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Bad Faith	By : angharad1143 Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 7649 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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             The fires roared and smoke rolled, oily and black, through the wide cobbled street of Diagon Alley.
Craters littered the road, and the metal tables and chairs at Florean Fortescue’s outdoor patio were melted
masses of twisted metal. For the first time in her life, Hermione thought, war zone, and understood what it
meant.

             Twenty members of the Order paused, awaiting instruction. Most were Auror-trained, and
instinctively broke off into groups of three and four, scanning all sides and coughing as the smoke swirled
around them. It was the landscape of a nightmare.

             “I can blow the smoke away,” Hermione said, drawing the neck of her shirt up over her nose and
mouth to filter it out, “but unless the fires are put out, it won’t do a damn bit of good.”

             “We’ll split up,” Harry said, and repeated it more loudly for the benefit of the other Aurors. “Two
groups of four down Knockturn Alley. Let it burn to ashes, but make sure no one’s hiding there. Send up a
flare if you need help. Morag, Emmeline. You lead them. Come back to this spot if you don’t see anyone,
and send a flare from here. We’ll send up a flare, to answer, and you follow it to us.”

             This was all standard operating procedure, albeit unused in centuries. But that wasn’t the point.
Harry’s voice was firm, calm, confident. Exactly what they needed to hear, and despite the smoke, despite
the screams still ringing above the fire, Hermione saw the others draw courage from him.

             Dumbledore was already striding ahead, his head up, as if he were searching for a scent on the wind.
Crackling with energy, his face cold and fierce. Only once, and years before, had Hermione heard an account
from someone who had actually seen him fight. It would be a great and terrible thing when they found the
Death Eaters, and she anticipated it with a grim smile. The Death Eaters feared Dumbledore as they feared
no other, and she wanted to see the bastards try to fly.

             Fanning out, the remaining dozen witches and wizards moved down the alley after Dumbledore,
pausing here and there to check a still body for a pulse; to press a Knut or a pebble into the hands of a wild-eyed woman, or the occasional bewildered child. Portkeys all, and it would send them somewhere safe. If
nothing else, it was a grim tribute to Seamus Finnegan’s cleverness; many of the Aurors were keeping
pebbles or coins in their pockets habitually. Just in case. And, Hermione thought, as she blotted the tears
from a little boy’s face before sending him on his way, it was a good thing they had.

             There had not been a war like this in living memory, or even in some of the mouldering tomes of the
Aurors’ library.

             The smoke cleared further down, but the little dragon was growing agitated as they moved, and
Hermione caught Harry’s arm, scanning on all sides. They were close. Dumbledore paused at almost the
same moment, and then moved faster than Hermione had ever seen him move, with a shout of warning. The
Order scattered as countless curses scorched the air around them. Killing Curses, Displodo Charms, the blue
beams of Freezing Charms, the Cruciatus Curse. Red bolts of Stupefying Charms.

             Ambush.

             From perhaps fifty yards distant, the cloaked and masked forms of Death Eaters surged forward,
wands flashing, and the responding volley from the Order dropped a few. Not enough.

             Dimly, Hermione heard Harry roaring, rallying them, and the Order counterattacked, moving from
corner to bench to storefront, a battle of attrition against superior numbers.

             Then Dumbledore was in the thick of it, glowing with it. The fanatically pruned trees lining the side
of the road uprooted themselves, thundering down on the Death Eaters; benches tore their cemented feet from
the ground and hurled themselves wherever the Death Eaters dared to congregate.

             And still there were more, sinister figures in the late morning sunlight.

             Moody’s voice breathed into her ear.

             Pick one, Granger. Another. Another. Numbers don’t matter. The will matters. Whoever wavers first,
dies.

             “Stupefy!”

             “Protego!”

             “Displodo!”

             “Contego!”

             And again, another volley as she moved to the corner of the Magical Menagerie, the windows
smashed and the animals long since fled. Fleur rolled past her in a flash of silvery hair and garnet robes that
had seen better days, just ahead of a flurry of cruciatus curses. Briefly, the smoke drifted, obscuring
Hermione’s vision, but she picked out the Death Eater targeting Fleur.

             “Kill them!” shouted Harry. Her aim wavered for a second, and then she stiffened herself. As per
orders.

             “Avada Kedavra!”

             It was not something she had ever felt before, or ever cared to feel again. A spell of pure
malevolence, and it came from her. It came from her own well of hatred, her own desire to make them feel
pain. To end them. To watch them fold up and die on the cobbles. A bit of darkness that was all her own.

             But Harry was right. This was not a rebellion; this was not magical law enforcement. This was war,
and it would be a war they would lose if they did not only defeat the other side, but destroy them.

             Then there was no time, and the Death Eaters were on them.

             She was pinned in the storefront beside Fleur, both wands flashed in unison, working seamlessly
together. Defend, deflect, attack. Move, move, move.

             Dumbledore whirled from the midst of the street, his mouth moving soundlessly, lost in the roar of
flames and the chaos of battle. White fire exploded from his wand, catching the Death Eaters in an icy grip
that sent them shivering and reeling to the street. For a moment.

             It wasn’t working.

             Slowly but surely, thought her voice was hoarse from shouting, the Order was being pushed back.
Even Dumbledore, too sensible to let himself be surrounded, was being pushed back, by sheer numbers, and
something more. The curses and hexes weren’t working. The Death Eaters recovered too quickly. There was
something–

             Hermione gasped as she retreated, hauling Fleur after her down the road. The Eye.

             Desperately, she caught Dumbledore’s gaze, mouthed the words, and hoped he understood. He
nodded, not in the least surprised, and she wondered why she bothered telling him anything. He always knew.
He was always a step ahead.

             Except for now. Retreat became rout, and the Death Eaters pushed onward as Hermione and Fleur
ran. Harry caught up with them and shoved them ahead, nodding grimly to Ron.

             With a whistling shriek worthy of the best of Fred and George’s fireworks, the flare went into the
sky, summoning the eight witches and wizards who had gone to Knockturn Alley.

             It was not those eight that answered.

             From the smoke behind them, a bull roar. Enormous forms, heads towering above the smoke, the
ground shaking beneath their massive feet.

             Hagrid had arrived with the giants.

             A dozen witches and wizards turned in unison, and let fly with another round of hexes and curses,
the green light of the Killing Curse whistling from both sides. And the giants waded in, enormous hands
striking, feet kicking, stomping, foam flying from gap-toothed mouths. The Order moved swiftly to flank the
Death Eaters, letting the giants head the charge.

             The Death Eaters began winking out of sight, skipping, to points visible from wherever they stood.
A modified form of Apparating that left time and energy to fight, and the Order swiftly countered
desperately, Ron firing another flare into the sky before he, too, winked out, reappearing a few feet left of
where he had been.

             And still, there were too many.

             Fleur’s shriek rose to an eardrum-puncturing pitch, and Hermione turned just in time to see Bill
Weasley flying backward, striking the cobbles, his face already shocked and empty. The green light of the
curse that had killed him still illumined him, leached the colour from his face, and he skidded to a halt near
Fleur’s feet.

             The battle went on for others, but it momentarily ceased for Hermione, Ron, and Fleur. Ron turned
first, his voice breaking with grief and rage as he killed the Death Eater who had murdered his brother, but
it was the slowly rising moan from Fleur, the groan that built into a scream, that caught Hermione’s attention,
and even briefly distracted a giant or two.

             Fleur’s pretty face contorted, twisted, sharpened. Chin and cheekbones jutted; her eyes darkened and
took on the flat brightness of a bird’s. Scaly wings burst from her shoulders, and fire was in one hand, her
wand in the other.

             Rallying to her side, Hermione deflected the curses from the Veela, and let her rampage and burn,
flinging fire and death with both hands. Let her kill them. All.

             The rest of the Order arrived, and the outcome of the battle was no longer in doubt. Among them,
Susan, Padma, Parvati, and Hannah emerged, rounding out two dozen enraged witches and wizards, Morag’s
dark eyes flashing with the light of battle. They were still outnumbered nearly three to one, but the giants
made up the difference as they shrugged off the worst of the curses, Hagrid leading them with merciless and
brutal efficiency.

             The Death Eaters began departing, the cracks of Apparation rippling like popped corn, coldly
dispatching their own, if they were incapable of fleeing. There would be no one left to question; no one left
to seek clemency from the Ministry in exchange for information. The Death Eaters–Voldemort–had learned
well the lessons of their own history.

             A ringing silence, as the last of them vanished, and more than one member of the Order dropped to
their knees in exhaustion, weaving silently. Morag hauled Susan against him and murmured into her hair,
and Padma and Parvati embraced in quiet wonder, tears streaking identical faces.

             From behind Hermione, leaden steps, and Ron approached, blocking her view of Fleur.

             “How can I tell Mum?” He asked, freckles standing out like splotches of paint. “’Mione...”

             “Fleur needs us,” she said quietly, recalling him to duty. Ron would not want her to let him fall apart
now. “Ron...”

             Obediently, he turned, a curious blankness in his face. Shock. He wouldn’t be the only one.

             “Mon amour. Feu de mon coeur. Pour-quoi dors-tu?”

             Fleur wasn’t crying, yet. It was somehow worse that she wasn’t. She sat beside Bill and shook his
shoulder. My love. Fire of my heart. Why are you sleeping?

             Hermione knelt, catching Fleur’s free hand. The wings had gone, and her face would have been
pretty again, if she didn’t look like shattered glass.

             “Fleur. Il es mort.”

             “Non. Il dort. Il va se réveiller.”

             “He’s not going to wake up.” Ron said hoarsely, and Hermione glanced sharply at him, startled that
he had picked up any French. “Fleur...Fleur...”

             Fleur’s voice, higher-pitched and fragile as she shook Bill more sharply. “Guillaume, leve-toi. Leve-toi.” She darted a furious glance at Ron, as if he were at fault, but her eyes were beginning to glimmer with
tears.

             She couldn’t stand it, Hermione thought vaguely. If she had to hear it–if she had to see the moment
when Fleur realized...she was going to run mad.

             Ron’s arms went around Fleur, and Hermione released the woman’s hand, hearing rather than
watching Fleur’s sobs begin as she collapsed into her brother-in-law’s embrace.

             She was a cold-hearted bitch, and she was terrified.

             “Hermione?”

             “Harry?”

             She turned, and that soot-blackened face was the second most welcome sight in her life.

             “Draco left this morning,” she said, her words and her terror tumbling forth. Bill’s death and Fleur’s
grief had burst the dam. “He’s gone after the Eye, Harry, and what if...I couldn’t stand it, Harry, I couldn’t,
and he’s so reckless...”

             “Shh. Shh.” Harry gripped her arms, shook her lightly. “We have to get back to Headquarters. Moody
and Kingsley will be back soon, if they aren’t already.” His green eyes caught hers, and held. “We have work
to do, Hermione. We have to finish it.”

             Recalling her to duty, as she had called Ron. Hermione sniffed, and pushed it away, for now. There
were others dead, others wounded, others wandering in shocked silence. They had won the battle.

             Fleur’s sobs rose, her slim body heaving.

             But oh, Merlin, the cost.

~o~oOo~o~

             Many miles away, shuddering, Draco opened his eyes, unclenched his fists. She was alive. She had
survived.

             It was arrogance on a scale unparalleled in history to put his own task ahead of her life, and he
recognized it as such. But unless he got that Eye...unless he kept its power from Voldemort, and by extension,
the Death Eaters...the war was already over.

             “She’s alive,” he whispered, and stood, joints creaking from long stillness, almost dizzy with relief.
He needed to hear it again.

             “She’s alive.”

Author’s notes:

The French:

“Fleur, he’d dead.”

“No, he’s sleeping. He’s going to wake up.”

“William, get up. Get up.”

The first question, then, is whether you could guess the French in context. This is the fourth and likely final
new chapter; the thought of seeing the giants, Dumbledore, and Fleur fight in Veela form was irresistible.
Aside from that, I wanted, as I said, to add some scope to the war. And hopefully, a meaningful loss. I never
did see all the Weasleys making it through.

Oh, and my spells–Displodo and Contego–I’ve used displodo before. An explosion charm, as I said. Contego
is like Protego, but it defends from physical harm rather than magical. Protego deflects Summoning charms
and so forth; contego stops objects from impacting the wizard in question, i.e. blocking shards of wood, or
stone, in this case. Many thanks to the University of Notre Dame latin translation site.

And thanks very much for your reviews. If you haven’t yet, please do.
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Bad Faith