The Paths We Tread
Chapter 16:
The Dying Light
Tonks' Flat
London, England
October 11, 1996
Dora sighed as she moved slowly up the steps, her boots clunking with every step. The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon and her eyes were burning, her eyelids feeling like they weighed a ton each.
The all-nighters were really starting to wear her down. Honestly, she wasn't old yet, what was the deal?
But it had been worth it.
It had taken weeks to get the job done. Hour upon painstaking hour, slipping away whenever her duties for the Order were completed, but she'd finally gotten the last one. From the black market dealer who had sold Bellatrix the cursed knives, to the spellcrafter who had helped her with the enchantments – everyone who had a hand in helping Bellatrix kill her parents was dead. Tonks had single-handedly eliminated each one.
Except Snape. And Bellatrix herself.
Taking out Aunt Bella wasn't worth losing you, Mad-Eye, she thought tiredly.
But she would have thought she would feel better, knowing they were all gone. That she'd feel something.
Maybe the Black family madness is finally setting in, she scoffed.
With another tired sigh and a slow roll of her shoulders, she shoved her door open and immediately froze in the doorway. There, on her couch, was her favorite sight. His shabby overcoat was thrown over the arm of the sofa, a cigar between his teeth as he leaned over a giant book, eyes narrowed in the dim light from her table lamp. A fire crackled in the hearth, the logs hissing and spitting as sparks flew.
She stood there, her weariness erased, and watched him with a soft smile as he muttered to himself. He looked exhausted, the poor thing, the ever-present lines on his face just a tiny bit deeper, the shadows under his eyes darker.
And that thrice-damned nail was lying on the table beside the musty old tome.
She closed the door behind herself with a quiet click, leaning back against the door and just gazing at him. The man in question looked up, startled by the sound. An embarrassed flush spread across his face, and Tonks watched with amusement as the man began to stammer.
Christ, he was adorable when he was surprised.
"Dora!" Remus said nervously. "I - I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind – I didn't," he trailed off, his eyes shadowed as he watched her in the doorway. The lycanthrope swallowed reflexively, his hand going up to fiddle with his collar as she stood there.
And he was usually so eloquent, Tonks thought with an inner smirk. "It's fine," she said with a wave of her hand. For a moment, she paused. She didn't want to push too far – it seemed the only thing she was good at anymore was scaring him off – but at the same time, she couldn't help herself. Bouncing across the room cheerily, she flung herself down on the couch beside him and leaned over his arm under pretense of checking out the book. "What were you doing?" she asked.
Remus flushed deeper, shifting anxiously beside her. With a shaky hand, he crushed out his cigar in an ashtray and gazed down at the tabletop. "I just – I needed somewhere quiet to research," he said quietly, and Tonks' playful mood evaporated. Leaning back slightly, she looked up at the older man. He looked away, his eyes tracing over the cutesy little posters on her wall.
Your cabin is plenty quiet, she thought sadly. "Did they find it?"
A muscle ticked in Lupin's jaw as he continued to stare steadily at the wall. Silently, he nodded, and Tonks' heart broke for him. The cabin was the last thing he had from his mother, she knew, and she was afraid to ask what had happened.
"Arthur said I should stay with him and Molly at your folks' cottage," the wizard said slowly, "but – " He trailed off as Tonks stared at him.
"Absolutely not," she shot back immediately, and his flush disappeared, his face going pale.
"Dora," the older man practically croaked, "I would never damage – "
"Oh, will you stop that?" Tonks shot back. "Honestly, Remus, the only wolfish traits you have, I rather like." She but back a grin as the man finally glanced her way, a look in his eyes that was half amusement, half shock – and a little glimmer of what looked like challenge underneath. "No, you'll stay here."
"I couldn't," he muttered. "That wouldn't be… proper."
"Hang proper," Tonks scoffed, scowling at the man. He had shifted back on the couch again, trying to put some space between them.
They were both exhausted. The past year had been hell for both of them. Tonks had been out all night, was still reeling, she knew that. Her decision-making skills when it came to this man were poor at the best of times. And Lupin - he'd lost so much.
She should back down. Let the man have some space.
She shifted closer.
"Proper doesn't matter anymore, Lupin," she said softly, reaching out and turning him to face her. The man sat stiffly beside her, his lips pressed in a thin line. "The world is falling apart a little more every day, and all we do is fight." She raised her hand, carding her fingers through his hair, and felt a thrill run through her when he closed his eyes. "Maybe we should try something new," she whispered.
The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. This was the part where he ran. Where he leaned back, pulled away, put distance between them. Told her she was too young, he was too much of a burden, an old man, a monster.
His eyes opened slowly and he stared at her, his usual soft brown eyes tinged with a touch more amber than normal. Tonks sat perfectly still, forcing herself to meet his gaze, to not bite her lip, not back down.
And then he reached out and pulled her up against him, and Tonks bit back a victorious smirk.
The Fortress
Hirta Island, St. Kilna
Outer Hebrides, Scotland
October 14, 1996
"This should just about do it," Deacon grunted, tapping the final crystal with his wand. The Aussie stepped back with a nod, arms crossed across his chest as he watched the crystal begin to glow.
Standing beside Harry, Bill said nothing, his face set in a blank mask. Harry glanced at his guardian worriedly before turning his attention back to the crystals. The one nearest Deacon was vibrating madly, and as Harry watched, a jet of blood red light shot up from the crystal towards the sky. It sparked in the air, looking almost like a firework, then shot off to their left, another jet of light flying up from the next crystal.
Ten minutes later, Harry's vision was swimming with red spots. Deacon and Lexi breathed a sigh of relief as the wards settled back down to the earth.
"That was the last one, yeah?" Lexi murmured, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. She swung her long purple hair back over her shoulder and frowned, narrowing her eyes through the strange binoculars she held.
"Should be," Deacon agreed mildly. Glancing back at Harry and Bill, the scarred man continued, "Right, Bill?"
Bill just looked at the man and nodded, then turned on his heel and walked away.
Harry sighed, shaking his head as the other two exchanged a worried look. His guardian was becoming more and more serious and quiet every day. He wasn't sure what he could do to…
Harry shook his head again, and turned back towards the Fortress himself. He'd keep an eye on Bill, but…
Stopping in the doorway, he looked around at the chaos surrounding him.
But he had plenty of other things to worry about. With a quick step back, he dodged the small bed that was flying through the entryway, a set of blankets and pillows soaring along behind it.
"Sorry, mate!" Seamus yelled, hastening after the bed and into the next hallway. On his heels was Dean, rolling his eyes and shooting Harry a 'save me' look. Harry grinned lightly, his eyes scanning over the entryway.
The flurry of activity hadn't died down for days. Ever since they had decided to get the Fortress ready for an evacuation – and turn it into an Order base – there had been at least a dozen people on the premises at all times. Between his own inner DA members, the Order's Inner Circle, Bill's teams, and the strange, mostly stoic people Mr. Weasley had brought in, Harry had never seen so many people working together. Throughout the building, people scurried around, rushing to do his bidding.
They had set up about twenty dorm rooms so far, with space for another twenty still remaining. There were corridors that housed small apartments and barrack-like rooms – and that wasn't even counting the bottom two floors.
Not that it was going to be enough.
For neither can live while the other survives, Trelawney's foreboding voice echoed in his mind.
The number of people depending on him was growing by the day. And Merlin… Reaching into his pocket, he drew out the small rune charm he carried, turning it over and over in his hands as he stood there.
I'm only sixteen years old, he thought quietly. How is this my life?
The sound of footfalls behind him cut through his musings, and Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Dumbledore walking into the Fortress. The elderly Headmaster smiled at him gently, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. A heavy silence fell over them and Harry shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he waited. Surely Dumbledore would have something to say – this was the first time Bill had actually allowed him on the premises, after all.
"You have accomplished a great deal in a short time, Harry," Dumbledore said finally. "You should be very proud."
Harry scowled, the faces of his parents, Cedric, Sirius, the Patil twins and Lavender – hell, even Percy – flashing through his mind. "It's not enough."
The Headmaster patted his shoulder with one gnarled hand. "I think you will find that it is."
Shaking his head, Harry moved off into the Fortress, hearing Dumbledore let out a sad sigh behind him. Without looking back, he slipped through corridors and down narrow, shadowed staircases, finally coming out into the second-lowest level of the Fortress. He chuckled to himself as he walked into their meeting room – 'Command Center,' as Ron was calling it – and saw his best friends bent over a map, arguing quietly.
Some things never changed.
"Anything new?" Harry asked, and Ron and Hermione looked up, Ron's ears flushed. He scowled as the brunette girl shook her head. Behind them, a wireless radio crackled on a tabletop.
"The new wards are showing on the map just fine," Hermione said anxiously, biting her lip. "But still… I can get dots for everyone, but no names."
"And that's if this is showing everybody," Ron muttered darkly. "It's not like we've taken a head count."
"There's a solution," Bill murmured, his eyes narrowed as he glanced over his shoulder from the corner. The cursebreaker was already pulling books off the shelves nearest him, rifling through pages. "We just have to keep looking."
A sudden shrieking sound echoed from the wireless, and Harry and Ron winced, the redhead clapping his hands over his ears. "Bloody hell, Hermione, won't you turn that thing off?" he grumbled, scowling.
"Oh, no," Hermione whispered, and Harry stared at her. The girl had gone pale, her eyes wide and startled. She fiddled with the dial, her hands shaking slightly, and stepped back, gazing worriedly at the wireless as she bit her lip.
Alright, Hermione, Harry thought, what the bloody hell?
In the corner, Bill had turned slightly, and Arthur came running into the room, Ginny and Krum at his heels. "What - ?" Harry started, but a sharp, startled voice cut through the air.
"We interrupt your regular programming for breaking news," the voice of an announcer sounded. "The terrorist organization known as the Death Eaters has come forward to claim responsibility for the latest attacks in the Cotswolds. Spokesperson Lucius Malloy has informed us that there will be a similar attack every week until our military leaders surrender control to their organization. The group still refuses to explain how they are performing these horrible acts, or what their mission truly is."
Harry stared as everyone in the room froze, and another voice sounded.
"Colonel Monroe of Her Majesty's Royal Armed Forces has released the following statement: 'We advise all non-essential personnel to remain in their homes and off the streets until we have been able to determine the extent of the threat. All individuals exhibiting strange behavior or gifts are to be treated with extreme caution. Do not invite any strangers into your home. Go nowhere alone, especially after dark. And do not accept anything handed to you by a stranger.'"
"That doesn't sound ominous at all," the first voice muttered, and Ron snorted. "Well, folks, there you have it. Something strange is definitely going on here. Stay safe, everyone."
A heavy silence echoed over the room as they all stared at the wireless. After a moment, Arthur moved forward, squeezing Hermione's shoulder as he reached past her and turned off the radio.
"They know," Hermione whispered. "That Colonel, he knows somehow. We're exposed."
"Munroe was Audrey's last name," Ginny said with a scowl. She shot a meaningful glance at her brother and Harry looked back and forth between them in confusion.
"The girl Percy saved from Manchester," Ron explained, his scowl growing deeper.
"So," Ginny continued. She glanced around the room, taking in the somber air of the others. "Now what?"
Harry sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He shot a look at Bill then shrugged.
"They were always going to find out," Bill said simply, his face still set in a blank mask. "We weren't able to get things contained before big attacks happened, so…." The cursebreaker shook his head, turning back to his books without another word.
"My concern is that Malfoy and Voldemort are communicating with the Muggle public now," Mr. Weasley put in. "They never did that in the first war. That is… bold."
"Plans must be proceeding apace," another voice sounded, and Harry glanced back to see Dumbledore in the doorway, his normally serene features harsh and foreboding. "We must do the same."
Biting back a retort, Harry glanced over at the corner. Bill's shoulders had stiffened, his back rigid, but his guardian didn't turn back to the group.
"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore said with a smile, "are you ready for our outing?"
"Yeah, sure," Harry replied, sliding the rune charm back into his pocket. He shot Ron and Hermione a comforting grin – though judging by Hermione's expression, it wasn't all that comforting – and turned to leave the room.
"Dad," Bill said sharply, and Arthur Weasley nodded. Glancing back at the two, Harry saw them exchange a look before Arthur turned back to Dumbledore, smiling softly.
"I'll be coming along, Albus," the Weasley patriarch said simply. As Harry stood there awkwardly, Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something, then sighed, looking over at Bill's stiff back. After a moment's silence, he nodded, turning on his heel to lead the way out of the room.
Harry was bloody exhausted, and they hadn't even made it to see the evil megalomaniac yet.
Chelsea, South London
England
"Nothing," Shack muttered darkly, glaring around the airy little brownstone. "Not a trace." He scowled at a cheerful little painting on the wall, grumbling to himself. How dare the place be so…. chipper.
Beside him, Fleur frowned, her lips pursed as she scanned the walls. Lupin and Krum had disappeared up into the attic when they had arrived, the twins sweeping the second floor, but Shacklebolt already knew what they would find. Just like the last half-dozen places they'd searched.
"He is taunting us," Lupin agreed as he moved carefully down the steps.
"A bit much, don't you think?" Fred scoffed from the top of the stairs. The more jovial of the Weasley twins glared at the front door, his eyes narrowed with hate.
Too late burned on the door's surface, the flames dancing and spitting embers. Kingsley growled low in his throat.
The manhunt for Snape had been going for weeks at this point, and it hadn't been lacking in volunteers. Shack had to admit, he was rather put out when Dumbledore had refused to allow him to lead the efforts, nominating Lupin instead, but at least his friend hadn't tried to cut him out of the process.
After what the bastard had done to Hermione, Shack would be damned if he'd sit back and watch someone else hunt him down.
But every house they'd checked so far, every tip from Bones' underground, had led to the same thing. An empty house, no sign of him or the Grangers save for a taunting message.
When he found the fucker, he was going to make him beg to die.
"Shack," Lupin's calm voice said patiently, and he shook himself from his bloodthirsty reverie. "There's nothing left to do here."
He nodded, glancing around once more. The Weasley twins had already gone. Fleur stood at his right, watching him warily. The part-Veela smiled suddenly, then took Krum's arm and the pair vanished.
The sound of a throat clearing echoed through the small space, and Shack looked up, startled, to see Lupin gazing at him.
Bloody werewolf, he thought angrily, too damn perceptive.
"Do I need to worry about you?" Remus asked quietly, and Shack scoffed. Shaking his head, he shot the other man a wry smile.
"Nah, I'm always okay," he said with a forced chuckle. Lupin smiled gently back, and Shack winced as the atmosphere grew charged.
"Glad to hear it," Lupin agreed. "Now let me rephrase. Do I need to worry about you?"
Fuck, Shack thought. He stared back at Lupin. How did he - ?
Closing his eyes, he scrubbed a hand across his face. "She's a child," Shack muttered.
"She is."
"I'm a monster."
Here, Lupin let out a startled, strangled laugh. "I know the feeling."
Shack grunted, sitting down on a nearby couch. He glanced up at his friend, a sickly feeling spreading in his chest. Lupin was still gazing at him, that maddeningly calm expression on his face.
"How long?" the lycanthrope asked softly, and Shack let out a tired sigh.
"All summer."
Silence echoed through the space. Kingsley shifted slightly on the couch, leaning forward and dropping his head into his hands. "How did you know?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"Does it matter?" Lupin replied, and Shack hissed between his teeth.
"No, I guess not," he said darkly.
"It isn't obvious, if you were wondering," his friend said kindly, and Shack sighed again. "I just know you."
Shack snorted, shaking his head. A sudden hissing sounded, followed by the smell of smoke, and a it cheery cigar appeared in his line of vision. He accepted the cigar with a half-smile, leaning back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling as Lupin stepped back.
"But to be clear," Lupin continued, "I know you to be a good man. I expect you to continue to act as such, and not cross the line."
Shack didn't say a word. After a moment's silence, Lupin cleared his throat, spun on his heel, and vanished.
Christ, he wanted a fucking drink. Shoving shakily to his feet, he scowled at the door once again then gathered his cloak and –
A rustling sounded from behind him, and he spun, his wand pointing ahead like a sword. His heart thundered in his ears, red creeping over the corners of his vision as he stared into the sneering face of Severus Snape.
"Finally," the Death Eater murmured. "I was beginning to think you would never admit it."
Nurmengard Prison
Plockenstein, Bohemian Forest
Austria
Arthur hovered by the doorway, one hand resting on Harry's shoulder, the other wrapped around his wand in his pocket.
"Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, Gellert," Dumbledore was saying as he pushed to his feet.
The fallen Dark Lord scoffed, his eyes fixed on Harry's face. "Thank me, he says," he muttered to himself. Turning to face Dumbledore, the man sneered at his ex-lover. "Lost another pet snake, I hear," Grindelwald hissed. "Did you underestimate his venom, too, Al?"
Dumbledore flinched, and Arthur bit back a retort as Harry's shoulder stiffened under his hand.
Bloody hell, but he hoped a fight didn't break out. Bill was already going to be annoyed enough that Harry had been cut on a branch when they first arrived. His eldest didn't take well to any harm coming to the boy.
Arthur fiddled with the vial in his pocket, frowning absently.
"What's the matter, did you have a crush on him too?" Grindelwald pressed, smirking, and Dumbledore shot him a heated glare.
"Don't be obscene," the Headmaster said flatly. Grindelwald just chuckled.
"Oh, Albus," the prisoner laughed, "you need to learn not to take yourself so seriously." With a chilling smile, the man leaned forward and whispered, "We all die in the end, after all."
Turning slightly, the Dark Lord fixed his gaze on Arthur and hissed, "Isn't that right, Weasley?"
"Albus," Arthur said sharply, his eyes narrowed on Grindelwald. "The man has lost what little faculties he had left. You got what you came for. Let's go."
The Headmaster paused, eyes darting between Grindelwald, Arthur, and Harry, then nodded jerkily and moved toward the door.
"Oh, one last thing," Grindelwald said gleefully, and Albus glanced back at him.
"It's hidden as a necklace."
Chelsea, South London
England
"Do you think you're better than me?" Snape hissed, his eyes narrowed on Shack's face. The Death Eater took a step forward, pale hands clenched around his wand. "At least I know what I am. Yet here you are, the heroic Auror. Lusting after a little girl. Just. Like. Me."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Shack ground out, his hands shaking.
Snape just grinned. "Of course you don't," he said silkily.
"I've never touched the girl!" Shack exploded.
Snape took another step forward, still smiling. "Neither have I," he whispered. The smile grew. "Of course, I have touched the mother. I'm not sure whether or not it's comparable - I'll have to get back to you on that."
Shack growled under his breath, his hands continuing to shake as he glared at the man. In the back of his mind, he could hear Hermione, struggling to bite back sobs as her illness wracked through her. Could see her, looking pale and shocked as they discovered the spell that had been cast on her mind.
God, she was so small.
"But you've wondered, haven't you," Snape pressed on. "Wondered what it would feel like, what it would be like to destroy her innocence. She's such a tiny thing - you'd probably rip her apart. Do you think she would scream when – "
With an inhuman growl, Shack lunged forward, diving over the couch and reaching for Snape's throat. His fingers went straight through the image and the projection flickered, then vanished, leaving him to tumble to the floor. He landed roughly on his knees, the wind knocked out of him, and Snape's chilling laugh echoed in the air.
Sobs bubbled up from his chest and he stayed there, arms wrapped around his middle as he broke down on the floor. Behind him, he heard a door slam open. With another ragged cry, he shrank in on himself, curling into a ball.
Monster, he thought. Shuddering, he felt a pair of thin arms wrap around his back, felt a small, heart-shaped face rest on his shoulder.
"-leave him here? What were you thinking?" the voice – Dora – demanded, and Kingsley's sobs redoubled.
"- sorry, we swept the house and I thought - "
Beside him, Tonks let out an angry growl, and he felt more than heard as Lupin froze. "Come on, Kings," Dora muttered, shoving herself under his arm to leverage him up. "Let's go, bud."
"I'm not like him," Shack whispered brokenly. "I'm not."
A pair of battered boots appeared in his line of sight, blurred by the haze of tears. Blinking rapidly, he looked up to meet the regretful gaze of Remus Lupin.
"No," the lycanthrope said quietly, a sad smile on his face, "you're not."
And his friends pulled him to his feet and led him away.
Snape's laughter echoed on the air.
Shell Cottage
Tinworth, Cornwall
October 17, 1996
The girl couldn't have been more than five, maybe six. She stood in the middle of the square, tears streaming down her spot-covered face. A backpack hung from her shoulders, wires coming out in every direction. And one tiny hand was clenched around something, her entire arm shaking as she stood there, weeping.
He looked down at the ground, cursing under his breath when he saw the timer. It was clearly a deadman's switch in the brat's hand, and the whole square was set to blow. Shooting a quick look around the square, he saw Jones and Shack standing opposite him, Shack firing at a small group of combatants.
They were all too far away. He shrugged and pointed his wand at the little girl's arm. "Sorry, kid," he muttered, the spell slipping from his lips.
Her hand hit the ground, the detonator held in it, and she started to scream.
Bill gasped as he jerked out of the memory, falling back against the table behind himself. It had been weeks since he started going through Brand's memories, bit by bit in his little spare time. He'd seen plenty that disgusted him, that horrified him. The man was depraved, no doubt about it.
But this – not even feeling the slightest remorse for causing a child so much pain – he shook his head, closing his eyes as the girl's screams rang in his ears.
All things come with a price, wizard, the insidious voice echoed in his mind, and he gritted his teeth as he felt the telltale static rise. It never seemed to go away completely, not anymore, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could – well.
As long as he had to, at least. And maybe a few heartbeats after that.
"Can I help?" a soft voice asked, and Bill slowly opened his eyes. Taking a shallow, steadying breath, he glanced in the direction of the door to see Hermione Granger standing there, his shop door still cracked open behind her.
How the devil had she -
"How did you get in here?" Bill demanded, shaking his head with a wry grin when the kid smirked. "Never mind. Been hanging around Alex again, have you?"
She smiled mischievously, letting the door shut the rest of the way as she moved fully into the shop. "Maybe," she said simply. The smile fell from her face and she looked at him somberly, her eyes shadowed. "I know you're trying to do quite a bit by yourself, Bill, and I can help."
With a tired sigh, Bill studied the teen standing in his doorway. Sure, she wasn't his ward, but she was important to Harry. And the poor girl was getting far too much attention from places and people she shouldn't. It wasn't healthy, the number of – frankly – old men who were fascinated with her. Didn't the kid deserve to be spared some horror?
"I don't think there's much I could have you do here, Hermione," he started, and she was shaking her head before he got past the third word.
"Honestly, Bill, what do you think I'll see in there that I haven't already?" she asked sharply, scowling.
You have no idea, he thought. "Quite a lot, actually," he replied instead, straightening up from the table he had half fallen onto. "I appreciate it, Hermione, truly. But the answer is no."
"There must be something I can do," the girl huffed in frustration, and Bill bit back an amused chuckle.
"Seriously, kid," he said with a sigh. Shaking his head, he glanced at her and scowled back. "Where are the others, anyway?"
"Ron is with Theo Nott and Dean Thomas, setting traps on the Hogwarts battlements," she said simply. "Ginny and Luna are running through evacuation routes with the DA. Neville is with McGonagall doing – something, I don't know." She shoved her hair back out of her eyes with a shaking hand, and Bill felt a flash of sorrow when she glared down at her hand.
"Harry?" he asked, and she smiled sadly.
"On the beach," she murmured. "He wanted to be alone."
Great. So the kid was in one of his melancholy moods. He shook his head with another frown, then looked back at the girl and sighed again. "Fine," he said shortly. "But no memories." As she beamed at him, he stepped forward and reached behind her for a hidden panel, pressing his hand to the plate and activating the locks. The panel slid forward and revealed the stash of items he and Harry had liberated from Malfoy Manor. He'd already checked through all of them for any traps, anyway, so what harm could it do?
"Go through these and see if there's anything useful," he instructed, and she grinned at him and immediately began rummaging through the pile. Stepping back, he rolled his eyes with a huff. Honestly, these kids had no sense of caution whatsoever. He turned back to his own task, studying the memory vials he still had to sort as Hermione murmured to herself.
"Bill?" the girl asked suddenly, and he set down the vial in his hand.
"Hmm."
"Does your family know?"
Shoving his hand into his hair, he rifled through the cabinet and came out with one particularly vile memory – the thing was swimming like a jellyfish in the glass jar, oozing clouds of grey smoke. "Know what?" he asked absently, frowning at the vial.
"That you're dying," she said quietly, and he froze.
With a suddenly shaking hand, he set the vial down on the table and turned to look at her. Hermione was biting her lip, her hands resting on a nearby chair, and her eyes were fixed on his face. In his mind, the chilling voice began to laugh.
Hermione just met his eyes and whispered, "One doomed soul to another, you'll feel better when you tell them."
He sat on the shore, knees pulled up and arms resting across his knees. Gazing absently at the horizon, Harry watched as the sun sank beyond his sight.
He felt – strange.
He flexed his right hand absently, scowling to himself. It had always ached, always, ever since he'd been five and Dudley had slammed the car door shut on his hand. His leg, the scar there from Brand's knife – it was gone. His arm, from the dagger in the cemetery during the Final Task…. every little scar or hurt on his body was simply gone. And he had had quite a few.
It had been after the visit to Grindelwald. He'd gone to sleep that night and woken the next morning – later the same night, really, because it had been long before the dawn – and they had all vanished. And he'd had the strangest dream, all just flashes of images… a boulder and a lake, and a crown of wildflowers. He knew the Dark wizard has to have done something to him – but what?
Not that it mattered, he supposed. After all, the school was likely being attacked in just two more weeks, and he wasn't banking on surviving.
He scowled, shaking his head with a tired sigh. He needed to do what he'd come out there to do, after all. Reaching into the pocket of his robes, he drew out a small parchment and a quill, then conjured a flat tabletop across his knees. He unrolled the parchment and spread it out, looking down at the document silently.
Last Will and Testament of HJ Potter
Hogsmeade Village
Scotland
October 19, 1996
Scrimgeour was going to bloody well kill him if he didn't report in. And that was nothing compared to what Bones would do.
Gawain Robairds sighed, shoving his hand into his hair as he leaned against the wall in the shadowed alcove. Spy life was hard, dammit, and he was bloody tired. And it had only been a few weeks.
Although… judging by the look of that group, he wouldn't need to worry about doing anything for much longer. The crowd was growing by the second, new figures in white masks and black cloaks appearing out of thin air every time he took a breath. He tightened his grip on his wand, gritting his teeth as he stared at them.
He was an Auror, for chrissake. He wasn't afraid.
But Merlin, did he wish Shack was there. Or Moody.
Or anyone.
But he did his duty. Standing there, his breath crystallizing in the air as Dementors joined the party, he forced himself to focus. His eyes slid over the group gathered in the town center, trying desperately to identify all of those in attendance by build, hair, and what he could see of faces. There were Greyback's awful claws, sticking out of his robes – that looked like Malfoy's hair gleaming under the torchlight, the poncy bastard…
He caught a glimpse of flashing red eyes and felt himself go numb.
He was here.
Swallowing roughly, Robairds chanced a look at the buildings around him. Candles were flickering out in every window, and as he looked up, he saw one woman hurriedly closing shutters, her hands shaking. She met his eyes through the cracks and whispered something, but he couldn't quite –
"Ah, Gawain," a serpent-like voice hissed, and he jumped, his throat drying up, and turned to face his nightmare. You-Know-Who stood close enough that he could feel the monster's breath, his face twisted in a cruel smile, malevolent red eyes shining with glee. "So good of you to join us."
Robairds swallowed again, his hand shaking around his wand, and took a careful step back. The monster's smile grew. "I – " he started. Clearing his throat, he tried again as You-Know-Who simply stood there, waiting patiently. His mind blanked. He had no idea what on earth to do. What does a man say when he's face to face with a supervillain, anyway? he thought hysterically.
I need to take you in, sir," he stammered. "Under the authority of the Ministry, I – "
Hoots of laughter broke out around them, and Gawain closed his eyes, his teeth chattering. Seriously? he thought angrily. Did you seriously just try to - ?
The monster chuckled, his eyes flashing. "Spread out," he ordered without turning. "Search the village. Leave nothing standing." His smile growing, he narrowed his eyes on Robairds. "Are you trying to arrest me, Auror Robairds?" he whispered. Behind him, the night grew brighter as flames erupted on the roof of a nearby shop. "Tell me. What prison do you think could possibly hold me?"
Robairds swallowed again, closing his eyes as You-Know-Who leaned closer. I'm sorry, Amy, he thought, tears springing up in his eyes. He braced himself for the blow and –
A sudden flash of golden light blinded him and his eyes shot open. Shaking, he stared at the shield that had erupted between him and You-Know-Who. The monster was glaring off to his right, his already thin lips pressed angrily together. Holding his breath, Robairds turned his head to see the doorway of The Three Broomsticks, it's proprietor leaning casually against the doorframe.
"I can think of one," Rosmerta said simply, a haughty smile on her face. Her arms were crossed lightly over her chest, her wand dangling from the fingertips of her right hand.
What. The. Devil.
Gawain stared as his damsel-ish friend stood there, staring down You-Know-Who without a blink.
"Rosmerta," the monster breathed. "What a pleasure."
"Pleasure's all yours, I'm sure," she shot back, straightening up and unfolding her arms. As he watched, she tightened her grip on her wand, raising it to point straight at You-Know-Who's face. "Robbie, go. Get help."
"No, Robbie, stay," the monster countered, turning his gaze to glare at the Auror for a moment. Robairds swallowed roughly again, his hands shaking as he struggled to calm himself, to focus. The Dementors were drifting closer, and he could hear his partner's screams in the back of his mind – could see the flames dancing behind his eyes as the Weasley home burned to the ground –
Then You-Know-Who turned back to Rosie, and Robairds shot off a Patronus in the opposite direction.
"I must admit," the monster continued, "I am rather impressed to see you standing so firmly. As I hear it, you're rather a fearful little thing."
Rosmerta flat-out snorted, and Gawain gasped at her.
"Some men are such simple creatures," she scoffed. "They'll believe any woman is weak if she just giggles and cries enough." Affecting a stunned expression, she pressed her free hand to her chest and gasped, "'But surely… you don't mean…. Not Sirius Black!'" she said breathily. Her face hardened again as she glared roughly at Voldemort, her hand slowly falling to rest at her side again.
"You'll answer for that, too," she breathed, "for defiling his good name."
You-Know-Who began to laugh. "Ah, priceless," he chuckled. "My comeuppance is to be at the hands of a barmaid, and Edgar Bones' mistress, no less!" Behind him, five Death Eaters formed a semi-circle at his back, all of them laughing uproariously.
Rosmerta just smiled, and You-Know-Who's face hardened.
I am not a fighter, Daphne thought desperately as she blinked away tears. Smoke billowed from a nearby building and she coughed, rubbing her free hand across her stinging eyes.
Honestly, how had she gotten here?
Sure, she knew Theo had his new pet project with the Gryffindors, and he'd been especially close-knit with Weasley, Longbottom, and the other two sixth year boys – the cute black boy and the goofy pyro nobodies – but why did that mean she had to act like a lion?
A nearby roof shot up into the sky and she jumped, her heart thudding in her chest. Scowling to keep from crying, she leveled her wand on the nearest building and muttered, "Aguamenti," training the jet of water towards the base of the flames.
People were running left and right everywhere, rushing to eliminate the flames and to rescue survivors as the massacre came to an end. The number of shops and dwellings in Hogsmeade was insane, since the displaced Diagon shopkeepers had started to open their doors in the village the last couple weeks. And so all of the elder year students had been asked to help, to put out the flames and to search for victims, as soon as the fighting had ended.
She cast a glance back down the alleyway and gazed curiously at the doors to the Three Broomsticks. It was one of the only buildings left untouched, and soon after she had arrived, the Headmaster had disappeared inside, with Madam Rosmerta, Professors Shacklebolt and Lupin, some skinny woman with spiky purple hair, and a couple men who looked like Weasleys. And Harry bloody Potter, of course.
She sighed, shaking her head. Maybe Theo could tell her what had happened, later. One of his new best friends was bound to fill him in. Nothing she could learn now.
With another scowl, she turned her attention back to the flames, eyes still burning from the smoke. The pillar of fire was starting to shrink, and she smiled slightly in triumph. She'd struggled with the spell before, and –
A sudden childish shriek cut through the air and her head snapped around, eyes wide. Her heart pounded as she gazed at the nearby buildings, scanning every window for a sign of –
There. Throat dry, she spun and raced across the alleyway, her robes swirling at her ankles as she jumped over fallen beams and smouldering piles of rubble. She felt a flash of heat and a terrible sharp burn on her leg as a stray spark caught her and hissed under her breath, shooting a quick jet at her side without pausing. Her lungs burned with the exertion and she skidded to a halt, hands shaking as she stared up at the third story of the large shop.
"Help," the little girl sobbed, her long brown hair matted around her face. The tiny little thing stared down at the street, her heart-shaped face scrunched up in fear, tear tracks through the soot on her face. She held a singed teddy in her arms, pressed to her chest. "Mummy!"
Mummy isn't coming, love, Daphne thought sadly, gazing at the shadow in the second window across. The woman was slumped on the sill, blood crusted on her temple. The Slytherin girl looked frantically around, hoping for someone, anyone – a high-pitched scream cut through her and she jumped, gaze jerked back to the highest window. Behind the little girl was a wall of flames, and it was inching closer.
"Fuck it," she snarled under her breath, and with a quick wave of her wand, she cloaked a fire-resistant shield over herself, then bolted for the door. She hit the solid wood with her shoulder, gasping as the scorching hot wood touched her skin. Guess I needed to practice that spell some more, she thought inanely as her shoulder blistered. She pulled up on the bottoms of her robes, gathering the skirts in one hand as she jumped over fallen chairs and shelves, eyes fixed on the stairs opposite. She stumbled over a stray beam, shrieking as she started to fall, and caught herself on the wall with one hand, tears springing into her eyes as the flesh immediately burned. Her fingers started to curl in on themselves and she snarled, shaking her hand out with a hiss.
Lunging forward, she hit the floor in front of the steps on her knees and gasped again as she nearly tumbled over. She lurched to her feet and took the stairs at a run, vaulting up three at a time. As she passed the second story, she shot a revealing spell at the floor and bit her lip when the spell registered no other living creatures.
The little girl's mother was already gone.
The third landing came into view and she swallowed, staring at the opening at the bottom of the door. Smoke was billowing through the crack and she gagged, gasping for clean air, the little girl's cries echoing through the hall. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and trembled for a moment, then stilled. Focus, she told herself shakily. Her eyes opened slowly and the sound of the little girl, of the crackling flames, faded to a dull buzzing in her ears. With a steady hand, she vanished the door away, then stepped carefully into the room.
The fire was at the window now, greedily sucking up the air, and she looked around frantically for the little girl. The small child was curled up in the corner opposite, knees up to her chest as she sat there shaking. With a muttered swear, Daphne dodged around spurts of fire and reached out, cradling the little girl to her chest. She shrugged out of her robes, holding up a sleeve to the girl's face to shield her mouth, then spun on her heel. The flames had spread to the doorway, trailing through the hall.
They were trapped.
A sudden clattering sound cut through the flames, and Daphne stared as someone – Finnegan – shot into the room. He walked through the flames, his face screwed up against the heat, and glared openly at her. "Are you bloody mad?" the Gryffindor boy demanded, and Daphne glared as the little girl began to cry louder.
Of course, the pillock didn't have a mark on him, save some soot in his sticking-up hair.
Not the time, Daph, she thought to herself with a scowl. Rail at him later.
"Can we fight later?" she said shrilly. "We need to get out of here."
The sandy-haired teen shot her a sudden grin. "Corner," he said, gesturing to the spot where the little girl had been. "Keep her still."
"What – ?" Daphne started, but he glared at her and she scowled back, stepping back into the corner. He jabbed his wand their way and an opalescent shield appeared, curving and creating a dome over them. The little girl gasped, eyes wide as she stared at the pretty sparkling shield, and Daphne tightened her grip on the squirming little girl, moving her to rest on her hip. She curled her uninjured hand around the back of the child's head, pressing her face into her shoulder once again.
In the doorway, Finnegan set his jaw, eyes narrowed on the window. He cast his wand in an arc, sweeping across the room, and gritted his teeth. As Daphne watched, the flames soared higher, then collapsed, forming into tight little twisters. They swirled in place then shot up, coming together in a huge orb in the middle of the room, and hurtled towards Finnegan. The Irishman growled under his breath and jabbed his wand forward, and the giant ball of flame skidded to a halt a hairsbreadth from his face, turning and flying out the window. Daphne stared.
"Huh," she muttered eloquently. She hated to admit she was almost… impressed, but within seconds the moment was ruined, Finnegan grinning and winking at her. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, and he seemed to slump a moment before his back straightened again.
You really should thank the boy, her inner voice scolded, and she sighed.
"Come on," Finnegan muttered, "the fire is still going downstairs." He crossed the room quickly, bending slightly to peer at the little girl's face. "You alright, poppet?" he asked in a chipper voice, and the little girl stared at him incredulously.
Her spirit animal, this little thing was. Daphne bit back a chuckle and glanced worriedly around the room, but Finnegan was already moving again, standing over by the window. He pointed his wand down at the street below and waved at Daphne, pointing silently at the giant mattress he'd conjured. She scowled at him a moment then passed him the little girl, gathering her skirt and sitting carefully on the windowsill. With a poise borne from years on horseback, she spun around and vaulted out of the window, landing on swollen, blistered feet, and bit back a scream as her bones jolted. She shook her head to clear it, blinking back a new surge of tears, and spun around to look up at the window. Finnegan was already levitating the little girl down, and the child was screaming again in shock.
Then the poor little thing was within her reach, and Daphne gathered the girl into her arms, rubbing her uninjured hand along the little girl's back and whispering soothingly in her ear. The mattress bounced as Finnegan landed beside them –
And a shout echoed, and then he was slumping against the wall of the burning building, eyes closed.
The little girl screamed again, and Daphne turned to see a clawed man leering at them, saliva dripping from his teeth.
"You smell divine," the monster breathed.
Lupin sighed tiredly, scrubbing a hand across his face. He wasn't sure what else there was to be gained from the meeting at this point - they'd gone over every last angle. And he needed to check on his girls. Ginny had looked pale and rather drawn, Luna – well, alert when he'd seen them last.
There wasn't much that was more concerning than a totally focused Luna Lovegood.
He scowled as Shack shot him a questioning gaze, shaking his head. He wasn't sure where Charlie was – he never really knew anymore, truth be told – and the younger man had been neglecting his training duties towards his sister and her best friend for weeks now.
And so watching over them fell to him.
He shook his head, frowning absently to himself as Dumbledore raised his voice sharply, Rosmerta stepping forward and prodding him angrily in the chest. Honestly, he may as well just go ahead and look for the girls, because they were far more likely to be productive than the group with whom he stood.
Shooting a reassuring smile at Dora and clapping Harry on the shoulder, Lupin turned and headed for the doors. He paused in the alleyway just outside the pub, his eyes narrowed on the reddening skyline.
Something was – off. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and then let it out, carefully categorizing all the sounds and smells around him.
Then he heard a high scream, smelled dank fur, congealed blood, and the sharp tang of rotting flesh, and his eyes shot open. He snarled deep in his chest, racing around the corner and diving for the other werewolf, his amber eyes flashing. With an angry growl, he landed atop the monster and shoved the older beast down into the dirt, his entire frame shaking with rage.
Sprawled on the ground, Greyback grinned up at him. "You're welcome, cub," the rabid beast chortled. "I've started you your very own pack. Be grateful," he hissed.
Lupin snarled. Shoving back from the monster, he got to his feet and wrapped one hand around Greyback's throat, his heart thudding in his ears. Behind him, he could hear the sobs of a young woman, the high-pitched wailing of a little girl. The edges of his vision flashed with red and he struggled to hold onto his composure as in the back of his mind, his wolf began to howl.
"I'll give you more," Greyback whispered, his own amber eyes manic. "Don't you worry, cub, you won't be alone anymore."
Remus growled and the monster grinned at him. Suddenly, a low groan cut through the air behind them, and despite himself, Lupin glanced back. As he looked away, Greyback snarled, yanking out of his hold and back a couple steps. Remus swore under his breath and drew his wand, eyes fixed on Greyback's face as the werewolf stepped forward.
"Still trying to pretend, are you?" the werewolf glared back at him. "Still think the wizards will ever accept you, boy?"
Remus just took a step forward. Greyback grinned, his teeth bared, and his claws elongated at his fingers –
Then suddenly, the werewolf's head swung wildly to the right, and his eyes grew wide and frightened. With a snarl, Greyback scrambled back and raced towards the road, and Lupin watched as the bogeyman from his childhood disappeared. The sound of footfalls echoed through the space, and a wizened but forceful voice, and Lupin smiled in spite of himself. Thanks, Albus, he thought idly.
Spinning around, he looked down at the pair curled up on the ground. He knelt carefully beside the blonde teen – Daphne Greengrass, his memory supplied, bright but aloof at only thirteen – and reached carefully for her torn sleeve. The blood staining the garment told him already, but he needed to know –
The poor girl was staring at him, her crystal blue eyes wide and filled with tears. Gently, Lupin slipped the edge of her sleeve down her shoulder, feeling a wash of rage flood him as he stared at the giant bitemark at the base of her neck. It spanned her entire shoulder, the flesh already tainting, and he swallowed back bile as the teen started to cry again. Beside her, the boy was stirring – Seamus Finnegan, he remembered – and the Gryffindor boy shot upright, face pale and eyes fixed on Daphne's wound.
"I'm dead," the young girl whispered, and Lupin felt sorrow overpower the rage.
"No," he began, but Daphne wasn't listening. The girl had gone rigid, her face turning impossibly paler, and as the crowd behind them grew, she spun around and began to run her hands over the crying little girl, frantically checking her for injuries. A heart-wrenching cry bubbled from her lips.
Lupin went cold as Daphne pulled the little girl's shirt loose, a round set of teeth marks visible on her stomach. The wolf snarled in his mind. The tiny child was weeping hysterically, her little face screwed up and turning red, and Daphne reached out with shaking hands and gathered the child into her lap.
"They'll put me down," Daphne whispered. Looking up slowly, she pressed the child's face into her uninjured shoulder and met Lupin's eyes, tears rolling down her face. "My family, they will put me down. Put us down," she murmured, tightening her grip on the crying little girl. She began to run her hand up and down the little girl's back, wincing with every move as she jarred her injuries.
You poor, poor child, he thought tiredly.
Sometimes, he wondered if he hadn't been better off. At least when he'd been bitten, he'd been too young to understand. He smiled sadly at the girl, reaching out and taking her unburnt hand. "No," he said softly, "they won't."
Hogwarts
Dumbledore smiled as he gazed through the wrought iron gates. He stood on the pathway with Arthur Weasley to his left and Bill Weasley to his right, Minerva and Kingsley just a few paces behind them. On the opposite side of the gate stood Pius Thicknesse, Tiberius McClaggen and Dirk Cresswell hovering behind him – and Anthony Greengrass at his side.
"We've told you, Dumbledore," Thicknesse said in a cloyingly sweet tone. "We wish only to speak with the girl, to determine the best outcome for all the student body."
"And I've told you, Pius," Dumbledore replied simply, "that your time would be better spent hunting the monster that attacked Miss Greengrass. Your daughter is being well cared for, Mr. Greengrass," he added, with a reassuring twinkle towards the glowering man.
Anthony Greengrass just scowled, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a thin line. "My daughter is dead, Dumbledore," he spat. "Where is the beast?"
"There is no beast within these gates," Arthur shot back, his kindly face glaring at Greengrass, and Albus bit back a chuckle. As the Headmaster watched, McClaggen stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Arthur.
"I think we both know that isn't true," the wizard breathed, smirking at Arthur, and the Weasley patriarch simply gazed back at the man impassively. Albus felt a surge of temper and reached into his voluminous robes, gnarled fingers wrapping around his wand.
"Enough," Dumbledore cut in, shooting McClaggen a stifling look. "Pius, you have your answer. You will be removing no students from these grounds." He turned his gaze to Dirk and raised an eyebrow, nodding to himself as the younger man flushed and looked down. The only Muggleborn department head stepped back, sinking into the shadows behind McClaggen.
Thicknesse leaned forward, eyes wide and manic. His thin hand wrapped around the bars of the gate, and Albus eyed his large opal ring curiously. "The girl must be detained for evaluation," Thicknesse whispered, "and Harry Potter must be taken into protective custody. If we have to use force to do so, we will."
Behind him and to either side, Albus heard indignant gasps and sharp hisses of breath. The sharp static that seemed to cloak young William rose up in the air, and he sighed tiredly.
He would have to head this off, he supposed, before someone was hurt.
Dumbledore smiled gently. "My dear boy," he chuckled, "we both know you are a mediocre wizard at best. And as long as I am alive, you will never get to Harry Potter."
Thicknesse shot him a thin smirk. "Finally, we agree on something." The illegitimate Minister bowed low, then spun on his heel and vanished.
A heavy silence fell over the group as the other men outside the gate hastened to Disapparate away. Albus sighed tiredly, drawing his hand through his long beard. Truthfully, speaking with Thicknesse always made him feel rather dirty, as though he had bathed in crude oil. What he wouldn't give for a lemon drop right then.
If only Miss Lovegood hadn't stolen them all during her last invisible foray into his office.
"I think that went well," he announced simply, and the others turned and stared at him.
It was so impossibly cold.
Harry stood on the tower and gazed down at the grounds, his eyes scanning over the Forbidden Forest, the Black Lake, the gates. The sun had set hours before, the torches in the castle dimmed, and not a single hearth of firelight glowed from the ravages of Hogsmeade below.
He let out a tired sigh as he stared at the destroyed magical village. Sometimes he wondered if Ginny was right, and the world was just burning down. First Diagon Alley, then Hogsmeade, both in less than two months…
Scrubbing a hand over his forehead, he scowled at the night. Honestly, he remembered standing in that exact spot, not even five full months before, and thinking life couldn't get any worse.
He really wished the universe would stop taking that as a challenge. But…
At least it was quiet up there, alone on the tower.
Then the sound of boots on stone cut through the air, and he scowled. He hadn't had more than thirty minutes alone in weeks, was it really so much to ask..?
"Scared, Potter?" Malfoy's grating voice sounded, and Harry sighed. He didn't bother to turn around, didn't even move his head, just continued to look out over the grounds. Near the edge of the Forest, he could see smoke unfurling from Hagrid's chimney, and he smiled lightly. Maybe he'd go see his first friend soon – it wasn't as though he was going to sleep anyway.
"You should be," Malfoy continued, and Harry snorted. Apparently, the Sytherin boy had taken his silence as agreement. "Do you see what we did to your little town there?"
We. Harry snorted again. As though the little ferret has anything to do with the attack. Right.
"She's going to be okay, by the way," Harry said quietly, and Malfoy froze.
"What?" the Slytherin shot back, and Harry smiled.
"Daphne," he explained, still not turning to face the boy. "She's your friend, isn't she? Well," he shrugged, "inasmuch as you have any friends."
Malfoy scoffed. "Greengrass is dead," he bit out, and Harry scowled again. Every time he thought Draco Malfoy couldn't…
"Every time I think you can't possibly get any worse, you really lower the bar, you know that?" Harry muttered, letting out a tired sigh. "She's not dead, she's just different now. But I forgot, you're too much of a small-minded coward to understand that." He turned his gaze to the gates, eyes fixed on the expanse of darkness beyond them. Out there, somewhere, lay his doom.
Merlin, how he missed the days when the twitchy little ferret actually seemed a threat.
Behind him, still affronted, the Slytherin boy snarled. "You're going to die, Potter," he shot at Harry, and Harry smiled sadly, his eyes still resting on the gates.
"I know," he said quietly.
A stunned silence fell over the tower. Turning slowly, he finally met Malfoy's gaze with a hard stare.
He'd never realized what a child Draco Malfoy was. How utterly afraid the boy was.
"But I'm taking your precious lord with me," he whispered, taking a step forward, and Malfoy swallowed. "And your father, and all his other little minions."
Harry just smirked, shouldering past Malfoy to the exit. "You just think about that," he called back over his shoulder, "before you go joining his little club. Keep in mind the membership fees."
And without another word, he climbed down from the tower, Malfoy's shocked outrage echoing in the night.
Yeah, Harry thought to himself, rock cakes sound perfect right about now.