"Choose to be not a product of your environment, nor of your experience, but a product of what your heart tells you the world can be in its finest hour."
~ A.K. Lovell ~
Chapter 14 ~ The Scars Life Leaves
Tonks threw open the shades, allowing the bright afternoon light to stream in, filling the room with yellow hues so bright that not even Remus, who was valiantly feigning sleep, could ignore them.
She marched to the side of his bed, throwing open the bed hangings.
"Get up," she clipped, her expression anything but amused.
"How did you get past the wards?" Remus groaned, pulling his pillow over his head so he resembled a burrowing animal.
She contented herself to narrowing her violet eyes. "Bill's a curse breaker. And when he and I have over two weeks with nothing to do but crack the wards on our stubborn arse of a friend's home we tend to succeed."
Remus emitted a low grumbling sound, indecipherable to any human ear. It was at this point that she decided she had had enough. She ripped the covers from his bed, and flung them out the now open window.
"Remus did you really think you could avoid us forever!" she hollered. "What the hell is the matter with you?"
At his lack of responsiveness she stomped her foot angrily, and began spraying him with water from the tip of her wand.
Remus jerked so violently that he rolled right out of bed, landing in a heap on the floor. He blinked groggily, his face scrunched up and dripping. He looked extremely disgruntled.
"You look like a sopping wet dog Remus! Now get your stubborn ass off the floor right now and get ready! We have an Order meeting in an hour and if you are not there so help me Merlin I will come back here, wards be damned, and make you come! You can't avoid us forever!"
He groaned unhappily.
She glowered down, deciding to not leave just yet. "And you know what else Wolfy? You are the singularly, most selfish individual that I have ever met!"
"Mrmph..."
"Don't mrmph at me!" she practically shouted. "As if it's not bad enough for you to stay here, wallowing in self pity for two weeks, but you left me to talk to Harry for you! He deserved to see you there! Not me! Instead you hid here away from everyone acting like a baby!"
"Go. Away," he interjected moodily.
"NO I WON'T!" she screeched in a very un-Tonks-like fashion. "I am FAR from being DONE! I haven't even started on Kalliandra! Do you have any idea how much she probably needs you right now?"
He apparently had found something fascinating underneath the bed, because now he had taken to staring beneath it.
"She doesn't need me. I nearly got her killed."
Tonks stomped again, very near his head. "You know that wasn't your fault Remus! No one knew what that spell would do!"
"You should go," he mumbled morosely. "I could still turn at any moment."
Her jaw dropped. "Is that what this self-induced isolation has been about? You think you're going to turn again?"
When he didn't answer she actually laughed. "Remus you prat! You turned within an hour of being hit with that spell! Do you really think that it could possibly turn you again? Two weeks later no less!?"
"I can't risk it..."
"Well that's just too damn bad Wolfy because you're going to," she didn't wait for a response and marched over to throw open his closet. She grabbed the nearest shirt and threw it at him. "Now go shower and get dressed. I don't have all day and so help me you are going to write to Harry and Kalliandra before we leave!"
He could be seen over his bed, fumbling with his shirt. "When we leave? Wasn't I kicking you out now?"
"I'd like to see you try. I'm not leaving because I don't feel like fighting with your wards again," she paused, and almost as an afterthought added, "And don't change the subject because you are writing to them!"
He shook his head, his shaggy hair falling around his eyes messily. It looked like he hadn't showered in days. "No. If they wanted to talk to me they would have..."
"Would have what?" she was far beyond losing her patience at this point. "Contacted you? Remus, Kalliandra tried! That damn pocket watch of yours has been glowing all week at headquarters! We tried sending it back to you but you keep sending it back! Kalliandra probably thinks you're ignoring her by now and Harry..."
"Harry is safer if I stay away," Remus interjected, picking up his wand.
She growled in frustration and yanked the pocket watch out of her pocket. Mundungus had found it near one of the dead children after the attack.
"Well at least take this back Remus," she said, placing it on his worn desk. "I don't care what you say but she really does need you." She searched him for some sign that he accepted this fact, but he only leaned out the window and summoned his blanket back up.
Watching his pitiable movements, she suddenly felt like collapsing.
Remus had been the one she could count on, to hold together for her. Ever since Sirius...
She couldn't bear to think of it, let alone voice it, but ever since that wretched night she had grown to rely on Remus. She needed him so much it scared her.
It had been his cool, light brown eyes she had awoken to in St. Mungos. The healers said he had never left her side. Even then he refused, and took to sleeping on a make-shift cot in the corner or her room. He had claimed it was to not miss the fun of her griping, whenever the healers had poked and prodded her with their wands, but she had known better. He had been worried, and who could blame him when she had never felt worse.
But his presence had kept her thoughts from straying to Sirius.
She shuddered, remembering how he had found her curled up on her couch one night that summer, positively balling her eyes out, the few pictures of Sirius she had spread out on her coffee table. If only she had stunned Bellatrix when she had had the chance! By Merlin, he would still be here!
With a cool cup of mocha Remus had sat with her, logically reminding her that hindsight is 20/20, and of the futility of blaming herself.
Catching the bastards was the only thing that could help Sirius now, he had told her. And as an auror, that would be her job. He had told her how she needed to hold together for that.
If he had not shown up when he had, she may have curled up in the nearest, damp broom closet, and not come out till Christmas.
She had passed out that night, vaguely suspicious that her mocha had been laced with dull firewhiskey. Remus always had claimed that alcohol assuaged the nerves...
She had only just realized how grateful she was for the small traces of humor he shared with her.
She had grown so used to him always being there, and it had taken Remus' absence to make her realize how much he meant to her.
Never again, did she want to experience another fortnight like the one she had just had without him.
The thought of him wallowing in self pity any longer made her physically ill, and she felt her shallow reserves of strength folding in.
She had to resist the urge to run over there and smack him.
She drew herself up, ignoring the pain prickling in her chest. "Harry does need you Remus," she started. "You're all he has left. Imagine how he'd feel if you shut him off now?"
Remus was flipping the comforter back onto the bed, straightening it meticulously. "He doesn't need me. Neither does Kally. They'll just wind up hurt..."
"Well damn't, Remus! I need you!" she shot out, ignoring his shocked stare. "Don't you get that? I miss you! And I'm not the only one! Harry misses you! He sent me an owl because you haven't responded to his letters! I can only assume by that pile on your desk that you haven't read any of them yet! And you! You're just..."
She trailed off, frustration effectively silencing that train of thought.
"Go shower. I'll wait downstairs."
She turned in a huff and stormed out, resolving to send Harry and Kalliandra separate notes demanding that they pester Remus until he broke out of this self-created shell.
She missed the disbelieving eyes of a certain werewolf, following her longingly.
Harry allowed the book to fall closed. His head had long since fallen upon the table, his body slumped over in frustration. A thousand and one dark curses swirled through his mind, their counter curses eluding his memory in a maddening way.
Why, in the name of Merlin, had Professor Tres been so against teaching them this?
The sheer enormity of the task before him had hit home nearly an hour before, and the constant weight on his shoulders seemed determined to crush him now. It was pressing down on his chest, making his head spin, the realization of how little time he had to master this had finally sunk in.
Voldemort could come for those he loved tomorrow, and somehow he doubted the monster's minions would stick to simple jinxes.
For the first time in his life, he was starting to feel helpless. He had borrowed the book from Dumbledore's office, changing the cover so no one could know what dark arts it contained, and after only a few days of study he had come to a realization.
Avada Kedarva was amongst the most merciful of dark curses.
For the dark arts could do so much worse than simply kill in one blow.
The could burn you alive from the inside out, your screams confounding those around you, your skin not blackening as invisible fiery tendrils licked at you hungrily.
By the time those around you realized...
Help for victims of the mort ardente would be far too late.
Other curses could could slice your skin in slow, long slashes. The invisible attack lasting for hours, as medi-wizards and healers tried to save you, only to watch you succumb as slash after destroying slash undid their healing, spilling your life blood, killing you...
Others could slowly crush your chest, driving the air from your lungs, suffocating you under the pressure of a dozen hippogriffs...
He shuddered involuntarily, almost glad that death had been quick and merciful for Sirius and Cedric. He had not known before, but their lives could have been extinguished in much worse ways...
The school system had failed them. Harry knew this now. For they had not prepared them adequately for what they might face in the war.
Professor Tres had shown him that merely a week ago. Kaylens had been the one to bring it up, asking when they would learn the worse of the Dark Arts themselves.
He hadn't been sure whether to applaud her for her astuteness, or curse her for sounding like fanatical Malfoy.
But she had been right...
If one did not know what the curses sounded like, how could they defend themselves with accurate counter-curses?
So while her and Malfoy had argued their point, and lost valiantly as Tres started twitching under pressure, he had composed a letter to Dumbledore asking for access to materials about the Dark Arts.
Dumbledore had granted him that...
He propped himself on his elbows, reopening the ancient, blackened leather text. He was determined to learn every lethal curse the world had to offer him.
And before he found Voldemort with them, he would first find Pettigrew...
The man who had stolen his life from day one.
Pettigrew would pay. Harry would make him feel all of the pain he had felt ever since his arrival on the Dursley's doorstep.
Then Pettigrew would die.
Then, once he had seen what the curses did on a live human, then he would find Voldemort.
The creature was going to pay.
Kalliandra clutched Tonks' letter in hand and stormed to the foot of the gargoyle.
She had done exactly as Tonks had requested. She had already tried contacting him. She had tried saying, shouting, and cursing his name into that blasted compact of hers, had sent owls armed with letters and orders to peck at his hands until he replied, and even had sent a self-writing quill with the last one so it would write whatever he said down upon receiving it.
That particular owl had had orders to snatch whatever was written before Remus had a chance to snatch it up himself.
Well apparently Remus had been too quick for the owl, because she had gotten back a broken quill and a ripped, blank piece of paper.
Damn your stubbornness to Hades, Remus! She thought this in annoyance, stomping her foot outside Dumbledore's office.
She had grown so annoyed with him avoiding contact and canceling their tutoring sessions that she had finally slipped on Josh' ring and tried port keying directly to Remus, only that hadn't worked either.
Which was precisely why she found herself outside of Dumbledore's stupid stone gargoyle, shouting every candy that came to mind.
"Peppermint! Bat dung droppings! Bertie Pops! Apples! Peaches!" she exclaimed at it, abandoning candies in favor of fruits. "Oh damn it to hell! Peach Schnapps! Peach Cobble..."
The stone gargoyle had sprung to life, allowing her entrance.
"Peach Schnapps? You've got to be kidding me..." she muttered, springing up the stairs and bursting into his office, being careful to smack Crusantheus on the way in.
Dumbledore looked up idly from his desk, a bemused expression across his weather worn face. "Why Kalliandra, what a pleasant surprise."
She did not agree. "Professor what does Remus think he is doing?" she demanded, stopping in front of his desk. "He can't avoid us forever! Why doesn't my port key work anymore? And why are you now using liquors as your passwords!?"
Dumbledore looked rather puzzled. "Peach Schnapps? A liquor? And here I thought it was a rather clever form of candy..."
Had she not been so worked up she would have rolled her eyes. "No, it's not. But why won't this work?" She held up her ring for effect.
"Ah, I was wondering when you would ask," Dumbledore commented airily. "Remus requested that your port key be de-activated for the time being."
She glowered. "Did he say why?"
"I am sure you know why Kalliandra."
An odd, sinking feeling had wormed it's way into her stomach. "Yeah, I think I do. But doesn't he understand that it wasn't his fault?"
"On some level, yes. But much like someone else you know..." Dumbledore eyed her shrewdly, leaving no question about who he was referring to. "He has taken to blaming himself, shoving away those close to him in order to protect them."
She sighed defeatedly. "So there's nothing we can do to talk some sense into him?"
"I rather think, that this is something he has to come to accept on his own terms. We cannot force him into realizing that we would rather be near him with all of the risks, than away from him and safe."
"I wish we could..." she said sadly.
Dumbledore chuckled slightly, recognizing the irony of her statement. "You know Kalliandra, in our own way, we are all a danger to those we love, for the simple fact that true friends will go to any lengths to help each other, even if that means sacrificing their own lives in exchange for another's."
His words struck a deep chord within her, one she was not quite ready to hear. "Thanks Professor..." she muttered, all anger gone. "Can you at least give him this when you see him?" She extended a letter to him, it's addressee reading To The Obstinate Wolf.
Dumbledore smiled, "I'll see that he gets it."
Harry rested his cheek against the worn surface of the table, letting his dank hair drip over his face. The dripping water from his recent shower eased the dull ache that had begun in his scar.
Drip...
A bead of wax broke free from the glowing candle, falling to soak into the unsealed ridges of the oak desk. The impact sounded cavernous, for his ear remained pressed against the desk's surface, amplifying the sound ten fold.
Across the common room, far from where he sheltered in the shadows of a single candle wick, the fire glowed warmly. Several straggling seventh years, no doubt putting in the extra hours for NEWT preparation, remained there, blissfully oblivious to the late hour.
Sleep would once again, not be his companion. When his scar ached so sharply, it was in fact the enemy.
Voldemort was there, just beneath the surface of his mind, waiting for a chance to get in as he dreamt. He knew Hermione's parents were as good as dead, but he would not allow Voldemort the information he demanded for their supposed 'release.'
If they were going to die, it would not be in vain.
Fiery shadows danced across his open text, and he wearily rubbed his scar, trying to memorize the counter curse for one of the many crushing hexes.
The one he was looking at would drive air from the lungs slowly, till the person could only claw at their neck in agony, blood vessels in their eyes bursting as oxygen left them.
The black and white illustration showed a wizard captured in a silent howl, his fingers already falling limp around his throat.
He shuddered at the sight, not noticing the determined expression flitting across her face.
He had never even noticed her studying him, concealed as she was, lying on the floor across the room, warming herself before the fire.
She made her way towards him, making up her mind.
"Hey Potter."
Her voice pulled him away from his thoughts, and he swallowed hard, looking up as she slid into the seat before him. She leaned backwards relaxingly, her face falling into the shadows of the corner they sheltered in.
"Kaylens," he said steadily, heart hammering. Be it at her sudden interruption or the memory of the dying face, he did not know. "What are you doing here?" He slid a hand across the morbid photograph, staring intently at her.
She met his eyes, for the first time in days, holding them seriously. "Talking Potter. Just talking." Candlelight danced in them...
His scar gave a dull pound, reminding him of his own fragile state. Tonight was not the time for talking, even with her, whom he had grown curious about. "You know..." he stated carefully, watching her smooth her sleek locks behind her ears, "there is usually a reason for why someone sits clear across a relatively empty room from everyone else."
She nodded, a whimsical frown tracing her features. "Oh? And what's that?"
"They're studying."
"Or they want to be left alone," she whispered, voicing his unspoken thought. "Believe me Potter, I know you're unhappy with me. I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important."
He was thrown. "I'm not unhappy with you," he said quietly, before he could stop himself. "I just don't understand why you're so hostile."
Her eyes danced in the candlelight, her hands playing around the base of the candle, picking at the solidified wax. It looked as if she were giving great consideration to her next words. "Honestly?" she finally stated very, very quietly, her crystalline eyes looking up at him in the firelight. "I'm not good at letting people in. Haven't been...for awhile."
For a long moment Harry remained quiet. Very quiet. Finally he nodded, accepting this. "If that's the case," he questioned finally, voice rough with exhaustion, "then am I, or am I not, supposed to stay the hell away from you?"
She let out a sigh. "Potter I-"
"Don't worry about it," he cut her off, rather abruptly. "If you suddenly became personable I'd think you were ill."
She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, fidgeting. "For someone who seemed eager to talk, you're certainly making this difficult."
He smiled forcefully at this, probably looking like a grim clown. "And that has nothing to do with you storming off, then refusing to come within a ten meter vicinity of me?"
"Touché," she murmured, "but right now this isn't about you or me, Potter. It's about Remus."
Her voice held an essence of loss as Lupin's name fell off her lips, and for a fleeting second he understood. He did not know how the two knew one another, and felt the stabbing pain of betrayal that Lupin had kept better communications with her rather than him, his best friend's son, but in that instant, he knew that his former Professor had not spoken to her since that day either.
He felt oddly good about that. For a change, he was not the only one being ignored, or kept in the dark.
"Won't respond to any of your letters either then?" he queried, knowing the answer.
She shook her head, her hair coming loose from where it lay tucked behind her ears, falling to lay artfully over her eyes. "He's started sending mine back."
He felt a small grin tugging at the edges of his lips. "Hedwig is persistent."
"An owl?"
He grunted in response, the ache in his scar was starting to burn slightly.
"We can't just let Remus shut himself off. He-"
Harry didn't fully hear the rest of her statement. A pain, a daggering pain seared through his brow, hate that wasn't his welling up as Voldermort messed with him some more. He jolted forward, dropping his head into his hands to cover the painful grimace now crossing his face. "Funny hearing you say that," he managed to groan as the throbbing pain attacked him, "because isn't that what you're doing?"
Through his fingers he saw a shrewd expression cross her face. "Do you want me to get Madam Pomfrey?"
"Why..." Picture the wall...The bricks...Their rough texture stretching infinitely upwards... "Why would I want you to get the nurse?" he asked, barely guising the pain that was now coming forth in waves. She really needed to leave. She needed to leave now, but not to get the nurse...
"You're in pain Potter. I'll be..."
Before she could even move his hand had shot out like a lightning bolt, attaching itself to her wrist. "Don't get her... I'll be fine," he hissed lowly, not keen to attract the attention of the seventh years still down there. "Probably just a headache from talking with you."
His sarcasm lingered on the air, and then an unpleasant sensation swept through him, the feel of Kaylens' wrist turning barely registering as the dark room spun.
He was no longer fully there as his eyes flickered half shut, half seeing the wall Dumbledore had taught him to so carefully construct, half seeing Kaylens kneeling down besides him.
"The only way to strengthen your wall at this point, is to learn to mask your emotions..." Dumbledore's words came back to him...
"Potter? Potter look at me," Kaylens spoke quickly, an unfamiliar edge to her voice. He waved her away, feeling her hands wrapping around his own. She had to leave...
Voldemort was prickling at the edges of his envisioned wall.
The creature's voice filled his mind, green tendrils leaking through red brick.
Been sssstudying the dark artssss I sssssee. It'ssss about time you learrrrned...
He turned his eyes away from his book, leaning away from Kaylens to slam it shut before Voldemort could learn more.
"Sodding hell Potter of all the times..." Kaylens murmured. He felt her arm sliding beneath his shoulders, a strange tingling trickling through him as he unconsciously leaned closer, allowing his body to sag against her as she hauled him up.
He rose his eyes, finding her own surprisingly close, flickering with that unfamiliar concern. "Kaylens leave..." he muttered, feeling a violent edge forming within his last coherent thoughts. He had nearly attacked Ron in a similar state, under Voldemort's egging influence...
Ah compannnnny... Voldemort sounded almost cheerful, and Harry felt his face unwillingly turning towards her further.
Suddenly it was no longer he who was searching her features.
Interesssstinnnng...
"Kaylens..." he gasped. "Get the hell out of here."
She grimaced determinedly, kicking open the portrait door. He heard her shouting something about Pomfrey to someone, but their form was so blurry... He couldn't make them out...
It doessssssn't matterrrrrrr who they arrrrre Harrrrrrry. Who issss sssssssheeeee...
"Leave..." he groaned, barely shoving the words out. She was dragging him down the hall now...
"Potter I'm not going anywhere," she got out, sounding strained.
It'ssss good to know they have not messssed up assss badly assss believvvvved...
Who messed up!? he thought, grasping lucidity, desperate to glean Voldemort's meaning.
Calling on his last ounces of mental reserves he dug his heels into the ground. He turned, squirming away from her, suddenly finding his own feet untrustworthy.
He was collapsing to the stone floor, the torch lit halls a brilliant blur...
Whooooo...
Unable to tell the difference between speaking and thinking, his mouth opened to scream his own question into the dead of night...
Kaylens hand clamped over his lips, and he found himself breathing in her skin, damp with perspiration and the waxy essence of the candle she had been fidgeting with mere moments before.
"Damn you Potter be quiet!" she hissed dangerously.
He struggled dazedly, her chin coming to rest on his shoulder as she stilled him, frantic hushing sounds escaping her own lips. Had she had a harsh edge to her? He could no longer remember...
Jussssst a name Harrrrrrry... What harrrrm everrrr came frrrrom a name Harrrry...
He relaxed, leaning against her again, feeling her arms stiffen. Of course... It only made sense... Voldemort would want to know of someone as fascinating as her, who wouldn't? He certainly did, no matter how infuriating she grew he was curious. What harm could a name do...
"Kalliandra Kaylens..." he murmured druggedly.
"Glad to see you remember formalities. Now please get up, I'm not strong enough to drag..."
A jubilant wave washed over him, so intense as to drown out every other word filtering through his auditory system.
Voldemort withdrew as quickly as he came, and he realized, with a sinking feeling, that he had just given the Dark Lord something he very much wanted, without realizing it.
The feel of Kaylens' hands tugging up on his shoulders, the feel of her long hair brushing against his face as she leaned over him, the dark shadows of the deserted Hogwarts corridor...
The sanctity of his mind restored, it all came into stark focus.
His legs becoming his own again, he powerfully thrust them into the floor on his own accord, scrambling eagerly away, his sudden departure sending her spilling across the cold, dirt dusted stone floors.
He rounded on her downed form, failing to notice her shocked expression. One thought was on his mind. One he had been putting off asking.
"Why would Voldemort want to know your name?" he asked pointedly, the maniacal glint that always accompanied Voldemort's touch still in his eyes.
She glared up unflinchingly, golden hair limply splayed out across her face. "So we're at this again are we?" she asked, brushing locks of hair out of her face, revealing the steely glint of her own glossy orbs eyeing him suspiciously.
"Yes," he said seriously, his hand lingering near his wand. "Yes we are."
She pushed herself up, slowly, wincing as she did so. "Does that really require an answer then?"
"Yes."
They stared at one another, both expressions unreadable.
Finally, an eternity passing them by, she tilted her head to the side. "How much do you know?" she whispered. She looked...curious.
"Enough to know he was all too happy to learn your name tonight." He knew the consequences of this, if horrible, would be his to bear. It was not a thought he cherished. Hell, he half wished that she would profess into the night her loyalty to the Dark Lord, so he could strike her down, guilt free.
Kaylens sucked in a breath, her entire demeanor seeming to change right in front of him. Her left hand was actually shaking. "Wha-are you sayig you told him?"
Harry remained silent, swallowing hard. That was his only response. Guilt rose in him. Voldemort had wanted her name. Why?
This last thought was silenced by the way her eyes darkened coldly onto him. "And you were happy to give him that information. Weren't you Potter?"
His own hands, now balled in fists, shook with suppressed rage at himself for doing so. "None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me. Why didn't you leave when I told you to?"
She shrugged one shoulder, almost testingly, in an out of place manner. "You looked like you were having a fit, Potter. I thought you needed the hospital wing..."
"Whether I need the hospital wing is none of your CONCERN!" he hissed angrily, albeit too loudly. Someone was bound to hear, but he didn't care. Let Filch just try and punish him...
She looked stricken by his words. "I see," she finally whispered, appraising him. "Well...you look okay now so..." She moved to walk past him, back towards where the Fat Lady's portrait observed in clear disapproval.
Once again, before he could stop himself, he had her wrist in his hands, spinning her around to pin her against the wall. He pressed his body against hers, their faces dangerously close. Her face remained an unreadable mask, save for the beads of perspiration glistening upon her forehead in the torchlight.
They stared at one another, each daring the other to speak. Releasing one of her wrists, he moved his hand to rest above her shoulder, cutting off any thought of her escape.
"I said I understood Potter," her breath was barely a whisper, and beneath his palm he felt her wrist cooling, the castle corridor's cool October air prickling goose bumps across her arms.
"No..." He said quietly. "I don't think you do. Not really..."
She breathed in deeply, her chest rising to press against his own for the briefest of seconds. "Care to enlighten me?"
He nodded coldly, his moist hair falling to conceal his scar, a disturbing sizzling sound drawing Kaylens eyes uncomfortably towards it.
Her challenging demeanor vanished, confusion flickering in her eyes. Her free hand unconsciously reached upwards, but he stilled her motion by aggressively squeezing her shoulder blade.
"I wouldn't... recommend... doing... that..." he said coldly, ignoring how she bit her lip, her face clearly contorted in pain. If she couldn't take that what in the hell did she plan on doing when Voldemort got to her? He'd teach her what she was dealing with...
"Do you have any idea what you're dealing with? I have a suspicion," he spoke mechanically, as if lecturing a small child, "that you do not. So I am going to ask you one...more...time. What...does...he...want...with...you?"
She tilted her head up to his slightly. "What makes you think that he wants anything with me at all?"
He smiled cruelly. "Let's just say we have ways of chatting."
Her eyes instantly narrowed, her body tensing beneath his. "Are you saying you're involved with him?"
"Perceptive..." he murmured coldly, leaning in till her breath breezed across his face. "But I never said friendly. You on the other hand openly admitted it."
"I'm pretty sure," she hissed, sounding strained, "that you heard what you wanted to hear."
He could no longer tell if she was glaring, for his forehead was pressed firmly against her own, driving her harder against the wall. Her words lingered on his unshaven chin, and he grimaced wryly, realizing how close he was to finding out the truth.
"I have news for you," he whispered. "You said you would rather be a Death Eater than be like me. So you either are one of his followers, or you are clueless as to what a Death Eater is. Now which is it?"
Her expression remained unfaltering for far too long for his tastes.
"Fine," he whispered. "Here is what I think. I think that you have no clue what one is. Either that, or you are the best actress I have ever seen. But for that to be true, you would either have to be a Muggle, which you clearly are not, or you would have to have been a recluse from wizarding society. So..." He tilted his face down, practically meeting her own.
"Which one is it?" He breathed, tension reverberating in the still corridor's air.
She turned her wrist in the confines of his loose grip, her skin brushing against his own. He could precipitate her reactions, being so close, his eyes locked onto hers. She was going to run, it was like feeling what she was feeling... Fear...
Suddenly he knew what was occurring, why her body was shuddering ever so slightly in front of his own. He stared into her eyes for a moment longer, allowing his expression to soften misleadingly.
"Well if you don't want to tell me..." he murmured, releasing her wrist before she could bolt. She eyed him with surprise, and mistrust, never seeing his hand falling to rest upon his wand.
"Legilimency," he whispered.
Her life... It all flooded his mind in one over powering wave. A swirl of events that were impossible to discern... Until one scream filled his mind with a blinding red hue, bringing it all into stark clarity.
"JOSH!"
The swirl of images changed, becoming the congruent picture of Kaylens, her hair much lighter than he knew it would darken to become, approaching a door, answering it...
A man smiled toothily at her, removing his hat to reveal closely cropped, dirty blond hair, bowing slightly. Kaylens raised an eyebrow, opening her mouth to say something, but then the man's smile turned...chilling. The image of the man's frightening smile froze, faltering, as if it had forever been burned into her memory.
And now his...
The door flew open, the man's foot connecting with it, sending it bulleting inwards to strike Kaylens in the face. She was thrown to the floor, the man whipping something out of his trench coat.
A wand...
Harry felt a stabbing horror. The man's wrist bore the dark mark...
Blinding pain had kept young Kaylens conscious, for the world was black be-speckled, and her screaming form fell to land in the front foyer. She couldn't have been more than 12 or 13...
The guilt within her mind was almost overpowering. It pressed down on Harry as he watched the events unfold, unable to do anything to stop them. It was history. Nothing he could do could change that. But Kaylens...she shouldn't have screamed... if only she had not...
A golden haired man, only slightly older than they were now, 18...19...came running into the hall. Kaylens screamed on the floor, her broken, bloodied nose rendering her warnings incomprehensible.
The blond haired monster dropped a knee onto her back, pinning her to the floor. The flash of a buck knife suddenly appeared in the figure's free hand, the dark mark still there, catching Harry's eye.
Just as it had caught that of the young man who had run to her aid. He now bore a look of the utmost fury.
The figure laughed. He actually laughed. "Wanna go Muggle? Let's see if it's you. Come here!"
The golden haired man was already charging, but the monster flicked his wand before the man, her brother, Josh, could even reach her..
Her mistake... The guilt... If only she hadn't screamed.
She had no concept of the dark mark, Harry realized. She didn't know what it was. He realized all of this within the confines of her memory, a cold, chilling horror sweeping him. She thought it was an intruder. Someone evil, yes, but a Death Eater...
Nowhere in her memory was that knowledge present. It didn't make any sense.
Kaylens fought on the floor, screaming, nearly freezing in fear as blood pooled from Josh' chest wound, his eighteen year old body twitching spasmodically, his mouth gaping, gasping for breath...
Yet Josh had crawled, leaving a smeared trail of crimson death on the linoleum floor in his wake, for he had been unable to let his little sister be attacked...
His dying breath came, the girl's eyes wide with horror, as the buck knife plunged into young Kaylens', deep into the back of her left shoulder blade.
Hot, fiery pain intensified, followed by a tingling sensation of the most curious kind...
He could almost feel what she had... Her shoulder was tingling, little pin pricks attacking her skin as they would when her foot would wake up from falling asleep...
Her hysterical screams only intensified, and Harry watched in horror as the monster gripped her hair, yanking her head back roughly as Harry once himself had done to her, before slamming her face savagely into the linoleum.
"Were going to have some fun aren't we girlie? Aren't we!? Just as soon as you shut your bloody mouth and tell me where that other brother of yours is...gotta test all of you don't we?"
"Go away!" Kaylens screamed bloody murder, kicking, fighting, losing.
In Voldemort's mind he had seen adults wither in pain and fall apart at so much less...
The man only pinned her face down to the floor harder, dragging the buck knife across her shoulder in a long, cruel line...
A swirl of colors, and he was gone. Thrust out not by magic, but by the savage grip someone had taken up on the back of his robes, yanking him away from her. He staggered backwards, disoriented, his arm flailed into the torch holder...
His sleeve was on fire, burning him, the flames licking up his sleeve when someone floored him, dousing him with water.
His charred skin throbbed, but not so much as his mind.
Kaylens stood motionless, still pressed against the wall, chalk white, silent tears streaming down her beautiful face. A single slender hand was clutching her shoulder. The same one he had grabbed roughly. The same one he had seen stabbed viciously...
It was as if he were seeing her for the first time.
"K-kaylens..." he whispered shakily, the word a half-plea.
"What in the bloody hell were you doing, Harry?!"
Harry rolled over to see Ron and Hermione, returning from nightly Prefect rounds, gaping at him. Hermione's wand was dripping water, while Ron's head darted back and forth between he and Kaylens, looking aghast.
A second later Kaylens had bolted away, disappearing through the fat lady's portrait. Harry could only groan, dropping his head back on the floor.
It took him a second, but he finally managed to croak out the words, "She doesn't know what a Death Eater is."
Then the fiery pain from his scar renewed, and that was the last thing he remembered before blacking out.