Notes: This was inspired by a wonderful edit done by amonovalis on tumblr and my humble contribution to AU week. I loved the idea of a HP crossover where Myka and HG aren't at Hogwarts, and so decided to write one.

Obviously no one in either the W13 or HP universe's are mine, I just borrowed hem for a bit.

Thanks for reading :)

Myka should have known better. No Defense Against the Dark Arts professor ever lasted more than a year.

Fall

She knew H.G. Wells' story before she ever met the woman - the writer whose only daughter was killed by Death Eaters because Wells had the audacity to denounce Voldemort by name. She had turned to to the Order after her daughter's death, fighting with a ferocity that had more than matched her enemies', then disappeared into the Muggle world after Voldemort's downfall. Myka should have known that when H.G. Wells returned to Hogwarts it was not to rejoin the Wizarding world, that the pain ran too deep for that.

She should have known, but she didn't. When Helena (Prof. Wells then, not Helena, not yet) had ordered her class' texts from Bering & Sons, Myka had sent her a note of thanks. A professional courtesy. It was hard to compete with Flourish & Blotts, and even if texts weren't her main business, Muggle novels and rare editions of Hogwarts: A History didn't exactly rake in the galleons.

Winter

And then the author herself had come to visit.. And what started as a professional courtesy turned into tea and debates of magic versus science and laughter over Jules' Verne thwarted attempts to join the staff at Hogwarts. The conversation had faded into comfortable quiet as the sky outside darkened and Myka became transfixed by how the store's candlelight flickered on Helena's creamy skin.

("What are you looking at?" Professor Wells' voice was quiet, but Myka still jumped a bit as the silence was interrupted. And then hoped the darkness would cover the flush she could feel spreading over her face.

"I'm realizing you look pretty spry for a centenarian. How do you do it?" Myka nearly sighed with relief when her words were light as she intended and didn't betray her embarrassment.

Wells laughed, a hand pushing back dark hair that immediately fell back into place. "It's magic, darling.")

And after Helena left, with a slow smile and a throaty promise to return, Myka felt lonely in what had been her home for the first time.

From then on, Helena would apparate from outside the Hogwarts gate to sit in the closed bookstore with Myka as often as she could, although never often enough. They drank butterbeer when she snuck away from school trips to Hogsmeade and firewhiskey as the stress of OWLs got to the professors as well as the students.

("Another."

Myka laughed, taking in Helena, sitting low in her chair, legs wide, a pile of books all deemed boring at her feet, her eyes overly bright eyes and her cheeks red. She wondered if the normally sophisticated professor would even be able to disapparate in this condition.

"Are you sure?" she asked, even as she reached for the bottle.

"Myka." Helena's voice was steady if slightly exasperated. "Not only did one dreadfully foolish student manage to set another five on fire in class today, there has been a rash of students selling dungbombs as study aids. Dungbombs! You can't imagine the smell. So, yes, I am sure. Another. Please."

Myka laughed as she poured another few fingers worth of firewhiskey into the glass. "I thought I smelled something when you came in," and she couldn't stop her laughter as Helena inelegantly turned to smell her own shirtsleeve.

Helena smiled triumphantly, lifting her glass as if to toast. "I am perfect." Myka couldn't help her smile of agreement.)

And as though it had been planned all along, time in the bookstore turned to time in Myka's small rooms above it, debate and laughter turning to soft lips and teasing touches and whispered pleas for more and don't stop and fighting sleep to cherish every second spent in each other's arms.

("Don't go."

"You know I must."

"Hogwarts can get by without you for one night."

"And you can't?" Helena's voice was teasing, but they still stung Myka's pride. She could. But she didn't want to.

She didn't voice this of course, just shifted so that instead of holding Helena she was straddling her, nipping the other woman's bottom lip playfully. She heard Helena's breath catch, and grinned. "Are you sure you won't stay?" she whispered, and Helena's hands grasping her hips were the only answer she needed.)

Spring

And though they both had lost loved ones to Voldemort, they never talked about it. Myka had broached the subject only once, had been shut down so completely she never tried again. So when Helena occasionally retreated into contemplative silence, dark eyes clouded, Myka didn't push. And she never questioned Helena's sudden return to Hogwarts, focusing instead on how lucky she was that the other woman had decided to take up Dumbledore's offer.

And even if she occasionally worried about Helena, she never once thought that she would try to destroy it all. Would try to destroy her. After, the Daily Prophet would spend nearly an entire issue reporting on the weapon Helena had enchanted as a student. The trident, enchanted to drain the magic from the Wizarding world, to act as a catalyst to turn the magic dark and dangerous and controlled by whoever held the trident. A weapon that was unspeakably dangerous in anyone's hands, and catastrophic in Helena's. Reeta Skeeter gleefully theorized that as a student Helena had had the creativity and skill to create the weapon, and, back then, the presence of mind to hide it. The trident was what lured her back to the school after Christina's death and Voldemort and war had broken her. Myka imagined Skeeter had some theories why Helena had stayed nearly the entire year at Hogwarts, but she hadn't needed to read that far. She didn't need Skeeter to tell her that Helena must have had some doubts or hesitation. But it was only in retrospect could Myka see their last time together was a desperate attempt for Helena to stay tethered to the world she had come to despise.

("Helena -" Myka could barely get the name out, couldn't figure out how she had lost both her shirt and bra while Helena pressed against her still in a coat.

Helena pulled her face away only inches, pressing her hips into Myka's even as she did so. "I need to touch you," her words simple but her voice was thick with wanting and desperation, and she didn't let Myka get another word out before pushing her down onto the floor.

Myka had a moment to notice the hard floor, the musty smell of pages printed long ago, but then everything was Helena. Helena's lips bruising, hands searching, Helena pressing her even harder against the ground, desperate to be closer than bodies allowed. Myka's attempts to touch the other woman were unceremoniously slapped away, and she couldn't stop the long moan that escaped as she finally gave up any attempts at control just let herself be taken.

Summer

Myka had recognized the oddly elegant crow patronus that flew into the store as Helena's when it spoke. "I'm sorry," was all it said, Helena's voice cracking in pain even over those two words. And then it was gone, and Myka was left staring at the spot where the shimmering bird had just been.

She acted on instincts she didn't know she had, leaving the shop to disapparate to Hogsmeade, not knowing what she was looking for, but knowing that the message came for a reason. When she apparated into Hogsmeade, she didn't have time to comprehend the scene before her - Helena, holding a golden trident in one hand wand in the other, standing on the street where the bodies of those who had fought lay still and broken, Hogwarts looming behind her and Aurors perched for action in front.

("Helena."

Myka stepped from her doorway, ignoring the shouted warnings from the Aurors as she walked through their midst. She held her wand up, was surprised that it wasn't shaking.

"I got your message. You don't want to do this."

"I do." Helena's voice shook with rage. "You shouldn't be here. Leave, Myka."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" she clenched her wand tighter.

"You deserve better than this world." Helena had said similar things before, nonsense words whispered across pillows that had warmed Myka's heart. Now, with the dead surrounding them, she felt only anger.

"This is how you want to end this? Really? Helena, the war is over. Voldemort -" she could feel the Auror's behind her twitch at the name and nearly rolled her eyes. "-he's gone."

"This isn't about Voldemort!" Helena's voice was harsh and mocking. "Look around you Myka! Muggles are dying - every day - killing each other with impunity. And we - we sit here, with our magic and our powers, and pretend that we have our own world, that everything is fine because one wizard has been defeated? It's disgusting!"

"And this is what you do with that power?" Myka shouted, but her voice turned cold and hard as she continued. "Fine. You're sick of the wizarding world? This is how you want to fix it? By killing us all? Go ahead." She lowered her wand and stepped towards Helena. "But start with me."

She moved forward again, watching something - doubt, sorrow, pain - flicker through Helena's eyes. "I don't want to watch you do this. This - whatever those are - however you're going to kill all these people? That's disgusting. And cowardly. And I don't ever want to see you like that."

Myka didn't know if she wanted to Helena to give in and kill her or just give up. But she hesitated, and that was all it took. One moment, her wand and the trident lowered nearly imperceptibly, and an Auror shot a stunning spell that found its mark. It was over.)

Summer

Myka found herself staring at the Daily Prophet's photo of Helena on her way to Azkaban nearly every day. On her way to the dementors. Myka searched out the broken look in Helena's eyes - visible only for a second here and there before she lowered her head and dark hair obscured her face - that barely there look of pain that bruised Myka's heart and gave her hope she wasn't sure she wanted. It was the only real evidence she had of regret. She had seen Helena only once since the Aurors unceremoniously disapparated with her shackled and unconscious form - at the trial, that had been more like a Quidditch match than justice. The room crowded, cameras flashing, Myka had given her testimony in a monotone, studiously avoiding ignoring the fact that she could feel Helena's gaze. She hadn't been asked about the nature of their relationship. She could only assume Helena had managed to charm someone out of bringing it up.

As she left the courtroom, as if of their own accord, her eyes searched out Helena, who mouthed something she couldn't make out. Thank you, or I love you, or some other words that held no meaning now that she was a killer spending the rest of her life in Azkaban.

And when she thought of the dementors surrounding Helena, ensuring that she never felt anything but regret and guilt, that she would forget about any semblance of happiness the two of them had had together, Myka tried to tell herself it was for the best.

No Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had ever lasted more than a year. Myka could only wish that she had remembered that earlier.