A flash of lightning streaked through the sky, illuminating the courtyard for the briefest moment.
Thunder rumbled a second later, rolling into the hush that hung between Harry and Fleur.
Her wand remained raised, the rain continuing to arc neatly around them.
A step ahead, Fawkes was perched on the low stone wall, his red-gold feathers flickering in the gloom.
'You seem troubled, fledgling,' came the phoenix's voice in Harry's mind, the mental tone gentle yet tinged with concern.
Even after four months, the telepathic link still felt surreal—like a bright, warm presence in the back of Harry's thoughts.
'Unlike Ash,' he thought, amused.
Harry exhaled, forcing himself to focus on the here and now.
'I'm fine,' he sent back, though he knew it was only half-true. 'Just… a lot to think about.'
It felt odd that the range of human speech and emotions could be compressed so directly into a mental nudge.
Still, he was grateful for Fawkes's steadying influence.
Fleur lowered her wand and the shield vanished, letting the drizzle patter softly onto their heads.
"You said we should go in," she reminded him quietly.
Harry nodded, turning toward the archway that led into a side corridor.
The castle loomed ahead, torchlight flickering behind rain-streaked windows.
Fawkes trilled softly and Harry felt an encouraging warmth radiate from their link…
They walked in silence for a few moments, boots crunching gravel.
The hush inside Hogwarts was broken only by the distant crackle of torches.
Water dripped from the hem of Harry's jacket, forming tiny puddles on the worn stone floor.
'I hope Filch won't catch us tracking water through his precious corridors,' Harry thought wryly, not really caring about the caretaker's potential reaction.
He'd dealt with enough of the man's grumbling over the years to know it would pass like everything else…
Fawkes hopped down onto a nearby railing, surveying the gloom with sharp, golden eyes.
Harry caught the flicker of curiosity in his companion's mental presence.
Fleur's gaze drifted to Harry. "Earlier… you spoke of Dumbledore. You said he must pay."
The anger simmering beneath Harry's grief rose to the surface again.
He inhaled deeply, steadying himself.
"I won't do anything reckless, but I'm done with him and his secrets. If not for his manipulations, maybe Ron would still be—" He broke off, throat tight.
Fleur hesitated, then stepped closer and laid a comforting hand on his arm.
The corridor's dim torchlight sculpted shadows on her face, but Harry could see the compassion in her eyes.
"You have a plan," she ventured.
Harry glanced at Fawkes, whose gaze met his in silent encouragement.
He remembered how, a few months ago, that same phoenix had bonded with him after Dumbledore's attempt at obliviating Harry.
That betrayal had changed everything.
"I do," Harry said, voice low. "First, I'll handle Dumbledore's public image. He's built it up carefully for decades—but I've got leverage."
A delicate arch of Fleur's eyebrow prompted him to continue.
Harry couldn't help but recall Rita Skeeter's smirking face, her acid-green quill dancing in the air. "I have an understanding with someone," he added. "Someone who owes me big time—and let's just say they'll do whatever I ask if it'll protect their own hide."
Fleur's grip tightened on Harry's arm.
But if she felt any moral reservations, she kept them to herself. "If it buys you room to breathe," she said softly, "then I understand."
A wave of empathy rolled through Harry from Fawkes.
'Caution, fledgling,' the phoenix's mental voice was soft, but firm. 'Do not let the thirst for justice consume you. The line between justice and vengeance is—'
'Thin,' Harry finished for him. 'I won't, don't worry.'
Fleur seemed to sense his shift in focus; though she couldn't hear Fawkes's thoughts, she knew they were able to communicate mentally.
"You might still need to confront Dumbledore directly," she said, stepping aside to let Harry pass.
Her eyes flicked warily to the gloom of the corridor ahead. "He won't just stand by while you undermine him. He's already tried to break into your mind once."
Harry's jaw tightened.
"He won't succeed," Harry replied, determined. "My Occlumency is leagues beyond my old self, and if he tries to duel me again—" He paused, remembering how it had been to face the old wizard's raw power and skill. "I am confident that I can at least escape. There's also Fawkes now."
A rush of warmth and pride flowed through their mental link as Fawkes puffed up his chest feathers.
Fleur nodded in solidarity. "I suppose you are right."
They continued through the winding corridors, passing the occasional student who complained about the weather.
Thankfully, none lingered to stare; most had grown used to seeing Harry and Fleur together.
Eventually, they reached a narrower passage branching off from the main hallway.
Fleur stopped walking, turning to Harry. "Before you leave for your training, do you want to talk to me about… us?"
Harry hesitated, swallowing.
She looked vulnerable for a moment, uncertain.
He recalled the weight of her confession: how she'd killed a Grindylow with the Killing Curse, purely out of reflex and fear.
Of course, he knew about that before she told him.
The unforgivable had blazed like a beacon to his heightened magical awareness—and he hadn't judged her for it.
However, Fleur wasn't so easy on herself, and the memory still haunted her.
"Fleur, you're a part of this," Harry said quietly. "I don't want to push you away. But you've seen how bad things can get."
His voice hitched slightly. "This might get worse before it gets better."
She reached out, lacing her fingers through his. "I know and I'm here by choice. If I wasn't willing, I would've left a long time ago." Her eyes, usually so bright, shone with raw conviction.
A gentle warmth radiated from Fawkes—a subtle pulse of approval.
Harry squeezed Fleur's hand. "All right," he said. "Then we do this together. First, I'll set Skeeter on Dumbledore, and force him to explain himself to the public. After that… Well, we'll see." He finished lamely, unwilling to promise more than he could guarantee.
Fleur gave him a small nod, and a ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I think Ron would approve of at least giving the old man some trouble," she said softly, her tone bittersweet.
Harry felt something inside him loosen—grief, yes, but also a flicker of wry amusement.
He could almost see Ron rolling his eyes and muttering again about sappy moments. "Probably," Harry said, exhaling.
"It's been a long day. We can talk more tomorrow morning," he said, shaking off the heaviness.
.
.
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Everyone is happy... that Ron is dead? xD
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