievingly, she watched as Anastasia emerged from under the broken porcelain, cut, bleeding from numerous gashes and huge patches of raw burnt skin, but still very much conscious.


Anastasia coughed painfully, and sat up.

"There are normal, decent witches that can use a bit of wandless magic as well, you stupid Veela bint. Mine's a shield charm. Not terribly strong, but strong enough to annoy you, and that's all that matters, really. Now, let's see …"

On the wall behind the counter was a live-version of the Inner-Security-crest; an actual shield in front of two crossed rapiers. Anastasia took down one of the weapons.

"Let's see how you like this, then."

She advanced on Fleur, who dodged her first thrust, and quickly stepped past the other woman. With a few steps, she was behind the counter and took down the second rapier. She looked at it, and started to scoff immediately. That was no rapier, that was an épée, made to look like one, by adding a replica of an historical hilt.

How very typical. Trust the English to fake even a crest, ces barbares incultes.

She flexed the blade and held the weapon in front of her. At least it was missing the blunted head. Anastasia came towards her again, the épée in front of her. Fleur raised an eyebrow.

"Don't hurt yourself. It's sharp."

As an answer, the weapon sprang forward, the point hitting her on her stomach, but the thrust had been diagonal and it glanced off on the black leather.

Fleur looked at the place where the blade had struck her, then at Anastasia, who was closing in again.

"We had this long since coming. We'll settle this now, once and for all. The change of shift isn't for another hour, so we'll be … uninterrupted."

Her eyes flickered back to the door for a split-second.

When Fleur didn't react, she added flippantly: "Come on! I'll even make this official: I challenge you to a duel, be victory to the one who has rendered the opponent unable fight any longer. The winner then gets to freely decide the loser's fate."

Fleur felt the magic surge as the challenge was accepted and narrowed her eyes.

"Isn't that the chance you always dreamed of? I know you, Fleur."

"You don't know what you're getting into, girl," she hissed. "En garde."

She raised her épée, putting her right feet forward, and the left in a right angle a bit behind, assuming duelling stance, a few feet away from her opponent.

"Prête? Allez!"

Both their movements were severely hindered by the confined space; something that Fleur sought to remedy. She went into the offensive at once; advancing in small rapid steps with the blade stretched out, forcing Anastasia to retreat along the broken counter. They neared the entrance, the glass crunching under their feet.

Trying to regain some of the lost ground, Anastasia suddenly thrusted her épée forwards in a lunge, trying to hit Fleur's unprotected head. Fleur parried the attack, however, and forced her opponent into a blade lock, closing in. This time, the lack of space worked in her favour, because Anastasia had no room to evade the close proximity.

Less than a foot away, she suddenly released the pressure against Ana's épée from below, and pulled her arm down, moving it behind her and over the top of her shoulder in a small arch.

Anastasia was still surprised, and couldn't formulate her defence in time, leaving her chest undefended. She saw the weapon coming from ahead, angling down, and her eyes widened. Scrambling backwards, she tried to put distance between them, but it sent her off balance and she slipped on the shards.

That was the only thing that saved her from being jabbed directly into the chest with the sharp blade and ending the fight before it really begun.

She hit the ground hard, crawling backwards as Fleur advanced further on her. She jumped to her feet and into the main area of the cafeteria, with Fleur following her. Leaping onto a table, Anastasia tried to use this position to gain better access to Fleur's head as she came out from behind the counter.

She thrust downwards, and only a reflex saved Fleur from being pierced in her eye. The point of the épée left a long gash across her left cheek. Fleur stepped away from the table and lowered her blade for a moment. Slowly, she raised her hand and touched her cheek, livid. The fingers were coated in red.

"You little cheat. Whereever does eet say zat ze furniture was allowed? Now you made me angry."

Anastasia laughed scornfully, still standing on the table.

"Oh, that is rich, coming from you. You're in absolutely no position at all to tell me about cheating. Remember which one of us is engaged here? I –"

She let out a yelp, as Fleur had used her distraction to move to the rectangular table and capsize it. Flailing about, she fell down backwards on the other side, and Fleur swung herself over the edge, landing crouched and using the momentum to thrust the épée down.

Anastasia rolled out the way at the very last moment, and the blade only struck the empty floor. Pushing herself up, she assumed duelling stance once again and their fight continued. The exchanged a few quick thrusts, the steel clicking constantly from their blades connecting.

Anastasia made a sudden lunge towards Fleur's chest, but Fleur moved her épée sideways, deflecting her opponent's attack. The blade passed her harmlessly, leaving Anastasia completely open, and she riposted immediately with a swift jab.

There wasn't even enough time for Anastasia to erect her shield. The épée followed the direction it was given and the sharp point burrowed itself into her abdomen. Anastasia's mouth formed a small 'o' shape, surprise registering at the thin blade that was protruding from her body, before the pain set in.

Only now did she seem to realise that they were fighting with actual weapons, and that Fleur was wearing a leather suit that gave a little protection, while she herself had just her magical shield, and was already bruised and injured from before.

Fleur pressed her advantage to deliver another quick thrust, and again, she couldn't react fast enough, to dodge, at least. The weapon pierced her skin, but hit one of the rips, preventing it from doing deeper damage.

Anastasia grimaced and retreated backwards, putting another table between the two of them.

Fleur cocked her head.

"You are much too uptight, Ana. You desperately need to get yourself a man to work out ze tension. I even promise, you can keep 'im, this time."

But Anastasia wasn't yet defeated. The words sparked her anger to new heights, and she clutched the grip of her épée, hard.

"Not every woman has to sleep with someone every other hour, you sex-crazed oversized bird. Sticking this thing in you will relax me quite a bit, thank you very much – I'll be rid of you, and have my boyfriend back."

Fleur moved slowly around the table, the weapon raised in front of her. By now, they had almost completed a full circle.

"You are delusional. 'Arry doesn't want you. Which is too sad – we could 'ave 'ad a ménage à trois, and you could stick other things in me. His tongue, eet is divine, n'est-ce pas?"

This stopped Anastasia, who until then had moved along, keeping constantly half the table length between them.

"You are disgusting," she sputtered. "We … his tongue? – eew!"

Fleur laughed loudly at her opponent's face.

"Ana, tu es une prude."

Fleur received a withering glare in return, but was unfazed as she closed the remaining space between them, once again reaching fighting distance. She advanced further, but Anastasia offered some resistance.

"At least I don't go offering it to everyone in sight. I bet that's how you came in, isn't it? Blasting the Guards with your Veela-Charm, and playing the easy French tart. Not that you were ever anything else."

Feinting a high attack that Fleur parried, she ducked below her defence and delivered a quick thrust to her stomach, but most of it was absorbed by the leather.

Fleur looked at her pityingly.

"The angry words of everyone who is envious that they 'aven't anything to offer in ze first place. Or, not enough to keep their boyfriends, n'est-ce pas, Ana? But don't be sad. He left you for nothing short of a Veela. And I assure you, he never complained – which is apparently more than can be said for his time with you."

Growling angrily, Anastasia recovered, and they resumed exchanging thrusts, moving backwards and forwards in small, quick jumps, without either one really gaining the upper hand.

Fleur attacked again, her blade approaching the target and Anastasia started to counter, but this time Fleur used her wrist to twist her épée in a small circle, neatly passing under Anastasia's defence. The point of the weapon touched her just below her chest, the blade bending and not moving any further; it was as if was meeting an unseen barrier.

Her shield.

Fleur recovered, parrying another attack from Anastasia by directing her épée over her left shoulder. Then she attacked again, moving through the lunge in a fluid motion, shifting the majority of her weight from her back leg to her front, to have a solid stance for the second part of the attack. She brought her back leg forward as well, and then advanced again, moving without interruption, reaching deep into Anastasia's defence and executing a perfect fleche attack, which once again hit only the shield.

But even though Anastasia shielded herself, Fleur was now gaining ground and her opponent had to retreat, through the broken door of the cafeteria, back into the corridor, where Fleur continued driving Anastasia along in front of her; into the direction of the open security door.

# # #

The fight didn't last much longer. Anastasia was already handicapped from the kicks and the throw through the counter and the rack, and now bleeding from several wounds all over her body.

She was severely outclassed; Fleur wasn't doing much more than playing with her and both knew it. Anastasia could barely muster enough strength to hold up the épée anymore. Fleur had been quickly driving her all along the cell corridor, and now there was no other place to retreat, the corridor ended here, she was backed against the wall.

Fleur was staring at her maliciously, a vision of cruel beauty; the long, blond hair contrasting sharply with the dark jumpsuit, the lovely face, marred by an ugly grimace, and the steel of her épée, dyed red.

"Did you ever make him scream?"

A hard thrust that Anastasia weakly tried to parry, but it wasn't enough and the point left a deep wound at her hip. She bit her lip to not cry out in pain, but Fleur continued relentlessly, striking at her all over the body now, with sharp stabs.

"Why, just yesterday, he was most vocal – if I remember right, eet was something like 'yes',"

thrust …


thrust …

"and 'Ana never did zat'."

With the final attack, Fleur knocked her opponent's blade out of her weakened grip. It fell onto the ground with a clang, and rolled out of her reach.

Fleur stopped to savour the beautiful vision of helpless fury on her rival's face, slumped to the ground and backed into a corner, bleeding heavily, her clothing torn and dirty. Then she lowered her own épée.

"As eet seems, I'm quite a few leagues above you, little girl. You are simply not good enough, in every sense. You are standing with your back to ze wall."

But then, she noted a sudden change in her demeanour. Through the grimace of pain, there was, all at once, a gleeful defiance.

"Oh really?"

Anastasia was looking past her, smiling widely. "I believe I know something you don't."

Abruptly, Fleur felt her head being pulled back by her hair with enough force that the glossy strands threatened to vacate her scalp, and a second arm reached around her and pressed something sharp at her throat.

"Drop your weapon and turn around."

The voice was a bit unsteady. She guessed it was Guard from the door, who had gotten back up to her feet. What a shame.

She pondered her options. She could blast her away with a bit of fire, but she could only take care of one of them at a time and she was feeling the strain anyway. All the fighting had tired her as well, even if she was loathe to admit it; and she had used more of her Veela magic than in a long time, at least in her untransformed state. Her eyes darted around. There was no place to jump behind and hide. The only thing that was here was …

Ana's wand. From where she had kicked it, down the corridor, it had come to a rest lying not three feet to her right, and it fitted her well enough.

There was a sharp tug at her hair.


She dropped the épée, and moved her head a bit. The pressure on her throat had lessened, once she'd dropped the blade, and that would prove to be the Guard's undoing. Anastasia followed her line of sight, and Fleur witnessed the moment her gaze rested the wand and made the connection, her eyes widening.

For the next seconds the time seemed strangely stretched.

Fleur saw Anastasia darting forward … and then like any elastic matter, time snapped back with a vengeance.

Fleur dropped to the side, out of the Guard's clasp, her arm stretching. Anastasia had almost reached the wand, but Fleur conjured her fire for the final time. She launched it at Anastasia, blasting her away from the wand … the entire ending of the corridor went alive in a blazing rage of fire, hot, red, but it didn't harm her … her fingers touched wood … she hit the ground heavily, landing her right side, feeling a small burst of pain from her shoulder and pointed the wand backwards … Stupefy!

The red beam left the wand and hit the second Guard, directly behind her. Fleur heard her collapsing on the ground.

# # #

For a long time Fleur didn't move from her position lengthways in the corridor. Then, she gingerly raised her hand and touched her throat, wincing at the pain from her shoulder. Relieved, she noted that the knife now lying next to her had only nicked her skin above her throat, far from being life-threatening.

She propped herself up, using her left, uninjured arm. The Guard was stretched out unconsciously behind her, Anastasia was slumped in the corner, badly burned, defeated and exhausted, both physically and magically, having used her last reserves to prevent being burnt alive in the burst of fire moments before.

She was looking at Fleur bitterly, coughing, and spitting out something red. Her left hand was pressing onto one of the wounds at her abdomen.

"Congratulations, Fleur. You've won, I've got nothing more to give. A Veela always gets what she wants. Isn't it so? Now take it all. My fate is at your hands."

Fleur was staring at her, unmoving.

"Come on! Have you lost your command of English? Fais-le! Achève-moi."

Slowly, she began to shake her head.

"Non. Je ne pense pas … I feel, eet wouldn't quite satisfy me. I shall decide for something different."

Anastasia stared at her, weary.

"What do you have cooked up now in that birdbrain of yours? Isn't it enough for the mighty Veela to simply kill me?"

Fleur smiled thinly.

"No, not quite, I admit. You'll live … but you will not tell anyone what you know about me personally, and me and 'Arry, including what 'appened here, until eet me so pleases that you do."

Fleur saw the outrage blossom on her face, and felt very complacent, knowing that it would drive her spare to know, but not being able to tell anyone.

"That is well within my rights. Say eet."

"You manipulative bitch," she spat. "Oh, I can see it in your eyes. It's revolting. You simply love having that kind of power over people, being able to tell them what to do and what not, don't you?"

"Quite. It amuses me. Say eet."

Soon enough the rage gave way to resignation and she slumped together once again, knowing that she was in no position to refuse, having lost with her own terms turned against her.

"Fine. I'll do it," she said sullenly.

"You simply shouldn't go throwing around challenges for which you 'ave no plan for winning, Ana."

Her eyes flashed once more in anger, but she bit back the immediate response. Fleur nodded satisfied. Anastasia started to speak.

"I, Anastasia Scrimgeour-Dupont, will not …

# # #

He was decidedly bored. It was dark, but he wasn't tired. The security doors were soundproof, so he hadn't even been able to talk with the Guards. Shame, the red-headed one was quite attractive, even if she probably looked completely different in truth.

Sitting on the small cot in the cell, he tapped his feet impatiently. What could possibly take her so long?

The lock on the door clicked. He rose. Finally.

"'Arry? Are you in there?"

The door opened, and in the light from the corridor, he saw … fucking hell. A figure in black. Fleur in a figure-hugging black leather suit with a few strands of hair escaping from under an equally black cap.

He eyed her up and down.

"This is certainly a very nice outfit. Did you put it on just for me?"

She didn't say a word, instead slowly walked over to him, pushing him backwards, against the wall. She was effectively trapping him, but really didn't care at the moment and started to kiss her hungrily.

She grabbed his head and deepened the kiss, simultaneously starting to rub herself against him. Her felt her leather clad breasts press against his chest, when she abruptly broke the kiss and smashed the head she held hard against the rough stone wall. It hurt like a bitch.

"Enough playing. Where eez eet?"

Uh-oh. Harry's vision swam. This was not good. Her accent was only this pronounced when she was furious … well, that or when she about to come, but that was beside the point. It would be unwise to anger her further, especially as she head his head still jammed between her hands.

"Have you lost something?"

Her face contorted with rage and she let out a snarl. Her blue eyes flashed to a deep red and her lovely features began to shimmer slightly in the air as if something lay behind them.

"Bad day, then?"

Her hand moved from the head to his neck, clamping down with an unnatural strength and cutting of his air supply. She opened her mouth, and the words came out with a distinctly rough hiss.

"'Arry Potter, I am zis cloze to tranzform myzelf, and fry you like a chicken. Ze troubles you 'ave given me, eez unbelievable. I 'ave a 'eadache, because I 'ad to let those two swines of Eenglish Guards stare at me and grope me, and then listen to your leetle delusional ex-geerlfriend, while she thought she could beat me een fencing. I am not een ze mood. I know you took eet, so. Where. Eez. Eet."

Harry started to feel light-headed. In an attempt to free himself, he suddenly pushed forward, surprising Fleur. She lost her balance and started to fall with a startled yelp, pulling him with her; but at least the pressure on his throat lessened.

They landed on the floor in a tangled heap, with Harry on top of her. Incidentally, his hand had ended up somewhere between her thighs. Unabashedly, he tried to move it up a bit, but she clamped her legs together, trapping his hand.

"I really like this outfit," he panted, pinning her down with his elbow; but not for long, as she overpowered him with a growl, and rolled around, reversing their positions. In a flash, Anastasia's wand was drilled into his chest.

"You tell me now, 'Arry Potter, or I zwear I weell kill you."

Harry started laughing.

"You would kill me anyway. I know too much."

She cocked her head, and started to grind into him, thoughtfully.

"Indeed I may, but if you tell me now, you weell die 'appy."

He grabbed her legs to keep her from moving.

"I don't want to die anymore than to sit in this boring cell, happy or not. Why do you think I took it in the first place? I knew you would come for me, in the unlikely event that I somehow ended up in a cell. And wouldn't you know, it worked. You're here."

His voice went flat.

"Now, Fleur. Your little plan was clever, but here's the catch. If I die, you'll never get it."

He tipped at his head.

Fleur stopped short; staring at him, completely floored.

"Non … c'est imposible …"

Angrily, she ripped her cap off. The long sweep of platinum-bond hair fell past her shoulders, seemingly shining in the dark.

"You could not 'ave …"

Harry stared at her, hard.

"I killed Voldemort, Fleur. Nothing is impossible here. You've got two choices: take me with you, or say good-bye to your mission."

She stared down at him, now clearly frustrated.

"I could take you somewhere else, and make you tell me."

"When Voldemort couldn't? I'm quite resistant, to anything you can think up." He shrugged. "Maybe you'll find something to make me. Maybe not. But why bother? Take me with you, and you'll get it for free."

"I don't –"

At this moment a shrill, wailing noise started to sound, piercing the nightly silence at the Ministry. And it didn't stop, but seemed to grow louder which each passing second. Lights flashed to life in the previously unlit cell.

The stared at each other.


"I'd say, someone knows of your presence."

And then, all hell broke loose.


Merde. – Shit.
Parfait. – Perfect.
Gros cochon. – Fat pig.
Putain. Qui es-tu? – Damn. Who are you?
Ces barbares incultes. – These philistine barbarians.
En garde. Prête? Allez! – On guard. Ready? Go! (Fencing)
Ana, tu es une prude. – Ana, you are a prude.
Fais-le! Achève-moi. – Do it! Finish me off.
Non. Je ne pense pas … – No. I think not …
Non … c'est imposible … – No … that's not possible …
N'est-ce pas? – Isn't it?, weren't they? etc.

Tell me what you think :)