The Osiris Song

Fleur had been Chief Charmer for long enough to know all of Gringotts' most complex and subtle traps as though they were second nature. It also helped that she had been married to a curse breaker, albeit for far too short a time. After tucking Hermione's unconscious body into their cart, she turned her attention back to the vault door and began to Spellcast. It didn't take long for her to get through the initial Comasa curse, which was what had knocked Hermione unconscious. It was a common protection curse, used to stun and incapacitate would-be robbers without killing them. The young witch would be out cold for a few hours, but she would suffer no permanent damage. And in that time, Fleur would have the information she needed.

The rest of the curses -and there were many - were equally simple to disarm. With each barrier that fell, Fleur felt her anger mounting. Anyone who knew curses and charms could break through these boundaries with ease. Yes, there were many of them, and the average wizard witch would probably give up before completing the gamut; but Fleur Delacour was not the average witch. Nor was Voldemort. Did they really think such things would keep Pettigrew's master from retrieving his pet?

The final wall was the trickiest. It was pure black, solid as stone, with no visible door or mode of entry. It looked as though someone had built a wall of solid onyx and placed it between Fleur and her quarry. But even this was no match for the determined veela. It made no sense for the Ministry to make their prisoner inaccessible; if Hermione was right and they intended to interrogate Pettigrew, then they would need access to him, and it seemed a waste of energy to destroy and then rebuild a massive, impassable wall for each visit.

A small, wicked smile flickered on Fleur's face. The answer was so simple, really. It was illusion, like so much in the wizarding world. Like the wall Bill had described to her, which separated the Muggle world from Platform 9 ¾, or the shifting bricks that opened the portal between the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley. All she had to do was believe it wasn't real, and it wouldn't be.

"Go away," she hissed, and tapped her wand against the wall.

The wall began to swirl, and a portal appeared, like the top of a cyclone, leading into a very dark room with a simple ladder-back chair in the center. A column of dim white light shone down in a perfect circle around the chair, and the pathetic, rumpled, skinny man bound there by all manner of Muggle and Wizard bindings alike. Shackles, ropes, body bind charms. By the way he was sitting, she could tell that he'd even been frozen with a Petrificus Totalus charm.

She stepped through the portal, and it closed with a THWUP! behind her. "Bonjour, Monsieur Pettigrew," she murmured, pausing just inside the entry and staring at the man in the chair. Her wand tapped against her palm. "Do you know 'oo I am? Non? I find zat 'ard to believe, Monsieur. I find it 'ard to believe you would forget me, when you knew zat I would kill you someday. You must 'ave known that, rongeur. You must 'ave realized zat you could not kill my 'usband and not PAY for it."

Slowly, she stalked towards the chair. Pettigrew didn't move, but she knew he could see her, and she made certain to exude as much malevolence as she could muster. She had an endless supply; it wasn't difficult. Had the Petrificus curse allowed him movement, he would have been squirming in his chair. As it was, beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.

When she stood toe to toe with him, she bent forward at the waist and stared into his vacant eyes. "I 'ave dreamed of killing you, Monsieur," she purred, drawing the point of her wand down his cheek like a razor. "I 'ave dreamed of slow, evil tortures for you." She affected a sad tone. "I fear zat none of zem are pretty, Monsieur, and none of zem are quick. What do you zink of zat?" Leaning forward even further, she tapped her wand against his chest as she whispered the counter curse in his ear, freeing him from the Petrificus Curse.

As she had expected, the prisoner began squirming as soon as he was free. "Please!" he begged as she stood back, disgusted to be in such close quarters with the man. "Please, you don't understand! I didn't do it!"

Fleur snorted. "I 'ave a friend. Sirius Black. Per'aps you know of 'im? 'E 'as a good nose, zis Black, and 'e smelled YOU all over ze room where mon mari was killed. 'E did not mention anuzzer wizard, but per'aps 'e was forgetting?" She paused to think for a moment, then shook her head. "Non, it was you, and only you. Do not lie to me again or I will kill you."

The animagus looked ready to faint. Fleur understood now why no guards had been placed on his cell; Voldemort would never risk a rescue operation for THIS pathetic creature. Too much risk for too little reward. "Please," he begged, "I swear, it wasn't me!"

Fleur raised a disinterested eyebrow. "Non? Zen 'oo did it? Tell me, and I will kill ZEM instead."

"My Master!"

"Voldemort?"

Pettigrew winced at that name, but nodded vigorously. "Yes! Yes, it was him. HE killed Weasley!"

There was a blinding flash and a cacophonous BOOM!

Fleur stared down the length of her wand at the trembling man. "Do you know what zat was?" she asked, her voice soft and dangerous, like the sound of a python slithering.

Peter swallowed and shook his head.

"Zat was a warning," she continued. "A Disparum Cadavo charm. I 'ave just shortened your life by five years." Pettigrew began shaking even harder, making the chair's legs rattle against the floor. "It iz très illégal, but zat means nuzzing. It iz not forbidden, oui? Not like ze curses YOU uzed on mon mari; my husband." Pressing the tip of her wand between Pettigrew's eyebrows, she hissed, "If you ever speak 'is name again, I will take you down by ten years, Monsieur. Zen fifteen." She moved her eyes up and down his body in a searching glance. "Zat would not be 'ealthy, I zink, for a man such as you. You do not look like you will live zat long." She paused, then chuckled without mirth. "You do not look as if you will live anuzzer hour, unless you tell me EVERYZING I want to know. Comprenez-vous?"

"Any… Anything," Pettigrew stammered, looking thoroughly terrified.

THIS man - this sniveling morceau de merde - had murdered her husband? The injustice was suffocating. That someone so low could murder someone as strong and good-natured as her Bill…

Fleur's fingers tightened around the grip of her wand. "Tell me," she said through gritted teeth. "'Oo killed my Bill?"

"V…Voldemort!"

"'Ow?"

"He… He possessed me. He took over my body and made me-"

Fleur hooked her toe under the seat of the chair and tipped it backwards. Pettigrew went tumbling, and ended up sprawled on his back, still bound tightly to the chair. He cried out as his head hit with a sharp CRACK! on the stone floor. "You are lying!" Fleur hissed, moving forward to plant her foot squarely on his chest. "Tell ze truth, or I break you!" She ground her heel into his clavicle.

"I AM! I AM!" Peter squealed. "My master, he is still weak! He could not do it without me!"

Fleur stopped grinding her foot and glared down into the man's eyes. "Why iz 'e still weak?" she growled. "When 'Arry Potter met 'im during ze Triwizard Tournament, 'e was fully régénéré. Zat was over four years ago!"

"But he didn't get to carry out the enchantment!" Pettigrew shrieked, sounding more and more like the rat he was. "Harry escaped before Voldemort could take his life force! The entire incident exhausted his energy; he's been spending the past four years rebuilding it!"

Fleur squinted down at him. Finally, she gave a curt nod. "Very well." Stepping back, she righted the chair with a flick of her wand. "Continuez."

The prisoner swallowed again, visibly shaken, but continued. "All the attacks during these in between years - all the tries at getting Potter, all the deaths - have been little reminders that V…Voldemort is still around. That he hasn't become incorporeal, like he was for those years after he killed Potter's parents." Fleur had to struggle not to blow his knees off when he said that. Pettigrew must have noticed her agitation, because he started to speak faster. "But he hasn't been strong enough to finish it! He needs Potter to become as powerful as he once was, but before he can take Potter, he needs to regenerate completely."

"Why not use ze unicorn blood again?"

"It would take too long. My Master is … not a patient man."

"Your MASTER iz not a man at all," Fleur snarled. "'E iz a monster." Pettigrew didn't argue. "But you 'ave not answered my question. WHY mon mari?" She forced her voice to stop shaking.

"My Master learned that W… That your husband might have been in possession of information that could help him regenerate completely in a very short period of time."

"But 'e was not!" Fleur argued, gesturing wildly with her wand. Pettigrew was watching the slender rod as though it were the most terrifying thing in the world. Today, for him, it was. "Bill, 'e would 'ave TOLD me if 'e 'ad such a zing! 'E would 'ave told ze Ministry!"

"So we learned."

Fleur growled and aimed the wand at Pettigrew again. "DO NOT speak of what you did to 'im in zat way. DO NOT make it sound zo common. YOU MURDERED HIM."

Peter shook his head. "It wasn't me! I told you, Voldemort took control of me!"

"It was YOUR body!" Fleur snarled. "YOU joined wiz Voldermort of your own free will! Zat means it WAS you, hybride, and you will PAY!"

"Please-!"

"You 'ave told me nuzzing worth knowing!" she cut him off, ignoring him as though he were little more than a gnat. "What did your Master zink my Bill knew? Tell me!" She pressed her wand to his temple, digging it in until it made a deep imprint. "TELL ME!"

The wand began to glow, and wisps of vapor seemed to ooze from the tip. Pettigrew screamed, and told her.

"Wake up, 'Mione. Come on. Wake up."

Hermione moaned and forced her eyes open. They felt heavy, as though someone had laid lead pennies on her lids. The first thing she noticed was the homey smell of yarn and baking bread that signaled she was at the Weasley house. The second was the familiar pair of worried blue eyes that hovered over her. "I'm awake, Ron," she managed to slur as he helped her sit up on the bed. Her head was spinning like a top. "What happened?"

"You got between an angry veela and a rat bastard, that's what," he told her as he quickly scooted onto the bed beside her, one arm wrapped around her waist to keep her from toppling backwards. "You got hit with a Comasa curse."

Hermione moaned and rubbed her temples. "So I noticed," she said. Slowly turning her head to the side to face him, she asked, "Where's Fleur?"

"Gone," a new voice answered. "We don't know where."

Hermione looked up and instantly regretted it. The room - which had been spinning before - now began to lurch from side to side like a pirouetting elephant. She fell against Ron's shoulder and felt the young man's arm tighten around her. "Harry," she managed. "When did you get back?"

Harry Potter looked almost nothing like the bright-eyed boy she had met on the Hogwarts Express so long ago. Years of peril had hardened him into a rugged young Auror. For the past three months he'd been in Transylvania, following a lead on Voldemort's whereabouts. He was the undisputed leader of the Aurors designated to find the evil wizard, rather than simply smoke out his henchmen, and he was VERY good at his job. Currently, he was leaning against Ron's bedroom wall, beside the open window, as though he'd sprouted wings and flown back to England to see his two oldest friends. His robes were smoke-stained and frayed around the edges, but months of scouring the rocky hillsides of Transylvania were bound to leave their mark.

"Moody contacted me," he said, referencing Mad Eye Moody, perhaps the longest-lived Auror in the world. Few lived past twenty-five; the dangers were too many. Harry was twenty-one. "I apparated as soon as I heard we had Pettigrew." He pushed away from the wall and moved to kneel in front of her. He was very quick; she remembered the boy who had been the best Quidditch Seeker Hogwarts had seen in decades. "How are you?" he asked, a familiar spark of concern in his green eyes behind their invariable glasses.

Hermione felt Ron's hand rubbing her side and sighed, feeling her body loosen against him. "I'll be fine," she answered. "I just need my head to clear a bit." She chuckled dryly. "Remind me to never get between Fleur and what she wants again, okay?"

"That was a bloody stupid thing to do, 'Mione," Ron snapped, though she could tell from his voice he was more worried than angry. "It's a damned good thing we had that door charmed with about a thousand alarm curses, else you might have been down there till we next went down to check on the rat." He shook his head. "What if she'd REALLY hurt you?"

"She wouldn't, Ron. She wouldn't hurt her friends."

"Maybe not usually, but you know how she's been. You know she doesn't think clearly where… Bill's concerned."

A pang constricted her throat for a moment, and she turned her head to press her face gently into the side of Ron's neck. "I'm sorry," she whispered near his ear, squeezing his knee. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Ron shook his head and sighed. "I know," he murmured back. "It's just… all that's happened. Now Pettigrew." He shook his head again.

"She didn't kill him," Harry interrupted quietly, and Hermione turned her attention back to the other young man. He always seemed nervous when she and Ron got this close; she suspected it was because he was afraid the same thing would never happen for him. Never mind that half the women in the Wizarding world would have given their eye teeth to have him look their way twice, and the other half would have been wild with jealousy if he had. Never mind that Ginny Weasley had harbored a crush for the dashing young wizard since she was a pre-teen. Never mind that Cho Chang had named her first son Harry Potter Davies. Roger didn’t seem to mind.

She shook herself and nodded. "She told me she wouldn't."

"She did?" Ron asked.

She nodded again. "She said she'd promised your mother she wouldn't."

Ron rubbed his eyes. "Mum's just about off her rocker worrying about her," he confessed. "Blames herself, of course, even though she couldn't have done anything. Fleur would have gone anyway."

"Still, I wouldn't say she did him any favors while she was there," Harry said, standing up again and crossing back to the window. "She might have left him alive, but he's going to have nightmares about furious Veela for the rest of his life." He didn't sound at all concerned.

Hermione wasn't either. "What did she do to him?"

"A Memorio Retrievum charm. A bit like a backwards Obliviate curse, only not as pleasant."

Hermione was familiar with the spell. "She stole his memories? Why?" Pettigrew had killed Bill - why would Fleur want those memories when she already had plenty of her own?

"That's what we'd like to know," Ron answered. "Did she say anything to you about what she was after?"

Every hair in Hermione's head was hurting as she shook her head. "Only that she wanted to inflict incredible amounts of pain and torture on Pettigrew. It appears she succeeded."

"Damn," Harry cursed, sitting on the windowsill. "Of course, we can't ask the rat himself because she stole the memories and didn’t put them back."

"Figging prickle," Ron muttered, and Hermione couldn't resist a smile at his attempt to mask his cursing. He was always self-conscious swearing around her. "Give me an hour with him and I'll have him singing the whole thing, with memories or without. Just one hour. ALONE."

"And what would the goblins say?" Hermione asked sagely, patting his stomach. Ron had been Bill's apprentice at Gringotts, though he hadn't yet been reassigned to anywhere as lively and full of treasure as Egypt. The goblins, in an unusual show of charity, had allowed him to remain in England following Bill's death, as their go-between with the Ministry.

"They wouldn't care. I imagine they'd be glad to see the little roach get some manners smacked into him. I think they hate him almost as much as Fleur. He cost them their most profitable treasure seeker."

Ron was always more comfortable talking about Bill's death when he was describing how OTHERS felt about it, but Hermione heard the catch in his voice and decided to change the subject. "Do we have any idea where she might be heading? Any idea at all?"

"I do." The three young people turned to look at the door. Molly Weasley stood there, three steaming teacups arranged on the breakfast tray in her hands.

"Mum?" Ron asked, obviously puzzled.

"I know why Fleur went to see that… horrible man," she continued, voice shaking a little. "She wanted to know why he'd done it. There was no reason, you see. Why would anyone want to harm our Bill? Why would they DO that?" She looked around, from one face to the next, her eyes lost. "God bless her heart, it's been plaguing her since it happened. And God help me, I wanted to know, too." She took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "So I let her. I let her go, and now I may have killed her. Or worse - I may have started it all over again."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked gently.

The look in Molly's eyes broke Hermione's heart a little more. She thought it had been shattered beyond repair when Bill died, but she'd been proven wrong too many times since then.

"Isn't it obvious, dear?" the older woman said quietly. "She wants to know what happened, and that awful man wouldn't tell her. So she took his memories, and now she's going to go use them. But she has to go to the source." She sighed.

"She's gone home," she continued, even quieter. "Back to where it all began. She's gone back to Egypt."

TBC….