Chapter 64: Midnight Vigil

Harry and Hermione settled into the small table at the hospital room. Books lay crammed in piles along the desk, along with two yellow notepads. Since there was only one chair, Harry stood. He glanced at his watch. 11:46 pm.

"Alright, Hermione, so the task at hand is to determine how to call a Patronus. And our first step, as always, is to brainstorm. For fifteen minutes we're going to consider all ideas and write them down, no matter if they're good, bad or terrible."

Hermione nodded, pulling out yet another book from her pouch. "Ready when you are."

"Right, then," he said, grabbing a notepad. "While we're at it, let's also consider any strategy for defence against the effects of magical radiation. And thanks to your books, Hermione, we actually have some research material to help us with that."

"You're welcome," said Hermione. "But I have to admit, I'm more impressed by your stock of books." She said, her eyes panning up to examine his large pile on the table. "You seem to have one on…pretty much every major branch of magical research. There's even a book on ritual magic."

"Well, you know what I say, always be prepared," replied Harry. "You never know when you'll be called on to do field research." He couldn't help but notice that Hermione was gazing at him affectionately, almost like she thought he was being cute. "What?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "It's nothing. Just…keep doing what you do best, Harry."

"Ramble in technobabble?"

She chuckled. "Yes, that. And other things."

What other things—

No. Focus. Lest we forget about the decaying, radioactive "Fat Boy" that's rapidly expanding down the block.

Harry coughed, muttered something like thank you, and they began. "Okay," said Harry. "Let's focus on ways to boost intent and magical power." Hermione moved to his side, her own paper and quill ready. "For raw power, the obvious choice is strength spells—maybe even the Spell of Power if I adjust the voice level when casting."

But he'd barely gotten the creative juices flowing when Hermione stopped him with a frown. "I'm not sure I understand where you're going with this. Healing potions, strength spells and...vitamin pills?"

"Oh…that." The pills were not one of his better ideas. "Well, I suppose I was operating under the prior that my ability to cast the Patronus lies in increasing the strength of my life energy."

Of course, he still had no bloody idea what that meant, in qualitative or quantitative terms.

"I see," said Hermione slowly. "Is this because of that 'life points' comment you heard from that voice in your head?"

"Err, not exactly," said Harry. "I've had this theory about the Patronus for a while, actually. Do you remember…hang on, I think it's in this book here."

Harry flipped open The Magic of Intent and read from chapter three. "'Out of all the magics that rely on intent, the Patronus is both the oldest and the most well known. It is the force of intent—rather than raw strength of magic—that fuels the Patronus and permits it to drive away our ancient enemy of darkness.'"

Harry passed the book to Hermione, so she could read it. "The book speaks of other powerful magics that require intent—such as rituals—but those always require a permanent sacrifice. So, then, unless the Patronus is an anomaly, where is it getting its "sacrificial energy" that it uses to drive away darkness?"

"Wait, so you think the Patronus runs on soul energy?"

"For the normal Patronus, I cannot say, as I have no direct experience. But my Patronus is powered by my life. If I overextend myself, and let my Patronus shine too brightly, then I could die."

"Harry, how would you even know that?"

He chewed his lip, his finger dog-earing a page in the book. Harry preferred not to talk about his experience in Azkaban, for several reasons, one of them being intense embarrassment. In his first year, he'd gone with Professor Quirrell to steal Bellatrix Black from her cell, and had only realized later how monumentally stupid that was. But due to that experience, he'd also learned the limits of his Patronus charm. If he put too much energy into his Patronus charm, he didn't end up exhausted, he ended up dead.

"Let's just say I learned quite a bit from my time with the Defence Professor," said Harry.

"Well," she replied. "A soul powered Patronus sounds pretty dangerous."

"Normal use of my Patronus is perfectly safe," said Harry. "But if my Patronus is sentient, and makes decisions on its own? Then yeah, I might be in trouble." He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Not to mention, I keep thinking of the last words of my Patronus. He'd lost almost all his strength before fading away, and the last word he said was 'Goodbye.' I can't help but wonder if that was final."

Hermione gazed at him in concern. "Have you ever been unable to cast your Patronus before?"

"Only once, when I was suffering from magical exhaustion. But it's never lasted this long before." He chewed his lip. "It wouldn't hurt to do a quick search into why a Patronus might be blocked, in case there's other causes besides exhaustion." He wrote a note in their list. "But more importantly, we need to do research into intent, because I think it might help you cast your Patronus."

She sighed heavily. "Merlin, I feel like I've researched everything on that subject. I've done mediation, journaling, yoga. I even tried acupuncture to unblock my chi once."

"Hmm. Did your chi feel any more balanced after?"

"Not even a little bit."

Her sullen grimace was adorable. He tapped his chin. "How about the visualization training exercise we did together? Did it help even a tiny bit?"

"It didn't help, but I was sort of…distracted. Though honestly, I'm not even sure it's possible to teach intent, and I don't want to waste our time."

Harry looked at her quite seriously. "Why place limits on the human mind? After all, back in the classical age, the Romans and Greeks taught people to memorize entire epics, while medieval scholars transcribed books from memory. But more to the point, we're not judging any ideas for 12 more minutes. So, let's give it some thought."

When she didn't immediately respond, he cleared his throat. "But you are right that the curriculum is lacking for this kind of thing. Fortunately, intent is mostly mindset, and there's plenty of research on that in Muggle science. Also, the best way to catalyse intent is a strong trigger, and you've already stared down at least three dementors today. You could be really close to unlocking your Patronus, is what I'm saying."

Hermione rubbed her arms, her gaze flickering to the widow. "I'll give it another shot," she said. "By the way, about life magic. You mentioned Felix Felicis already, but did you know there's vitality potions that use unicorn hairs? They're commonly used in medicine, so there might be a whole stockpile in the hospital."

"Right, that makes sense. Unicorns are known for having life magic." Harry wrote on the notepad, his face brightening. "Interesting. I knew that unicorn's blood could extend life, but I didn't realize it could be transferred without the whole 'kill a unicorn and drink their blood' ritual."

"I was surprised too, but apparently it infuses all of their tissues, and each one contains a portion of that life magic."

Harry paused, his quill stopping on the paper.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Hermione.

Eh heh heh, said Science. If you don't tell her, I will.

"So," said Harry, choosing his words carefully. "You're part unicorn."

"Well…I suppose I am," said Hermione, leaning back against the table with an impish grin. "What about it?"

"Umm…" said Harry, not sure where to go with this. "So, here's a crazy idea—"

"Now now, we're brainstorming, right? We're not judging anything as 'crazy.'" She gestured to his quill. "Hot, wet kisses with Hermione. Go ahead, write it."

"I mean…heh…it's very unlikely to work. Because lots of reasons, etcetera etcetera. But if it did work…how long would be appropriate?"

"Well, estimating proper dosage is tricky, but I'd say at least thirty minutes." Her smirk was driving him wild. "And for the record, while no one's ever kissed a unicorn before, I'm willing to bet my kisses are magical."

"Aannndd on the list it goes!"

She giggled at his pantomimed scribbling. Harry found himself very aware of the fact they were alone, and extremely frustrated he couldn't take advantage of that. They were silent for a few seconds, as he tried to think of anything but what he was currently thinking about.

"Anyway, speaking of biological processes," said Hermione. "I'm starving. I'm going to go see if the cafeteria is still open. And hey, maybe eating food will help you with your life points problem." Her mouth twitched, and then she hopped over to him. "But before I go…"

She kissed him—a soft, sweet kiss—and he was somewhere between enjoying it and wishing for more. Hermione smiled, and left the room.

Harry, after a few seconds of trying to restart his brain, happened to check the time. 12:03 am.

His smile faded. Six hours until dawn.

###

Hermione left the room, realizing as she did so that it was probably a good idea she got out when she did.

She felt weird in a way that was hard to explain. It was like her brain couldn't process what was happening, so it just kept cycling through different emotional states. She had mostly gotten things under control, but now Harry was there, threatening her tenuous hold. A headache pulsed against her temples, probably from lack of food or sleep, and that was bound to make things worse if she couldn't fix it.

Sighing, Hermione made her way downstairs to the cafeteria. The house elves prepared some warm sandwiches, wrapped them up and placed them in a little basket that said, "Get well soon!" on the side. She thanked them and hurried back upstairs.

But before returning to her room, she checked to see if she could find Tonks. It didn't sit well with her how they'd parted, and she worried for her friend. She found her room number and knocked, but there was no response. When she called on the Auror mirror, Tonks didn't pick up. Her headache throbbed painfully, and she rubbed her temple.

"I see you're looking for her too."

Hermione turned to see a dishevelled Remus behind her, pale and forlorn in the harsh hallway light.

"I've been searching for half an hour," he said. "I hoped she might be with you, actually."

"I'm so sorry, Remus. I haven't seen her."

"S-she must have changed her appearance to hide from me." His shoulders slumped, as if collapsing in on himself. "I don't believe it, but…Hermione, are you alright?"

The pounding seemed to be getting worse. There were spots in front of her vision. Definitely not a hunger headache. "I…just need to lay down. Excuse me."

Her stomach roiling, she tried to make her way back to Harry. If she could just get to the bed, all she needed was five minutes. There was still so much to do.

Hermione was halfway there when she fell to her knees, cold sweat bursting from her heated skin. Her head felt like it would split open.

Alarmed, Hermione tried to think of any spell that might cause this, but her thundering skull drowned out all thought. She wanted to scream but couldn't make any sound.

She heard the patter of footsteps and Harry's voice. "Hermione!"

Then everything was white and pain.

###

"We need a healer!" cried Harry, racing down the hall, opening every door. He grabbed the first healer he saw and dragged him over to where Remus sat in the hallway, Hermione sprawled in his arms where she fell.

The sight of her deathly pale face made the bile rise in his throat, but he somehow refrained from screaming.

The Healer, balding and with a moustache, drew his wand with a sigh. "Another one? Damn."

"What do you mean, another one?" demanded Harry.

"I'll explain in a second. How long has she been like this?"

"She just collapsed," replied Remus. "She was complaining of a headache."

"A headache? Hmm. Well, she's unconscious but she's otherwise stable, so let's move her to the bed. I need to check with my supervisor to confirm, but I think her condition is related to the Ministry attack. I've treated three others who all fell unconscious, then woke up later with no memory of the event. It is bizarre, but I'm just thankful there's been no permanent injuries."

"Yet," said Harry. "Four people have gotten sick from unknown magical radiation, nothing about that is fine. Tell your supervisor I want to talk to him."

The man shrugged and stepped out of the room to handle his business, while Remus lifted Hermione and carried her to the bed. As soon as Remus stepped back, Harry rushed to her side. He checked her pulse and breathing—which were normal—but hesitated to cast any spells. This illness was a complete unknown, and casting the wrong magic could make it worse. Even the healer hadn't done any healing yet.

"Harry, stand for a moment," said Remus. "I need to check you for something. Don't worry, I'll be quick."

Raising his eyebrows, Harry complied. Remus' wand passed over Harry's body, and after he was finished, he turned his wand on Hermione. Harry jumped. "Hey, be careful—"

"It's alright. The fracture in time has passed. Remember, this has happened to both of you before, and Madam Pomfrey had no qualms about casting magic on you then."

"When?" Harry froze. "The plant incident? That was time magic?"

Remus nodded. "And I suspect the destruction of the Hogwarts quests was as well."

"Well…" He hated to admit it, but the answer fit like a puzzle piece. "I suppose it's not a huge leap in logic, even if it was over a month ago and 600 kilometres away..."

"That's the thing about time magic. The Ministry was destroyed in the past, and it wasn't. When time is fractured, it's like it bleeds. I wonder, it might be possible for an apocalyptic event to echo throughout history…but that's not important. I only brought it up to put things in perspective. He isn't the one you should be concerned about right now." He tilted his head at the healer, who was still in conversation. "I assume Hermione told you our plan?"

"Yes," said Harry. "But we were thinking, my Patronus could—"

Remus shook his head. "Harry, now is not the time. The decision has already been made. So unless you miraculously found a way to cheat death, you need to start thinking of—"

"My Patronus brought about 27 people back to life today," interrupted Harry. "He destroyed several dementors, is most likely sentient and is directly connected to the Source of Magic. If that's not a key to saving London, then I don't know what is."

Remus blinked. "Well...I'll admit, I didn't expect that." He lapsed into silence a moment. "But I assume your plan isn't working out, or else he'd be standing here with you."

Unwilling to admit it out loud, Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead, glancing back once more at Hermione. "Actually…I was hoping Hermione would be the one to cast the Patronus. I know she can, even if we were cutting things close on timing, but now she's…" Harry's face darkened as he steeled himself. "Remus, do you know anyone in St. Mungos who can't cast a normal Patronus?"

"No, at least, not the kind of person you're thinking." Remus gazed out the dark window. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "There are about five hours left until dawn. At first light, we will leave for the Ministry. If you really do come up with a way to save London before then, I'll name my first born after you. But if not, then…I'll be one of five to die instead of millions. If that's what it takes, I can accept that."

"I don't," said Harry flatly. "Your life is important to me, and to Tonks. Even if you only have a few hours, I don't understand why you wouldn't go down fighting, using every scrap of knowledge and resources you can. How can you just...give up like that?"

"I didn't give up, but I am realistic," said Remus, looking towards the window. "War takes lives, and I would rather it was mine than any of yours."

Harry wanted to argue some sense into him, but saw Remus was close to tears and kept his mouth shut. Besides, he had no ground to stand on. There was a radioactive pit close enough to cook bacon, but he'd chosen to come here, all the same.

Humans aren't rational beings with emotions, he thought. They're emotional beings who are sometimes rational.

"One last piece of advice," said Remus. "Be ready for whatever comes, and remember you are strong enough to face the challenges ahead of you. Hold on to the light as long as you can." He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezed it, then left the room.

A chill filled the space he vacated, as Remus said his last goodbye. Harry's fists tightened.

Not today, death.

###

The colours faded to grey, and Hermione opened her eyes. The first thing that came into focus was Harry's face peering anxiously at her.

"Hermione." His hand squeezed hers. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"

She blinked, feeling a strange fuzziness in her thoughts. She squinted, blinking again as if it would make the world more colourful, like before.

huh?

Hermione opened her mouth, closed it. Talking required so much effort, like swimming upstream in a thunderstorm.

Harry turned to shout at someone behind him, and a healer leaned over her, examining her with a cool, blue light from his wand.

"I'm sensing no brain injuries," said the Healer. "But she does seem disoriented. Hermione, can you hear me? Blink twice for yes."

"Y-yes. I'm…here."

Harry's fingers were still pressed in hers. She squeezed back, hard as she could.

"Oww," said Harry, his smile warm and bright. "Forget your own strength, huh?"

"Oh…sorry."

He shook his head, still smiling so wide it must hurt. He kissed her forehead. "It's okay."

"What…happened?"

"You got a terrible headache and collapsed. If this has anything to do with the Ministry, it's probably not safe for you to go back again. I'm going to talk to Mad Eye and get you released from your mission."

"What?" she struggled to sit up, but only made it halfway before collapsing. "You can't, they'll just send someone else!"

"But—" he looked desperate. "Look at you, Hermione, you're shaking!"

"H-how long was I out? We've wasted so much time already." She tried to sit up again, fighting against her disorientation and weakness. What was her superhero body even good for if she couldn't do this!

"Alright, alright listen," Harry swallowed, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "If you really want to go, I won't stop you. But please, take at least an hour to rest first. The healer said you need sleep, but-but studies show even if you can't sleep, just resting for a short period can do wonders for exhaustion."

She stilled, slowly sinking into the idea. It didn't help her resolve that her head felt like it was stuffed with waterlogged cotton. Was this...permanent? Or would it be, if she pushed herself too hard?

Harry squeezed her shoulder gently. "I'll set a timer now," he said. "One hour."

"Thirty minutes," she said, leaning back against the pillow.

"Forty-five," he said, pressing the buttons on his watch. "I'll wake you then, and we'll do research if you feel up to it. I promise."

Hermione let out a sigh, closing her eyes as he ran a comforting hand over her hair. "You're incorrigible, Harry."

"Yes, but don't worry," he said. "I won't make all the discoveries without you."

There was some part of her that weakly protested. She wanted to prove she wasn't a burden, that she was strong enough to be the hero everyone needed. Not that she really wanted that life anymore—but who else could do what she had to do?

She thought about Harry, wondering what his role in all this was. If she was a hero, did that make him her wise old wizard?

She was imaging how he'd look with a long, white beard when she fell asleep.

###

Alastor Moody arrived at the kennel at around midnight. The wind picked up, as if it was the beginning of a storm.

He knocked loudly on the door, but the proprietor was already awake, having been warned of his arrival. "Did you prepare them yet?" asked Moody.

The owner—wearing pyjamas and muck boots—scowled at Moody. "The unicorns are skittish, can't get close to 'em. Been trying for a bloody half hour."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Search me," said the man, leading them to the outside pen. "They've all been here for years, and they're tame enough to walk up for food. But look—not a single one in sight."

Moody scanned the enclosure, which was vast and sparse with trees. He'd only been here once before, but he remembered how friendly the unicorns were, nipping at his hands for food. In the near darkness, he keenly missed his magical eye.

"Is there any way to call them in?" asked Alastor. "Or, I don't know, shrink the enclosure?"

"It'll take a while. They're bloody skilled at hiding when they want to. What exactly do you intend to do with them?"

"Ministry business," he snapped, clutching his coat against the cold wind.

"Well," The man sighed. "Let me go call Elfie. It'll take us about an hour if you want to wait it out."

Moody's remaining eye was trained on the enclosure, watching to see if any unicorn stuck its neck out. He was so focused that he didn't notice at first what was happening behind him. Finally, he turned around, his eyes widening. With a curse, he yanked out his broom and headed back to St. Mungo's.

###

Harry sat amidst the papers and books, beside empty bottles of strength, rejuvenation and vitality. They'd all been useless, of course. He'd suspected as much.

Harry did not slam his spellbook down on the desk, nor did he scream in frustration. He'd promised Hermione five more minutes of rest, and there'd be plenty of time to share bad news later.

He turned back to check on her. She rested curled up on her side, hands tucked under her chin. He'd seen her sleeping like that on the common room sofa, after a long night of studying, a book forgotten in her lap.

His Patronus, for whatever reason, was gone. It had to be her. And yet…how many hours had she spent studying the Patronus, trying every strategy she could get her hands on? This was Hermione Granger, who absorbed knowledge like a sponge and practiced her craft with the dedication of an athlete. What could he offer her in five hours that she had not thought up herself? Was he really so proud, just because he discovered his Patronus by accident at age eleven?

Or maybe...your Patronus found you.

It was a sobering thought, one he'd never considered before tonight. If the Patronus were sentient, maybe they had more choice in the matter than he'd suspected. But if that were true, then maybe...he could reason with one.

The seconds ticked by slowly as he peered around the dark room. If his Patronus was alive and connected to his own life, then it couldn't be far…

You protected her once, Patronus, Harry thought into the air. You didn't make that sacrifice just to watch everyone you saved die again. Hermione needs a Patronus, and the world needs her, so if you've any say in the matter at all, then send her one. Please.

He waited as the stillness stretched around the room. He sighed, swung around to look at his book again, his eyes burning. It showed how desperate he was that he was talking to voices in his head…well, voices he thought were real anyway.

There was one strategy he hadn't considered, which was going into his dark side. It helped him to think, like a knife of cold clarity slicing through his mental cobwebs. All he had to do was get angry enough that he was willing to do whatever it took to win.

But Harry had promised not to go to that mental place anymore. He'd done it for Hermione, so that part of him could never hurt her again. And yet…wouldn't it be worse not to try? She was sleeping now; she'd never need to know.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. If the letter from four years ago was true, Harry had once known the secret to immortality. That sure would come in real handy right now. Why the hell had he given it up again? He wasn't clairvoyant and couldn't have known the future, but he could have anticipated this situation, and planned accordingly. Made arrangements to give up the secret unless he really, desperately needed to save the world like right now.

Come to think of it, he'd never questioned the decision seriously because…why? A letter told him not to? Had he been out of his goddamn mind?

Harry groaned in frustration, his fingers tugging the roots of his hair. He needed to find a way out of this mess. If there was even the slightest chance going dark could work, he was morally obligated to do it, no question. This wasn't even a hard ethical choice, like the trolley problem. Committing to it should not be this difficult.

Harry noticed a soft glow suffusing through the room. It seemed…quite a bit brighter than it used to be. He turned to look out the window, and was shocked to see dawn breaking across the sky.

"No…that can't be right," said Harry, glancing at his watch.

It was 12:40 am.

###

11:30 pm

"Why are you looking at everything upside down?" asked Tonks.

"Trying to get a glimpse of how she thinks," said Harold, bending over backwards to observe the walls. "You said she does this, right?"

"Yeah, err…I guess so," said Tonks. "Just don't hurt yourself, okay?"

Tonks went back to her job of lookout, watching the dark sky nervously. It was better than looking at the scorched walls, an ominous reminder of what had happened here. The Aurors never found the body of Luna Lovegood, but they did find her entire room a blackened ruin, from floor to ceiling.

Spent magic sparked along every wall. Luna's killer had torched it, with the intent to destroy everything, but warding magic had spared the house from caving in. And now Harold was puttering around the crime scene like a forensic scientist, examining each fleck of dirt as if it contained a clue.

Tonks gripped her wand, beginning to worry this was a big mistake. She'd left the relative safety of St. Mungos for this ruined bedroom in Ottery St. Catchpole. She'd been all fired up fifteen minutes ago when they boarded the Night Bus, but once it spit them out on that blackened old cottage, she'd started to rethink her life choices.

Granted, if she'd had more time to think over this decision—or even asked more questions—she still probably would have gone for it. That's because Nymphadora Tonks was reckless, impulsive, and never seemed to learn her lesson. But if there was any way to help those dearest to her, she would brave that danger in a heartbeat.

Will this really help Remus and Hermione? she thought. Or am I just trying to avoid the inevitable?

As far as she was aware, there was nothing left in this place—no active wards to protect them, but also no reason for the enemy to watch the property. As long as no one was actively scrying for her and Harold, they shouldn't be found. But Moody taught her always to be prepared, so she placed two mirages of herself and Harold—one at the train station, and one just outside the building they were in, placing trackers on both. If the enemy attacked them, she would sense it, and they could flee.

And if they attacked the real Harold and Tonks, well, then they would get a taste of her Vortex spell.

"Oy, this is…odd," said Harold. "There's a pentagram carved into the floor beside her bed."

"What's weird about it?" asked Tonks, her eyes still trained on the outside.

"It's used in ritual magic, the old religious kind. There's only a few reasons you'd need one, really. To summon a demon or to expel one." When Tonks didn't say anything, Harold sighed. "But I suppose this girl was, as you say, an odd one."

Harold kept up his work until Tonks heard a gasp. "That's it! A message in the pentagram! It's a code!"

"A code?" asked Tonks, half turning. "For what?"

But Harold wasn't listening. He was writing down something, pursing his lips as he studied it. "It says 'colour change charm'…could it be…"

Harold fiddled with the magic detector at his belt, imputing some numbers, and it beeped at him. Carrying it before him, Harold followed the sound across the room until he bumped into a wall. Finally, he started ripping off the charred wallpaper, and underneath there were scrambled words. Tonks read a few, as he rearranged their letters with magic. Child, face, fair

She turned back to her lookout, heart pounding with excitement and renewed hope. Maybe their reckless adventure was paying off!

It was a few more minutes of endless expectation before Harold showed her what he found. "It's a poem! I remember hearing this when I was little. It's about the days of the week."

He showed it to Tonks, who read the first lines.

Monday's child is fair of face

Tuesday's child is full of grace

Wednesday's child is full of woe

Thursday's child…

"Wait!" he cried, snatching the paper back. "How could I have missed it? Of course she'd hide it there!"

Harold pressed a few more buttons on his magic detector, then followed the beep to the doorway and started pulling up the boards, flipping them over. Each one was painted, flashes of blue and green and gold.

Tonks watched him for a second, then joined him in ripping up the floorboards. They moved the bed, finding more clues behind the walls, in nooks and crannies in the dressers and embedded in old newspapers. Harold explained the prophecies were tied to a magical signal, each one containing a code that led to the next. They had to be read in order, or they wouldn't make any sense.

They uncovered thousands of colourful letters, and Harold would copy them down exactly, right down to the exact shade. His notebook was full of these markings—ten pages at least—before he found the last clue. Eagerly, he waved his wand over the page to translate it.

His face fell as he read it. "Oh my god."

"What is it?" asked Tonks.

"It's your doom, is what it is," said a deep voice. "Looks like dragon fire isn't as all consuming as he claims. No matter…I do consume everything."

Tonks whipped around, seeing the figure standing in the doorway. His smirking face was marred by a gash that ran from his cheek across his lips, and she recoiled in horror. "Greyback."

She'd seen the wanted posters. Every Auror heard horror stories of the cannibalistic werewolf that preyed on children, his goal to create a loyal, werewolf army.

Greyback raised his eyebrows, unnaturally hairy on his heavy face. "Nymphadora Tonks," he said. "The metamorphmagus. I always wished for permission to turn you. And now, here we are, gift wrapped for me."

Tonks cast a silent shield that spread across the entire room. He took a step closer, baring his teeth in a smiling sneer. "You waste your time, girl. I will have my way."

She cast a nervous glance back at Harold. They'd both made a plan for what would happen if they were discovered. And if it was going to work, then Harold needed to leave. His escape route stood just behind them, a small door that led down to the main floor. Their alarm hadn't been tripped, so they knew it was safe. Why didn't he run?

Greyback growled, lunging a step closer, and Tonks gasped as his bulk slammed against her shield. His jaw bit against the barrier, eyes wide and unnaturally dark, and she thought she saw fangs growing from his wide jaw.

"Harold, go!" she cried, willing her magic in to push him back. Tonks had no idea how, but with the new moon rising, he still seemed half transformed.

And yet, when she turned back once more, she saw Harold remained still as a statue. His notes were clenched in one hand, and a wand raised in the other.

###

Harold was frozen, standing in mute silence before their attacker.

He understood now why Luna's prophecies were hidden. They were dangerous. Among other things, they'd told him how this fight would end.

Tonks' head whipped back to stare at him, her eyes pleading with him to leave. Harold assessed the room, trying to find any sort of advantage they could use against their attacker. Something the prophecy hadn't foreseen.

The Auror's shield barricaded them across one side of the room, but there was a small opening along the wall, near the bed. If he fired through at just the right angle, he could hit Greyback. If his spell was powerful enough, then Greyback would fall before he could call for reinforcements.

Harold was not the sort of person who took on werewolves in open combat. He was a clerk, a paper pusher. Not a fighter. It was his best chance of averting the prophecy.

Heart racing at his newfound madness, Harold lunged for the opening. Greyback saw his trajectory, sped up to meet him, while Tonks cried out for him to stop.

Then several things happened at once.

Greyback's magic spell struck Tonk's shield, ripping a large hole close to Harold. He backpedalled, curses surging through to claim their victim, and then Tonks was suddenly in the line of fire.

Purple energy arced from Greyback's wand into Tonks's ribcage, igniting her in violet. Tonks flew backward into the wall, crumpling into an unmoving heap on the floor. Before Harold even had time to react, Greyback leaped onto him, gripping his shoulders and flinging him towards the bed. Harold's knees hit the wooden frame, and with a cry he fell to the floor, his eyes raising to meet his attacker's smirk.

Harold was a fool. Try to avert a prophecy by doing something stupid, you only make your situation worse.

He grit his teeth. Now, both would die instead of one.

He wished for some means to turn back time. To see his brother again, to go someplace safe—

And then he disappeared.