Author's Note: Revised as of January 2020.


Chapter 12 ~ Le Règne d'Enfer Commence

"The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic."
Joseph Stalin


ECOTS


The first thing he noticed was that the air was stale.

The second was he could still taste the wine on his tongue, and it still tasted good. Drugged or not.

No wonder Tonks had always mocked his own taste in liquor; he'd never had any. He'd never imbibed a wine quite as good as the one Lucius Malfoy had given him, and he suspected that was probably because a single bottle would have cost more than he scrounged in a year. The Malfoys, however, wouldn't bat an eye.

If only James or Sirius could hear him now. They'd no doubt devise a plan to secure an invite to the Malfoys, for the sole purpose of bombing the wine cellar.

Remus Lupin blinked in the darkness. The surroundings were unfamiliar and a cloaked figure waited in the corner eyeing him with unveiled distaste. It appeared that he had been propped up on the floor of some kind of subterranean tunnel, the dirt walls and ceilings covered in-

Remus stared.

Bones.

The walls were lined with human bones.

He sniffed.

It was stale and earthy all at once, with just a hint of dog that was a bit too ripe for anyone's good. The others were coming, obviously, just as he had. He knew that because he could smell them.

Remus Lupin had isolated himself for the past fortnight.

Lucius Malfoy had not given up on recruiting him. After all, there were only so many pureblood werewolves. Apparently they were so desperate they were now accepting half-bloods.

Blood purity check waived, only fluffy tails need apply.

Two days after the incident with Kally and Harry, he had received a blank envelope addressed to him, sealed with the Dark Mark.

After reading its contents he'd quite literally sat down on his couch and had a drink.

A very large, Tonks-sized drink.

It had been personally addressed to him from Lucius Malfoy.

The disturbing part was it had been logical.

Lucius stated that despite his stance in the war thus far, that the Dark Lord would be willing to offer him, and others like him, safe haven from the prejudiced Ministry. The Dark Lord was aware that the Ministry was short sighted, and if left in power it would cause the collapse of wizarding society. The Dark Lord was not some vile, power hungry creature as Dumbledore would have them believe. Instead Voldemort simply desired the betterment of wizarding kind. No more and no less.

In short, the Dark Lord sought to protect his larger family, and his larger family was wizarding kind - the purer forms.

But to do this the Ministry needed destroyed. You did not build beauty without imperfection by constructing it from a termite-ridden base. You had to first tear the imperfect structure down to its foundations, sterilize to ensure the pests were gone with no chance of infecting the new wood, and then and only then did you begin to rebuild.

The Dark Lord sought to ensure wizarding kind's continued evolution, so that they could all remain at the top of the food chain. As much as Dumbledore claimed Muggles were equals, they were not. Muggles posed a lethal threat – destroying the world with their fossil fuels, pathogens, wars, and overuse of resources – in a way that magical species did not.

Malfoy had gone on to cite and debunk other pro-Muggle arguments, chief amongst them that if it were not for breeding with Muggles that they would have died out long ago. But that, he assured him, was also misguided. Muggles could only ever serve as breeding vessels that diluted the blood lines. Magic was a dominant mutation. Mudbloods only carried one such allele. This meant that even a magically potent Mudblood would only have a fifty percent chance of having a magical child if they bred with a Muggle, and if they bred with a half-blood or pureblood there would be a chance that they passed on their filthy, dirty non-magical allele to their child, making their child heterozygous for magic.

Mudbloods were responsible for diluting the overall magical populations, because they were introducing non-magical genes into it, whether they knew it or not. They only continued to consistently have magical children thanks to the years of pureblood foresight, where they ensured through careful marriage planning that all their children retained two copies of the magical allele. They were a danger.

But breeding with other magical beings? Now that only served to enhance the blood lines with new forms of magic.

As such the Dark Lord was extending an invitation, a one-time offer of safe haven even to his former enemies, to come and hear him out, to consider joining his side, and he would tell them all they needed at a hearing of sorts.

The forum was to take place on October 30th at an unspecified location. All he had to do was respond and partake of the wine offered when a 'guide' came for him.

Malfoy had included enough detail for it to be almost tempting, yet failed to include anything that would give the Order and Dumbledore information they didn't already know.

In response to the missive Dumbledore had asked him to do one thing: to join them, temporarily, so they could see how they intended to coerce other beings to side with the dark.

Remus had struggled with it. He'd struggled and had stayed in isolation longer than he would have wanted. He had not wanted his affections for Harry, Kally, or Tonks, especially Tonks, to sway his decision.

And now here he was, underground.

He'd obviously made a choice.

With a groan he clambered to his feet, right as the other werewolves began emerging from various offshoots from the central tunnel. He smiled grimly, but offered no attempt at interaction. Perhaps he should have felt adrenaline, nerves, something, but in truth he did not. He had already lost so many in his life that death seemed almost a welcome reprieve, even if it would mean leaving a few more behind. Regardless, it gave him the unique advantage of not being afraid when he otherwise should.

In the meantime he would take mental notes for Dumbledore, so he could tell him as much as he could if he survived this.

Remus knew where he was. Human femurs had been imbedded into the dirt walls, the leg bones supporting a long line of skulls that kept silent watch over the subversive passage. Ribcages and skeletal hands with the fingers splayed out lined the ceiling, the ribs bowing out and down like decorative art. Cool water dripped rhythmically down from between the bones, and it was all disturbingly beautiful.

There was only one place in the world that flaunted such morbidity: deep beneath the streets of Paris, the bones of over sixty million had been repurposed. Their skeletons disassembled, grouped systematically to form walkways, a remnant of a darker time.

Upon drinking the drugged wine, the Death Eater had said he would awaken in the Empire of Death. Only now did he understand what he had meant.

A heart shape, shaped out of human skulls, lay set into the walls of the Paris catacombs besides him. It was a standing remnant of the macabre sense of humor that stretched endlessly into the darkness, and one of the other wolves undid his zipper and whipped it out to take a piss right into the center of it.

Remus looked away in disgust

This was a perfect meeting place; it was public, isolated, and gothic.

Not to mention it was underground so the noise would not carry, and the corridors created an enviable labyrinth. It was doubtful that anyone would be there to witness their dealings, and if any of them tried to leave before the Dark Lord allowed it they would surely get lost, get caught, and be appropriately dealt with.

He rather imagined they'd simply eat the meat from the flesh, and then shove their bones in the walls to join the others.

"Ah, if it isn't the half blood," Lucius said in an overly articulate voice. "After our last meeting I must admit, I am surprised to see you here. I assumed you lacked the constitution for such dealings."

Remus figured this was Lucius' way of saying he had small balls. Unfortunately the entitled pureblood was wrong; he had balls of iron, or so Tonks kept implying.

Lucius stepped forth from a shadowed corridor, dropping his hood to reveal white blond hair as he inclined his head in standard pureblood greeting.

Remus gave him a tight lipped smile. "Don't be an idiot, Lucius." So much for niceties, not that they would believe otherwise. "You and I both know I'm only here because I'm desperate."

The pureblood gave him an appraising look, before reaching forth a cloaked hand to beckon the others forward. It was like the walls themselves moved; half a dozen other figures emerging melting out of the dark, the fabric of their cloaks rustling like shadows as they came forth.

They formed a circle around him, a dozen pairs of hungry, amber-tinted eyes studying him with barely concealed disdain.

"Who's the gaunt one?" growled one with shocking red hair, and Remus distinctly saw the glint of a fang beneath the hood.

How did they have a fang?

"The gaunt one," Lucius told, sounding bored, "is a poorly paid half-blood who was a friend of the Potters." Glacial eyes shifted towards him like a changing tide. "Of course, can you really call them friends? They were rather quick to assume you a traitor, happy to cast a loyal hound out. But," he pressed, his fingers rubbing along the shining part of a cane, "we can hardly fault James Potter for that. His thinking had been tainted by that filthy Mudblood wife of his, after all. You so should watch who you lay down with, lest you wake up with fleas."

Inwardly Remus cringed. James and Lilly he had loved, but Sirius had confirmed for him that that was the reason. That they had assumed he'd betrayed them due to his werewolf status.

His friends, his best friends, one that had risked everything to become animagi for him, that had spent moon after countless full moon with him, had assumed he'd betray that kindness all because Voldemort had dangled an invitation before him.

Well, now he had. Only it was not a change of heart that had led him here, but a request from Dumbledore.

Even Snape had been blocked out, left in the dark about these meetings.

All these thoughts shifted about in Remus Lupin's mind, and the man let out a pained breath. "I hardly required the reminder, Lucius. I already know how this world thinks."

"Spaaaaaare us the speech wolf," interrupted the one who had brought him there. "What we need to know is if we can trust you?"

"Of course we can't," Lucius drawled, "but we can make him one of us. And once that is done then we might consider allowing him to be within our Lord's presence."

An alarm went off in the primitive region of his brain. "Explain," he said, maintaining firm and solid eye contact with Lucius, the obvious alpha. "I was under the impression I would be meeting him today."

A laugh erupted dully, the thick layers of soil absorbing the sound. "As if we would allow you an easy attempt at his life. Our Lord is willing to extend you his courtesy, not his trust. First….you will have to change."

"If you don't trust me how do you plan on accomplishing that?" Remus countered.

And then Lucius smiled one of those cold, cruel, sinister sort of smiles that would send saner men running. "Oh, why I'm so glad you asked." He withdrew a silver flask from his pocket, tossing it to him.

Remus caught it with his shirt sleeve, uneager to come in contact with the forbidden metal.

"Tsk, tsk. Not too trusting are we blood traitor?" Lucius chided.

"Not really."

"It's platinum. Wouldn't want to be carrying around something deadly now would we? Remember, I share the same curse as you."

Remus scoffed. "By choice."

"Ahh... Still looking at it as a burden rather than the power it is?"

"You said you'd give me a reason to think of it otherwise."

"That I did. Now drink it," Malfoy ordered.

He eyed the solid flask distastefully, uncorking it to sniff. "What's in it?"

The Death Eater that had brought him there smirked. "You drank the other substance without question."

Remus shrugged. "You're not about to kill a potential ally before you have time to try and turn them, now are you?"

Lucius laughed. "Always the shrewd one."

"It keeps me alive."

"So. It. Does," he said coldly. "That substance," Lucius indicated the flask, "will assure that you are one of us. But once you drink it, there is no going back."

Remus eyed him with distrust. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that you will gain the ability, like most of us here, to transform at will. The moon will no longer hold full power over you. That will serve as our Lord's more than generous gift, to you." He spun the silver-colored end of his cane between his fingers. "Even though you are nothing more than a blood traitor."

His mind spun. A cure? There was a cure? Could it be possible that Voldemort, of all people, had developed a cure to the monthly changes?

But from the description it sounded less a cure, and more of a way to make it more dormant.

Anything that came from Voldemort had to be poison, so he looked at the vial in hand, then back at Lucius. "And?" he challenged.

Lucius tilted his head in mock amusement. "You mean to tell me that you don't wish to be surprised?"

"I'd prefer to avoid it," he stated, glancing around the group of human wolves. This was not as planned, nor as the letter had said, but both he and Dumbledore had expected as much. Holding a central meeting that was discussed via letter, when there was so much opportunity for enemies to attempt infiltration, seemed far too cavalier a move for Voldemort to pull.

But this? Pre-screening those who he may wish to eventually meet with? Yes, this tracked.

"Are you planning to tell me, Lucius?" He held the vial up, the platinum dark in the shadows. "I'm here out of desperation and not fully in. So trust works both ways. What will it do?"

Lucius had begun to pace down the tunnel, his spindly fingers reaching out to trace along the collarbones of long dead victims, but at this he halted. "Once it has been consumed," he stated, "you will know what the taste of human flesh is like." His pale eyes shone with a homicidal glean. "They say once you know, there is absolutely no substitute," several growls of agreement came from around them, "no chance of going back. You will crave it forever, endlessly, and your precious Mudblood lovers will never accept you once they know that all you desire in your every waking hour is the fresh taste of human meat."

Remus felt his insides run cold. Now there was a catch neither Dumbledore nor himself had thought of. It was too perfect really. They didn't trust him, and they would give him something that would make him crave human flesh so much that he was bound to join their side, regardless of his intentions upon first coming there.

"I told you," snarled a woman's voice. She must have seen his hesitation, smelled his fear. "It was a mistake bringing him here."

Remus knew what he had to do. He only hoped his will was strong enough to never cave.

He turned to the unnamed witch, and then wordlessly tilted the flask to his lips, drinking it down.

For an instance…there was nothing.

And then there was.

It was like being set on fire, only to get doused, then set on fire again. Remus' throat erupted in a vicious howl as it slid down his esophagus and began infiltrating his cells right there, before it ever had a chance to reach his stomach. The potion burned and then churned in his stomach, an instant shot of magic blasting through every cell in his body like the virus that had altered his DNA to begin with.

Every bone in his body simultaneously broke, then snapped back into his place. His back arched with so much violence it nearly severed his spinal cord, Remus screaming unearthly sounds as he collapsed and writhed on the ground. Clay got in his mouth, dirt in his throat, the wizard choking as his teeth shot out into enlongated points, piercing his lower lip, and his neck broke and healed and broke again.

Remus screamed until there was nothing left. He screamed until cardiac arrest was imminent. He screamed as every cell in his body was changed, the pain intensifying until he blacked out.

But when he awoke, drenched in sweat, an indeterminable amount of time had passed.

Lucius Malfoy was the only wolf to remain, but as Remus lay there, panting for air, he felt something new, something strong.

Liquid fire flowed through his veins, his molecular make up changed, and then….

A delicious, tantalizing taste filled his mouth, leaking over his tongue, overwhelming his senses to the point that the tunnel disappeared and he nearly lost himself to it. Hazel eyes rolled back, the wizard licking his lips as his canines remained long and sharp. And a hunger…

A hunger, powerful and poignant, filled him.

This was what his kind had been meant to feel all along. Now he understood what power it was to be the beast he was, even as his consciousness screamed out the consequences, his hunger beckoned.

He tilted his head back and howled.

Lucius stepped forward, a wolf like snarl on his face. "Welcome..."

"Brethren."


ECOTS


The rain hammered down, darkening the tombstones. A small girl was crouched besides one, sheltering beneath the comforting dryness of her star speckled umbrella, her braids flapping lightly in the wind. The resemblance to her mother was striking.

Watching the child kneel, Tonks barely restrained her own tears.

Emily Bothan had just asked her mother to come home soon; she missed her bedtime fairy tales. While she told her mother's slab of stone this, Emily meticulously arranged, then rearranged, the flowers in the bouquet her father and her had brought.

Mummy only deserved the best.

Emily has said so herself, when she had spent the better part of an hour searching the floral boutique, seeking out the perfect arrangement of irises and hydrangeas; they were 'mummy's favorites.'

Tonks sniffled, allowing the light breeze to inconspicuously dry her eyes.

"You saved my daughter's life," came a voice from beside her. "For that, I owe you mine."

The thin line of Kenneth Bothan's lips gave away his carefully hidden despair. He was a man of private mourning.

She shook her head, her short pink hair rustling in the wind. "Absolutely not, Mister President. If anything your daughter saved my-"

"Kenneth. Please," he implored, his dark eyes never leaving the small form of his daughter. "If anyone has earned the right to dispense with formalities it is you."

Tonks smiled sadly, not agreeing. The fiasco had been entirely her fault. Her own incompetence had led to why his young wife, his teenage sweetheart, lay beneath his daughter's small feet.

"If anything Kenneth, your daughter saved mine. She has the bravery of one three times her age."

"Like her mother," he whispered, looking loving upon his little girl, who was now recanting the events of her week into the grass.

The rain pattered down as if the heavens themselves wept.

One day, Tonks realized, the loss would hit Emily. But for right now, she was grateful that the child could still smile, for her father's sake. Because when she looked at Kenneth, she could tell he needed his little girl to remain just that: little. She prayed to Merlin that Emily would never show the scars of what she had gone through.

"It's such a shame," Kenneth remarked, gesturing to his daughter, drawing her from her thoughts, "that it takes something like this to happen, before wizards will let someone know of their existence, or of any danger from them."

She paused thoughtfully. "You were a history major. I trust that you are familiar with the Salem witch trials?"

President Bothan nodded, but a thick furrow creased his forehead. "Yes, of course."

She smiled ruefully. "That's why. We're afraid of what Muggles would do to us. Even we can fall victim to guns."

Kenneth Bothan sighed. "Part of me understands, but it still saddens me." His brow wrinkled further, pain etched in every line. "All the misunderstanding between both our kinds...had I only known beforehand I would never have let Emily's party occur. We could have remained inside. My family would have been better protected."

"They still would have found you," she said carefully. "When the monster we spoke of wants to hurt someone, he will, no matter what the obstacle or cost."

Kenneth nodded sadly. "I suppose I knew that. Hindsight is 20/20."

The rain was letting up, a soft scent wafting towards them, one that had nothing to do with the flowers speckling the lonely cemetery.

Irises.

Kenneth tilted his head to the sky, breathing deeply. Sometime in the future, he would swear to Tonks that sometimes, like right then, that he could still smell his wife's favorite flowers in the breeze.

Watching him now, Tonks was thankful the Order had granted her and several other members permission to remain with him and his daughter as a rotating guard. Voldemort had made one play to instigate war between the Muggles, and once he picked a target, once he decided that you had to die, he didn't forget.

She had a horrible feeling that the Bothan's would need protection for a long time.

As if reading her thoughts, little Emily glanced up from beneath her umbrella and looked Tonks directly in the eyes. "Yup, we will!"

Ice flooded Tonks' veins, while Kenneth frowned. "Now whatever do you supposed that was about?" he asked.

Tonks was almost afraid to know.


ECOTS


Hogsmeade felt oddly depressing.

That in itself was depressing, because Hogsmeade at Halloween was – according to the Weasley twins – just short of sex when it came to a 'good time'. Pumpkins and colorful foliage collected from the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest adorned nearly every available surface, conjured bats swopped low over High Street, and the entire pub smelled of apples and cider.

He was enjoying absolutely none of it.

Harry hung his head over his butterbeer, not hearing a word Luna said. He had tuned her out when she had started talking animatedly about a special edition of the Quibbler, one that was all about Cornelius Fudge's army of heliopaths and how they had drowned in a freak toilet flood accident.

The gentle chime of bells drew his attention to the door of the Three Broomsticks, just in time to see Kaylens, Dean, and Neville walk in, their hair windswept from the rough fall breeze sweeping Scotland that afternoon. As usual Kaylens' jumper was too large, the fabric hanging clear down to her knuckles, and Dean wasted no time in plucking a leaf off her sleeve.

He couldn't help but let his gaze travel down to her hand, his eyes hardening as he saw that her fingers trembled ever-so-slightly.

Kaylens looked up.

Harry instantly looked down into his mug and felt his stomach churn.

What the hell had he been thinking?

That was just it. The last time he'd seen her, he hadn't. He had been suffering the familiar after effects of Voldemort invading his mind, and those included everything from temporary insanity to violence.

Needless to say, forcibly getting the information he wanted out of her had seemed like a good idea at the time.

But it hadn't been; it hadn't at all.

Hermione and Ron had seen the entire thing, turning the corner right as he shoved Kaylens against the wall, hissing "Legilimens". Hermione had gone on a tirade about there being no excuse for such a violation of personal privacy, and after he'd blacked out for all of thirty seconds he'd stumbled to his feet and run after Kaylens to apologize.

That had done the opposite of helping.

Particularly when he had grabbed her, desperately trying to get her to stop, to make her understand that he had not been in his right mind, only to find out that she had a rather nasty right hook.

"Harry, why don't you just apologize?"

Luna's voice got through to him, and he turned a startled face to her. "Not sure what you mean," he said, fidgeting with his mug. Feigning stupidity was better than re-hashing it; any of it.

Luna smiled, looking rather intently at something just over his head. "Harry, if you like her, apologize. It's as simple as that."

"What!?"

Judging from the odd stares they were getting, it was possible that his voice had come out a little louder and higher pitched than necessary.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Luna I don't like her. I just feel bad becau-" He stopped, his elbows slowly crushing several decorative leaves. "Wait," he asked, "how did you know I had something to apologize for?"

Luna's expression changed, her normally dreamy countenance gone, if only for a second. She looked like she was about to lecture a small child. "Every time we've seen her recently she hasn't glared, she just pretends you're not there," she stated simply. "Before you both took every chance to be at each other's throats. It really is rather obvious, Harry."

Luna's dreamy demeanor returned, and she opened her purse, withdrawing a lime green straw. "Plus she just walked in, and now you're staring into your butterbeer. You used to watch her you know. Or didn't you?" She looked up, puzzlement gracing her face. "With you it's hard to tell what you are or are not aware of."

Before Harry even had a chance to marvel at her astuteness, Luna had begun asking what kind of eulogy a heliopath would like at its funeral.

"I wonder if their flames go out when they die? If not then their burial methods would have to differ from our own, since they would burn right through their casket."

"I guess you'll have to get a hold of one of their bodies to find out," he commented cynically.

Luna looked scandalized. Indeed, she was shaking her long, dirty blond hair with such vigor that it knocked over her drink. She didn't seem to notice.

"Oh no Harry," she said very seriously. "Daddy would never disrespect one of their bodies. Just because they're a different species doesn't mean they should be less entitled to proper mourning."

He was so distracted by the absurd turn of conversation that he failed to notice Ginny until she dropped down next to Luna, grinning from ear to ear.

"So Harry, I heard Ron gave you detention," she said nonchalantly, giving Luna a quick one armed hug. "Shocking isn't it? Considering how he's never exactly been the model Prefect."

Harry nodded miserably, longing for a return to the heliopath conversation. Anything was better than talking about this again.

Luna nodded absentmindedly. "Harry was just thinking of apologizing to that...well what would you call her hair color?" Luna seemed to ponder this for a second before shaking out her own dirty blonde mane. "Fourteen carat I suppose, but I think Harry's having a hard time getting up the nerve to talk to her."

Harry gaped. Since when had he been considering doing that? "Her hair's golden, not-"

He realized what he had been about to argue and wisely shut up.

Ginny outright smirked.

Harry groaned and rubbed at his face. "Can we just-can we drop it?" he practically begged them.

Ginny shot him a sympathetic look, and then folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. "No, sorry Harry."

He contemplated doing Riddle a favor and offing himself then and there. The killing curse couldn't be that hard to cast could it? Just a wand to the head and-

"But I can't say I blame you," Ginny had continued, eyeing Kaylens like she was an extra special sort of venomous viper. "She doesn't seem particularly friendly even if Dean likes her." Her brown eyes whipped back to him. "How's the eye by the way?"

His head shot back up instantly. Was there anyone who didn't know about that?

"Don't worry Harry. The only ones who know are us three, Kally, Dean, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Seamus," Ginny said, ticking them off her fingers. "No one would have found out if that git of a brother of mine hadn't blabbed."

Harry fought the urge to kick something.

The table leg was saved by Seamus' arrival. He had been getting butterbeer for himself and Ginny. "Heya, Harry."

He grunted in response.

Seamus chuckled, brushing his sandy bangs from his eyes. "Heard Kaylens decked yaaaRH!"

Seamus' yell of pain was preceded by a loud THUNK from beneath the table, and a scolding look from Ginny.

His Irish housemate was rubbing his shin rigorously. "Sorry... Couldn't resist ya know? Dean and I have had this running point system between you twooOW! Will you stop that Ginny?"

Harry shot her a grateful look, to which she inclined her smirking head.

By this point Luna's ever-present dreamy look had once again vanished, for she was clutching her stomach with laughter, pounding a fist on the table, making quite a scene as she ceased to restrain her laughter.

"So glad my life's entertained everyone this week..." he muttered hollowly.

He spent the rest of the conversation sneaking surreptitious looks across the relatively empty pub at Kaylens. Dean and Neville seemed to be debating something, and he thought he caught the words 'bloody thestral' more than once, while Kaylens stirred her cider, sipping it through a straw like Luna, looking for all the world as if she were not listening to a single word her companions were saying.

Hands dropped onto his shoulders.

Harry about jumped out of skin, startled. Ginny just smirked. The witch had leaned down next to him, using his shoulders for balance. He hadn't even noticed Seamus get up.

"I'm not sure what's going on between you and Ron, but the git will come around, and everything will be okay," she said this so quietly only he heard. "Just remember, I'm not just his little sister, I'm yours too. So long as you forget I used to have a crush on you, because otherwise what I just said would be creepy."

Harry's mouth flapped.

She chuckled, then squeezed his shoulder lightly, re-joining Seamus, where the wizard had been patiently waiting several meters away, just far enough to have given her the privacy she had requested.

Harry watched them for a long second, Ginny's bright red hair tossed over her shoulder as she linked arms with Finnegan.

A warm feeling billowed up inside. She was right, maybe not right now, but when this was all over things would be okay.

He watched her wink over her shoulder, before sauntering out into the blistering wind, her red hair swirling around like a wild tornado.

He smiled stupidly.

He had a little sister, regardless of what Ron currently thought.

The thought was comforting, and he hailed Madam Rosmereta's new waitress, a small, happy looking brunette, over.

There was nothing he could or would do about Ron and Hermione, at least not right now, but a new resolve to fix the things he had legitimately screwed up had been awakened. It would be hard, and he would probably wind up getting decked again, but it was worth a shot.

Luna smiled knowingly, humming Weasley is our King far too loudly for anyone's taste but his.

Except at the moment he thought it should be more along the lines of Weasley is our Queen.


ECOTS


Drip.

A single droplet, clinging to the earthen ceiling of the catacomb, broke free.

"It's time."

Plunk.

Remus caught the raw slab of meat that was thrown his way, not sickened as the four other werewolves with him dug in, watery blood dripping down their humanoid chins.

"Dig in Wolf boy. You're going to need your strength for this," Nott chided.

He eyed Nott with distaste. He preferred Wolfy, only from Tonks' lips.

He let her name fade, giving in to the irresistible craving he had been fighting since dawn. Ever since he had drank that cursed potion.

It was a craving for blood that would not go away, and for the dozenth time that day he extended his canine fangs.

Only now he was using them to tear the proffered flesh, instead of just practicing his transformations, hoping Dumbledore could concoct a cure for this horrid craving he would now deal with.

His eyes rolled back, the pleasurable taste consuming him.

For a moment, the only thing that mattered was the meat in hand. The thought of protecting the innocents was forgotten.

Drip.

Now the blood dripped from his own mouth as well.


ECOTS


Sensory overload wasn't strong enough a term for Hogsmeade.

It wasn't. Despite Dean and Neville attesting that it was 'great' and that she was 'going to love it', all she noticed was the sheer number of people there. It wasn't as bad as Diagon and Knockturn Allies, but there was still an uncomfortable number of witches and wizards in one place, bustling about, and it made her undeniably nervous.

But acting like she was used to magic was part of blending, so here she was.

Kally sat in the wooden seat and shifted uncomfortably, thinking nice, soothing thoughts about fleeing to her dorm. Potter couldn't follow her there, let alone see her, which he definitely was right now.

She'd seen him the second they'd walked in, the wizard seated in the shadowy rear of the pub, and ever since he'd been casting random glances at her.

But Potter was not someone she wanted to think about right now.

She forced herself to relax, her elbows propping her up. She, Dean and Neville were sitting three in a row at the bar's counter, and she cast a glance down it as Neville continued talking about the magical plants he'd seen over summer break, on some sort of vacation to Spain.

Apparently some twisted form of venus fly trap could actually sing, and if you heard its voice it would convince you to kill whomever was closest.

Well, wasn't that comforting? And Remus had wondered why she'd thought the entire wizarding realm was insane.

She stirred her straw in her empty, bear-sized mug. It was a nervous habit she had picked up as a child, when she used to twist them into random configurations. Sean used to hate it, so she'd do it more, and it'd inevitably devolve into a swatting match.

She'd give nearly anything to be able to do that again. But she couldn't, because he was dead, killed by people like the ones she was surrounded with.

A sharp nudge caused her elbow to slip and a shooting pain shot up her arm. She sucked in a breath, casting an annoyed look at her housemate, but Dean Thomas was impervious.

He shot her a lopsided grin. "You look like you're off in your own little world there Kaylens. I didn't drag you forcibly out of the castle for nothing today, so being a mute will just not do."

If possible, Dean's grin had grown even more crooked with his words, and a painful stab ached in her stomach.

The resemblance his smile had to Sean's was striking.

She hated it.

She also gravitated to it.

He shot her an expectant look and she shrugged, knowing full well he was about to start prodding Neville. Dean was someone who seemed to think that it was his personal mission to make everyone around him laugh, and her stony silence was probably pushing him to the brink of insanity.

Their daily standoff had become a strange type of game between them.

"Well look at this Nev," he commented predictably, nudging Neville so hard that the poor boy almost fell from his stool. "We've got ourselves a mute. I guess that means she can't back talk now can sh-"

"Don't even try it," she threatened, though her words held no weight. "Besides, you already owe me for actually leaving."

Not only had he been insistent about her needing to chat, but he had adamantly refused to leave the castle for this 'so-called' day of freedom in Hogsmeade, without her.

How Dean had convinced Neville to help in that endeavor was beyond her.

In the end, she had gotten sick of Dean's persistence and given in.

The counter vibrated as the Three Broomsticks' waitress magicked three butterbeers to them with a loud thud. The liquid frothed a bit around the edges.

Catching their questioning looks the young witch flashed a dazzling, dimpled smile. "Courtesy of the gentleman in the back."

She eyed the new butterbeer with a profound sense of distrust, before exchanging glances with Neville and Dean. Then she spun around on the bar stool, catching sight of the only patrons still back there.

She was hallucinating, obviously. Kally blinked, then looked at the counter to make sure the frothing mug was still there, and it was. Then she blinked again and looked back towards Potter, and unfortunately he was still there too.

It felt like her stomach wasn't right, her hand actually shaking.

No sodding way in hell.

After what he'd done? She knew everything he'd seen – everything – and she wanted to erase it from his mind so that he'd forget he'd ever known her. But she couldn't do that, and she doubted there was a spell for it. Even wizards had to know scrambling someone's brains was a seriously bad idea.

Potter seemed to be staring rather determinedly forward, talking with a blonde haired girl Kally had seen in passing, and for some reason she just about snapped.

She snatched up the butterbeer before Dean could do something reasonable – like stop her – and stormed away from the startled Gryffindors towards Potter. She vaguely heard Thomas snicker, offering Neville a bet on something she didn't quite catch.

She'd deal with that later.

Ducking under a floating and petrified cat, someone had obviously gotten pissed at it, she came to an abrupt halt in front of him, slamming the mug down so hard that the liquid sloshed over the sides, joining the already pooling puddle on his table.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" she demanded, not bothering to keep it down.

The girl with him smiled dazedly, humming some unrecognizable tune, and Kally suppressed the urge to stare her down. But the most infuriating thing was Potter himself.

He looked rather pleased, though she could not deduce why, since she was within half an inch of using the only hex she was capable of on him.

"Buying you a drink," he replied steadily, wiping at the mess she had made with a spare napkin.

"Oh?" She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "And why's that? So you could lace it with truth serum and interrogate me in that swarthy pub down the street? I must admit, Potter, if that's the case you're losing your touch."

She leaned down till their faces were level, using the table for balance. "After all," she hissed quietly, ignoring the blonde's expression, "why drug someone for information when you can just hex it out of them?"

Potter continued wiping at the table, and this time he was unable to meet her eyes.

"SLAM!"

Kally jumped, but Potter's mouth actually twitched. The blonde had just slammed her hands down on the table top like an excited four year old. The girl's protuberant blue eyes were now so wide they looked ready to pop right out of her skull.

God she hoped that wasn't an actual thing witches could do.

"Harry, you wouldn't mind if I excused myself would you?" she said excitedly. "All this tension could attract an Ira, and I want to be in the best spot to see one."

Without waiting for an answer the girl stood, not noticing their identical expressions of bewilderment, and began shoving spare straws into her lime green purse, speaking in a far off voice.

"You can only see one in your peripheral vision you know. It's why daddy hasn't gotten a good picture of one yet, but I'd so love to see one..."

The girl marched off to the other side of the pub, turned to face the wall, and stared blankly at it. Kally caught a few glimpses of pale blue eyes flickering their way, and each time this happened the blonde would grunt unhappily, stamp her foot, and resume staring at the wooden siding as if frustrated.

What the hell was that abou-

"Look Kaylens..."

His intrusion brought her back to the situation at hand, and she narrowed her eyes. "Ah your famous line. So which personality do I get today Potter? Concerned man or asshole? Because really, this split personality thing is getting to be a bit of a headache."

Potter drew in a deep, audible breath. "I tried to apologize for that once already," he said, sounding like he was fighting to not grind his teeth, "and it's a bit hard to explain, but I wasn't exactly myself when I did that."

"Did it ever occur to you, in that thick skull of yours, that I might not give a damn whether you apologized or not?"

His expression darkened, the damp napkin dropping with an audible thump. "After you stormed off that day by the lake actually, yes, it did occur to me."

Kally's mouth fell open and she found she couldn't talk. The lake. That stupid sodding lake. He'd followed her out there and been so-so-

She didn't even have a word for it!

Nice. She didn't want to say nice, because that would do strange things to her stomach and she wanted nothing to do with that. "I'm glad to see you're not quite that oblivious then," she said calmly. "Besides, I think by now any fabricated apologies would be a moot point."

She felt more than heard him drawing in a deep, frustrated breath; just like she felt him, more than saw him leaning closer to where she stood. "I wasn't lying when I said I was sorry for all of those other things Kaylens."

He spoke so seriously, too seriously for someone their age. He searched her face, his green eyes like lasers, and suddenly she was the one who felt uncomfortable.

"And I didn't even get the chance to apologize for the other night," he continued, his Adam's apple rising rhythmically. "Since I didn't fancy getting decked again, I figured sending you a drink was the best apology I could come up with on short notice." He paused, his lips twitching into a hesitant smile. "At least the best one that could keep me a safe distance away, while getting you to come over here."

She arched an eyebrow disbelievingly, eyeing the mug a bit too carefully. "Oh? So you thought buying me a drink would make up for that then?" she mused aloud.

He began to shake his head in the negative, but she cut him off, the full weight of his insulting, woefully inadequate gesture sinking in. She felt sick. Absolutely and completely sick as she recalled the way he'd shoved her against the wall, pressing close, his hands on her, all before he'd let her go and shoved a wand to her head.

The fact that she'd liked some of it had made it all so, so much worse.

A surge of anger flared in her.

"Look Kaylens," he said far too calmly, still looking at her with that sodding look that made her want to actually listen, "will you just sit with me so I can try and expla-"

Impulsively she snatched up the mug, expelling its contents all over him, a sopping, frothing mess now staining the front of his shirt.

Harry Potter sat there, blinking like he'd been slapped, and spat a bit of froth out of his mouth.

Her hand shook as bad as her voice. "That's what I think of your pathetic apology," she muttered. "Enjoy."


ECOTS


Harry sat there sputtering. Of all the ways he had seen that possibly playing out, this had not been one of them. That was a mark of how little he understood about women.

Sitting there, stunned and sopping wet, he felt too shocked to respond effectively. Instead his eyes fell upon her delicate left hand, hanging limply at her side.

It was shaking.

Inside he felt a horrible, twisting sensation, recalling precisely why it did that. How the fuck had he never noticed?

His mouth flapped wordlessly as Kaylens snapped and turned to leave, but his words never reached her ears.

Madame Rosmerta's alarmed shout stole the words straight from his throat.

"Lara what are you doing?!" Rosmerta questioned shrilly. Her eyes were fixated in confusion upon the young waitress, the friendly one from whom he had ordered drinks earlier.

That same dimpled girl now had her wand drawn, a blank expression drawn upon her features, striking a horrifying similarity to a porcelain doll. And the girl did not blink, not once as a mechanical word left her mouth. "Stupefy!"

As if in slow motion Rosmerta fell, the owner disappearing behind the counter. The glass she had been cleaning took flight, hovering in mid-air for a small eternity, before breaking free of its unearthly suspension and shattering across the counter into a dozen pieces, Neville giving an alarmed shout.

For the first time in its history, the Three Broomsticks fell silent.

Only the howl of the October wind, leaking in through the windows, proved to him that he had not fallen into some horrific silent film.

The gentle chiming of bells broke his attention from where the porcelain girl stood, smiling cruelly down.

Ginny Weasley practically floated in, Professor Très Gai following closely behind. There was something wrong there, something strange, both of their movements oddly halting. If pressed, Harry would have said it looked like they were trying to pull themselves backwards, fighting against some invisible force.

And then it hit him.

It hit him hard.

Hours seemed to pass, but the clock registered mere seconds.

Ginny's wand lifted, her movements faltering, as if that same invisible force were yanking her arm up against her will.

His blood ran cold at her blank expression.

"EVERYBODY DOWN!" he shouted, overturning the table. Liquid splattered, and their empty clay mugs had not even struck the ground before the first green curse flew from Ginny's wand.

His own was already drawn and he screamed a stunner, but not before the killing curse flew past Ron, missing his best friend's dismayed face by mere inches.

Ginny side stepped easily, and Professor Très turned an eerie eye upon him.

"Kaylens move!" he hollered, but she did not need telling twice. She was already dropping down, covering her head as a slew of wooden shards whizzed by, an onslaught from the now smoldering chair in front of her.

A stunner grazed his ear, his body jerked instinctively away from the heat, and in that single second he lost sight of her.

Somewhere in the dim background of his mind the screams of the other patrons began to register.

Less than a foot away from where he stood a decorative pumpkin exploded, a poorly aimed stunner searing right through it and striking the wall. Stringy orange pulp and seeds erupted, hurtling outwards, covering the floor and himself with slippery orange clumps.

A red light flew from Très' wand and he dove to the ground, hiding behind the table as the curse blasted through it and missed his face by a fucking inch. The screams of other students could be heard, pleading with their defense professor.

Très could not hear their pleas, with his ear length hair flung over his eyes, his arm jerkily fired blindly at students, patrons, people.

Grabbing the side of the overturned, round table Harry heaved it to the side, rolling it with all his strength, scrambling behind it like a rat until it hunkered to a halt. Unable to go any further, for an unconscious body now blocked its progress, he found the entrance to the bar in sight.

It ran the length of the pub, and Ginny and Très' backs were now to it. If he could just get behind it he'd have safe cover until he was right on them.

He dove for it, leaving the cover of his table behind, rolling across broken chair legs and glass until he came to a crouch behind it.

The waitress was hiding behind it as well, firing curses over the counter.

"Stupefy!" he whispered, letting the red light fly.

Her body went careening to the side, her wand flung from her grasp as she passed out next to Rosmerta's limp form. He scampered down the length of it, snatching both their wands up, passing wine bottles, clean mugs, and storage areas as he went. Reaching the end near the shade covered windows he hastily pocketed the wands in his trousers, leaping to his feet, the disarming spell partially formed on his lips.

His words died there.

Another jet of green light erupted from Ginny's wand like a volcano of death, less than an arm's length from where he stood.

Across the room Ron had leapt to his feet, abandoning the temporary shelter of an overturned bench to dash to where Hermione and Luna fought unaided.

There was no time to think, to duck, to react.

The green light hit Ron mid-stride, flinging his body backwards against the wall.

Hermione's brown eyes widened, her mouth caught in a strangled silent wail, and Luna only just pulled her to the ground before the next green spell whizzed past.

Time froze.

All was still.

The blank look of the imperious curse faltered upon Ginny Weasley's face, a burst of unabashed pain replacing it.

A second later the mask was back, his own wand turning to her, tears of anger streaming down his face.

Before the disarming spell could leave his lips a hard fist collided with the back of his skull, sending the world blurring until its hellish glory faded to black.


ECOTS


The sound of small feet, pattering in the rain, accompanied Emily's return. The sound of her quiet humming lingered like a breath of fresh air upon Tonks' ears.

The small child stepped out onto the pebbled path, quickly shutting her tiny umbrella before scurrying to huddle beneath Tonks'.

Tonks smiled uncertainly as Emily's tiny hand interlaced with her own. Why Emily was choosing the comfort of her, a stranger, over that of her father was puzzling to her. Kenneth would later on smile, informing her that she had a lot to learn about how children think.

But for now Kenneth gave her a small, pained smile, before setting off at a sedate pace across the soggy cemetery grass.

She had been right; he was a man of private mourning.

She adjusted the umbrella so the runoff would not drip onto the little princess' head, never noticing the thoughtful look that suddenly passed across Emily's tiny face.

Feeling the insistent tugging on her arm she looked down, two small brown eyes meeting her own. Emily looked rather pensive.

As Tonks inwardly wondered what one should say to a child who has just lost her mother, Emily spoke.

"Your friends are in trouble Nymph."