Author's Note: Revised as of January 2020.
Chapter 11 ~ The Scars Life Leaves
"Just as courage imperils life, fear protects it."
Leonardo da Vinci
Tonks threw open the shades, allowing the bright afternoon light to stream in, filling the room with yellow hues so bright that not even Remus, who was valiantly feigning sleep, could ignore them.
She marched to the side of his bed, throwing open the bed hangings.
"Get up," she clipped, her expression anything but amused.
"How did you get past the wards?" Remus groaned, pulling his pillow over his head so he resembled a burrowing animal.
She contented herself to narrowing her violet eyes. "Bill's a curse breaker. And when he and I have over two weeks with nothing to do but crack the wards on our stubborn arse of a friend's home we tend to succeed."
Remus emitted a low grumbling sound, indecipherable to any human ear. It was at this point that she decided she had had enough. She ripped the covers from his bed and flung them out the now open window.
"Remus did you really think you could avoid us forever?!" she hollered. "What the hell is the matter with you?"
At his lack of responsiveness she stomped her foot angrily, and began spraying him with water from the tip of her wand.
Remus jerked so violently that he rolled right out of bed, landing in a heap on the floor. He blinked groggily, his face scrunched up and dripping. He looked extremely disgruntled.
"You look like a sopping wet dog Remus. Now get your stubborn ass off the floor right now and get ready. We have an Order meeting in an hour and if you are not there so help me Merlin I will come back here, wards be damned, and make you come! You can't avoid us forever!"
He groaned unhappily.
She glowered down, deciding not to leave just yet. "And you know what else Wolfy? You are the singularly, most selfish individual that I have ever met!"
"Mrmph..."
"Don't mrmph at me!" she practically shouted. "As if it's not bad enough for you to stay here, wallowing in self-pity for two weeks, but you left me to talk to Harry for you! He deserved to see you there! Not me! Instead you hid here away from everyone acting like a baby!"
"Go. Away," he interjected moodily.
"A big baby."
"Please go away?" he tried.
"NO I WON'T!" she screeched in a very un-Tonks-like fashion. "I am FAR from being DONE! I haven't even started on Kalliandra! She's not a witch, Remus! Did it ever occur to you that she won't talk to anyone else? Literally! Dumbledore's even had some of the portraits try! She threw a candlestick at one!"
He apparently had found something fascinating underneath the bed, because now he had taken to staring beneath it. "I'm sure it was fine."
Tonks gawked, enunciating her next words very carefully. "She set it on fire."
Remus made a morose, dying sort of sound. "She doesn't need me. I nearly got her killed."
Tonks stomped again, very near his head. "You know that wasn't your fault Remus. No one knew what that spell would do."
"You should go," he mumbled morosely. "I could still turn at any moment."
Her jaw dropped. "Is that what this self-induced isolation has been about? You think you're going to turn again?"
When he didn't answer she actually laughed. "Remus you prat! You turned within an hour of being hit with that spell! Do you really think that it could possibly turn you again? Two weeks later no less!?"
"I can't risk it..."
"Well that's just too damn bad Wolfy because you're going to," she didn't wait for a response and marched over to throw open his closet. She grabbed the nearest shirt and threw it at him. "Now go shower and get dressed. I don't have all day and so help me you are going to write to Harry and Kalliandra before we leave."
He could be seen over his bed, fumbling with his shirt. "When we leave? Wasn't I kicking you out now?"
"I'd like to see you try. I'm not leaving because I don't feel like fighting with your wards again," she paused, and almost as an afterthought added, "And don't change the subject because you are writing to them."
He shook his head, his shaggy hair falling around his eyes messily. It looked like he hadn't showered in days. "No. If they wanted to talk to me they would have-"
"Would have what?" she was far beyond losing her patience at this point. "Contacted you? Remus, Kalliandra tried! That damn pocket watch of yours has been glowing all week at headquarters! We tried sending it back to you but you keep sending it back! Kalliandra probably thinks you're ignoring her by now. What's the point of giving the girl a clever two-way mirror if you aren't going to actually use it? And Harry-"
"Harry is safer if I stay away," Remus interjected, picking up his wand. "He has enough people trying to kill him. I very nearly bit him. The last thing he needs is the additional stigma of a monster's bite."
Homicide was illegal. Kingsley had been very clear about that. But perhaps a bit of impalement and a good wizi-attorney and she could get off skewering him with just a bit of light community service…
Pleading temporary insanity on the grounds that a man had driven her crazy would work, right?
She growled in frustration and yanked the pocket watch out of her jeans. Mundungus had found it near one of the dead children after the attack, and at the very least she was going to throw it at his head.
She did just that, and it clanked against the floor. "Well at least take this back, you bit brute. I don't care what you say but that non-witchy posing as a witch could use an adult in her life. You know, one that's not dead and not ignoring her." She searched him for some sign that he had accepted this fact, but he only leaned out the window and summoned his blanket back up.
Watching his pitiable movements, she suddenly felt like collapsing.
Remus had been the one she could count on, to hold together for her, ever since Sirius.
She couldn't bear to think of it, let alone voice it, but ever since that wretched night she had grown to rely Remus-ruddy-Lupin. She needed him so much it scared her, which probably explained her increasing contemplations of violence.
It had been his cool, light brown eyes she had awoken to in St. Mungo's. A rather traumatized healer had let it slip that the old dog had never left her side, not once. They'd even tried to kick him out, but the man had apparently pulled a wand on the mediwitch, informed her that he would be staying, before calmly conjuring himself a make-shift cot in the corner or her room. The sly hound.
Tonks had of course called him out on it. Immediately. He'd just grimaced and claimed she read too much into it; he simply hadn't wanted to miss the free entertainment that was her griping, whenever the healers had poked and prodded her with their wands.
To be fair, she had growled at more than one of them…
Either way she knew better. Remus had stayed because he had been worried. About her.
Merciful Merlin they didn't make men like him anymore.
There'd been another benefit to waking up with the object of one too many of her role playing fantasies in her hospital room: his presence had kept her thoughts from straying to Sirius.
She shuddered, deigning not to think on it. It was bad enough the man had found her curled up on her couch one night, bawling her eyes out, the few precious pictures of Sirius that she still had spread out on her coffee table and clutched in hand.
It'd hurt. It'd hurt so bad. If she had killed Bellatrix when she had the chance he'd still here. But she hadn't. Now she was cousin-less. She deserved it.
With a cool cup of mocha Remus had sat down with her, placing a hand on her back. He hadn't tried to reason with her. He'd just sat, hadn't asked questions, and kept her company.
Honestly if he hadn't shown up when he had, she may have curled up in the nearest dark and dingy broom closet and not come out till Christmas. The black mold of questionable origin probably would have sprung to life and engulfed her. Oh yes, she'd have wound up pinned to one of the walls like a sadistic portrait-caricature of herself, with all kinds of mold-like spindles growing where her veins used to be.
As it was she had gotten piss drunk and passed out.
He'd taken care of her then too.
And now he was hiding in his house, and she really didn't like not getting to see him on a daily basis. Really, it was interfering with her stalking routine.
She drew herself up, ignoring the pain prickling in her chest. "Harry does need you," she told the imbecile. She had to resist the urge to run over there and smack him. "You're all he has left. Imagine how he'd feel if you shut him off now?"
Remus was flipping the comforter back onto the bed, straightening it meticulously. "He doesn't need me. Neither does Kally. They'll just wind up hurt."
"Well dammit Remus, I need you!" she shouted, ignoring his shocked stare. "Don't you get that? I miss you! And I'm not the only one! Harry misses you! He sent me an owl because you haven't responded to his letters! I can only assume by that pile on your desk that you haven't read any of them yet! And you call yourself literate, you mangy hound! You're just..."
She trailed off, frustration effectively silencing that train of thought.
If she stayed up here any longer, looking at his rumpled pajamas and messy hair she was going to kill him. Or jump him. Either way, she figured that wouldn't solve the problem.
"Go shower," she said with remarkably calm. "I'll wait downstairs."
Then she turned in a huff and stormed out, resolving to send Harry and Kalliandra separate notes demanding that they pester Remus until he broke out of this self-created shell.
She missed the disbelieving eyes of a certain werewolf, following her longingly.
ECOTS
Harry allowed the book to fall closed. His head had long since fallen onto the table, his body slumped over in frustration. A thousand and one dark curses swirled through his mind, their counter curses eluding his memory in a maddening way.
He'd been studying for hours.
The new DADA Professor had, in a fit of what the librarian had called 'temporary insanity', granted him provisional access to the Restricted Section of the Library, and so far all he'd learned was that there were more dark curses than light spells.
It was a cheery damn thought.
But hell, at least he had access.
The new DADA Professor was eccentric, to say the least. The first lesson alone had resulted in two broken collarbones, several broken fingers, one broken nose – Neville had a real talent for getting hit in the face – and a few confounded brains. The new professor had not only moved the DADA class to a little used, remote part of the castle, but he had ambushed them one-by-one as they'd walked down the hallway to get to the classroom.
As a whole they'd faired poorly. Only Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco and surprisingly Neville had escaped without winding up unconscious.
Once he'd enervated all of them the tawny haired man had perched himself in a windowsill right there in the castle hallway, telling all of them in a cheerful Australian accent that they needed to be prepared at all times because dark wizards were always trying to stun you and cut you open to filet part of your liver for an evening snack.
At best.
At worst they might tie you to a chair, hit you with a paralytic, cut open your skull and begin eating your brain while you were still awake.
Apparently, he'd assured them, when the frontal lobe was salted it hurt like hell.
Half the class had laughed, right up until he whipped out his wand and sent two dozen copies of an Australian newspaper flying at them.
On the front page of the Kangaroo Prophet was the image of a happy, smiling girl. She could be no older than her early twenties, her light brown hair and light colored eyes sparkling happily. Freckles adorned her face, and she looked as if she had not a care in the world.
The caption had read School Prodigy Tortured and Murdered – Cannibalism Suspected.
The body of Magi-University student, Salima Gai of Sydney Australia was found bound to a chair in her quarters last Thursday. Salima had been residing in a remote part of the Australian outback studying primitive magical cultures when she was reported missing by her next of kin.
Evidence suggests that a craniotomy was performed on the still conscious student before portions of her brain matter were consumed in a magical, cannibalistic act. According to sources it is part of a necromancy ritual used only in extremely rural parts of Australia. The ceremony is performed with the intent of absorbing the victim's magical power, and is thought to be a cure for Squibs. Once the brain matter is exposed the Drought of Living Death is dumped directly onto the person's gray matter, resulting in a conscious paralysis…
No one had been laughing then.
It got worse when Hermione realized that Salima Gai had been their professor's kid sister.
Harry had asked him to teach them more about dark magic and what to avoid, so they could learn to counteract it, and the man had fixed him with a suddenly unamused look and told him 'no.'
That no had been very firm and decisive, particularly given the man had been practically bouncing in the windowsill and kicking his legs off the ledge mere moments before.
But that afternoon, after class, a paper note folded like an origami elephant had floated right up to him in the Great Hall and flopped unceremoniously down into his food.
A permission slip.
He'd looked up at the head table, but Professor Gai had been engrossed in a rather animated conversation with Professor Flitwick. Harry didn't get it, and he didn't understand it, but he sure as fuck wasn't going to question it.
He had to beat Voldemort, and he couldn't risk having Ron or Hermione help him. Not this time. Their safety was too important. So he'd take whatever help he could get.
So now there he was, with a restricted textbook, reading in his free time. Willingly. All because he had to beat Voldemort.
The sheer enormity of the task had hit home nearly an hour before, and the constant weight on his shoulders seemed determined to crush him. It was pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He had to master this, all of it. An anchoring weight sunk in his stomach as he realized he may not have the time.
For all he knew Voldemort could show up tomorrow, knock on the Entrance Hall, flick his forked tongue out at whatever poor bastard opened the doors, and hex them dead.
And then he'd be in the castle, no doubt looking to kill everyone Harry had ever known and loved. Death Eaters would be with him, and he doubted they'd stick to simple jinxes when taking out first years.
No. Harry knew better than that. They'd kill anyone and anything in their path. Life didn't matter to them. It wasn't precious. It didn't fucking matter. And if Harry wanted to survive this, any of it, he had to learn what he was up against.
As much as he hated to admit it, Snape had been right last year: he had to learn as much as he could, as fast as he could, and he had to stop fucking around.
He had to stop fucking around because Avada Kedarva was amongst the most merciful of dark curses. Harry might be famous for surviving it, but if Death Eaters flooded the castle, if Voldemort came for him, that'd be the least of his worries.
The dark arts could do so much worse than simply kill you quick. They could burn you alive from the inside out. There was an insidious spell called the morte ardente. When cast the effects were delayed, but within an hour of being stuck the victim would suddenly drop to the ground, screaming, while witnesses were left confused as hell.
It would blacken the skin, invisible fire heating the flesh until layers bubbled up, blisters bursting and liquefying into creamy pustules of fat and dermis, exposing the red and raw meat beneath until even that had charred. By the time witnesses realized what was happening help for the victim was often far too late.
Other curses would slice the victim's skin in slow, long slashes. The invisible attack would last for hours. Medi-wizards and healers could try to save them, but eventually blood loss would send the victim into hypovolemic shock and they'd go into cardiac arrest, dying.
Still others would slowly crush the victim's chest. At first a subtle pressure would be applied to the sternum, ribcage, only then it'd increase. And increase. And increase. It would slowly drive the air from the victim's lungs, suffocating them under the pressure until they either lost consciousness or died from their ribcage snapping and puncturing the pericardial sack.
Closing his eyes in the corner of the common room, he tried not to think about how much worse it could have been for Sirius, for Cedric, for his parents.
With a heavy heart he propped himself on his elbows, reopening the ancient, blackened leather text. He'd learn every lethal curse the world had to offer him; he had no choice.
ECOTS
Kalliandra clutched Tonks' letter in hand and stormed to the foot of the gargoyle.
She'd done exactly as that random Auror had asked, but she was out of options. Kally had tried contacting Remus. She'd shouting, cussing, and cursing his name into that blasted compact of hers. She'd sent owls armed with letters and orders to peck at his hands until he replied. Hell, she'd even nicked a self-writing quill from Dumbledore and sent it off with the last missive so it would write whatever Remus said down the second he received it.
That particular owl had had orders to snatch whatever was written before Remus had a chance to snatch it up himself.
Well, apparently Remus had been too quick for the owl, because she had gotten back a broken quill and a ripped, blank piece of paper.
She had grown so annoyed with him avoiding contact and canceling their tutoring sessions that she had finally slipped on Josh' ring and tried port keying directly to Remus, only that hadn't worked either.
Which was precisely why she found herself outside of Dumbledore's stupid stone gargoyle, shouting every candy that came to mind.
"Peppermint! Bat dung droppings! Bertie Pops! Apples! Peaches!" she exclaimed at it, abandoning candies in favor of fruits. "Oh damn it to hell! Peach Schnapps! Peach Cobble..."
The stone gargoyle sprang to life, allowing her entrance.
"Peach Schnapps? You've got to be kidding me..." she muttered, springing up the stairs and bursting into his office, being careful to smack Crusantheus on the way in.
Dumbledore looked up idly from his desk, a bemused expression across his weather worn face. "Why Kalliandra, what a pleasant surprise."
She did not agree. "Professor what does Remus think he is doing?" she demanded, stopping in front of his desk. "He can't avoid us forever! Why doesn't my port key work anymore?" She paused, frowned, and added, "And since when did you start using liquors as your passwords?"
Dumbledore looked rather puzzled. "Peach Schnapps? A liquor? And here I thought it was a rather clever form of candy."
Had she not been so worked up she would have rolled her eyes. "No, it's not. But why won't this work?" She held up her ring for effect.
"Ah, I was wondering when you would ask," Dumbledore commented airily. "Remus requested that your port key be deactivated for the time being."
Her stomach plummeted. "Did he say why?"
"I am sure you know why, Kalliandra."
That awful sinking feeling wormed its way straight past her stomach and up her chest. "Of course I do," she said, feeling oddly hollow. "But it wasn't his fault."
Dumbledore seemed to take a rather long time to reply, and when he did…
"He may understand that on some level," the Headmaster said calmly, "but much like someone else you know," he paused to eye her shrewdly, leaving no question about who he was referring to, "he's taken to blaming himself, shoving away those close to him in order to protect them."
She didn't like this. She didn't like this at all. "So there's nothing we can do to talk some sense into him?"
"I rather think that this is something he has to come to accept on his own terms. We cannot force him into realizing that we would rather be near him with all of the risks, than away from him and safe."
"Yes well, surely someone can hex it into him?" She was entirely serious.
Dumbledore chuckled. "Kalliandra, part of what makes this so difficult for Remus is that he is not entirely wrong to be concerned. This is not the first time he has transformed and nearly bitten a student. It is not as simple a matter as assuring him it will not happen again."
From the doorway, which she had left wide open, Crusatheus let out a brassy sounding 'clack' of agreement.
She closed her eyes, bit down on her lip, and tried not to hit something. She hated this.
Dumbledore continued on. "In time, Ms. Kaylens, I am certain he will come to realize the truth."
Her eyelids cracked to eye him. "And that is?"
He merely smiled benignly. "That we are always a danger to those we love, for the simple fact that when the cost of loving is the pain of inevitably losing. I am rather afraid, my dear, that none of us are getting out of this life alive."
She wanted to be angry, upset, but a slight sniff of humor escaped.
"True friends will go to any lengths to help each other, Kalliandra, even if that means sacrificing their own lives in exchange for another's. And Remus, regrettably, understands this point." Before she could even think to ask for clarification, he said, "He is afraid of that."
She got that. She did. She just wasn't quite ready to hear it, not when it struck so close to home.
There'd been a reason Dumbledore had paired her with Remus Lupin for tutoring, after all, and it wasn't simply because the wizard was a good teacher.
She was left with nothing to do but shake her head. "Can you at least give him this when you see him?" She extended a letter to him, it's addressee reading To The Obstinate Wolf.
Dumbledore smiled, blue eyes sparkling. "I'll see that he gets it."
ECOTS
Harry dropped his face against the desk, his ear bent at an awkward angle under his head, as his dank hair dripped all over his face. He didn't care. The water from his most recent shower eased the dull ached that had begun in his scar, and the light sizzling was almost soothing.
It served him right for trying to study.
Drip.
A bead of wax broke free from the glowing candle, falling to soak into the unsealed ridges of the oak desk. The impact sounded cavernous, his awkwardly bent ear amplifying the sound tenfold.
Across the common room, far from where he sheltered in the shadows of a single candle wick, the fire glowed warmly. Several straggling seventh years, no doubt putting in the extra hours for NEWT preparation, remained there, blissfully oblivious to the late hour.
Harry wasn't oblivious. He wanted to sleep, but since Voldemort was a dick that was about as likely as Cho Chang breaking into the common room and strolling up to him stark naked, before asking him if he'd like to throw down.
Voldemort was there, just beneath the surface of his mind, waiting like a rattler in tall grass. He wanted into Harry's mind, lurking like an ex you just couldn't quite shake, and even though Harry was doing his occlumency exercises he could still hear Voldemort's thoughts breaking through every so often.
Tell him the prophecy, and maybe he'd spare Hermione's filthy parents.
Harry wasn't stupid; they were as good as dead anyway, and he fucking hated it.
Fiery shadows danced across the open textbook in front of his nose, and he gritted his teeth to give Voldemort one last 'fuck you adieu' before shoving him out. Then he wearily rubbed his scar, trying to memorize the counter curse for one of the many crushing hexes.
The one he was looking at drove the air from the lungs slowly, patiently. Eventually the person could only claw at their neck in agony, blood vessels in their eyes bursting as oxygen left them. The black and white illustration showed a wizard captured in a silent howl, his fingers already falling limp around his throat.
He shuddered at the sight, not noticing the determined expression flitting across a face far across the room. He hadn't even known she was there, concealed as she was, lying on the floor across the common room, warming herself before the fire.
She made her way towards him, making up her mind.
"Hey Potter."
Her voice pulled him away from his thoughts and Harry swallowed hard, looking up as she slid into the seat before him. It was dark over here, shadows from the candle dancing across her face.
"Kaylens," he said, and his voice sounded off, heart hammering. Be it at her sudden interruption, Voldemort's jackhammering in his head, or the lovely textbook full of dying images he didn't know. "What are you doing here?" He slid a hand across the morbid photograph, staring intently at her.
She met his eyes for the first time in days, and fire danced in them. "Talking, Potter. Just talking."
His scar gave a dull pound, reminding him of his own fragile fucking friendly state. If Kaylens had thrown darts at a calendar in a misguided attempt to pick a date to chat, she couldn't have picked a worse one. Tonight was not the time, not even with her, whom he had grown curious about.
"You know," he stated carefully, watching her smooth her sleek locks behind her ears, "there's usually a reason for why someone sits clear across the room from everyone else."
She nodded, a whimsical frown tracing her features. "Oh? And what's that?"
"They're studying."
"Or they want to be left alone," she said, voicing his unspoken thought. "Believe me, Potter, I know you're not happy with me. I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important."
He was thrown. "I'm not unhappy with you," he said before he could stop himself. "I just don't understand why you're so hostile."
Her hands played at the base of the candle, picking at the solidified wax. It looked as if she were giving great consideration to her next words. "Honestly?" she said, and her voice was so quiet he could barely hear it. "I'm not good at letting people in. Haven't been for awhile, so…"
She trailed off, her crystalline eyes peering up at him in the firelight.
For a long moment Harry remained quiet. Very quiet. Finally he nodded, accepting this. "If that's the case," he questioned, voice rough with exhaustion, "then am I, or am I not, supposed to stay the hell away from you?"
She let out a sigh. "Potter I-"
"Don't worry about it," he cut her off. "If you suddenly became personable I'd think you were ill."
She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, fidgeting. "For someone who seemed eager to talk, you're certainly making this difficult."
He smiled forcefully at this, probably looking like a grim clown. "And that has nothing to do with you storming off, then refusing to come within a ten meter vicinity of me?"
"Touché," she murmured, "but right now this isn't about you or me, Potter. It's about Remus."
A green monster rose up. That tracked. Harry didn't know how Kaylens knew Remus, but the man apparently communicated with her better than him, his best friend's son. At least…he normally did.
But apparently he'd stopped, and he felt oddly good about that. For a change, he wasn't the only one being ignored.
"Won't respond to any of your letters either?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
She shook her head, her hair coming loose from where it lay tucked behind her ears, falling to lay artfully over her eyes. "He's started sending mine back."
He felt a small grin tugging at the edges of his lips. "Hedwig is persistent."
"An owl?"
He grunted in response, the ache in his scar was starting to burn again. Voldemort was being a serious bitch today.
"We can't just let Remus shut himself off, Potter. He-"
Harry didn't fully hear the rest of her statement. A daggering pain pierced his brow and a hate that wasn't his coursed through him. It was Voldemort. Voldemort was messing with his mind again and while Harry was cognizant enough to realize that, it also didn't stop him from wanting to kill something, anything, and right then Kaylens was the nearest thing.
He jolted forward, dropping his head into his hands and grimacing in pain. "Funny hearing you say that," he bit in a nasty sort of tone, "because isn't that what you're doing?"
His tone didn't affect her at all, but in between his fingers he saw a shrewd expression cross her face. "Do you want me to get Madam Pomfrey?"
Why the hell did Kaylens have to be observant?
"Why?" he grunted, hearing Snape growling at him from their lessons. Picture the wall you arrogant Prophet cover boy! Picture the bricks in detail! Their rough texture stretching infinitely upwards! That is the only way to create a wall of enough stability to keep the master of the invasive arts out! "Why would I want you to get the nurse?"
The pain was now coming in violent, angry waves. Kaylens needed to leave; she needed to leave now, but not to get the nurse.
"You're in pain Potter. I'll be-"
Before she could even move his hand had shot out like a lightning bolt, attaching itself to her wrist. "Don't get her. I'll be fine," he hissed lowly, not keen to attract the attention of the seventh years still down there. "Probably just a headache from talking with you."
And then an unpleasant sensation swept through him and the whole common room spun. It spun in a circle, only he was pretty positive that was against the natural laws of gravity and basic physics.
Kaylens pried his fingers off her wrist and got to the other side of the desk so fast she might as well have apparated. She was right next to him, talking, but he couldn't hear her. Harry was no longer there as his eyes flickered half shut, half seeing the wall Dumbledore and Snape had taught him to so carefully construct, half seeing Kaylens kneeling down beside him.
"Potter? Potter look at me," Kaylens spoke quickly, an unfamiliar edge to her voice. He waved her away, feeling her hands wrapping around his own. She had to leave.
Voldemort was prickling at the edges of his envisioned wall, nagini hissing and sinking her fangs into it over and over and over again.
The creature's voice filled his mind, green tendrils leaking through red brick.
Been sssstudying the dark artssss I sssssee. It'ssss about time you learrrrned, Harry. You sssshould join me Harry. Sssuch greatnessss we could acomplissssh.
With a jolt Harry slammed the book shut before Voldemort could see more of what he'd been studying.
"Sodding hell Potter of all the times," Kaylens murmured. He felt her arm sliding beneath his shoulders, a strange tingling trickling through him as he unconsciously leaned closer, allowing his body to sag against her as she hauled him up.
He lifted his eyes, finding her own surprisingly close, flickering with that unfamiliar concern. "Kaylens," he croaked, "you need to leave." A violent edge formed in his last coherent thought. He had nearly attacked Ron in a similar state, under Voldemort's egging influence. He needed her to get away from him, not help him.
Ah compannnnny. Voldemort sounded almost cheerful, and Harry felt his face unwillingly turning towards Kaylens to look at her. His vision swam with black and green spots, the world still turning as his skull burst in fireworks of pain again and again, but he had time amidst that to think that her profile was oddly pleasant.
Suddenly it was no longer him who was searching Kaylens' features.
Surprise, raw and undiluted, jarred him.
It wasn't his own.
Interesssstinnnng.
"Kaylens," he gasped, trying to shove her away. "Get the hell out of here."
She grimaced determinedly, kicking open the portrait door. He heard her shouting something about Pomfrey to someone, but their form was so blurry he couldn't make them out.
It doessssssn't matterrrrrrr who they arrrrre, Harrrrrrry. Who issss sssssssheeeee. I need moreeee.
"Leave..." he groaned, barely shoving the words out. She was dragging him down the hall now.
"Potter I'm not going anywhere," she got out, sounding strained.
It's good to know they have not messssed up assss badly assss believed.
Who messed up!? he thought, grasping lucidity, desperate to glean Voldemort's meaning.
Calling on his last ounces of mental reserves he dug his heels into the ground. He turned, squirming away from her, suddenly finding his own feet untrustworthy.
Harry collapsed to the stone floor, the torch lit halls a brilliant blur. If he'd ever gone drinking this was what it would be like: the entire world moving without his permission and a complete and total lack of coordination.
Who issss ssshe, Harry? What isss her name!?
Unable to tell the difference between speaking and thinking, his mouth opened to scream his own question into the dead of night.
Kaylens' hand clamped over his lips, and he found himself breathing in her skin, damp with perspiration and the waxy essence of the candle she had been fidgeting with mere moments before.
"Damn you Potter be quiet!"
He struggled and fumbled right into Kaylens, the witch oomphing as his back wound up in her face. "Potter!" she hissed, struggling, her chin coming to rest on his shoulder as she stilled him, frantic hushing sounds escaping her own lips.
Had she had a harsh edge to her? He could no longer remember.
Jussssst a name Harrrrrrry. What harrrrm everrrr came frrrrom a name?
Harry relaxed and went boneless, his full weight collapsing against Kaylens. He felt her arms stiffen and they collapsed back against the wall, Harry practically on top of her and not noticing.
Voldemort was making sense. It was just a name. The snake had wanted her name before too, when he'd invaded his mind back in Dumbledore's office, but Harry hadn't given it. That'd been rude. Of course Voldemort would want to know her name. Kaylens was bloody fascinating. He certainly thought so, even if she was infuriating.
Besides, what harm ever came from a name?
"Kalliandra Kaylens," he said druggedly.
"Glad to see you remember formalities. Now please get up, I'm not strong enough to drag you…"
A jubilant wave washed over him, so intense it drowned out every other word filtering through his auditory system. It was like a rubber band had snapped inside his head, a loud crack in his ears and a cold, cruel hissing erupting through every inch of him.
And then Voldemort was gone.
Just like that, Voldemort was gone.
With a sinking feeling Harry realized that he had just given the Dark Lord something he had very much wanted.
The feel of Kaylens' hands tugging up on his shoulders, the feel of her long hair brushing against his face as she leaned over him, the dark shadows of the deserted Hogwarts corridor...
Everything around him stopped spinning and came back into stark, clear focus.
His legs became his own again and with a jerk he yanked away, stumbling and scrambling away from her. His sudden departure knocked Kaylens backwards into the wall, the witch wincing as she slid down to the floor, a plume of dust rising up from the scuffle.
He rounded on her and failed to notice her expression. One thought was on his mind. One he had been putting off asking.
"Why would Voldemort want to know your name?" he demanded, the maniacal glint that always accompanied Voldemort's touch still in his eyes.
She sneezed from the dust and her golden hair fell limply into her face. "So we're at this again are we?" she asked. She lifted a single, shaking hand and brushed a long tress away from her nose, revealing the steely glint of her eyes.
Those golden, golden eyes looked incredibly suspicious.
"Yeah," he said, damn serious. "Yeah we are."
She pushed herself up slowly wincing as she did so. "Does that really require an answer then?"
"Where Voldemort's concerned? You're damn right it does."
They stared at one another, both expressions unreadable.
As they stood there, Kaylens on her feet, Harry couldn't help but notice that she wasn't exactly short. She wasn't overly tall, but she wasn't short. A couple inches shorter than himself. That was it.
An eternity passed by before she finally tilted her head to the side. "How much do you know?"
If hard pressed to put an emotion to her face, he'd have said she looked curious.
Harry swallowed tightly. "Enough to know he was all too happy to learn your name tonight." He knew the consequences of this, if horrible, would be his. It'd be his fault Voldemort knew her name, and that wasn't something he was eager to bear. Why the fuck Voldemort couldn't have learned her name all on his own – it wasn't like the student body was a secret – was another question entirely.
It made his head hurt, and Harry half wished that Kaylens would profess her loyalty to the Dark Lord into the night, just so he wouldn't have to worry about screwing her over.
Kaylens sucked in a breath, her entire demeanor seeming to change right in front of him. Her left hand was actually shaking. "What?"
He offered a grim smile to hide the fact that he was ready to beat his own head into the wall. "You heard me."
"Are you saying you told him? When could you have possibly-"
"Magic. You don't have to be in someone's physical presence to chat, Kaylens."
Why the hell he told her that he didn't know, but his voice had come out like acid, and for a second Kaylens just stood there looking stunned.
Harry remained silent. That was his only response. Guilt rose in him. Voldemort had wanted her name. Why?
This last thought was silenced by the way her eyes darkened icily onto him. "What else," she said, and her tone was slow and cold and dangerous, "did you tell him?"
His own hands, now balled in fists, shook with suppressed ire. He didn't answer her. Instead he snapped, "None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me, Kaylens. Why didn't you leave when I told you to?"
She shrugged one shoulder in an out of place manner, as if testing whether or not it still worked. "You looked like you were having a fit, Potter. I thought you needed the hospital wing."
"Whether I need the hospital wing is not your problem," he bit back, albeit too loudly. Someone was bound to hear, but he didn't care. Right now he almost pitied Filch if the squib showed up. He was liable to bite his head off.
"I see," Kaylens said, appraising him. "Well, you look okay now so..." She moved to walk past him, back towards where the Fat Lady's portrait observed in clear disapproval.
Once again, before he could stop himself, he had her wrist in his hands, spinning her around to pin her against the wall. He pressed his body against hers, their faces dangerously close. Her face remained an unreadable mask, save for the beads of perspiration glistening upon her forehead in the torchlight.
They stared at one another, each daring the other to speak. Releasing one of her wrists, he moved his hand to rest above her shoulder, cutting off any thought of her escape.
The tension was palpable, the threat implicit. He didn't know where it was coming from, but fuck if he didn't feel it.
Kaylens let out a shaky breath. "I said I understood Potter." Her breath was barely a whisper, and beneath his palm he felt her wrist cooling, the castle corridor's cool October air prickling goose bumps across her skin.
"No," he said quietly. "I don't think you do. Not really."
She breathed in deeply, her chest rising to press against his own for the briefest of seconds, but otherwise she didn't move. She didn't try. She just looked at him and let out an incensed breath.
"Fine. Care to enlighten me?"
He moved slightly, and a fringe of wet hair fell to conceal his scar.
The sizzling was instant and Kaylens eyes darted uncomfortably towards it.
Her challenging demeanor vanished, confusion flickering in her eyes. Her free hand unconsciously reached up, but he stilled her motion by aggressively grabbing and squeezing her shoulder blade.
She let out a pained sound and her hand dropped, instantly.
He'd been right. From the trembling of her left hand, the way she always seemed to rub at her shoulder unconsciously, there was something wrong with it.
He almost felt a stab of remorse for how he'd tested that theory.
Almost.
"I wouldn't recommend touching that," he warned, ignoring what he'd just done to her. If she couldn't take that, then what in the hell did she plan on doing when Voldemort got to her? "And do you have any idea what you're dealing with? I have a suspicion," he spoke mechanically, as if lecturing a small child, "that you don't. So I'm going to ask you one...more...time, Kaylens. What. Does. He. Want. With. You?"
Fire practically flashed in her eyes. "What makes you think that he wants anything with me at all?"
"Told you already, we have ways of chatting."
Her entire body tensed beneath his. "So you're involved with him?" There was a sharp demand there.
"Perceptive..." he muttered, leaning in to get a better look at her eyes, only stopping when he felt her breath brush across his chin. "But I never said friendly. You on the other hand openly admitted it."
"I'm pretty sure you heard what you wanted to hear, Potter."
He searched her eyes damn carefully. Snape had been right about one thing: legilimency was useful. It let you detect lies, and the eyes were the windows to discerning the truth.
"I have news for you," he whispered. "You said you would rather be a Death Eater than be like me. So you either are one, or you're fucking clueless about what a Death Eater is."
Her expression remained unfaltering for far too long for his tastes.
"Fine," he whispered. "Dumbledore seems to think you're alright, so here's what I think: you don't have a damn clue what one is. But given there's a war going on, how the hell do you manage that. Recluse? Victim? I'd think you were a Muggle if you hadn't personally hexed me in the damn back."
He waited, tense, and still Kaylens said nothing.
His expression grew tight. "There's also always option B. You could know exactly what it is and just be some naïve idiot that joined up with Riddle early on due to parents or whatever excuse you have, and now Dumbledore's hiding your ass after converting you to our side. So…." He leaned just an inch closer, "which is it?"
She turned her wrist in the confines of his loose grip, her skin brushing against his own. He could precipitate her reactions, being so close, his eyes locked onto hers. She was going to run. It was exactly how Snape had described it. He could feel what she was feeling, and right now…
It was fear.
He stared into her eyes for a moment longer, and then he lied through his teeth.
"Well if you don't want to tell me..."
He released her wrist before she could bolt. She eyed him with surprise and mistrust, never seeing his hand fall to rest on his wand.
She never got the chance to move.
"Legilimency," he whispered.
Her life... It all flooded his mind in one over powering wave. A swirl of events that were impossible to separate out at first.
And then one scream filled his mind with a blinding red hue, and it brought it all into stark clarity.
"JOSH!"
The swirl of images changed, becoming the congruent picture of Kaylens, her hair much lighter than he knew it would darken to become, approaching a door, answering it. She couldn't have been any older than ten or eleven.
And standing there, at the door, was a pale young man. He looked nervous, a purple turban on his head, and he brought up his eyes to look at her with a small frown.
"This wouldn't happen t-t-to be t-t-the home of Joshua K-k-kaylens would it?
Harry's stomach plummeted. He'd recognize that face anywhere.
He'd recognize it because he'd been the one to kill it.
Kaylens nodded at Professor Quirrell, and the man's smile seemed to falter. He seemed to look at Kaylens for a long time, his hand lifting to rub at the back of his head, seeming to be listening intently to some type of instruction.
Harry knew exactly who he was listening to. He and Kaylens were the same age. That meant this had to be the summer before he'd started Hogwarts, the summer when Professor Quirrell had taken a sabbatical to allegedly explore Albania, and this…
This had apparently been one of his stops.
But as far as Harry could tell this didn't look like Albania.
Professor Quirrell looked sadly at Kaylens and stuttered something completely and utterly chilling.
"T-t-then I am sorry about t-t-this my d-d-dear."
Quirrell's foot connected with the half-open door and sent it bulleting in to strike Kaylens in the face. She was thrown to the floor, the man whipping something out of his trench coat.
A wand.
Harry felt a stabbing horror as he realized what was about to happen. Quirrell's wrist already bore the dark mark, and with an air of calm he let himself into the house.
But this was Kaylens memory and it had not gone black. Blinding pain must have kept her awake. She lay on the foyer floor with a bloodied nose and a cut across her face, and Harry wanted to scream at her to run.
But she didn't, and Harry couldn't do anything to make her. This was history. There was nothing he could do to change that.
The guilt swirling in Kaylens mind was overpowering. It was so thick it gave the entire scene unfolding a blue-gray tinge, Harry feeling sick as he watched.
Quirrell shoved a foot against Kaylens back and stomped her back to the ground, pinning her to the floor. He may have had a nervous disposition but he was still a killer. She screamed, struggling, and Quirrell flicked a spell at her back that kept her there.
His former, now dead professor was looking down the hall expectantly, as if waiting for someone.
A golden haired man, only slightly older than they were now – perhaps eighteen or nineteen – came around the corner, rubbing tiredly at his face. "Kay, what the hell man? It's not even eight in the-"
The golden haired man's words froze as he blinked, seeing what was transpiring in his own house.
Kaylens screamed on the floor, her broken, bloodied nose rendering her warnings incomprehensible.
Quirrell seemed to be listening again and with another frown stuttered, "As you wish my m-m-master." He looked straight down the hallway at what had to be Kaylens' older brother and asked, "Are you J-j-joshua?"
He also yanked a buck knife out of his robes and showed it to Joshua, holding it awkwardly. Harry suddenly knew why: these were Muggles. They were Muggles and Joshua wouldn't have known what a wand was. He wouldn't have understood that a wand was a threat. He wouldn't have known to be afraid of it.
So instead Voldemort had told Quirrell to pull out a weapon that Joshua would recognize.
Kaylens' brother's face had twisted into raw and undiluted rage. "SEAN HIDE!" he bellowed to someone else in the house. And then the man moved and moved fast, grabbing something off a shelf-
Quirrell dropped a knee onto Kaylens back and shoved the knife to her neck in obvious threat. "I wouldn't d-d-do t-t-that if I were you."
Joshua froze and stared with undiluted hate. He held onto what looked like a large and heavy bowling trophy and every large muscle in this man's body was taut as a wire. "Let her go," he said coldly.
Quirrell shook the knife back and forth like he was scolding a naughty puppy. Kaylens was pinned by both a knee and magic, her breathing shaky and eyes filled with panic as she looked towards 'Josh.' Quirrell played with the buck knife, his dark mark still there on the wrist, and he quietly laughed.
The sound was a little mad.
"I'm s-s-sorry about t-t-this J-j-joshua, but I have t-t-to s-s-see if you are t-t-the one we n-n-need. And t-t-there is only one way t-t-to do t-t-that."
"You don't have to do this man," Josh said, holding his hands up calmly. "She's only eleven years old. Let her go."
"I d-d-did t-t-tell you I was s-s-sorry."
And then Quirrell calmly plunged the knife into the back of Kaylens left shoulder, raking a hard line down through her shirt, and Harry watched as her whole arm spasmodically twitched.
In a single moment of crystal cold clarity Harry realized why her hand shook so much; her nerves were damaged.
Kaylens screaming wracked his mind.
It all happened in under a second. The instant Quirrell had plunged the knife down Joshua had ran-
Quirrell's wand had flown out simultaneously, a searing purple piercing curse lancing out and spearing the man right through the abdomen.
The funny thing about being shot or cursed was that it didn't stop you cold in your tracks. A stunned look blanketed Joshua's face, and he hurtled forwards another few steps before his muscles went limp.
He dropped to the ground a mere meter from where Quirrell and Kaylens lay, his body undulating, jerking as blood bubbled out of his mouth.
Quirrell lowered his wand and watched as if completely and utterly fascinated. "How long my Lord?" he asked himself, closing his eyes and quietly listening as a hissing filled the air. He nodded several times, the movement jerky, and then he opened his eyes and watched Kaylens' older brother slowly die.
"I c-c-can fix it," he offered. "B-b-but you have t-t-to k-k-kill her first I'm afraid."
Harry's blood went cold.
Kaylens whimpered, sounding barely human as she gasped and bled. She was crying hysterically, pinned by magic and unable to move, forced to watch as her brother was asked to kill her.
Joshua crawled. A thick, crimson smear was left on the floor, and his hand stretched out.
"Yes," Quirrell encouraged, standing up and backing away with hasty, jerky movements. "T-t-that's it." His eyes shone eagerly and he caressed his wand as if fondling a prize.
But Kaylens never would have seen the wand; not from her position with her face smashed to the floor.
Her brother reached out-
"Yessss," Quirrell hissed, sounding almost serpentine.
-and clasped her hand tight.
Kaylens cried as her brother took a last, gurgling breath.
Professor Quirrell seemed to deflate, the eagerness vanishing. "He was not t-t-the one my Lord."
And then everything began to go black, Kaylens finally losing consciousness, and Harry-
Harry was gone.
Harry didn't go to another memory in her mind. Instead he was physically yanked, thrust out not by magic but by the savage grip someone had taken on the back of his robes, yanking him away from her. He staggered backwards, disoriented, and his arm knocked into the torch holder.
His sleeve was on fire, burning, the flames licking up his sleeve when someone knocked him down and doused him with water.
His charred skin throbbed, but not so much as his mind.
Kaylens stood motionless, still pressed against the wall, chalk white, silent tears streaming down her beautiful face. A single slender hand was clutching her shoulder. The same one he had grabbed roughly. The same one he had seen stabbed viciously.
It was as if he were seeing her for the first time.
"K-kaylens..." he whispered shakily, the word a half-plea.
"What in the bloody hell were you doing, Harry?!"
Harry rolled over to see Ron and Hermione, returning from nightly Prefect rounds, gaping at him. Hermione's wand was dripping water, while Ron's head darted back and forth between he and Kaylens, looking aghast.
A second later Kaylens had bolted away, disappearing through the fat lady's portrait. Harry could only groan, dropping his head back on the floor.
It took him a second, but he finally managed to croak out the words, "I was right before. She doesn't know what a Death Eater is."
Then the fiery pain from his scar renewed, and that was the last thing he remembered before blacking out himself.
