Harry hit the floor hard. He rolled onto his back, wheezing, trying to catch his breath.

"That was marginally better, but still pathetic," Kanda said.

"You can't really… expect me to…." Harry coughed, took another deep breath, and tried again. "You can't actually expect me to win."

"Not in a million years if you trained every day." Kanda snorted. "But this is still pathetic."

Harry sat up, rubbing his bruised shoulders. This wasn't even his idea. "You've been doing this how long? Besides, the wizarding world looks down on physical violence. It's not like I've ever done this before."

Of course, he'd spent years as his cousin's punching bag. He'd always thought his reflexes were pretty good – he was praised for them in his Quiddich matches – but compared to Kanda he felt like he couldn't be any slower.

"That's obvious," Kanda said, looking down his nose at Harry. "Stand up. Do it again."

Harry groaned. When the idea had been mentioned, Hermione had been adamant against it; Harry had thought it was a good opportunity. A chance to learn a little of what the Exorcists could do?

He regretted it with every collision to the floor.

"How many more times are we going to do this?" he said as he forced himself up.

"Until you get it right."

"So, for the rest of eternity."

"At the rate you're going, eternity won't be long enough."

Kanda snapped forward and Harry stumbled to pick up his wand. Just as he leveled it at Kanda's head and shot off a spell, Kanda swerved, spun, and caught Harry's skinnier wrist.

He was pulled forward and the room briefly went upside down. He slammed back on the ground, arm twisted behind him, cheek pressed against the hardwood floor.

"At least you managed to fire something that time," Kanda said, knee digging into Harry's back.

They parted and Harry just laid on the ground. With burning lungs, he muttered, "Lot of good that did me."

From the hallway came the sound of Dumbledore's ghost, followed by Hermione's voice. His exhaustion didn't stop him from perking up, pushing himself up to his elbows.

He glanced back to find that Kanda's face was not quite as darkly displeased as his tone suggested; when Kanda jerked his head towards the door, Harry didn't hesitate.

He bypassed the furniture they'd pressed up against to walls to create room for their 'sparring ring' and hurried down the creaky steps. In the front hall, he found his friends plus Allen.

"Are you alright, mate?" Ron said. "You look… I dunno, winded?"

"I'll be fine. Probably." Harry thumped his chest. "How'd it go?"

"As well you can expect, I suppose."

"We didn't discover much of anything new, but we did confirm a few things," Hermione explained as they moved into the sitting room. "Have you noticed how many Death Eaters have been hanging around the square lately? They can't know we're here, but there have been an increase of them."

"They would have sent in Snape it they really thought we were here," Harry said.

Kanda paused in the doorway barely long enough to see who was inside before disappearing again. Harry was beginning to suspect it was just how he showed he cared; through things like teaching Harry to defend himself and checking in on them even if no one was screaming. Things he could brush off with some other reasonable sounding excuse.

"Where's Lavi?" Allen said.

"Yeah, where is he? You usually all appear at once," Ron said.

"A few hours ago, he said he was going to make some foreign foods to show us." Harry nodded in the vague direction of said kitchen. "Kreacher's not happy, but he said he'd teach Kreacher how to make it too."

"I didn't know Lavi could cook," Hermione said with a smile. That they hadn't known was far from a surprise, but it was when Allen agreed.

"A didn't know either. I wonder what he's making?"

"When he said foreign, he didn't mean, like, sushi or something, did he?" Ron asked, his face turning an interesting shade of pale green.

"I don't know, Ron, why?"

"Because I don't like raw fish. It's kind of disgusting, isn't it?" He looked around as if expecting agreement.

"Have you even had sushi before, Ronald?" Hermione frowned, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, no… But it's raw! It can't be good, I mean, come on!"

"I like sushi," Allen piped up with a grin. "You should try it, at least."

"From what I've seen, there's not much you don't like, is there?"

Kreacher appeared with a pop, dressed in a white towel, ear hair clean, and Regulus' locket bounding on his thin chest. His sudden appearance made Allen jump – Harry would have thought the Exorcists would be used to it by now.

"Dinner is ready, Master Harry," Kreacher said with only mild distaste.

"Did Lavi give you any trouble?" Harry hide a grin.

As if that was the only thing he needed to hear, the house elf burst out, "He refuses to leave the kitchen! He has all but forced Kreacher to leave, and he shouldn't, he's taking over Kreacher's-"

"It was just this once, don't get your… er… towel in a bunch," Lavi said as he appeared at the doorway. Allen's nose lifted as the scent of food drifted into the room.

"I didn't know you could cook, Lavi," he said accusingly.

"Haven't really done it much," Lavi said, holding up his slightly burnt hands. "Haven't really needed to. The old panda took care of most of that when it was necessary. But I remember a few recipes, and now seemed like the perfect time to try one out."

Hermione went and took his hands, looking them over critically. Over her head, Lavi waggled his eyebrows at them.

"You must have been clumsy," she said. "Which isn't something I thought I would ever say."

She pulled out her wand and murmured a spell. The minor burns healed over within seconds. Allen approached, staring down at the unblemished skin in fascination.

"Skin is a little tight, but that's a near miracle, right there!" Lavi rubbed his hands together. "I've lost count of how many times I've burned myself – what I wouldn't give to be able to do that!"

Considering most of the akuma Harry had seen exploded, that did not entirely surprise him.

"Like in the Ark!" Lavi beamed at Allen, who was more bemused. "Wish I'd had a spell like this then."

"The Ark?"

Kreacher began to herd them toward the kitchen with coughs and glares. Lavi threw his hands in the air. "It's amazing. Like an inter-dimensional pocket."

Hermione jerked her head with the expression that usually said she was about to argue with someone less intelligent than she was and explain exactly how they were wrong, but he continued with a dismissive wave.

"Nobody knows for certain, but that's not the important part. There was a huge battle there. Some of us Exorcists verses some Noah."

"You never did finish the story about the Noah," Hermione said. "How many are there?"

"Thirteen," Allen said. Harry didn't miss Lavi's sharp glance. "We haven't met them all. There were… three… four..? There at the time."

They began to sit around the table. Harry didn't recognize any of the dishes, but none of them appeared to be sushi.

"Which is it, three or four?" Ron said, eyes drawn to the food spread.

"It's complicated. There was a pair that could merge and – well, it's easier to just count them as one."

"And how many survived the battle?" Hermione said, startling them.

Allen slowly pulled apart a pair of chopsticks – Harry didn't even know Grimmauld had chopsticks – and mused. "Most of us. All the Exorcists made it out; actually, we left with one extra. One of the people with us turned out to be Innocence compatible. And there were two Noah that didn't; Kanda and Krory's opponents. Tyki and Road lived, though."

Somehow, Harry wasn't surprised Kanda was responsible for one of the deaths. He wondered about these Noah; what kind of people were they?

It was probably better he never found out.

"So, how do you use chopsticks?" Ron said, clumsily trying to mimic Allen. "And what is this stuff?"

"It's called Soba," Lavi said, reaching to take the chopsticks and bind one end with a handy rubber band. "It's Kanda's favorite, and Allen is so easy to please. It's Japanese."

"And there's no raw fish?"

"Not in this kind."

Allen showed Harry how to use them, but it was something he was going to need practice with. It wasn't his first time – the Dursley's used to get the occasional Chinese – but he had never quite gotten the hang of it. Hermione wielded hers with more skill than he did, but Ron seemed hopeless. Between his grumbling ("Why would anyone decide two sticks were good to eat with?!"), Hermione turned the discussion back to their plans.

"What about it?" Harry said as his chopsticks went crooked and he dropped his noodles.

"What do you mean, what about it?!" She glared. "We're supposed to sneak into the Ministry and steal the locket! What is there not to worry about?!"

When Kreacher had appeared with Mundungus, about the only thing they had learned was that Mundungus had given the locket away; from his description, it seemed to be Umbridge. The mere thought of her made the scars on the back of his hand itch.

They'd started information gathering by hanging outside the Ministry almost every day – and learned that Snape had been appointed as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"It doesn't have to be so complicated." Lavi said, waving his utensils around. "We could go in and you guys could stay here."

"Not going to happen," Harry immediately replied, mentally noting the habit he'd noticed recently – whenever one of the Exorcists said 'we', it was never the six of them.

Just another distinction and wall between them.

"It's a ridiculous idea. Even if you didn't get lost, you have no magic," Hermione huffed. "Or were you planning a full frontal assault?"

Lavi gave her a large, crooked grin and she waved her chopsticks at him threateningly. "You can't just attack everything!"

"I was just kidding, 'Mione! I'm smarter than I look, you know."

Harry glanced up with a cocked eyebrow as Ron choked on his noodles. Hermione was left blinking as Kreacher appeared to give Ron a good slap on the back.

"Something I said?" Lavi frowned. "Wait – oh, haha, if that was a crack at my handsome looks, I'll have you know-"

"No, no!" Hermione said. "I was just… surprised."

"You called her 'Mione'," Ron added.

"That's what you call her," Lavi said, looking between them. "Or is that one of those pet nicknames other people aren't allowed to use, like Allen and beansprout? I mean, he's British, so I didn't think it was a brit thing."

"That is not a pet nickname!" Allen snapped. "I'd rather nobody called me that!"

"It's nothing," Hermione said. "Allen, you're British?"

Harry looked the Exorcist over again – Allen did appear European, he supposed, but he wouldn't have expected they shared a place of birth. They had said the Black Order had bases all over the world… and Kanda was Japanese. He wondered what Lavi was.

"I suppose you can't really tell. My accent disappeared a long time ago," Allen said with a shrug.

"Do you die your hair? I've always wondered." Ron frowned when Hermione glared at him. "What?"

"You shouldn't ask questions like that!" she hissed.

"I hear it's a popular thing for Muggles," he said defensively.

"No, I don't die my hair."

"Then it's natural?"

"I wasn't born with white hair, if that's what you're asking."

"Then why is it white – ow!"

Ron jerked; Harry guessed Hermione kicked him under the table. As curious as Harry was, he agreed it was a rude line of questioning. He might have gone along with it if it weren't for the absence of Allen's usual easy-going expression.

"I was cursed a long time ago," Allen said. "I always figured it was a side-effect of that."

Hermione opened her mouth, eyebrows furrowed, before snapping it shut and shaking her head. It only inspired more questions for Harry as well; if they were Muggles and didn't know about the wizarding world previously, how could he have been cursed?

The conversation turned again to safer subjects.

After dinner, the Exorcists cleaned up after themselves, with Lavi setting aside a portion for Kanda. Hermione disappeared with a familiar frazzled look that meant she was about to go diving in books. Ron went back to their 'blueprints', as they were, to go over all the details they'd so far gathered for their Ministry scheme.

Before Harry could occupy himself, he was distracted by a sudden and intense pain in his scar.

He didn't want to others to know. He made a hasty excuse to Ron, citing the need to go to the bathroom, and left in a hurry.

Allen was coming from the opposite direction. He lifted his hand in greeting and said something Harry didn't catch; he was practically a robot with a single-minded focus on getting to privacy.

But then Allen grabbed his arm in passing and there was a spike in the pain. The room tilted as he was filled with a dizzying sense of falling.

He fell into a vision.

He was Voldemort, walking amongst houses that looked like mimicries of gingerbread homes. He approached one, excitement growing. The door opened to a woman whose face fell upon seeing him.

"Gregorovitch?" he said.

She shook her head and went to shut the door. He was not impressed, but also not concerned. He would get what he came for today. At his side, someone's throat cleared.

"Allow me," said a stranger.

The man had unnatural grey skin and bright gold eyes. He did not act like a Death Eater – when he looked at Voldemort, there was no fear, no desire to please, no groveling. It was almost as if he saw himself equal to Lord Voldemort – an impression that amused him. This Muggle was… quant.

And only tolerated because he was useful. The day would come where he no longer would be – and he looked forward to that day.

The stranger walked right through the door as if the wood was nothing more than an illusion. Moments later, the door swung open to reveal him leading the frightened woman by the elbow. The moment she caught sight of Voldemort she began to struggle but her feet slid against the floor.

"I want Gregorovitch," Voldemort said, voice high and cruel.

"Er wohnt hier nicht mehr!" She cried, "He no live here! He no live here! I know him not!"

She was held firmly in place by long, gloved fingers, which tightened at her denial.

"Where is he?"

"Das weiss ich nicht! He move! I know not, I know not!"

The stranger shrugged and planted a hand directly in her chest. He whispered something in her ear that caused her to pale, and then she convulsed.

Voldemort watched, detached except for a vague disgust.

"Tyki," he hissed softly. The woman fell to the floor, eyes open in terror, never to blink again. The man – Tyki – held her heart in his hand.

Two children ran into the hall, skidding to a stop when they saw their mother. Before they could scream, Voldemort had drawn his wand, the spell flowing into the air like water, green light flashing –

"Harry! Harry!"

Harry opened his eyes to a ceiling, not the sky. He listened to his own breathing, reassuring himself that he was, in fact, still himself. His friends leaned over him in concern, and he knew without asking that he must have cried out during the vision.

Then he saw Allen sitting against the wall, hands on his head and face in his knees. His breathing was erratic. Harry thought he could see a faint tremble in the boy's gloved hands.

"You okay, Allen?" Lavi asked as he knelt. His face was unreadable, almost blank, as he pressed a hand against Allen's back.

Lavi gained a small frown when he didn't get an immediate response, but eventually Allen slowly rose his head, revealing his pale, anxious face.

"What happened?" Harry said tiredly. He knew what had happened to him, but why was Allen laid out?

"You had another vision, didn't you?!" Hermione exclaimed. "Dumbledore didn't want you to keep doing this, Harry! He wanted you to learn Occlumency! These visions are dangerous, even he thought so!"

"It means I know what he's doing," Harry said. There was a pounding in his temples; an impending headache that would not at all be pleasant.

"So you're not even going to try to shut him out?"

He ignored her. He'd heard her lectures before – he'd already tried Occlumency. It wasn't as if he liked feeling Voldemort's twisted emotions or watching him murder people. He would be more than happy if he never witnessed another vision again.

But if the connection was there, he could see what the other wizard was doing; it might be useful.

He shuffled towards the Exorcists. Kanda stood several paces away, arms crossed and watching all of them.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked Allen.

"I believe so." Allen gave a wane smile, "Or I will be, at least."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I was hoping you would tell me."

Him? He'd passed out from the vision. Whatever happened to Allen, he hadn't been conscious to see.

"I could only see blurs," Allen continued, rubbing his strange scar. "Mostly I just felt things. Sometimes I could hear someone as if they were far away; I couldn't make out what they were saying. It was all very strange… as if I were someone else."

That should be impossible. Harry saw his visions because he was personally connected to Voldemort. Allen had no such connection. And he was Muggle.

"Obviously something happened with both of you," Lavi said slowly. "Any idea…?"

The way he looked at Harry was not angry. It was not judging or expectant or knowing. Yet, it was still intimidating, and Harry was compelled to admit at least part of the truth.

"I have visions," he said. "Of Voldemort. I see what he sees, feel what he feels. I have no idea how Allen could have seen anything."

"This is new. You've never mentioned a special skill like that."

"It's complicated."

"Perhaps you should uncomplicate it," Lavi said. "In the sitting room, for example."

It was clearly not a request. It was, perhaps, the most serious Harry had ever seen Lavi, and it was out of concern for Allen.

He hesitantly nodded. He stood with help from Hermione while she muttered about how maybe the Exorcists could talk some sense into him. Allen had less trouble getting his balance back, but then, he seemed to have experienced a less intense vision.

A vision that he shouldn't have seen at all.

Just what was he, anyway? 'Muggle' seemed less and less possible.