Chapter Four:

A Pocket Full of Abominations

Part 1

I

Classrooms used to be places of fear. Everybody seems to forget that. Once upon a time, children were shoved into corners with plaques dictating 'dunces'. Some were made to stand in front of their comrades to take a cane and made to count the strikes without quivering. In England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland and, of course, the Colonies, pupils were thrashed blue for not using the 'god given' Queens English.

Heavy accent?

Beaten.

Dropped pencil?

Beaten.

Didn't reply with Sir or Ma'am?

Beaten.

Classrooms used to be places of learning one thing only; submission.

Submission to the teacher, submission to the British fuckin' empire, submission to the way of things dictated by someone with a shiny bloody crown and a silver spoon in their mouth. Those who deviated from that track got bruises, ostracized, or didn't get food. Conformity for the sake of Compliance. That was funny to Harriet. Really funny.

It stood against everything that humans were.

From all the death she had seen, in every way she had, old age, murder, overdose, disease, bleed-out, supernatural, with guns and knives and spells and, that one from last week, a barbeque skewer, one thing remained universal when it came to humankind or, Harriet would add, life in general, from the lowest limpet to bloody Stephen Hawking.

No one ever went gently into that good night.

Not one.

The old woman in the hospital bed always struggled for one more breath on the ventilator. The man who injected too much heroin chasing his high subconsciously tried to purge the body of the poison with vomit, piss and shit. The teen stabbed in an alley way from a mugging gone violent dragged themselves one more pavement stone towards street lamp.

It was never nice, never clean, but it was true. Life fought for itself until the very fucking end, every battle heroically raged despite it never, ever, ever winning the war. There was only two things in life that could not be changed. Being born and dying. Everything else, all the pretty things that came in the middle, the not so pretty things too, was just confetti.

And there was the punchline, wasn't it?

Mitch Albom once wrote that death was the great equalizer. Muggle, Witch, Wiccan, Werewolf, even the 'immortal' Vampire, everyone, everything, had an end. Life was doomed to fail eventually. The war was stacked against it, death just let it have its little battles in hopes it would stop wailing. Some just had longer, much longer, than others. Even the Sun.

One day it would balloon, grow volatile as it cannibalised its own hydrogen, swallowing planets and then-

Bang.

Harriet knew… She had seen it. Seen herself there too, on a barren planet, alone, so fuckin' alone, staring out at absolutely nothing as the sky went black.

One by one, the stars would go out, and that was just the red giant phase, a billion years to make, before it collapses into a white dwarf, and still Harriet would be there to watch it all happen. It would be cold by then, cold and bleaker, and she would be left floating through the starless void. No longer emitting heat or light, the white dwarf would become a black dwarf, emitting no radiation, impossible to see, a dead sky in about… a hundred million billion years.

And then nothing.

Darkness.

Just her.

And there she would be, forever.

That knowledge alone should have been enough to send her fuckin' insane. Surely no one would blame her for it?

As someone, the last one, doomed to be standing on this dust ball of a planet when the sun went dark, Harriet could tell you that never ending life was not all it was cracked up to be.

And still… Still they fight. Tooth and claw, humans fight for one more day, for one more hour, for one more minute. From the Other Side they hound her, somehow see her through their perceived heavens and hells, see her as a light in the dark drawing them in like a moth to a flame, orbiting her like the planets orbit the dying sun, and peck, peck, peck-

Give me one more day, please. I need to see my daughter one last time, please. I haven't told my girlfriend I love her, please. My mother is alone, and I need to make sure she takes her medicine, please.

Please, please, please, please.

Resurrect me, resurrect me, resurrect me, resurrect me.

Everybody had an excuse for staying, none realized everyone had to go.

They beg in the beginning. Then they argue, trying desperately to make their case. Eventually the screaming comes, and then… And then they get violent. They hate Harriet for it, when they realize she isn't going to give them what they want, never understanding she can't.

If she went around and resurrected every single soul that had ever passed from this realm to the next, well… The planet would become very, very fuckin' small, very, very fuckin' fast.

They don't see that, though, dead people.

They only see a girl not willing to help, one last battle to win, and just like life itself, they don't realize they've already lost the war.

It's funny, and it's tragic, and it's something else entirely. Harriet respected them for it, all of them for not bowing when it was their time. She hated them in return for it too. She did not get that option, and it was all too easy to feel resentment creeping in at the fringes of her vision.

Apathy too.

When, suddenly, you could see how temporary everything was, how ephemeral it could all be, it was hard, so very hard, to remain emotionally attached. Sirius and Remus, even Teddy, would die one day. She could bring them back, she'd done so for Remus and Sirius before, certainly, but the dance continued. They would die. She would resurrect. They would die again, she would resurrect again and eventually… Merlin, eventually, they would despise her for it too.

That was what the ghosts didn't understand. Dead things should stay dead. Each time someone came back, they came back a little more unconcerned. Knowing death was not the end when you had a bloody Quasi-Necromancer, or whatever the fuck she was, at your beck and call stripped away all meaning from life, because it was the end that made what came before important, limited time meant limited options that counted, and when meaning was taken away from humans-

Bad things happened.

Bad, bad things.

Speeding in a car didn't matter if a crash was just a momentary blip on your daily schedule. Strangling your wife when she pissed you off by asking you to take the bins out meant nothing if you could revive her an hour later. Mass-murder was simply working out the kinks of a stressful day.

People became monsters when they thought they would face no consequences.

And where did it end?

Who deserved resurrection, and who didn't?

Hitler? Gandhi? Mary from down the street? Where was the moral edge, exactly? Who deserved second, third, fourth, fifth, ten fuckin' chances to do what they should have done in the beginning? They knew their time here, in this wonderful world, was limited, and they still threw it to the wall. How was that Harriet's mess to clean up?

Who do you save, and who don't you save?

Everyone? Then Stalin and Tom Riddle deserved life-anew. None murderers, then? What about rapists? Child predators? No one that had hurt anyone in their life, you say? How do you quantify hurt, then? A boy once told his mother she looked fat, did that count as hurt?

It was enough to make Harriet's head spin.

Most importantly… Who even was she to be the one to make those decisions?

No one then.

No one gets resurrected.

But that was a lie too, because Harriet was a selfish thing. A greedy, self-interested, avaricious thing. Orphans, especially ones as touched-starved as Harriet, tended to be so. She couldn't watch Remus or Sirius die again, or Teddy, Circe forbid, what if-

So only her friends got the chance? Only people she liked? Where was the honour in that? Where was the justice? Where was the integrity?

Where was the fuckin' line!?

Harriet… Harriet didn't know. She really, really didn't know, and so… She did nothing. She took her vials, and she shrouded herself, took a step back, and she just let the world beneath a dying sun spin on, and on, and on, and she thought, maybe, it would be nice to have an end one day. A sentence that went on forever without a full stop wasn't a story. It was a garbled mess.

Yet, Harriet Lenoir-

Euphemia Potter, she was, despite her current deathless state, irrevocably and irreversibly human.

And what did humans do best?

They never went gently into that good night.

They would find an answer, herself, Sirius, and Remus. Figure out what had happened to her, what had been done or unleashed, whether her existing state was due to uniting the Hallows or something else more… Troublesome, something in her blood, her lineage, of which Sirius suspected it was the latter, and they would fix it.

They had to fix it, before she had to begin answering those head-spinning, gut-churning questions she had.

In the meantime, she would be here, waiting, playing her part, controlling herself as best as she could, be the perfect student, quiet and meek and hardworking, head down and docile, and no one would suspect a thing. No one would try to kidnap her to resurrect their loved ones, or Headmasters long since dead, or fear her in case she revived the Dark Lord, or, Morgana, all the Dark Lords in their long history and decided to make an army of her own.

She just needed to not listen to the voices begging for help, and not do something drastic.

Simple.

Not.

Effie had never been good at turning a blind eye, just as she had, like everyone else, forgotten that schools used to be a place of fear.

Until she walked into Professor Parker's classroom.

II

There was a knocking at Harriet's door by seven-twenty am, and she was not impressed. Still dressed in her pyjamas, hair a crimson rats nest atop her head, she yanked the door open blinking sleep from her gaze, barking at the bleary shape before her.

"What?"

Hope Marshall grinned from the other side of the door.

"Not a morning person, I take it?"

Harriet sighed and scrubbed at her eyes, and, of course, the dead took that for invitation enough.

"Sorry… I forgot where I was for a moment. Can I help you?"

Euphemia! Listen to me! You have to-

And as it always does, other voices come to drown out that one, the one that keeps coming back, keeps begging, keeps demanding an audience, keeps getting cut off by the others. So many. Too many. An indistinct screeching fit in her ear, and it makes listening to the girl opposite her hard, nearly impossible, as Harriet's stomach lurches-

Vial. I need my potion.

Effie, darling, focus on my voice, ignore-

"I was wondering if you wanted to come down for breakfast with me? We're hall buddies. I'm just across from you."

Harriet's hand fell from her face, as the noise in her head picks up to a spree of mangled chaos, the dead talking all at once, never waiting their fuckin' turn, gaze slinking over Hope's shoulder to the empty spaces, to where Josie and Lizzie were definitely not.

She can't speak. Not this early. Not without the potion swirling through her veins, but Hope picks up her nonverbal que.

Those three, Hope, Lizzie and Josie, had seemed pretty much a package deal yesterday, and their absence gives Harriet pause, as the screaming in her ear is already giving her a headache.

Hope shrugged with a tender smile.

"They're never up before eight, and not very talkative until ten. I thought it would be good to actually have someone to chat to over tea and toast. But if you're busy-"

Harriet only picks up eight, tea, toast and busy through the other voices, but it was just enough.

Please try, Effie.

Remus… That bastard.

Harriet smiled back, or, at least, she had hoped it was a smile.

It felt more like a grimace.

I need my potion. I can't concentrate. I can't-

"If you give me ten minutes to sort this-"

She motioned to her tangled curls.

"Badger den into something remotely decent looking, I'll come."

Hope nodded, though she was frowning, perhaps at Harriet's own too loud voice, and took a step back.

"I'll just be out here."

Harriet shut the door and sighed, hands braced against the wood.

Another day, another play.

You are going to listen to me girl, and you will do what I ask-

My son is just down the stairs from you. You can't be so heartless to ignore that, can you? You have to go to him and tell him-

Effie, love, concentrate. I know you can do it-

I swear if you do not bring me back, I'll keep screaming! AAAAAAAAAAAAH-

"SHUT UP!"

Harriet yelled as she turned from the door to the empty room, just enough potion left in her blood to keep the visions away.

"ALL OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

She was lucky she had a silencing Ward up, lucky she isn't vomiting, lucky-

Unlucky.

She was horribly, utterly unlucky.

She sagged.

"Just… Shut up. Shut up."

You little bitch. How dare you talk to me like that. I'll-

You're horrible. Terrible! My son-

Effie, breathe, little-love. Please, focus on me-

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!-

Leave her be! Can't you see she's crying? I thought I had it rough as the Doppelganger, but you lot-

Not now, Katherine. We need to figure out a way for her to hear us properly over this bloody cacophony-

Oh, eat a stake, Klaus-

Kill them all! Do you hear me?! Kill them all-

Fantastic. Who invited dear father? You know, Mikael-

I just want my mummy. Can you take me to my mummy? I can't find her-

Am I dead? I feel… Cold-

That's the bloody point! No one gets invited! We're all dead and left to wonder around aimlessly! How I ever got to be stuck with you lot is beyond me. It's just a free for all-

Ring-a-ring a roses, a pocket full of posies-

You know, I think if we just backed off-

No one asked you, Elena. Go bat your lashes-

Real mature, Katherine. Why don't you-

A tissue, a tissue, we all fall down!-

These abominations need to be-

Effie, don't darling-

It was too late. Stumbling to her drawers, Harriet had the vial in her hand, cork popped, and with a swallow and a bob, the potion washed down her throat. It tore, it ripped, it burned.

The vial fell to the floor with a muted thud, unheard, as Harriet reached up and, like a lost child, clamped her hands over her ears, eyes squeezing tightly shut.

"Lalalalalalalalalalalalalala!"

Now look what you've done! Drove her to that potion again! We need to-

AAAAAAAH! AAAAAAH! AAAAAAH!-

Someone shut that one up! If I have to hear her scream one more time-

You'll what? Shout at her more? We're dead, remember? We can't even touch each other-

I don't care! Figure a way out or I will, and you won't like my-

Will you all just be quiet for five minutes! I can't get through to her if your all arguing-

She's not… She's not looking so good, is she?-

Is that blood?-

Effie, the potion is poison-

Darling, I think you need to sit down-

Ring-a-ring a roses, a pocket full of-

Abominations!-

Effie-

Only when the voices stopped did Effie-

Harriet, she had to remember her cover even when the ghosts were yelling, did Harriet let her hands fall. Something warm and sticky dribbled down her top lip, into the crease, thick and deep. It tasted coppery and burned. Her hand, white knuckled, shook as she swiped it, staring down at the red streak up blazing up her finger.

Blood.

She was bleeding.

Her nose was bleeding.

Her nose was bleeding black flecked blood.

But the voices were gone, oh, they were gone, and she could breathe and think and-

And she had someone waiting for her.

Shite.

Harriet scrambled to get ready, shaky on her legs but, thankfully, head peacefully calm and quiet. When the door swung open ten minutes later, she was smiling brightly, toothily, not a hair out of place.

"Ready?"

III

Harriet took a single bite of her toast, and then proceeded to tear it apart into little, tiny chunks. She wasn't very hungry, never was on these potions, felt sick and gloopy and weak, like jam stuffed into a plastic bag, but no one ever noticed she spent the time shredding and not scoffing.

"What lesson have you got first?"

Harriet glanced up from her little toast graveyard, bready-ribbons as tombs on a porcelain plate, and hummed at Hope's question.

At least these tombs don't bloody scream at me.

"Chemistry of Magic, I think. No... Wait, I have that after lunch. I have Ethics to Magical Application 101 before."

Hope nodded before sipping at her steaming cup of tea.

"I have Advanced Civics and then Lycanthropy Ecology. The classrooms are close, we can meet up afterwards for break, if you want? Me, Lizzie and Josie normally head out for a stroll in the woods. You might like it."

Harriet doesn't say yes. She doesn't even nod.

She wants to.

She wants to make friends, and talk about teenage things, boys and cars and stolen beer, and whine about the homework given at last minute, but-

But she also has to keep her head down. Spending time around people, no matter how nice they seemed, would give them time to see her for what she really was. And being around Hope Marshall, who she could clearly sense the Vampire blood in, dead blood, could lead to… Well, slipping.

It could also prove useful; a dark little voice adds in the back of her mind.

Harriet could control dead things, Master of Death meant Master, summon and resurrect and marionette along to her whims and wiles, and Vampires, bless whatever shred of a soul they had left, were as dead as they came.

They fell right into her thorny clutches.

She could puppet them, slip and slide inside with nothing but her voice, nothing but her thoughts, tell them to cut an arm off and they would do it, never questioning, never doubting, Imperio without the wand-work, and-

And that was exactly the reason Harriet couldn't say yes.

She wasn't that person.

She wasn't Tom Riddle.

She was pushing her luck just sitting here with the girl, over minced tombstone-toast, that niggling of her… Gift, that dark, alluring itch, prickling at the base of her spine, urging her to do, do, do-

Instead, Harriet diverts the topic, and perhaps Euphemia Potter and Harriet Lenoir really weren't different people, because just like the former, the latter found herself speaking more than she meant to in her endeavour to change the focus sharply away from herself.

"So, how long have you been a Vampire? I don't think I've ever met a Tribrid before. Of course, Remus, my adopted dad, he's technically a Hybrid, given that he's a wizard too, but the Vampire curse normally nullifies magic-"

Hope's teacup clatters down to its saucer, amber liquid sloshing up the side, splattering on the table. The burgundy wood makes it look red.

"I'm not-… I'm not a Tribrid. I don't know what you've heard but… I'm not."

Harriet faltered, fingers buttery with her toast, wondering if she had accidentally crossed some Wiccan-faux-pas, because Hope Marshall was lying through her straight white teeth. Harriet could sense it. The anger of the wolf underneath the skin, scratching at its cage for a good hunt. The sizzle of magic in her fingers. The death rattle of the Vampire blood in Hope's veins.

Of course, Harriet couldn't call her out on it, maybe she had no leg to stand on to do so, because if she did Harriet would then have to explain how she knew.

Oh, you know, I can sense every death your wolf is salivating for, and that nifty little Vampire blood you have pumping through that heart is calling my own gift up to the surface to come and play, and the magic you have is bulking at my own because it senses danger in me. But yeah… I'm only a Siphon. Nothing more.

The toast dropped to the plate below with a pathetic plop.

"Sorry. I must have been mistaken-"

But Hope was already moving, plucking up her backpack, chair screeching backwards in the dining hall.

"I have to go. Sorry, I have to see Alaric-… Mr Saltzman. I forgot we had a meeting this morning and-… I'll see you later."

And away the fellow redhead went, barging passed a frowning Lizzie and Josie who had just come stumbling into the hall.

Fantastic.

Brilliant.

Dear Merlin.

This was a mess, this was going to blow up in her face, this was-

Fine.

This was fine, Harriet told herself. Why? Because Hope Marshall was lying. Harriet didn't know why, but she was, and Harriet could use that.

She can't call out my lies without calling out her own. Still, if she ever figures out what I am, tries to out me, I can always out her. Worse case scenario, I use that Vamp blood she has to get her to bite her own tongue off-

And that would be the wrong thing to do.

I am not Tom Riddle.

"What was all that about?"

Josie asked as she came to the table where Harriet sat, where moments before Hope had stormed away from. Harriet pushed her plate away and scooped up her own backpack.

"Just a misunderstanding. I, uh… I have to get to class. See you later."

"Do you want us to walk you-"

But Harriet was already gone.

IV

Josie Saltzman flinched when the wad of paper came bouncing across her desk in Advanced Civics. Looking up from her note taking, she only had to turn a little to the left to see Hope Marshall expectantly looking at her.

Sighing, knowing Hope knew how she felt about passing notes in lesson, Josie snatched the note up before a patrolling Professor Gilbert could see it. Only when he passed her in his loop, leaning over the desk of a student up front, back to her, note safely stashed in the shadow of her lap, did Jose read the message.

Can Siphon's sense things?

Josie scribbled back, threw the note, and waited.

A minute later, a reply came.

Can Siphon's sense things? What things, exactly? Like heritage? Species? I don't fucking know. Can they tell a Vampire on sight?

Josie frowned, flicking her pen between her fingers before scrawling back.

Nope. Definitely not. I mean, we have a good grasp on if someone has magic or not, but that's as far as it goes. That's so we know who we can and who we can't Siphon from. But Vampires? They have no magic. We wouldn't be able to tell. Why?

Another circuit, another note.

Yeah but, say, if a Vampire did have magic, would a Siphon be able to tell if it was a Vampire too?

Thankfully, a minute later, Luke Swinger needed help on a question, taking Professor Gilberts attention away from the back of the classroom.

No. We only sense magic, nothing more. If I was blind and Siphoned off a Witch, I wouldn't be able to tell you what colour skin they had, where they had come from, who their parents were even when I had their magics. I only feel the magic vaguely. Even then, I need to touch them. Like looking at an ocean, you can't see how deep the water is until you dive in. Nothing else. Apart from Uncle Kai. He's good at sensing things, really good, but even he needs touch. He's weird like that. Why?

And Werewolves? Can you guys sense Werewolves? Can you sense magic without touch?

No. We need to touch. And I don't think I would be able to sense a Werewolf without seeing them shift first, and that has nothing to do with Siphoning. We aren't all-knowing. We're just like other Witches, we only have to take our magic from others. Are you going to tell me why you want to know now?

No reason.

Josie huffed and pocketed the note, going back to her work when, low and behold, another folded note landed nice and squarely on the corner of her desk.

What do you think about the new girl?

"Are you alright, Miss Saltzman? Do you need help?"

Josie's gaze darted up, flush heavy on her cheeks, fingers tightening on the note safely hidden below the desk as she bashfully smiled.

"No, I'm fine!"

Professor Gilbert nodded, but the frown on his face told Josie she had come close to a detention.

Again.

She seems nice enough.

You don't get that… Prickly feeling?

Like the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up straight?

Yeah, that.

You get that too? I thought it might have just been me. I've never been around a Siphon that wasn't immediate family before.

But it's strange, isn't it? I've met Werewolves, Witches, Vampires, and things I can't even name, and I've never felt the urge to run for the fucking hills so strongly before. When she looks right at me I feel like-

Three lines were hastily scribbled out. The last the only one left free from the sharp strike of a pen.

I feel like I'm staring into the abyss, and it's staring right back at me, and its starving. I don't know. Its weird.

Maybe it's a part of her Witch-thing? She has a different branch of magic to us. None of use really know what a Siphon from that sort of Magic means. Dads tried to do some research, to make her stay here comfortable, but he's come up with nothing. Apparently those Witches and Wizards don't like sharing their knowledge. Don't answer their calls, either.

I ain't buying it.

Then what do you think it is?

I don't know. All I know is something isn't right there.

I doubt she can help it.

Maybe not, but even you have to admit its unsettling.

Unsettling was… Polite, Josie would give Hope that. She had also been right about the whole abyss metaphor. In the short time Josie had been in Harriet Lenoir's presence, barely an hour in the grand total, she had felt… Small. Miniscule. A speck of dust on the back of a comet. There was something… Bigger in that girls bones that outshone yourself, and it… Scared her, as, Josie supposed, being a kitten flung into a tiger exhibit, realizing you weren't the biggest cat in the cage, would scare anyone and anything.

The realisation that something had bigger teeth, a meaner bite, and a hardier pelt than you and was merely a step away, grinning at you like a child grins at a lady bug right before they swat it.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

But she seemed lonely too.

Hope was slower to reply this time.

Yeah, she did.

Whatever it is, I really don't think she can help it.

Doesn't mean we shouldn't try and figure it out, though, right?

What do you want us to do? Just walk on up to her and say hey, you give me the goose bumps and terrify the shit out of me, can you tell us why, please? Yeah, that will go over well.

Don't be mean, Josie. Of course not. But she came from somewhere. People must know her. Maybe they know something we don't?

We can't run off to Paris, Hope.

I ain't buying that either.

You don't think she's from France?

I don't know. All I know is she's saying four plus four is nineteen. Her number isn't matching, and none of the teachers seem to care much about it.

Then what do you want to do about it?

Meet me in the library tonight. After curfew. I have a few ideas.

It never goes well when you have a scheme.

But you love me for it, right?

Unfortunately, Josie did.

"How many times, girls, do I have to say no passing notes in my classroom?"

Josie jolted, ram-rod straight in her chair, shoving the note into her pocket, safe, blinking up to the stern, disappointed face of Professor Gilbert standing cross armed in front of her desk.

"Sorry, sir."

Hope, of course, scoffed.

"Yeah, sorry."

Professor Gilbert didn't seem convinced, rolling his eyes.

"Detention, my office, tomorrow."

"But Sir-"

"No buts, Saltzman. Both of you. Eight o'clock sharp. I have arrows in need of fletching. And you better be there this time, Miss Marshall, or I'll have you in that desk all week writing lines."

"Yes, Sir."

Nevertheless, as Professor Gilbert turned away once more, Josie shot a thumbs up to a grinning Hope.

Josie loved the library too, anyway.

A.N: This is only part one of two for chapter four. I had to split it up to sizable chunks. So next chapter we have Harriet's first lesson, and oh, would you look at that, guess who the professor is ;).

Also, quick note; don't worry. Harriet and Hope do end up as very close friends. I just wanted that clear. It starts as a bit of a bumpy road, as all good friendships do, but we get there eventually folks lol.

As always, thank you for the follows, favourites and reviews. If you have a moment spare, don't forget to drop a few words in the review box over there, and I will see you all next time. Until then, stay safe! ~AlwaysEatTheRude21