AN: Short chapter for the tone shifts ;D

Chapter 33 - Kill Bill

The thing about the Polyjuice was that the state of the person being impersonated was the state of the impersonator. Hence why using a dead body was a no-go. Well, unless you wanted an interesting method of suicide or murder. But there were easier potions and poisons than drinking the essence of a dead person.

But all this was to say, Fluer and Bill were very much alive. Fleur mainly to keep Bill from trying to off himself in the relative freedom of their cell.

Barty Crouch Junior wasn't the worst jailer, he was rather generous with the drugs he provided.

So many drugs.

Fleur wasn't even sure what it was, but it was good.

So good.

"Hey babe," Bill slurred.

She hummed, rolling her head on his shoulder to look at his earringless ear. Junior had taken it with him. They were doped out on the floor, looking up at the ceiling which was a grayish-black blob.

They had one blue light in a jar, far from their cell in the expanded trunk prison.

"Do you have a fresser?" Bill asked.

She giggled, "Many. Many, many feathers."

"Can I have one?"

"Oiseau?"

"No! Not bird! Fezzer," he insisted.

"Je ne suis pas une plume, mon chéri," she disapproved.

"Feather," Bill said after a long minute of trying to shape his mouth around the words. "May I have a feather? You're feathered? Please?"

"Pourquoi?" she asked, curling into him, she realised her eyelids had shut.

When had that happened?

"We can pick the lock," Bill, beautiful and wonderful Bill, said

"Psshh," she raspberried. "Tis magic."

"You're magic."

"Awwwwe, Je t'aime, mon amour."

"Love you, too."

There was a long silence as she resettled at his side.

"Can I have one?" Bill interrupted the moment.

"One?"

"Just one," he agreed.

"One what?" she parroted.

"One of what," he corrected.

She bit his ear.

"OI!" He exclaimed then asked, "Please? Can I have a fezzer?"

"Too tired," she said just to irritate him. He had just yelled at her after all.

"Just one?"

"One what?"

"Fezzer."

"Une plume," she corrected.

"No, not a bomb, a feather."

"Une plume," she said resolutely.

"Babe please, one feather."

She huffed, lifting a hand to watch her arm transition.

There was no such thing as a half or part veela, there were only veela and those who were not veela. The stronger ones, as those from her family, could simply hide their allure better.

She plucked a single silver feather and thanks to the drugs, she couldn't feel the pain. She tickled Bill's ear with it.

Laughing, he turned to snag it from her and stole a kiss despite the edge of her beak still forming.

She loved this man.

They were distracted for a while.

"Why I have a feather?" he asked, confused as they parted to breathe.

She hummed trying to remember. Then it occurred to her, "C'est lock!"

"You're magic!"

"Ce moi," she agreed, smug.

He staggered to his feet, dragging himself up and using the wall for support

He reached through the bars, careful not to touch the lock as he tried first the top end and then the shaft.

Shaft.

She laughed from her spot on the floor. From her current perspective, her William looked as if he was winning the war against gravity as he stood upon the ceiling.

There was a click and a bang.

A settling rattle.

Then a creak, as Bill gave the door a tiny push forward.

Bill clapped, "Magic!" He pointed at her before he pointed at the feather and the key, "Magic."

Fleur flung herself up, she nearly fell but caught herself, staggering her momentum forward. She ran into the wall, outside the cage.

Bill caught her waist to steady her.

Then he squeezed her butt.

She giggled and told him, "I like doing that to you too."

"We have a date," he said with a lopsided grin. "Now, out of the box!"

"Out of the box!" she echoed, taking up as a war cry.

They climbed the ladder.

The box lid was closed.

If she wasn't as high, she probably wouldn't have tried doing what she did next.

But she was high.

Very high.

And she didn't hesitate as she struck out against gravity, twisting herself up, throwing her full weight into her feet as she kicked up against the lid, her hands on Bill's shoulders.

There was a suspended moment as the lid of the trunk burst, then came down again on her shins, her feet catching on the rim.

"Ow!" she yelled at the lid.

It didn't really hurt, nothing did, but that was rude of the box.

Bill put a hand on her centre back and pushed her up and out as he finished climbing up the ladder.

"We win! She shouted to the light of the room as she slid onto the floor on her behind.

Bill tumbled out of the box.

Out of the trunk.

"Stupid box."

"Where are we?"

Bill glared at the bookshelves and piles of junk.

Fleur stood and summoned a fireball to her hand with every intention of burning her way out.

Bill tackled her and she puffed out the fireball as they careened into a shelf.

There was a bad sound.

A very not great sound.

She pulled them both up and away in time to see the stacks of shelving falling one on top of another like dominos.

The sound felt like it was a trembling of earth.

And it took a very long time for all of the cases to fall and all the things that fell to find a silence.

Fleur looked down at Bill who was slumped in her lap. She hugged him.

"We need to get out of here," she said.

Bill nodded his head, or wobbled his head, "Somewhere he can't find us."

"He?" she asked.

"No," Bill said flatly.

"Dumbledore?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "Junior!"

"Oh, him. I loathe him. He stole your face." She looked down at his body, "And other things."

Bill turned a delightful shade of pink, and said again, "We have to get out of here."

There was a shifting of stone and Fleur yanked Bill behind her, almost falling in the process.

A spiral staircase opened downward.

"The room is listening to us," Bill whispered.

Fleur blinked then called fire back to her hand. Taking Bill's hand, she plunged forward into the hole in the floor.

She wanted out of the lightless room, even if they had to tunnel their way out.

"We're too high for this," Bill said, he was still whispering.

"No," she said with confidence. "We are correct."

Not certain her English translated the thought correctly, she tugged him forward so he couldn't run.

Who needed liquid luck when your kidnapper liked to keep you complacent with copious amounts of illicit muggle powder?

oOo

Sometime Later

(The author would like to remind you that he is very dyslexic, and knows how to read some French yet is bad at writing it. However, the mistakes are very much on purpose in this chapter which I was regrettably sober while writing. P.S. The drugs for these two paramours have not worn off yet.)

oOo

"Where the fuck are we?" Fleur asked, staring up at the stupid looking statues.

Bill screamed.

Fleur spun, "Quoi!?"

"Snake!"

Fleur sighed, "It's dead… what is with the English and snakes?"

"It's a basilisk!"

"Your brother is a dragon handler."

"This almost killed my sister!"

"And 'Arry handled it. Let's go back, this passage is collapsed."

"But Junior!?"

Fleur held up her hand, "But fire."

"You can't set the books on fire," he said as sternly as he seemed able.

"Fine," she pouted, leading the way back up into the room of too many things.

"Okay, Room," Bill greeted as they re-entered. "We need a way out of Hogwarts."

"We shouldn't hide," Fleur said as the nearest wall opened up into another tunnel.

"We need our wands."

"I don't."

"Oh, so the months—"

"Shhhhhh," Fleur hushed. "I don't have enough drugs for that conversation."

Bill groaned, "Getting sober is going to be the worst."

Fleur hushed him again.

OoOo

Aberforth didn't have a lot of good days.

Strangely, someone throwing open the portrait of his sister like it was a door (it was not and never had been a door) didn't improve his day.

Neither did the beautiful French woman scream, "Liberté!"

Aberforth sighed, going to the fire to floo his brother after he sat the two drugged-out-of-their-minds youths.

Listening to the two slurring words of love and devotion to each other, Aberforth decided Albus was going to owe him after this one.

"What's wrong?" Albus asked, kneeling before the fireplace.

"Found one of your Weasleys and a French girl."

"The Twins?" Albus asked, seeming unsure.

Aberforth grunted, as the girl got the whole bar to join into her cheers of liberation.

"No, the one with the wild hair and his French girlfriend."

"Are they alright?"

"That would seem unlikely," Aberforth said dryly.

"Junior!" The girl yelled. "C'est un très mauvias méchant!"

Cursing Junior's name was taken up with equal zeal by his normally, and preferably, dour patrons.

Aberforth sighed again, glad that he already had a fully stocked bar, one that he informed his little brother that he would be restocking after he got the two door-making tunnelers safely tucked into the nearby inn to await Madam Pomfrey.

"Thank you, Aberforth."
"Don't thank me," he retorted gruffly, spitting coals.

oOo

Albus shook his head as he used the chair to pull himself up from the floor, glad that Bill had reconnected with Fleur, even if they seemed to have taken some illicit drugs.

A knock came on his office door.

"Come in," he called.

When he looked up, it was with surprise that he saw Bill Weasley, clean, dressed complete with earrings.

Which was impossible because Bill and Fleur couldn't have reached the inn in Hogsmeade, much less have changed and reached the castle.

But it seemed the wizard knew of his discovery because of the familiar rippling of flesh that marked the metamorphosis of polyjuice.

Albus raised his wand, his blood going cold, "Mr. Crouch Junior."

The young man smiled, his eyes sparking with manic malice. "Professor."

Albus sighed, "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, well, I believe the shame belongs to me."

Barty cackled, "The Greatest Wizard of the Age. More like the greatest idiot. I intend to bring your wand back to my Master."

Albus inclined his head, "I invite you to try."

Barty bared his teeth, "With Bellatrix dead, I'm the Dark Lord's second. I will prove to him, to the world, that I earned the position."

Albus's grip tightened on his wand, knowing that his age was beginning to catch up on him.

He whistled, Fawkes bursting out of the room in a flash of flame to find help.

He might need it.

oOo

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oOo

AN: Thoughts, winged lemurs, or feedback, pretty please?