Chapter 8 ~ Suffer the Innocent
"The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."
~ G.K. Chesterton
ECOTS
Tonks was exhausted, but she wasn't about to let that on to anyone, least of all Remus.
She and him strode into the operation's temporary headquarters, which Spruner had set up for them just outside of Dublin. Heated voices echoed in the derelict hall, leaking from beneath closed doors at the end of the run down complex's corridor.
Their relief had finally come.
She and Remus had been stuck on that cursed roof for nearly twenty minutes after the evil hoards had disappeared from the sky. Spruner had eventually shown up, landing rather noisily next to them, cursing rose gardens to the seventh circle of hell and back.
Kingsley had thudded onto the roof next, explaining how they had been delayed in route by the sudden appearance of so many brooms, and had been forced to seek shelter in a pleasant smelling garden.
Spruner had declared something about 'pleasant his Irish ass.'
Apparently his quick landing had been less than precise, which explained the Irishman's pained expression when he had finally sat down.
And now they were all here.
Tonks pressed her palm flat against the door and it flew open, magically reading her palm print to grant her access. Then again that seemed a bit idiotic, given that anyone with an Extendable Ear could overhear the entire conversation from the hall.
"Ever think of soundproofing the place?" she asked, sliding into an overstuffed armchair in the corner. Stuffing bulged out of tears in the time stained fabric, and she plucked some to toss at Remus as he slid into the chair besides her.
"No need to sound proof, Tonks," Tres said. He, amongst other members of the Hogwarts staff, had been port keying back and forth in shifts to the derelict apartment complex in an effort to bolster its security. "If we soundproofed this it would arouse curiosity. So what you heard outside, oh perceptive Auror, is actually the soundtrack to Casablanca."
She grinned at the brilliance of it, before getting back to business. She wasted no time rounding on Snape. "There were three flipping dozen Death Eaters in that sky! You said it was going to be a small assault!"
That greasy haired spy was so engaged in the business of interlacing his spidery fingers, cracking them in succession, that Tonks silently congratulated him on his super power: ignoring others. For all the interest he showed, she might as well have been a teensy, insignificant flea.
Fortunately, like a flea, she could be just annoying enough to command attention. Remus made sure to assure her of that on a twice-weekly basis. Really, he said the sweetest things.
Severus still appeared to be thinking.
"Severus," she said dangerously, "care to explain or shall I think of a nice little nickname for you?" She leaned back in her chair, folded her arms over her rather ample chest – she'd been paired with Remus after all and a girl had to use everything she had to her advantage – and fixed the slimy git with an impatient look.
Off to the side she swore Remus choked back a laugh.
Fortunately her threat worked. Snape looked annoyed, but said in an almost bored tone, "Obviously something has changed Nymphadora, but the question is what?"
If she hadn't know better she would say the Potion's master looked contemplative.
Remus spoke up. "Well Kingsley and Spruner are out there now keeping an eye on the situation. But the Irish President and his family, and the diplomats are now all in that building. Voldemort's approach has obviously changed, but has his aim? Before it was to be a quiet attack, but that would not explain the enormous numbers Nymph and I saw."
Nymph? She scowled at him.
Then a thought occurred to her.
She spun in her chair to face the larger group. "You know, before we assumed the attack would occur at the President's home, but if they attempted anything like that with the diplomats there..."
"It could feasibly injure the representatives they don't want to injure," Remus supplied.
"Exactly. So stay with me here…let's just say that Snape's intelligence was actually correct," she skillfully ignored the glare the pale faced man shot her, "and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wants to turn all the Muggle nations against one another. It's genius. If they're too busy fighting each other they'll turn a blind eye to all of us and never see their own extinction coming. So assuming he still wants to do that-"
"He does," Snape glowered.
"-and he's planning to still play at instigator for Muggle World War III, then he'd start by pinning the blame for this planned assault on England, right? Well if he's still planning to do all that, he can't afford to risk injuring any foreign dignitaries from England, because it would be impossible to do that then. The logic would not stand up to scrutiny, so since the diplomats arrived early it looks like the Death Eaters had to change tactics."
Tres scratched his chin, leaning against an oversized grandfather clock that intermittingly chimed every other minute in quite an annoying manner. "So we just need to figure out when and where."
"Wait what?" asked someone Tonks didn't recognize.
She spun in the armchair and fixed them with a look, ready to lay it all out, only for Snape to beat her to it. "Roderick do try to keep up. The Dark Lord desires nothing less than ruling all wizards and making Muggles and Muggleborns extinct. But the Dark Lord is hardly a fool. Muggles are like ill-breeding flees," he practically spat. "They poorly grasp mind-numbingly simple concepts like contraceptive usage and show no restraint with procreating. They're like humping animals who refuse to be neutered. As a result they outnumber us and have infested the planet like a runaway infection in a dying body. A full attack by wizards against Muggles would result in a wizarding loss due to their sheer numbers alone, and he is more than aware of that simple fact. Even one as vacuous as yourself ought to grasp the simple law of numbers. "
"Lanchester's laws," Remus said from beside her.
Tonks mouthed it to herself and tried to remember what that meant. It sounded familiar.
"Military formula," Tres stated, spotting her confused look. "It calculates the relative strength of a military force and estimates losses based on the number of combatants."
"Oh."
"My point you cretinous half-wits," Snape pressed, "is that the Dark Lord wishes to make Muggles extinct, is aware that he does not have the numbers to actually accomplish this, and is wise enough to know he cannot win if he is fighting a war on three fronts. He cannot fight us and the Muggles and the Ministry of Magic at the same time, with any reasonable expectation of winning."
"Alright…" Roderick stated, casually spinning a pocket knife.
Snape scowled. "So why not take advantage of Muggle-kinds propensity for killing one another?"
The one called Roderick looked confused.
Remus let out a long breath. He sounded tired. "He wants to attack Ireland, Roderick. If he attacks Ireland and makes it look like it was a direct attack perpetrated by England, it will cause political tensions that could lead to war."
"And surely you are not fool enough," Snape stated, "to think that this is the only attack he has planned. This is only the first strike in what is his plan to pit Muggle nation against Muggle nation."
Tonks felt a pit welling within her stomach. "Merlin, I'm gonna be sick."
"So," Roderick stated, as if catching up, "he's attacking Ireland as a first…step to try to cause a World War?"
"Yes!" three people answered at once.
Tonks let out a breath so harsh it sent her bangs flying out of her face. She'd been alternating growing them and shortening them throughout the day. "So if we stop this…"
"Without breaking the Statute of Secrecy-"
"Unlikely."
"We have a chance to prevent that."
"Yes."
The door slammed open, stunning the room into silence.
Kingsley strode into the dilapidated room, alone. His eyes scanned their faces, his jaw locked in an expression of anger.
"We have a serious problem."
ECOTS
A doorknocker in the shape of a gargoyle twisted its brass face into a firm scowl.
"Crusantheus," McGonagall greeted with a tight lipped smile, "he's expecting him."
Twenty minutes ago Dean Thomas had stormed back into the boys' dormitory, announcing that McGonagall was in the common room and had 'every intention of waiting until he came down willingly or was taken by force.'
And according to Thomas, his Head of House had looked rather eager to use force.
Now he stood before Dumbledore's door with her, watching as brass lips curled back to sneer at them, fixing him with a dark look. "That's the one that always causes trouble," it clanked.
It spat this in uncanny impersonation of Snape.
A flare of anger surged up. "Got it backwards," Harry bit, before he could stop himself. "Trouble finds me. And believe me, not by choice."
'Crusantheus' narrowed his eyes and looked skeptical.
Damn skeptical.
Harry seriously considered punching it.
Unfortunately McGonagall's Head of House radar kicked in. From beneath her austere bun the Deputy Headmistress shot him a calculating look. "Mr. Potter, I do believe now is not the time to reduce yourself to arguments with an inanimate object. We have more pressing matters at hand."
Red-gold teeth clacked together. "I'll show you animate!"
McGonagalls' piercing green eyes pivoted back to the brass knocker currently threatening her. "As I stated before, Crusantheus, he's expecting him."
And then she took out her wand, running her fingers along it with another tight lipped smile.
Quite suddenly Harry realized just why people found his Head of House so terrifying.
The knocker held out for another three seconds.
Then it scowled, swinging open, and without an apology or a 'how do ya do' McGonagall flicked her wand and sent a burst of air against Harry's back. It slammed against his spine and sent him stumbling in.
But not before she hissed one last thing to him.
"Do not disappoint me again, Mr. Potter."
The door slammed shut so hard and fast that it nearly took off his right ear. The impact reverberated around the circular office, the sheer noise sending several flying gadgets shrieking and changing directions.
All of them flew straight up to hide in a nook near the ceiling.
Harry hissed a breath, and then, feeling rather like a man on his way to his own execution stepped into the office.
They were there, all three of them: Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore. The Headmaster sat on one side of his desk, Fawkes' perch conspicuously empty, while Ron and Hermione sat in chairs scooted close together.
Ron shot a questioning glance his way, silently asking what the hell had taken so long.
So much for his plan to avoid him. He'd managed less than an hour and the damn Hogwarts Heads had conspired to prevent it from lasting.
At his silence Ron made a 'well?' gesture, it somewhat impatient.
Harry looked away. He still felt far too fucking unstable to deal with anyone right then. His pounding head gave evidence to that.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, voice uncharacteristically severe, "how good of you to join us. I was told you had been rather unwell this morning?" The Headmaster extended an aged hand to a comfortable looking chaise on the other side of Hermione in silent invitation.
Harry didn't take it.
Instead he slid into the farthest possible chair, distancing himself from his friends as much as possible. "Yeah," he answered, "I er…yeah."
He could practically feel Ron's eyes boring into the side of his skull. He ignored that, unable to resist a look at Hermione.
He hadn't been sure what to expect. Perhaps an emotional wreck? He wasn't the best at gauging girls. But whatever he might have expected, this wasn't it.
She seemed relaxed.
Honestly, genuinely relaxed.
If he hadn't known better he'd have thought she'd just spent a long day curled up with a book in her dormitory. The only sign of tension he saw was in how her small hand lay clutched tightly within the confines of Ron's rough palm, and there was not a trace of reddening cheeks amongst either of them.
Hermione was calm, quiet, strong.
He tore his gaze the hell away. She was able to take all of this in, yet he could barely stand to look at her.
"Well," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers in thought, "I'm glad to see you are feeling more sound, Harry." Harry managed a mild grunt. "I'll get right to the point. I assume Minerva filled you in on the finer details?"
Harry winced and once again glanced towards Hermione. "Yeah, she might have mentioned it."
The Headmaster nodded. "I was just informing Ms. Granger that her parents are, at present, alive. We have received intelligence affirming this, and-"
"You mean Snape told you," Harry interjected.
Dumbledore paused. "Yes, Harry, Professor Snape did supply this heartening news. For as long as they are alive, there is hope."
Next to him Ron nodded feverishly. Hermione continued staring blankly forward, as if analyzing some complex potions dilemma within her head.
Knowing her she probably was. Her cold logic was how she dealt with horrible situations. Hell, her ability to perform under pressure had saved his ass more than once.
Dumbledore went straight to it. He folded his hands in front of him and the aged wizard leaned forward across his desk. "Harry, my boy, I am rather afraid that I will have to ask you something, and if you are not willing, we will understand. But since your connection with Voldemort is somewhat…unique, and given your rapid progression in your Occlumency lessons, I thought that, with your permission, we could experiment with it."
Call himself crazy, but the word 'experiment' did not ring well. "What sort of experiment?" he asked cautiously, slinking farther down into his chair as Ron's expression dared him to say no.
Dumbledore smiled kindly. "The magic that connects you and Voldemort, Harry, is of an ancient form, better known as Transcendentalism. It is my belief, that if you were to be put into a meditative state, that one could enter your mind much like one enters the pensive of another."
He nodded, following as he avoided Hermione's large chocolate eyes, now focused on him.
"Often, when one attempts to penetrate another's mind through the use of Legilimency, traces of that person's memories are left behind. We call them residual memories. What I want to do is to enter your mind, in order to see if he has left any residual clues there during his nightly assaults on your consciousness. Any recent ones may perhaps alert us to the rationale behind this morning's attacks."
Harry took it all in with silent revulsion. His mind was his only refuge, and it was bad enough that it was violated against his will almost nightly. And now he was being asked to willfully relinquish control?
Well shit, he was surprised they hadn't asked this sooner.
"Yeah, sure," he said with a heavy sigh.
"Then let us begin."
ECOTS
The meeting had finished with remarkable speed.
And now they knew where the attack was going to happen, and they were – in Tonks' words – "bloody well there."
Remus stepped to the side as a red haired boy bounced past in pursuit of a miniscule toddler, the small blonde gigging as she trotted directly in front of a small group of adults, nearly tripping half of them. One of the old men spilled a cup of some sort of bright orange drink, letting out a word that had the silver-haired woman besides him smack him upside the head for opening his 'foul mouth' around children.
The truly horrifying part was that the old man actually looked chastised.
And then the old man leaned in towards the woman, whispering something that had her bright blue eyes pop so wide that her crow's feet practically disappear with the stretched skin.
And then she began to hit him with her purse.
The old man just laughed.
"Aw look," came the disembodied voice of a hellion, "they're cuddling."
With the patience of a martyr Remus pinched his nose and rubbed the sides, hoping it would dispel the rapidly encroaching headache. "I believe the term you're looking for is battery."
While he couldn't see her, he could practically feel her frown. "Isn't that assault?"
From off to the side came Kingsley's lament, "How you passed the legal portion of your Auror examinations is beyond me."
There was a pregnant pause, and then… "There was a legal portion?"
Kinglsey let out a loud groan, and judging from the footprints that appeared in the grass Remus could only assume he'd stalked off.
It took him a second to realize this meant he'd just been left alone, with Tonks.
A voice, hot and breathy, spoke rather near his ear. "You know, swing your cards right Wolfie and that could be us."
The wizard did his absolute best to suppress a shudder. Her breath against his skin...the metamorphmagus didn't need any encouragement. It was bad enough she had taken to trying out different 'looks' on him each time she inserted herself into his personal space. The last thing he needed was for her to realize he actually liked it.
With a deep, weary sigh he tugged his attention away from his pathetic sex life and returned it to the more pressing matter of preventing World War III.
No pressure.
Muggles were everywhere.
A flurry of older children rushed past hollering and shouting as they threw a stuffed tiger back and forth in what appeared to be a rather ill-spirited game of 'keep away.'
"This is a logistical nightmare..." he muttered quietly from beneath his disillusionment charm. Not that whispering was necessary. The noise volume here was enough to warrant a stampede.
Tonks was flipping through a pamphlet. "...the oldest standing remnant of mankind's fascination with the animal kingdom, Dublin's zoo was the first zoo ever constructed and remains standing to this day..."
He glanced at her outline disbelievingly. "You do realize that we are supposed to be looking for Death Eaters?"
"Au contraire Wolfy." He flinched at the name. "We are not supposed to be looking for anyone. We are supposed to be looking after the kiddos here to make sure none of them accidentally wander off while their wayward parents indulge themselves in the hors d'oeuvres."
He barely had time to wonder what sort of head trauma she must have had to make her capable of thinking so light of the situation, before she was going on again.
"I mean what kind of seven year old has a birthday party with hors d'oeuvres?"
"The kind of seven year old who has a powerful daddy who Death Eaters want to kill," he reminded. "How can you muse on the food selection at a time like this?"
"Because the smell of that cake is making me hungry," she grumbled, resuming her watch over the chaos the children were creating. The little children ran back and forth, vaulting over tables and knocking over servers. Remus had a headache just watching it. No wonder the parents were hiding by the hors d'oeuvres; it was safer.
It also went a long way towards explaining the copious amounts of wine.
It was a logistical nightmare. Kingsley had been right about that. Snape had hypothesized that the initial attack – which was to have taken place at the home of the Irish President – had been called off due to the foreign dignitaries that had arrived early. After all, it was hard to claim that England had started a war with Ireland, by bombing the Irish President, if its own politicians were killed in the bombing.
So they'd adjusted the plan.
Now, so Snape had been told, they were to attack the birthday part of the Irish President's daughter. It was being held at the Dublin Zoo, and it was an event that foreign dignitaries would not be at.
It was genius.
The location though…it made it impossible to watch everything that was going on, and that itself presented a serious problem.
While the area the birthday luncheon was being thrown in was relatively small, it was far too spread out. Sandwiched between the Creative Instincts shop and a type of child's petting zoo called Pet Corners, the roughly thirty children in attendance were able to run into and out of both exhibits. A lemur exhibit stood between the two structures, obscuring his line of sight in that direction, and he found himself constantly apparating back and forth just to keep an eye on the children running around the small cropping of buildings.
Then there was the matter of the Galway sheep in Pet Corners, who were now engaged in a baa-ing competition with several of the more rowdy boys in attendance. A frazzled looking employee was holding a hand over his eyes in a manner that suggested migraine more than sun glare, and now a man with several large, covered bird cages was setting up in the center paved area, while the resident zoologist stood off to the side distracting the children from opening the birds cages while the poor animal trainer set up.
Then there were the President's security personnel who stood off to the side, quietly observing young Emily Bothan's party, while a caterer was setting up an ostentatiously large pink cake that rivaled the size of the one he had seen at Lily and James' hasty wedding.
With the unorganized chaos that only a large group of seven and eight year olds could create, Remus had a sinking feeling that the President's security detail and the Order's small presence there would not be enough. There were an unfathomable number of entry and exit points to the area, at least as far as witches and wizards were concerned, and while he doubted that a Death Eater would suddenly apparate into the midst of this and throw a killing curse, he couldn't shake the leaden feel in his stomach.
Tonks opened her mouth, undoubtedly to inform him of some fun fact that she was now reading off about the owls, when he clamped a hand over her mouth.
This was no time to be distracted.
ECOTS
Emily Bothan smiled happily. Today was her day, and no one could take that away from her. Even her daddy had said so. Not those important men and women in overly serious business suits that had arrived that morning. Not the bratty girls from her primary school. Not even the evil gorilla that had grunted at her on the way in.
Nope. No one.
It was her seventh birthday and it was all hers, and to top it off she was at her favorite place in the world.
Her zoo of course!
Even though other people were often in it, her daddy had told her it was hers, and she knew he was right. It was practically next door to her house after all, and she thought it was quite nice of herself to let all those other people, on the days she was not there, to go and play with the animals like she was going to do today.
And she was going to play with the animals today. She sure was. No one was here today except for her and her friends, and daddy and mummy. It was all hers, and daddy had said a guy with pretty tropical birds was going to come and that they would sing for her.
She couldn't wait, which was partly why her over-active, childish bladder had her running for the restroom, her auburn hair flying behind her while her daddy's green suited friends with the sunglasses and earpieces followed in tow.
Her daddy had a lot of friends.
She wasn't sure why they had to follow her everywhere, but at least daddy had left those overly serious men and women in business suits at their house today. She hadn't particularly liked how they had stared at her when she had come skipping and singing through their meeting this morning, asking why they sounded English. It was as if they didn't know that it was her day or something. They should be happy to answer her questions!
She practically skipped into the restroom, leaving the tall green suited guys outside, and dropped her perfectly small backpack to the ground as she found a particularly clean stall. She was a tidy girl and only the cleanest would do.
Smiling she shut the door behind her, locking it just in case. Even at her tender age she knew that she really didn't need to lock it, because her daddy's friends in the dark green suits were standing outside the bathroom doors so no one else could come in while she was there, but her mommy was always saying a good habit is to practice habits, so she did as she was told.
Little Emily Bothan, kicking her feet from her place on the toilet seat, her mind alight with the excitement of what her special day was to bring, never heard the quiet crack the witch made as she apparated into the girl's bathroom.
And as little Emily Bothan skipped cheerily out of the stalls, past her guards in the dark green suits, and out into the bright sunshine on her merry way to her very own private birthday party filled with the children of Irish politicians, she never did notice the new addition that had been made to her small backpack.
Inside something quietly ticked.
ECOTS
"You're infuriating you know that?" Tonks grumbled.
Remus grunted in response.
Tonks would have glared, but the disillusionment charm nullified the meaning of such subtle gestures. Sometimes she swore that Remus did not appreciate her attempts to lighten situations. That man needed humor more than anyone, and it was humor that had kept her sane thus far in her often morbid line of work.
But come to think of it, the only one who had ever really understood that particular quirk of hers had been Sirius.
The thought of her cousin brought a hard edge to her thoughts, and had Remus been able to see her face clearly, he would have been frightened.
Perhaps it was this sudden anger brought about by his memory that sharpened her attention, but it happened quickly.
As did everything else.
Out of the corner of her eye Tonks saw her.
A flash of black hair, the cruel smile, obscured behind the milling people near Pet Corners.
Tonks spun around, but Bellatrix was already gone.
"Tonks what is it?" Remus asked, Tonks making a hushing sound. Her eyes frantically traced across the gathering, following the path Bellatrix's had taken.
A child with red-tinged hair was skipping in front of a security detail, coming down a path that led from the restrooms.
And the child had a backpack, the zipper hanging slightly open.
Bellatrix had come from that direction.
Tonks squinted.
Inside the bright pink pack, barely visible, glinted glass and a cork.
Like a potions vial.
Her blood ran cold.
"Merlin no..."
She took off at a run.
"Tonks!" Remus shouted.
Tonks, invisible to the Muggles, smashed forcibly into a caterer, spilling his tray full of carefully cut cake slices. He'd been passing them out. Now they flew into the air, coating people in frosting and crumbs, shouts erupting.
Tonks ran. The faces of confused Muggles blurred past her, as if she were trapped in a long tunnel and they were outsiders, impeding her progress to the end where the small child had happily sat down at a picnic table.
There was a cake with candles in front of the child.
"OUT OF MY WAY!" Tonks screamed.
Those in front of her began stepping unknowingly into her path to see the source of the commotion, which was heading for them at a sprinter's pace. Not that they could see her. She was disillusioned.
"Frick!" she cussed.
The child was Emily Bothan, the Irish President's daughter. Tonks recognized her from pictures they'd seen at Order Headquarters. At the shouting Emily spun around on her seat, spotting the cake that was now everywhere. The child let out a tinkling laugh, oblivious to the danger, and grabbing the sleeve of one of her friends sprung up from the table, skipping off, leaving the backpack sitting on the bench.
Tonks didn't care where she went, so long as she was away from what she knew to be in that bag.
Her relief was short lived, her heart lurching dangerously as several boys, whom she recognized as the ones who had been antagonizing the Galway sheep earlier, stopped their chasing pursuit of one another near the table where the child's bag ominously sat.
She would never make it in time.
"Out of my way!" she screamed. "There's free cake and toys by the ostriches!" She didn't know where those were, but they weren't here. Maybe the kids would run for it!
Those adults nearest turned in her direction, their eyes alert as they darted in the direction of the disembodied voice. Her distraction had worked. She seized the chance as many froze in their tracks, and she switched directions, vaulting over a picnic table, sending plates of mashed potatoes flying as she re-materialized.
Her stomach slammed into the table, knocking the breath painfully from her lungs as she seized Pandora's box and felt it shudder. With a final gasp she threw it sky high, knowing there would be no time to draw her wand to levitate it to safety...
A deafening quake roared above. It blasted out and up and down. A wave of hot smoke slammed into the picnic table, the wooden planks shattering and bursting into a hundred splinters, but it also struck her.
Her skin was on fire. With a scream Tonks threw her body on top of the nearest child, knocking them both to the ground – cement ground - with a sickening thud. Flames roared, raining down, searing her skin. A white hot scalding pain erupted, attacking her nerves and an unearthly scream attacked her ears over and over.
It took her longer than she was proud to admit to realize she was the one screaming.
Small, clammy hands grasped at her hair, yanking in a panic until clumps of her hair hung from the child's scared hands. A warm red substance cascaded down from the wounds, blinding her vision before the world winked out.
ECOTS
Harry woke up on the floor.
It took him a second to remember exactly where he was.
In fact, it took him more than one; it took him several.
Ultimately it was the flying wooden dragon fly that buzzed by, circled his head thrice, before landing on his nose that reminded him.
Ah, right. Dumbledore's office. The last thing he remembered before the utter mind raping was Dumbledore making the 'oh so polite' request to give him a brain enema. A brain enema that left his stomach churning and a mad sort of fog in his mind.
The bastard hadn't just done legilimency on him. He'd forced Harry to let him inside his mind, and then torn his brain apart bit-by-bit until he found the tenuous connection that linked him and good ole Riddle together, all so the three of them could have a long overdue and 'amicable' talk.
Apparently rebounded curses were good for that extra special, long-distance-chat-between-enemies thing.
It did a number on the host though.
His stomach gave another lurch, Harry clamping a hand over his mouth, letting the world spin.
It'd been grand. Really. He hoped for a repeat experience before the holidays. They could sit down, conjure up a metaphorical fire and roast marshmallows together while discussing just how much they all wanted to kill each other. Then, as an added bonus, he'd get to feel like he was dying immediately afterwards.
As it was, as soon as Dumbledore had entered his mind a waterfall of black had appeared in front of him. That was the connection to Voldemort. It manifested itself as a waterfall of black fucking tar, complete with pearly white lilies growing around the base. He didn't need a psych degree to grasp that symbolism. His mother was Lilly; she had sacrificed herself to save him; thanks to that the two were now connected.
Really, his subconscious had a sick sense of humor.
Then again, after all the shit he'd been through, he reckoned he should just be happy he hadn't seen his mother's bones decaying in the tarry pool at the base. Really, between multiple murder attempts, the graveyard, Cedric and Sirius' death, a basilisk, multiple dementors, and Quirrel he wouldn't put it past his mind to have hit those levels of sick and twisted depravity.
Harry's whole body had gone curiously numb when Dumbledore had finally found it, his eyes rolling straight back in his skull until Hermione and Ron had only seen the whites of his eyes. He'd looked possessed. Hell, even the portraits had hid.
Not that he'd known any of that. He'd been too busy in 'inside my skull land' with Dumbledore, who had been otherwise engaged in clamping a firm hand on his pupil's phantom shoulder, telling Harry for the hundredth time to just trust him without explanation – because that was apparently what good little foot soldiers did - before shoving him straight through that tarry black veil.
The instant the tar had touched his flesh Harry had screamed, both inside his head and in real life.
It'd been like a nice soothing acid bath for his neurons. It went a long way towards explaining why his skull was pounding now, his poor brain screaming like a sadistic little fucking animal had taken a jackhammer to it in some misbegotten attempt at a frontal lobotomy.
But that didn't matter.
What did were the pair of red-slitted eyes that had awaited them on the other side of that tarry veil.
Harry still had to count it as a mild win. Once he'd gotten over that whole 'screaming in agony' thing, he'd gotten to witness Dumbledore and Voldemort having a merry little chat. Granted he'd missed the first half of it, but hey, it was the first time he'd come face-to-face with Voldemort and not had his life threatened at least once. Hell, none of his Death Eater cronies had even been there to threaten him with entrail-rearrangement. He seemed to recall Bellatrix promising him that they had a "blood traitor special" on their "going rate" for those the last time he'd seen her, right after she'd gotten done killing his godfather.
The bitch.
Harry breathed in, hard and deep.
He remembered.
Voldemort had just offered him and Dumbledore a compromise. Tell him the contents of the prophecy, and they would live.
Refuse long enough, and they would die.
'They' being Hermione's parents.
Voldemort had promised they would not be the last.
And that hadn't been the worst of it.
Damn't.
"Mate you okay?" Ron's head of red hair hung over him, the Keeper looking considerably less pissed than before.
Harry could only shake his head as a wave of nausea overtook him. He rolled over and vomited across the floor, collapsing in a curled heap, clamping his mouth shut.
It was a bad idea. The rancid stench of it had him hacking again on all fours, the eyes of Ron and Hermione boring into his back with each shudder.
"Get...get them out of here..." he rasped. He lifted his head to meet Dumbledore's steady expression. It was as if the Headmaster did not understand. If he did how could he look so calm? He had been there with them. He had seen everything.
In the end it was Dumbledore who had pulled them both out before things could escalate into something worse.
It'd gone a bit South, because at Voldemort's offer Harry might have told him to go to hell.
And it'd been Dumbledore's fault.
Though the thick, swirling fog left in his recently brutalized brain, Harry remembered.
He remembered the residual memories they'd found in there, before their little chat with Voldemort had gone South.
He remembered.
Deep inside him something snapped.
It was as if something other-worldly had taken ahold. He lunged, shouting at the Headmaster. He wanted to hurt him. To strangle him. To do something. Years of repressed anger burst out all at once.
He didn't get the chance.
Ron tackled him, grabbing him by the wrists and pinning them behind his back as he writhed about like an angry snake.
"Get them out of here! NOW!"
"Harry calm down mate..." Ron sounded fucking stunned. He should be. He should be but he didn't know.
Harry lunged so hard at Dumbledore that he and Ron both plummeted to the freshly 'Scourgified' ground.
Dumbledore stood there, calm. The only hint that he knew what Harry was talking about was a slight sadness in those blue eyes, the wizard's spectacles not able to hide it.
"You knew." Harry practically spat the words, no longer yelling. "You knew they were in danger the whole time and you did nothing!"
"There was nothing to be done, as you well know Harry." Dumbledore's voice was infuriatingly calm.
"It doesn't matter. You could have forced them to go..." He thrashed out at Ron. Ron let go, rolling out of the way as another of Harry's poorly aimed hits flew in his direction. "Let go of me Ron. I'm not going to do anything."
Ron had rolled into a crouch and just stared. Hermione had dropped back into the chair and seemed to be taking short, controlled breaths. "Professor," she managed, "what's he talking about?"
Harry took a deep breath, and a long, hard look at Hermione. She was shaking, ever-so-slightly.
The Supreme Mugwump, the Head of the Wizengamut, owner of the sword of Gryffindor and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Withcraft and Wizardry was no longer look at him though.
He was studying Hermione Granger, a deep look of profound regret upon his face.
Harry didn't miss that he hadn't answered, so he answered for him.
"He knew your parents were in danger, Hermione. They thought he was exaggerating so refused to move. And he did nothing." Guilt and bile rose in his throat. Hermione's family had been taken because of him, because of her association with him.
Voldemort had guessed correctly that Dumbledore would propose looking for residual memories in his mind, so he had left one for them to find, and made it easy as fuck for them to come say hello.
And found it they had. Complete with tortured images of Hermione's parents under the Cruciatious curse in their own living room. And as Harry had desperately fought to go to their aid, Dumbledore had held him back, reminding him that it was in the past, a mere memory they were witnessing. Harry had slunk back, but had been unable to adopt the cold detachment that Dumbledore possessed as the scene had unfolded.
The prophecccccy Harry...join me Harry...Or thesssse Mugglesssss will be the firsssst of thosssse you love to fffffeel the true wwwwrath of Lord Voldemorrrrt.
He continued staring down Dumbledore, waiting for the Headmaster to say something he knew would not come.
Make no missssstake Harry. There are ssssome fatesss worssse than death. I can ssssee to it that thessse Mugglesss and your Mudblood loving friendsss meet ssssuch endssss themsssselvessss if you do not conccccede my ssssuperiority.
Dumbledore had looked on sadly as Voldemort than turned to deliver another wave of curses upon the Grangers. Harry had watched them writhe in pain upon the floor, Mrs. Granger's hair spread out limply, vividly reminding him of how Hermione had looked when she had fallen in the Department of Mysteries. That same fear he had felt for her life had returned full force.
"This has to end," Dumbledore had said quietly. "If only they had allowed us to remove them."
It was then that Harry had found out the truth. The Order had approached Hermione's parents months before, offering them shelter from Death Eaters. They had refused. Not only that, but they had forbidden Hermione from ever returning from Hogwarts. There had been much that Hermione had not told them over the years concerning her exploits with he and Ron.
Hermione had defied them. It was how she was here. She had not only lost her parents approval because of him, but now she very may have lost them.
All because she had been stupid enough to call him friend.
Ron approached him cautiously, and this time he backed away before his friend had a chance to extend a friendly gesture. He found himself on the other side of the Headmaster's desk from him.
"Mate," Ron said, "you have to calm down. Alright? Just-"
Whatever Ron had been about to say was cut off by muffled shouting just outside the Headmaster's door.
A cacophony of bangs and cussing resounded, and thirty seconds later the door flew open.
Kaylens stood there, her face an unreadable mask. She didn't see them, clearly. Her eyes were fixed on Dumbledore, something unrecognizable in them.
She practically flew in, flinging a small object across the room abruptly. Morning sunlight reflected from it, burning his eyes as he followed its long arc towards Dumbledore.
A swift blur of long fingers shot out and claimed it.
Dumbledore held it steadily, his weary figure revealing no trace of the reflexes his ancient authority had shown a second before, and raised a gaze to Kaylens, his eyes flashing with the anger of coldest steel.
It was only then that he recognized the object opened in Dumbledore's hand: Kaylens' compact.
Ron stared at the two of them, his head sifting back and forth as he tried to work it out.
Harry craned his neck, catching sight of a blurred image flickering within it.
Pavement with reddish mush smeared across.
The pain in his head grew stronger.
The image in the mirror shifted, as if something had been kicked, revealing a face, wide and unseeing eyes staring out.
A pit dropped in his stomach.
It was a two-way mirror.
Kaylens' compact was a two way mirror.
Harry's eyes shot up, meeting her flashing ones.
"Find them," she whispered.
ECOTS
The decimated scene around him burned into his memory like a hot iron to flesh.
"Tonks..." he choked.
She had taken off quickly, too quickly.
He hadn't been fast enough.
Remus had sprinted across the common area, vaulting over a picnic table. He'd been halfway to her when the blast happened.
The sound alone had been thunderous. It had burst out like the sonic boom of a jet engine, and it had rocketed him back with unforgiving force.
It threw him backwards-
Remus hit the ground hard. There was an explosion of pain and his head whipped backwards, bashing against the grass with a remorseless thud. For a never ending instant the concussive blast pressed down against him like a very real and powerful physical force. A body had flown past, smashing into his leg and rolling.
Unlike the others he had hit the grass; it made him lucky.
Those who hit cement…
They didn't fare well.
A loud, distinct whine filled his ears.
The muscles in the werewolf's body howled all at once, and Remus lay there for a moment and blinked. The high pitched sound filling his ears lessened, the black shadows encircling his vision slowly, slowly clearing.
He lay flat on his back, unable to roll over, and stared at the mocking sun. It was peeking through the clouds, through a break in the gray sky, and he found himself squinting, blinking.
His breath came out in a gasp and he choked. His whole body spasmed, and he rolled over and gasped into the dirt. It was soaked in blood, whether it was his or not he didn't know. But when the coughing fit passed he looked up-
Not a meter from him was a young boy, splayed face down on the concrete.
Remus had missed the concrete by less than a meter.
He reached out and shook the child, but there was no reaction. The boy was curiously heavy. Remus tried again, the grass scraping against his now bare forearm – when had his shirt been torn like this? – and still there was no reaction from the child.
A pit of dread welled up deep within his stomach.
"H-hey, what's your name?" His voice came out like a wheeze, but still there was no response.
He had to move.
It took longer than he was proud to admit, but he managed to clamber to a knee, pain lancing out in his every beaten nerve. Without a doubt he would be in worse shape were it not for the werewolf genetics running through him, and that…
That turned that pit of dread into a hot ball of iron within his stomach.
Slowly he fisted his grip in the back of the boy's shirt, giving a tug. The child seemed to stick to the ground, for a moment, Remus gulping.
With a final, hard pull he yanked the child off the cement and rolled the boy over.
Immediately he wished he had not.
Bloodied smears had begun to stick the child to the concrete, and the instant he was moved they tore wide open, bleeding freely. The hot, thick red liquid puddled like melting gelatin. A wooden splinter from something – a picnic table, a bench, something - had punctured the child's throat. It had pierced straight through. Blood pumped out slowly from a still spasming artery, a gurgling emitting from what remained of the trachea.
The blood has soaked the child's shirt clean through.
The child was already gone. No wizardry or Muggle medicines could fix this.
Why hadn't he heard the gurgling?
It occurred to Remus then and only then that his ears were still buzzing, loudly.
Eardrum damage…it would pass. It would pass just like all his injuries after every moon. It was the one benefit of being what he was. So he clenched his gaze shut and drew in a shuddering breath. Then, with a hell of a lot of pain he managed to get up, his eyes slittening as he stood there, feeling like the world was spinning. It wasn't. He used the time it took for the illusion to stop to scan the area, looking for anyone that looked remotely alive.
There were too many to count.
They all looked injured.
The buzzing pain stopped with an abrupt halt, and the sound blasted back in like someone had unmuted the radio.
With a groan he pulled a large splinter from his arm, tossing it to the ground. The pain he should have felt was replaced with numbness.
Scattered around the area many were moving, getting up, and crying for others. Some seemed stuck between shock and horror. One of the security guards was actually ripping his clothes off, tearing them into shreds as he bandaged one of the wounded.
Clearly Remus was not the first to wake up.
He staggered towards the next child. And then the next. And then the next. Most were alive, but injured; some badly, some not.
And those responsible would pay with their lives. He swore it.
He moved quickly, getting closer and closer to the Tamarin exhibit. It had been a free standing caged display, and it was where Tonks had been. As soon as he'd seen what she was doing he had cast a shielding charm in her direction, hopefully over her head, but…
He didn't see her.
He didn't see her anywhere.
The upper bars of the exhibit were melted, bent in at odd angles. One Golden Tamarin lay caught between a bent in bar and an artificial branch, shrieking in pain.
He seriously hoped Tonks would not see it. She'd probably try to take it home and nurse it back to health, and rope him into helping.
He continued moving.
The damage to those here, laying on the ground, wasn't as severe. Their injuries seemed lessened when compared to those who had been injured near him.
His shielding charm had at least meant something to some of those here, he thought, stepping through a puddle of growing blood. There was no helping the man it pooled from. Judging from the uniform the unfortunate man had been a member of the President's security detail. Remus had tried, but the man's left pupil had been blown out, and the two pupils had been unequal and unresponsive when he had pried open the man's eyelids, exposing them to the intermittent sunlight of the day.
This man's head injury had brought about brain damage of the severest kind.
There was no longer anything that could be done for him.
He should have been a Healer. He would have had St. Mungo's been willing to take him.
CRACK!
Remus jolted around at the crack of apparition, wand drawn-
"Mother of Merlin..." came Kingsley's familiar voice. "Remus, you alright?"
He about sagged in damn relief. Kinglsey had been patrolling another area of the zoo. It was no wonder he had heard the commotion. People probably had heard it back at the Aras an Uachtarian.
"The President? His family?"
"I'm not sure," he said weakly. The Order had made them memorize pictures of them, so they could identify Emily, Marie, and Kenneth on sight. The last he had seen of Marie and Emily had been just before the explosion. They had been far from the center of it, so they had probably survived.
Probably.
"Start a search!" he heard someone order.
Remus continued picking his way through the wreckage, searching for survivors.
"Mummy..." He whirled at the weak sound. It was coming from behind the Tamarin's display and he raced quickly, finding two children, twins from the look of them, on the other side. They sat right up against the cement bottom of the display, one girl coughing unhealthily, her face covered in soot and blood and shockingly pale.
The cement base had provided them a shelter of sorts against the blast, and he silently thanked the zoo designer for that.
He dropped to their sides and two identical pairs of brown eyes stared up at him, blinking strangely.
It took Remus a second to realize that his right arm was still disillusioned. The rest of the charm had worn off in the explosion. With a choked laugh he smacked his wand against it, offering them a smile. "Magic trick," he croaked, voice rough with dust. Coughing twice, he managed, "I'm Remus. What are your names?"
The one covered in soot spoke first, feebly coughing, "E-eliz-za-zabeth. My si-si-ister..."
"Carolynn," the other child supplied. "Is my sister going to be okay?"
"She's going to be fine," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, not entirely knowing if he had just lied or not. "Now Elizabeth," he said, looking her over, "can you tell me where you're bleeding, okay? Can you do that for me?"
Carolynn was suddenly tugging on his sleeve, pointing frantically at something above.
He followed the direction of her pointed finger and nearly pulled away in revulsion.
Elizabeth's face was covered not in her own blood, but the splattered blood of an unlucky tamarin that had been smashed between the cage bars by a blasted off tree limb.
Yet the child was still coughing weakly.
"Liza got hit..." Carolynn said, her small voice matching her small frame. "Tree came out of there and..." She smacked her hands together in a way that made Remus flinch.
"Ly-lynni pu-pull-lled me o-o-out..." Elizabeth got out, pointing at her chest with one hand. "It hit me he-ere. It hu-urts."
Mother of Merlin, this child had a chest injury.
He reached for his portkey. Each Order Member on assignment had been given one, a direct path to headquarters, for just such emergencies, and this was one he was ill-equipped to deal with.
It was only then that he realized that the entire side of his cloak had been torn off, taking the portkey and his two-way mirror pocket watch with it.
ECOTS
"When did this appear?"
Dumbledore's voice had been soft, but raw power radiated from him.
Kaylens was dragging a hand through her hair, looking upset, flustered. "I don't know. I came as soon as I saw."
"Good." The Headmaster's attention redirected towards he and Ron, moving toward where Hermione sat, taking in the change of events slowly. His expression killed all questions he had thought of asking.
"You three are to stay here. You are not to leave this room for any reason. Understood?"
Ron and Hermione seemed too rattled from Harry's behavior only moments before to respond, so he nodded for them. Dumbledore rose, his robes billowing behind as he strode towards the door, Kalliandra on his heels.
"Kalliandra stay here as well. I trust they have other ways of contacting you."
Her jaw set firmly and she nodded.
"Good. And I will be needing..." Dumbledore raised a hand and a shoestrong rose up from beneath her robes, a glittering ring hung eerily from it. He curled a finger, as if beckoning her towards him, and the string snapped from around her neck, hurtling to him across the short space. She visibly flinched at the separation.
The Headmaster's eyes hardened onto her. "You are not to go anywhere, nor are you to attempt anything. As of right now nothing can be done for him. Do you understand?"
She didn't respond, her narrowed eyes conveying her thoughts as she stomped her foot in anger. "I can-"
"You can get yourself killed trying. You are to stay here." With that he turned, the door slamming behind his departing figure.
All eyes turned towards where she stood, her shoulders heaving with exertion. Her brow was damp, her hair a tangled mess, as if she'd sprinted the entire way.
His head pounded, ringing with pain from Voldemort's parting words.
A taste, Potter, of things to come.
"What's going on?" Hermione's soft voice tore him back to the here and now. He could only stare blankly towards her, not knowing whom the question was directed at.
Kaylen's soft breathing drew his attention her way again. Her angled hair hung limply, framing her face in shadows. "I don't know." Her words seemed deliberate.
Too deliberate.
"You expect us to believe that?"
Harry glanced at Ron, the anger evident in his voice made him realize that Ron was about to take his frustration at his own actions out on her.
"Do you have any idea what you just interrupted?"
"Ron..." he warned, noticing how tense her arms were looking, how taut her expression had become. It was like looking at a trapped bloody animal, hopeless desperation etched across her features. His eyes unconsciously shot to her wrists, looking for any trace of bruising from before.
He was pissed. He was furious with her. And yet what Dean had said gutted him.
Yet he saw nothing. Only the overlong sleeves of her thin shirt, the ends hanging down to her knuckles.
His gut twisted unnaturally.
Ron choose to ignore him. "Kaylens, what the hell is-"
"I said I don't know!" she shouted loudly, turning to storm to the other side of the room.
And now she was rummaging through things, searching for something. Like hell if he knew what, but apparently she was damn good at ransacking shit.
Harry rubbed at the back of his head and closed his eyes, trying to ease the pain.
"Now what are you doing?" Ron growled huffily when the noise of her clatter filled search had nearly reached his own wits ends.
"I'm looking for a port-"
Harry never heard the rest.
It was like a knife had been conjured inside his brain and slashed.
Pain exploded and he doubled over, crashing into an armchair and slamming to the floor. The room faded away, Harry barely aware of himself as slit like eyes filled his vision, Nagini's bright green misted form filling his head.
The pain was vivid, harsh, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open.
Once again a distant groaning was coming from him.
"Harry!"
Ron and Hermione were there, he could see them. He tried to hold onto their faces. Holding onto what was actually, physically there helped. It helped fight Voldemort off. It helped to block him out. He could hear Hermione shouting his name and Ron disappeared, pounding on the door and shouting for someone to get the 'bloody hell back in there!'
Kaylens spun around, seeing him on the ground, her eyes going wide, strangely worried.
And from his spot slumped half on the floor, half on the armchair, Harry saw her.
He saw everything.
And so did Voldemort.
Voldemort looked straight through Harry's eyes and saw what he was seeing.
And then Harry sensed something he'd never sensed from Voldemort before.
Surprise.
Kaylens' image burned into his memory, and he felt Voldemort digging through his mind, searching for information, searching for knowledge. Only for a change he wasn't bothering to hide what he was searching for.
Kaylens.
He wanted to know why Kaylens was there.
Voldemort found what he needed, and with a rush retreated from Harry's head, leaving his mind free, clear. Harry collapsed onto all fours, panting for breath, shocked at how damn quick it had been. It was like a drive by assault. Swift, brutal, violent, and over before you had even realized what happened.
Voldemort had stopped. Voldemort had been assaulting him since that morning, searching for something important within Harry's head, repeating the attack on and off all day, but the second he'd seen Kaylens he'd stopped.
It had stopped because he'd known her.
All the confliction he'd had, all the questions he'd not had an answer to, all the things that didn't add up…
He'd been trying to figure it out for weeks. Was Kaylens a victim or one of them. But now…now he knew, because there was only one thing that would make any logical type of sense.
Voldemort wouldn't have been surprised to see a victim at Hogwarts, but he would be damn surprised to see one of his Death Eaters in Voldemort's office.
Slowly, feeling off, Harry looked up, a single word on his lips, and he spat it with venom.
"You."
ECOTS
"My lady I have to advise against that."
"Then what do you propose? We keep her with us until one of those bas..." Her mum stole a look at her, stopping mid-sentence to lower her voice until she could no longer hear.
Emily was scared.
She didn't like being scared. And she especially didn't like it when the big people started talking in hushed voices. It was never good.
Just like loud noises. Those were never good either.
She started crying again. Her mummy had grabbed her and ran like that. Her mummy had never done that before.
She didn't understand, so she was crying. Her mummy was there in a second, trying to shush her but she couldn't stop. She wanted to be a big girl like her mum, but her friends and daddy were over where that loud noise had been. What if no one had grabbed them and ran them away like her mummy had?
She sniffled loudly, burying her head in her mummy's shoulder as her mum pulled on the door for the twelfth time. She had been counting. Counting always made her feel better. And pulling on door handles must make her mummy feel better, otherwise she wouldn't keep doing it so often.
"It's not getting any more locked than that. If you keep pulling on it someone outside could see the door move."
Her mum let out an unhappy noise and hugged her to her chest. Emily disliked the overly serious man in the suit even more for upsetting her mum more. Couldn't he see that pulling on doors made her feel better?
Her mum set her down, looking over her head at the overly serious man. "So we should just wait here like sitting ducks then? Is that what your suggesting?"
The man didn't bat an eye. Not that she could tell, he still had his sunglasses on. "My lady I am just suggesting that you both are safer in here than out there."
"And if another one of those things is around?"
Right then Emily noticed how watery her mum's eyes were. "Mummy your crying." She noted aloud. Then she remembered daddy telling her that it wasn't always a good thing to say everything you think aloud.
Her mum dropped to her knees and smiled kindly at her while the overly serious man went on about structural integrity things. Her mum brushed some of her brown-red hair behind her ear.
"Evan, if you think we are safest here I will trust your judgment. I'm sorry for being difficult..." Her mum was talking over her head now.
"My lady it is nothing to be concerned about."
"What if they get in?"
"I have thought of a...precautionary measure for young Miss. Emily."
Emily turned with her mother, in time to see the overly serious man gesture towards an open door at the end of the bathroom. The dark within it scared her.
She looked pleadingly at her mum. She really wasn't going to put her in there was she?
Her mum picked her up. "Pumpkin...Honey mummy needs you to do mummy a favor. Can you do that honey?"
Emily nodded, sniffling only a little, not liking this at all.
"That's my girl." Her mum smiled a bit, carrying her to that open door. Emily looked into it cautiously, and did not like what she saw. It was a scary closet. It was dark, wet looking, with odd looking grass-like things growing in the corners. But worst of all it had looming things with long wet tendrils hanging from them. They looked like large human stick figures with dangly white hair, only with no arms or legs.
She turned to her mum wide eyed and frightened.
"Honey mummy needs you to go in the closet okay? And I need you to stay there. Can you do that for me sweetheart?"
Emily stared at her. "Mummy that closet is scary."
"Please honey." Her mum pleaded. She kept looking at the overly serious man who had now drawn a gun. Emily didn't like guns. Her mum cupped her chin and turned her back so she was looking at her. "Please Emily this is very important honey. I promise I'll take you somewhere extra special if you do this for me okay?"
A thought struck her. "Mummy what about my party? If I go in there I'm going to miss it."
At this her mum let out an odd noise and covered her mouth. It was a long while before her mum spoke again, only now there were noises outside and her mum's voice sounded more urgent.
"Please honey. Well have you another party darling. Just go in there and no matter what you see or hear stay there. Please honey do this for me?"
Emily swallowed bravely and entered the dark.
ECOTS
Kaylens looked clearly bewildered, but he wasn't fooled. "What does he want with you?" he demanded.
Hermione rather looked like she'd had too much for the day. Ron's head, however, was darting between him and Kaylens, as if putting two and two together.
"Harry..."
"YOU! What does he want with you?" he yelled it with such force that all three of them jerked away.
Kaylens seemed the least fazed and just shook her head, dragging a hand through her hair in frustration. "What does who want with-"
"VOLDEMORT!"
Ron flinched, but he didn't care. What he noticed was that Kaylens hadn't. Only a rare few could take his name in stride like that.
Most of them were Death Eaters.
"Voldemort, Kaylens. Voldemort. He was here, just now, inside my head." He stood, drawing his wand as Hermione sucked in her breath, tapping his head exaggeratedly with his free hand. "Only the second I saw you, Voldemort saw you too. And you know what Kaylens?"
He had backed her around the desk. She was taking slow measured strides backwards, and he found it strange that she had made no attempt to draw her wand. She hadn't stuck him as someone who would simply tolerate a wand being waved in her face.
Then again she had utterly sucked at defending herself at the start of the year too.
Maybe that was because she'd known the other Death Eaters wouldn't dare hurt her.
Everything made sense now. Every lingering doubt he'd had about her coalesced into this one firm, final answer.
Her sudden appearance at Hogwarts. Her presence in Knockturn Alley that day. The way she'd sabotaged him from actually helping on the train. The way she never flinched at Voldemort's name. Her casual association with Malfoy. Her fake innocent game when she pretended she didn't know what anyone was talking about. The way Voldemort was surprised to see her in his enemy's office.
He'd bet his Firebolt she was not a transfer.
His skull throbbed, violently. A serpentine hiss was in it. Voldemort's rage filled him, egging him on.
"You're a Death Eater aren't you?" he practically growled, lunging.
She dodged, placing an armchair between them as he began circling. His eyes were alert, watching for any attempt she might make towards her wand, which he could see tucked into her robes.
"Harry please what are you..." Hermione pleaded, standing as if to move between them.
"Shut it Hermione," he snapped. "You don't know, alright?"
Ron had already drawn his wand, looking between the two of them as if waiting for one to make a move.
Kaylens skirted in front of the bookshelves. "Potter, you're utterly mad."
Harry flat out snorted. Suddenly he did feel rather mad. "If I'm so mad, why aren't you answering the question?"
She shook her head, eyes darting between he and Ron, whose wand now pointed at her as well. "Hard to answer a question I don't know the answer to."
"You're either a Death Eater or you're not," Ron said, tone deadly serious. "So are you, or aren't you?"
They were each on either side of her, pinning her into place behind a small table with several dusty books piled high. Even the paintings were awake now, no longer bothering to feign sleep.
"Ron...Harry...let's just settle down and talk about this for a minute," Hermione pled, her own wand out and hanging at her side.
She looked conflicted, but fortunately for Hermione he wasn't. He knew who the real enemy was here.
Ron, ever the friend, must have been thinking the same thing. "Hermione didn't you hear what Harry said? He had another vision." He jabbed his wand for emphasis. "She's. A. Death. Eater. Hermione."
Every single centimeter of skin on Kaylens looked tense, even her collarbone showing. Her breathing came out shaken, startled, her hands clutching at the edge of the table. "There are more important things going on right now," she said quickly, "than whether or not I'm a Death Eater."
Harry shook his head, stepping closer. "Oh no Kaylens, whether or not you're a Death Eater is very much a topic I'd like to explore further. Unless you can offer another explanation for why Voldemort was so surprised to see you here?"
Her lips parted, her words coming out in a single, shaken breath. "Potter, you're madder than I thought..."
"He's not going to be too pleased with you is he?" Ron baited. "Consorting with Dumbledore? What happened? Offered to help him out then had an attack of conscious? Or did you just simply lose your nerve?"
Her eyes grew wide and her posture slumped slightly. "Attacks? What attacks happened? Where-"
"Like you don't know," Harry accused.
Kaylens knuckles were practically white as she squeezed the desk harder. "For the last time I don't know what hallucinations you're having-"
"Everyone just STOP!" Hermione screamed shrilly. "There's enough going on without us fighting each other too!"
"Each other? Hermione when has she ever been a part of we?" Ron countered.
"Since she came here!" she yelled. "To Hogwarts! Everyone here is in this together!"
"We caught her with Borgins, 'Mione! She hexed me in the back! Voldemort is sodding interested in her! Hell even Malfoy's alright with her! Or have you forgotten-"
"That could be a coincidence!"
"I've talked to him once!" she shouted, interrupting them all. "What's your problem with him anyway?"
It went instantly quiet.
Once? Unlikely. He didn't believe that. He didn't believe it at all. And now she wanted to know what their problem was?
"For starts," he said coldly, "he's a Death Eater."
The witch's eyes flashed with something difficult to pinpoint, but she shook her head, looking bewildered. "Fantastic," she said caustically, "so it's better to be a Death Eater than to be like you then, now isn't it?"
It took him a second.
It took him a long second.
Harry stood there, along with Ron and Hermione, the latter two outright gaping at her. Hermione's mouth had fallen wide open, making a startled sound. Ron's throat emitted a low growling. Kaylens glanced between them all, warily. And Harry…
Harry's eyes had hardened, growing dark as ink. Pure, unadulterated rage slithered through him.
And then he far too casually grimaced, coming to a decision. "Fuck it." Let Dumbledore sort it out.
His wand flew up and with a savage slash he roared, "Stupefy!"
"HARRY!"
He missed.
He ignored Hermione and kicked the easy chair over, vaulting over it at the same time that Kaylens upended the reading table, dropping behind it, creating a barrier as his spell struck fast and hard. The table absorbed the spell with a loud thud.
With a curse he slashed his wand again. His second spell struck the shelving unit behind her, his aim intentional. The bookshelves collapsed, raining texts down behind the table and on top of Kaylens, a cry of pain lancing out.
Harry skidded to a stop and approached it cautiously, lowering his wand toward the center of the table's surface, preparing to blast through her impromptu barrier.
Deep inside his mind the horcrux hissed with rapt attention, interest.
Finissssssh her.
ECOTS
The books struck her, their edges painful and ripping into her skin. She let out a whimper but otherwise ignored the sharp sting. Panic swelled up and she tried to think. She desperately tried to think!
She gave herself precisely three seconds to do so.
Then she flung her back against the wall, braced herself, and kicked out her legs as hard as she could, her feet connecting with the small table.
It went flying. It screeched, skidding across the floor towards where Potter and his wand stood.
He dove to the side, his legs nearly swept from beneath him as Hermione screamed something unintelligible. He hit the ground awkwardly, his wand knocked out of his hand.
It took her a half second to realize that he'd lost his wand.
With a triumphant sound Kally lunged and slid into him, scrambling and clawing and fighting to kick his wand out of reach.
She managed it.
Just like he managed to grab at her hair, pulling her to the ground with him.
A fistful of her hair tore free in his hand, pain erupting in her scalp so sharp and so fierce that her vision burned white with the pain. She made an upset sound, throwing out a knee and blindly connecting with something – Potter's stomach? –as they tumbled over one another, grappling and hitting the floor.
Potter's messy head of hair nearly smashed into hers, and Kally grabbed at it, more for protection than anything else. She snared her fingers in the black mess and yanked it back, a poorly aimed curse narrowly missing her.
Potter jerked. Violently.
An elbow had caught her right above the temple. Pain erupted in her skull and her vision swam dangerously as Potter threw himself forward, scuttling on all fours towards his wand.
ECOTS
"Damn!" he swore loudly, lunging forward, his hand closing around the reassuring texture of his wand when her weight came crashing down on him, bending his back painfully.
He groaned, throwing his weight to the side, rolling her underneath, straddling her waist as he pinned her arms with his elbows, using his weight to his advantage as she thrashed angrily.
"STOP IT!" Hermione was screaming hysterically now. Out of the corner of his eye Harry could see she'd attached herself to Ron, his best mate trying to throw her off without hurting her. "RON! Stop it! You're going to hit-"
"Yeah, that's kinda the point!" Ron bellowed.
He didn't have any oxygen to spare for their argument.
Kaylens stopped thrashing.
For the briefest second he wondered if Ron had finally stunned her. That kind thought was torn from him as she unexpectedly threw her weight, lifting her legs and bottom from the floor and thrusting backwards, sending him somersaulting over her, his own weight betraying him as his shoulders bashed into the ground, Harry smacking into it with a resounding oof.
He rolled, scrambling to reclaim his footing-
"PETRIFICUS TOTALIS!"
He fell to the floor, petrified, just as Kaylens had done a mere meter away, her expression frozen in something akin to mild annoyance.
ECOTS
CRACK!
She whimpered, burying her face into the mop. She didn't care that it was unsanitary anymore. She couldn't take the silence, and the mop was her friend. Her mummy had said so.
But her slightly damp friend was unable to drown out her mother's own whimpers.
Her mother's whimpering rose, her feminine voice reaching pitches even Emily had thought impossible.
The sound of the bathroom door slamming open competed with her mother's cries, and the stranger spoke in that weird language again.
Emily heard another thud.
For a moment the light from the door reached her, infiltrating the dark closet in little streaks that snuck in beneath and around the door, brightening the closet for her.
The door slammed shut, and her friend the mop rattled as did the floor beneath her feet.
Silence.
She clung to the damp, cottony strands, pushing them in front of her face, squeezing her eyes shut. Her mummy would come back for her. Her and the overly serious man would not just leave her.
Would they?
She whimpered again, repeating her mother's words to her.
No matter what you may see. No matter what you hear...
Over and over in her head she repeated it. Before long she found herself whispering quietly. She jerked, startled when she realized someone may have heard her, but in doing so he shin bumped again the metal rack behind her. The one she had not yet seen.
The loud clattering behind her as bottles of cleaning solution crashed to the floor frightened her far too much.
She opened the door and bolted, tripping in the light over a large heap on the floor.
Sniffling, slightly hysterical Emily shoved herself up, nursing her skinned knees gingerly.
It was then that she discovered what she had tripped on.
Mister overly serious man lay prostate on the floor, his features forever frozen in an expression of fury, his eyes wide open, staring sightlessly at the lavatory ceiling.
She opened her mouth to scream, for even a child recognizes death, but no sound came forth. Her voice had frozen, as had her muscles. The only thing she seemed capable of doing was shivering, as she found herself doing despite the warm, stifling air of the room.
CRACK!
"I was wondering when our little princess was going to join her party..."
As the hands clenched around her, Emily suddenly found her voice.
She screamed.
