A Promise Kept - Chapter 68 - Mad or Desperate

Mad or Desperate

“With a majority ruling, the vote of no confidence against Minister of Magic, Titus Yaxley, is…passed,” Pius Thicknesse declared reluctantly, his gaze shifting towards where the supporters of the Dark Lord were seated. “We will hold nominations for the new Minister of Magic this evening,” he added, tapping his gavel atop his podium.

He was doing so to buy time. To what end, Harry didn’t know, and as the room became abuzz with the excited whispering from his peers, the sounds of camera flashes and scratching quills from the journalists keen to be the first to release the news of the result, Harry made his way towards the doors to take his leave.

Having managed to avoid the members of the media on the way in, he knew he could not do so as he left.

As much as he despised the circus, it was, for now, a necessity.

“Lord Potter, you must be pleased with the result,” one of the men clutching a thick stack of parchment called.

“Relieved, mostly,” he replied. “It has restored a little faith in me that there is some courage left to be called upon, but this is only the beginning. There is still the nomination phase, and then a new Minister must be elected.”

“But would you not agree that you are the favourite? You certainly have the support of the public.”

“I appreciate that, but the decision on who will be the new Minister of Magic will happen in here,” Harry pointed out. “If that is me, I will live up to every promise I have made. At the very least, it must be someone who is willing to face the threat against us head on and be courageous enough to do so by any means. The future of the country will depend on it. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few hours before I am to be back here. I could use some lunch.”

He offered the journalists and photographers a nod before leaving the chambers of the Wizengamot, before making his way through the Ministry of Magic, emerging into muggle London.

Diagon Alley was full of people holding signs and banners of support for him aloft, which he was grateful for, just not when he was hungry after a long morning of stalling from Voldemort’s supporters, who’d demanded three recounts, even though each was the same.

More than two-thirds of the gathered Lords and Ladies had voted in favour of displacing Yaxley, something neither the now former Minister of the Dark Lord would be pleased about.

Then again, Voldemort likely had other things on his mind, but when he learned of what had transpired, Harry expected there would be repercussions.

He would take well his sudden loss of political power and would look to destabilise any replacement.

Britain would undoubtedly become even more dangerous than it was now, but without the Ministry being held back by one of his own, the country would be able to truly fight back against anything he would muster.

It was the very best Harry could hope for.

At the very least, the corruption within the Ministry of Magic could be nullified, even if it meant that the violence would inevitably increase. It was not the most desirable outcome, but Harry had accepted that it was to be so in order to wrestle power from Riddle.

“Could I have two bacon sandwiches, please?” he asked the man in the catering van just a short distance away from the phonebox.

“That’ll be £4.20, fella.”

“Keep the change,” Harry offered, handing the man some money.

For the few moments his food was being prepared, he watched the people milling around the busy streets, not wanting to focus on the afternoon ahead of him, nor anything else playing on his mind.

He’d come to appreciate these rare snatches of peace, and looked forward to more of them, should they be granted.

“Here you are,” the man spoke, pulling him from his thoughts. “Sauces and napkins are just to your right.”

“Thank you.”

He added some ketchup to his lunch and took a seat on a bench nearby to eat it, only to feel a sudden, familiar presence bloom into life around him.

“Avada Kedavra!”

He’d instinctively drawn his wand the very second Riddle appeared just a few dozen feet away and tore the bench from the concrete to intercept the spell aimed towards him.

If Harry were honest with himself, it was a rather pathetic attempt, and he’d been expecting it.

Even so, that didn’t make the Dark Lord any less dangerous, and Harry banished the debris of the bench towards the man, blocking the rebuttal by parrying it away with a shake of his head.

The muggles were already fleeing in every direction, and many doing so between him and the Dark Lord, who would not care for the casualties.

As such, he continued firing spell after spell towards Harry, who mitigated the destruction as much as he could, yet, there was little he could do.

Buildings, cars, and the street itself were torn asunder, and worse yet, Voldemort had not come alone.

It was almost overwhelming just how many different magicks were invading his senses, and as a plethora of spells were sent towards him from all directions, Harry knew he could not remain where he was.

He felt the anti-apparation protections fall into place before he could consider making an escape in such a manner, but fortunately, there were enough debris surrounding him to create a hasty shield, which was shredded from the first barrage.

Still, it brought him a precious few seconds, and waving his wand, he created a thick, vast fog to cover the area whilst he pondered his next move.

Regardless of what he came up with, however, he was heavily outnumbered and wasn’t even certain just how many he was facing alone.

It was when he felt a hand grasping his shoulder that he realised using his portkey would be just as risky as apparating away. Were he to land in Grimmauld Place, or even his own flat, they would be compromised.

That may just be his only option if he could not find an advantage to hold onto, and as Harry rammed his trusted dagger into the hand holding him tightly, his victim unleashed a guttural roar, though he fell silent as Harry’s severing curse rip through his torso.

“One down,” he murmured, readying himself to fight as the fog began to clear.

(Break)

She hadn’t been granted any time to process what had happened the previous morning. She’d woken up in a strange bed, though not with a stranger, with very little recollection of what had happened.

This morning, however, she woke up with a clear mind.

Neither she nor Hary had been drunk the night before, and Nymphadora woke before him. It gave her time to think of how she felt about the past two days and even enjoy reliving the sober experience.

It was odd just how assertive, yet gentle Harry could be, how he had taken charge without any prompting from her. As with everything else he did, he was self-assured, attentive, and Nymphadora had not struggled to lose herself in the moments they shared.

Maybe it was because the two of them knew each other so well, or perhaps it was because Harry was not interested in the fact she could change her body to be anything he desired in that moment.

Not that she was certain she could.

For the first time in such moments, she’d not felt nervous that there would be additional expectations of her because of what she was, and without such pressure, she’d been able to simply enjoy everything as it happened, so much so, that it felt as though she couldn’t control her ability sow well even if she wanted to.

Taking hold of her hair, she found it to be her own natural colour, and when felt her nose, cheekbones, and chin, they too were her own.

By now, she would’ve changed almost everything about herself, and yet, here, she felt comfortable in her own skin.

The first time Harry had seen her like this had been in St Mungo’s, and he’d complimented her, and when she thought about it, he’d never made such a big deal out of her ability.

When they’d been children, Nymphadora would amuse him at the dinner table by shifting her features, but he’d never passed comment or requested anything.

Maybe it had just never been a commodity to him, or he was respectful enough not to pay it much notice. Regardless, it was one of the things Nymphadora was appreciative of, and even more so what the two of them had shared.

What it meant for them now, she wasn’t sure.

She didn’t regret anything that had happened between, and she hoped he didn’t either, but whether or not there was something more between them than a drunken night of passion followed by a sober one, remained to be seen.

“What was that?” Kingsley asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

The entire Auror office had fallen silent, and another explosion sounded from somewhere in the distance.

“That’s in muggle London,” Dawlish declared.

He’d been rather quiet these past few days, had kept himself to himself in the current political climate.

Before any other could give their thoughts on what was happening, Amelia Bones emerged from her office, her expression one of concern, but eyes as hard as ever.

“We have an ongoing attack just a short distance from the Ministry building,” she explained. “Several Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord himself is there, as is Harry Potter.”

Tonks immediately felt herself filled with a sense of dread, and as Amelia led the entire office out of the door and into the adjoining room, she was among the very first to apparate away, only to be rebuffed to around fifty metres away from where the fighting was happening.

In a way, it was better that they did not appear among the flying debris, several fires, and ongoing violence, but Harry was in there somewhere, fighting alone having undoubtedly been ambushed.

“Forward!” Bones commanded, and Nymphadora fell into step with Kingsley, who offered her a nod.

“I’ve gotten a message to Sirius,” he assured her. “He will be here soon enough.”

He would too.

The very second he knew that Harry was in danger, he would come, but thoughts of anyone else were far from her mind as she entered the fray, and the familiar smell of fire, scorched flesh, and blood filled her nose once more.

(Break)

He was not granted a moment to tend to the bleeding wound on his thigh. Whether it was courtesy of a scar or piece of shrapnel, Harry didn’t know, but he could feel the blood running down the length of his leg and into his sock.

Nonetheless, he fought on, blocking and avoiding the many attacks sent his way, and scarcely able to mount any offense of his own.

Still, when he was able to strike, he did so quickly, violently, and with purpose.

“AURORS!” one of the Death Eaters yelled, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he was finally granted a reprieve. Still, his wound was troubling, and casting a hasty shield, he sealed it in the crudest but fastest way he could.

The smell of his own seared flesh was nauseating, but seeing that it appeared to have worked, he was able to return to the fighting, blocking a pair of slashing curses as the tore through his shield.

With a grunt, he banished some rubble towards his attacker, transfiguring the various stones into a trio of spears as they shot forward.

One struck home, thudding into the chest of the man who was slammed into the cobbled street from the force, where he remained unmoving, and likely dead.

“HARRY!”

He pulled Tonks out of the path of a vicious curse as she reached him, and his returning bolt of lightning blew a hole through the caster. They too collapsed to the ground with a dull thud.

“Merlin, you’re bleeding badly,” Tonks pointed out.

“I’m fine,” Harry aid dismissively. “I healed the worst one.”

Tonks was not convinced and strung together a plethora of curses towards a group of Death Eaters bearing down on them.

Harry added to the mix with his own, and he was able to put some distance between them, only for Amelia Bones to step in front with a large gathering of Aurors at her back.

“You can’t be the Minister if you’re dead,” she huffed.

She truly was an incredible witch in her own right, and was quickly fighting off four Death Eaters by herself, but then Harry was treated to a familiar sight of Voldemort stalking towards the woman.

It would be quite the feather in his cap if he was able to kill her, but Harry would not allow him to do so.

“Tom, aren’t you going to kill me?” he called, drawing the elder wand.

For a brief few seconds, the Dark Lord was torn between capitalising on having Harry at something of a disadvantage and ridding himself of another powerful enemy.

Much to Harry’s chagrin, he chose the latter, and raised his wand, only for Harry to inject himself into the fight before it could even begin.

Although his foe managed to avoid the searing curse that passed him by a hairsbreadth, it was enough to draw his attention to Harry, who knew he could not let Riddle fall into a comfortable rhythm.

Already injured, he could not be certain he’d be able to fend off each attack as it came, but he’d never backed down from Voldemort, and he would not do so now.

Transfiguring some of the nearby debris into a pair of walls, he sent them towards Riddle whilst he busied himself with another creation; a bird which he sent flying to circle them from above.

It would serve as a distraction for now, giving Riddle something else to ponder whilst the two of them fought.

When the time was right, it would become useful, when it was ready to be unleashed.

Harry hoped it worked, and as he hurled yet another spell towards the Dark Lord, he knew he needed it to. He could not afford to find himself in a prolonged fight, not after being ambushed and outnumbered so successfully.

(Break)

‘There is an attack in muggle London, just a short distance from the Ministry,’ the lynx spoke in Kingsley’s voice.

Emmeline stood immediately, and Sirius shook his head.

“Not you,” he said apologetically. “Your only priority is the baby.”

She was not please, but she did not argue, and nodded as Sirius began sending off patronus after patronus to rally the members of the Order before he took his leave of Grimmauld Place, apparating to the alleyway just outside the Ministry building.

Immediately, he could hear the sounds of fighting from somewhere to his left, and he hurried forward, drawing his wand to enter the fight, ducking behind a car as a loud explosion caused the ground to tremble.

“Harry,” he said knowingly.

Lily was currently with the architect she and Harry were working with to rebuild a home on one of the plots of land owned by the Potters, but he did not doubt she would arrive soon enough, with the others.

Still, Sirius could not afford to wait.

Although the Aurors were here, it seemed that the Dark Lord was determined to kill Harry, and as he spotted the duo facing off in the middle of the muggle street, he knew, as much as it pained him to admit, his only job was to prevent the others from attacking his godson.

He wiped the blood from his hands using the front of his robes to tighten his grip around his wand.

It wasn’t his blood.

Truthfully, he did not know whom it belonged to. Sirius had accumulated it from his efforts.

He found himself fighting alongside Tonks, Kingsley, and Moody, who had arrived with several members of the Order, and had done so in his usual fashion.

The scream of his first victim had reverberated off the surrounding buildings, well, what remained of them, and Sirius had looked on as one of the Death Eaters had bled out in a matter of seconds, thrashing around on the ground desperately.

“What the hell happened?” Sirius asked.

“None of us know,” Tonks answered. “We heard the explosions, got here, and Harry was fighting them off on his own. They must’ve ambushed him.”

“Of course they bloody did,” Sirius grumbled, delving into his family magic.

One of the Death Eaters was slammed into the floor face first, and a burst black magic ripped through the back of his skull, splattering the pavement bone and brain matter.

“Nice,” Moody complimented, his eyes widening as he pulled them both to the ground.

Sirius did not know what passed over them, but he felt the heat of the spell across his back, and was showered by the falling stone of the building it collided with.

“Merlin,” he whispered, his gaze shifting towards where Harry and Voldemort continued to do all they could to destroy the other. “What are those bird things?”

Moody shrugged and Sirius watched as around a dozen of them flying above circled menacingly, occasionally diving to distract the Dark Lord before taking to the sky once more.

“I don’t know the former Auror answered, but I bet we will find out soon enough.”

True to his word, the birds suddenly burst from their cluster and began flying erratically around the street.

Some of the Death Eaters were struck by them, but most navigated their way around the battlefield before careening towards Voldemort with a loud screech.

Evidently, he was not certain what it was he faced, and he raised a shield of fire to intercept them, only for the birds to change course. Shooting directly into the sky, they formed a circle before diving once more.

“DOWN!” Harry shouted.

Sirius did not need telling twice, and once more, he found himself pressed to the ground, grimacing as yet another explosion tore through the street. This one, however, was different.

It wasn’t hot as the last had been, but was ice cold, leaving him shuddering from the sudden change in temperature.

What he noticed first of all was that all of the fighting around him seemed to have stooped, and as he chanced a glance around where he was laying, his eyes widened.

A layer of frost covered everything, all the fires had been snuffed, and there was no sign of the Dark Lord or any of the Death Eaters. Where Voldemort had been standing was little more than a crater filled with large, jagged icicles.

There were several batches of them spread around, and among them stood his godson, his wand poised, yet, it remained eerily silent.

What he had done, Sirius didn’t know, but he looked a little worse for wear.

His robes were torn, he was covered in congealed blood, and he was favouring his left leg.

There were other wounds littering his body, but nothing that wouldn’t be easily fixed with a little medical attention.

Even so, he looked to be furious, and shook his head as he surveyed the scene, only stopping when he was certain Voldemort and his followers were gone.

It was Tonks wrapping her arms around him that truly brought him back to himself, and Harry offered her a few reassuring words no other could here.

“Well, this is quite the mess,” Bones declared. “Dawlish, send for the Magical Catastrophes Team, and the Obliviators. Everyone else, I want this area closed off. Now!”

The Aurors hurried to carry out her instructions, and Sirius finally stood.

It would take some work for the Ministry to put this right, but they would manage. In a matter of hours, it would be as though nothing had happened here at all.

“Harry! Where’s Harry?”

The pale Lily had arrived and was frantically searching for her son, and Sirius placed a hand on her shoulder.

“He’s fine,” he assured her, pointing to where Harry was standing with Tonks.

Already, a Healer was tending to him, and as ever, Harry was being quite difficult, insisting he was fine.

Lily wasted no time in hurrying towards the young man to fret over him and quickly chided Harry for not cooperating with the Healer.

Sirius could only shake his head as he surveyed the damage around him.

The entire street was no longer recognisable and was littered with the dead and wounded.

“What happened?” he asked as he approached Harry.

“They ambushed me,” he answered with a shrug.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, Sirius. Come on, we have a vote to get to.”

He began making his way back towards the Ministry of Magic sporting a noticeable limp, and Sirius looked towards Lily who watched him worriedly.

“What the hell happened here?” she asked.

“Voldemort,” Sirius answered, “and then Harry.”

The young man had done well. He’d defended himself, and managed to fend off quite the attack, and Sirius wondered if this was a desperate plot from Voldemort to prevent him becoming the Minister of Magic, or just a bid to wound him badly enough to keep him from returning to the Ministry.

Not that it mattered.

Harry had conducted himself admirably, and if the destruction he’d caused to the street was anything to go by, Voldemort had once more underestimated his godson.

(Break)

He winced as he tended to the wounds he’d received from Potter.

Even now, he was still becoming accustomed to facing someone as skilled as the boy who possessed an equal ruthlessness to his own. He’d never truly been in danger before the two of them had crossed wands, and though it was disconcerting, the Dark Lord could not deny that it was quite exhilarating.

Well, it would be if not for the damned prophecy hanging over him, of which, he was still not privy to the entire contents of.

What he did know, however, was that Harry Potter was undoubtedly his most dangerous foe to date.

“Horcruxes,” he murmured to himself as a reminder of his immortality.

Potter could not kill him.

He may destroy his body, but the Dark Lord could not truly die, something he did not intend for the boy to discover.

Of course, if using one became necessary, he would do so, and there was a part of him that longed for such an eventuality so he could see the look on Potter’s face when he returned from the dead once again.

No, he could not desire it just for that moment of glee.

The Horcruxes were and always would be a last resort for the Dark Lord.

“I still do not see why I had to stay here,” Bellatrix pouted.

“Because today was not our day, Bella. Oh our paths will cross again, likely more than once more before our Fates are sealed. Today, I wished only to prevent what Yaxley and Lucius have failed to do, and it seems that I may have followed suit. It would be quite the disaster for Potter to become Minister, and I fear I may have just given him the boost he needed. It was a risk worth taking. Without it, he would’ve won anyway.”

Bellatrix shook her head.

“He is just a boy! How could they be so foolish…”

The Dark Lord tutted.

“No Bellatrix, he is not just a boy. He is a worthy foe for me that I shall vanquish when the time is right.”

He grimaced as a bout of laughter sounded from the corner of the room, and whatever remained of his mother approached.

“Do you think Fate will be so kind to you, Tom?” she asked. “You murdered your own father, countless others, and even the boys’ father. I told you, he wields a power you cannot fathom, but..”

She broke off as she nodded.

“It seems I am being called to return to whence I came.”

The Dark Lord breathed a sigh of relief as he looked upon his mother for a final time, his eyes widening as Potter’s own stared back at him.

“Time is running out, Tom,” the woman spoke in the boys’ voice. “Return my family.”

He could not deny that such magic was unsettling.

Whatever it was Potter had conjured was no ghost, spirit or even a poltergeist. The Dark Lord had no idea what they were. What he did know was that they were most unsettling, no more so than the enormous, plump woman who appeared before him next, looking upon him disappointedly.

“You took them,” Hepzibah Smith said accusingly. “You killed me and stole my heirlooms. You blamed poor Hokey. Oh, the world will know what you did, Tom Riddle!”

He aimed his wand at the apparition.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Hepzibah laughed in response.

“You cannot kill what is already dead, Tom,” she chided. “Return his family, or I will remain. There are many, many others to come yet.”

His blood had turned to ice in his veins.

If Smith were to manage to speak to others of his deeds…

No, it didn’t matter if she did.

None would ever discover where he’d hidden what he’d taken, nor any other item he’d acquired over the years. Even so, her presence made him feel nervous, and he knew there was only one thing he could do to be rid of her, or any other that might return to haunt him.

Once more, against the odds and to the Dark Lord’s surprise, Potter had somehow gotten the better of him, and what troubled him most was that he couldn’t even begin to figure out how.

“The one with the power…” he murmured, reciting a part of the prophecy he did know.

(Break)

His leg was troubling him, but the wound was not cursed, nor were any of the other more minor ones he’d sustained during the attack. He had another laceration on his brow he’d not noticed until after the fighting had finished, and most of the blood that had been soiling his robes was not his own.

Already, they had been disposed of, and as Harry made his way towards the chambers of the Wizengamot once more, he cast another numbing charm on his leg so that he would not be seen limping.

He needed to appear strong, and he did not miss the collective sigh of relief from most as he entered, though he could not ignore the others among them.

They openly glared at him, and Harry returned the gesture, a smirk tugging at his lips as he approached his seat.

“Are you well, Lord Potter?” Neville Longbottom asked.

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t be?”

Longbottom smiled as he shook his head.

“For you, I doubt it.”

It was the sound of Thicknesse crashing his gavel atop his podium that silenced the room, and the journalists within were already taking notes, and photos of those of interest.

Harry had become accustomed to it in recent weeks and paid them no heed.

“Given the circumstances of what occurred earlier just a short distance away from the Ministry of Magic, I believe it would be prudent for us to postpone the vote for a few days whilst we come to terms with what has happened,” Thicknesse urged.

It was Sirius who raised his wand and stood.

“If anything, we should be more urgent in our election of a new Minister of Magic. This only proves that we cannot be without a strong leader. We cannot allow ourselves to be intimidated any longer.”

“I agree with Lord Black,” Lord Boot declared.

“As do I,” Longbottom added, with many others murmuring their support.

Thicknesse looked towards where Lucius Malfoy would be sitting, but much of that side of the room had not even returned for the vote. It had been clear which way it would go since Yaxley had been deposed that morning, and rather than take any further risks, they were seemingly silently accepting defeat.

“Very well,” Thicknesse conceded reluctantly, tapping his podium with the gavel. “We will take it to the vote.”

(Break)

She eyed the four pieces of parchment in front of her, wondering which one she would accept. Gabrielle had not expected to receive so many positive responses to her requests for an apprenticeship, and it certainly crossed her mind that most had been because of the name she carried.

Were it not for her father’s reputation and powerful position within the French Ministry of Magic, she would likely have been rejected because of what she was.

Still, she had worked hard to get the very best grade in her NEWTs, and she had earned each one of these opportunities.

“Still not decided?” her mother asked as she joined her at the kitchen table.

Gabrielle shrugged.

“I like the sound of working in the Ministry with the Magical Catastrophes department. That would be interesting.”

“But?”

Before she could answer, the song playing on the radio ended, and the newsreader spoke, drawing her attention as she heard a very familiar name.

‘…and with a majority vote, Harry Potter is now the Minister of Magic for Great Britain, the youngest in history. Thus far, the new Minister has been unavailable for comment, but we expect to hear from him in the morning…’

Gabrielle could only shake her head.

It had been weeks since she’d last visited Harry.

She’d been busy with figuring out what it was she wanted to do now that school was done, but the two of them had exchanged letters.

She missed him and given that he would likely have even less free time from now on, she stood and gathered up the offers before pocketing them.

“You’re going to visit Harry.”

Gabrielle nodded.

“He might have some insight on what I should do.”

Her mother nodded.

“Pass on our congratulations.”

Gabrielle shook her head.

“He doesn’t want to be the Minister. He is only doing it because of Voldemort.”

“Did he tell you that?”

Gabrielle looked at her mother questioningly, and the woman tutted.

“Your absences from school were not Gabrielle Delacour. It didn’t take much for me to figure out where you were. Not that I told your father.”

Gabrielle nodded in response.

“We are close.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” Gabrielle answered.

“Nothing?”

She released a deep breath.

Gabrielle had thought carefully about what she and Harry had become, if anything other than friends.

“I don’t know,” she said sincerely.

She missed him, she was certain of that, but as far as anything else, she truly didn’t know. Neither of them had pushed their relationship further than what it had become, and though she missed him, it was not in the same longing way her mother did her father when he had been away a few days for work.

“I won’t be long,” she declared, taking her leave of the kitchen to ready herself for her departure, still no clearer on her feelings about Harry.

(Break)

“There’s something I need you to see.”

His mother eyed him questioningly, and when they arrived in Godric’s Hollow, he did not miss that she was becoming quite upset.

“Harry, I don’t…”

“Trust me.”

She accepted his offered hand and he began leading them towards the churchyard.

The day had not gone exactly as he’d hoped. Of course, he was pleased that his plan had born the fruit he needed it to, but for tonight, at least, he wasn’t thinking about just how different his life might become tomorrow when he arrived at the Ministry.

Not that he didn’t already have a plan in mind for it.

Harry had given it considerable thought whilst pondering the proposition from the goblins, and although he needed their cooperation, it didn’t mean he needed to shoulder the responsibilities of the Minister alone.

It was a gasp from his mother that pulled him from his musings as she came to a sudden halt to see that the Potter graves had all been returned to their former glory, with not a stone out of place.

“Are they…?”

“They’re back,” Harry confirmed..

His mother shook her head in disbelief.

“How…?”

Harry gave her had a squeeze as he smiled apologetically.

“When the time is right, you will know everything. I promise.”

He didn’t like keeping secrets, not from his mother, at least, but it was something Harry had gotten used to while dealing with any pertaining to the Dark Lord, who would undoubtedly be rather furious right now, and scrambling to come up with new plans to seize power in Britain.

It was a troubling notion, but for the first time in a long time, Harry felt he was now finally a step ahead of his foe where it mattered. Still, the war was far from over, or, it seemed that way, for the time being.

The next weeks and months would be pivotal, but with Harry now at the helm of the resistance against Riddle, he would make sure all was being done to put an end to his second rise to power.

“Come in,” he called as a knock sounded at the front door to the flat.

Gabrielle entered, and Harry wasn’t disappointed to see her, but he knew the nature of this visit wasn’t the same as it had been in recent months. Her smile was a little more guarded, and she seemed to be uncertain.

“Hello, Minister Potter,” she greeted him with a grin, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“No, don’t you call me that,” Harry groaned. “I don’t want to be Minister.”

“I know, but you are,” Gabrielle pointed out.

“Not until tomorrow, officially.”

“So, tonight, you’re just Harry?”

“I’ll always be just Harry.”

Gabrielle’s smile became just a little fonder and she took a seat on the sofa before removing some parchment from within her pocket.

“I’ve been thinking about what I am going to do now that I’ve finished school.”

“Minister of Magic for France?”

“Never,” Gabrielle said amusedly. “I’ve applied for masteries, and even different kinds of jobs, and narrowed it down to these four.”

“And you want my advice?” Harry snorted. “I wouldn’t say I’m the best example.”

“No, but you will always be honest with me, Harry. Just look them over.”

He did so and wasn’t truly surprised by what he read. Gabrielle may be like Fleur in many ways, but she was different enough that she would not follow the same path, even if three of them were of a similar vocation to what the older Delacour sister had chosen.

“You’ve already decided,” he murmured.

Gabrielle frowned at him and offered him a sad smile as he pointed to one of the pieces of parchment.

“This is exactly what you want to do. I know you well enough to know that you’d be good at the others, but you’d be thinking about this.”

“I think travelling the world and spending time with different Veela colonies is something I can learn a lot from,” she explained. “My father has already said he would sponsor me to do it. I thought I might write a book.”

Harry nodded.

“I think that would be incredible. How long do you think it would take?”

Gabrielle shrugged.

“I don’t know, years, probably.”

“So, what is making you hesitate?”

“I don’t know,” Gabrielle sighed. “You, maybe, but me mostly. I thought…I don’t know what I thought. With us, everything has been amazing…”

“But it isn’t what you thought it would be or will one day be.”

Gabrielle wiped away a tear as it broke free.

“I think I treasure our friendship far too much. You were my first friend who wrote back to a girl you didn’t even know, and over the years we’ve grown up together, and…”

“Our lives are taking very different routes. I will always be in the limelight, and probably never satisfied with the mundane things. You prefer stability…”

“And someone all to myself,” Gabrielle broke in. “It is in our nature to be a little selfish and possessive, and with you, I’ve never felt that. It hurts that it never happened, but I do think it is for the best. I will always feel like I am competing with the rest of the world just to have you.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

With all that lie ahead of him now, in the future and his agreement with Croaker, and his own ambitions, she wasn’t wrong.

“So, you think I should go for it?”

“I think you should do what will make you happy,” Harry answered sincerely.

“Then that is what I will do,” Gabrielle declared as she stood, hesitating briefly before wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you, Harry, for everything. Will you still write to me?”

“You know you don’t even need to ask that. Every day, if you like.”

Gabrielle smiled a little easier now and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Maybe things will be different one day. Maybe you might prove me wrong and enjoy a little peace. Maybe this is a farewell rather than a goodbye.”

“Only a seer knows what the future holds, and even then, it is never so certain. Who is to say that things won’t work out for us one day.”

Gabrielle nodded thoughtfully.

“They just might. I’ll see you, Harry.”

She placed another kiss on his cheek, and though he was a little stung that she was leaving, it was nowhere near as dreadful as it had been walking away from Sabine.

That had felt so final, and with Gabrielle, it never would be. First and foremost, they were friends, and Harry could never envision that changing between them.

Still, things would be different now.

She would be travelling the world to learn more about her kind, and Harry would be here, fighting his war, and doing his utmost to put an end to it, which only served to remind him of just how different things would be come the morning, well, on the surface, at least.

When he woke, he would be the Minister of Magic for Great Britain. What difference it would truly make remained to be seen, but so long as the goblins held up their end of the deal they’d struck, his efforts would indeed be worth it.

Even so, it was odd to think he had somehow ascended to the highest office in the country.

“Minister Potter,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “They are either mad or just that desperate.”