Author's Note: Chapters 13-26 are still very much what I would consider 'sub-par' and written when I was much younger. Chapters after that are much more 'current'. That being said, these upcoming chapters are still being worked on/revised as time allows and are a rather different style than how I presently write (July 2021). Just a fair head's up on that.
Chapter 13 ~ Nowhere to Run
"Some believe that the benefit of death, is that it is possible to see farther on the other side."
~ Unknown
ECOTS
"Your friends are in trouble, Nymph."
Her blood ran cold; only Remus called her Nymph.
Nymphadora's mind took off. As far as Tonks knew neither of the Bothans knew her real name. She'd just told them to call her Tonks. Frantically she tried to remember if any of the Order had slipped up and called her Nymphadora in front of them, but she didn't think so. She tended to notice that kind of insult and always planned delayed retaliation for the offense, and right now she wasn't actively planning to slip sea urchins into anyone's shoes. Except for her parents, but they'd had an awful bleeding coop being planned for years. Name issues aside, she seriously doubted that the kid was a skilled pickpocket and had 'slight-of-handed' her wallet right out of her robes without her – a grown bloody Auror! - noticing, before going through it for the express purpose of finding out her awful legal name. Merlin, what had her parents been thinking? But she was getting ahead of herself. Maybe there was a good, rational explanation for this. Maybe the kid knew voodoo? Yes, it'd be a great explanation for the crawling fingers up her spine. And they were in a cemetery. Cemeteries were great for collecting bones, hair and nail fragments, dirt, and the souls of gingers.
A mental image of Emily mixing a bunch of dirt, dead grass, and bone fragments in a jar and shaking it vigorously came to mind.
But how had the girl just known to call her Nymph!? Unless Kenneth was prone to letting his child call all women that? But that brought on a whole new slew of potentially disturbing, pole dancing questions, most surrounding what kind of clubs Kenneth had frequented before becoming the Irish President and how much glitter was involved.
Then again, Tonks had heard there were these things called telovizios for that. Maybe they'd just subscribed to that thing – what was it called? – Cinemaxification?
She made a mental note to have a very serious and very long talk with Kenneth about his parenting skills, just as soon as they were out of-
"Tonksie, are you okay?"
Emily's sweet voice nearly got drowned out by the rain. The rain pounding down on the plastic umbrella. The umbrella that she was holding crookedly.
Tonks about jumped, then stared. Then she reminded herself that she was a bloody full grown Auror, that this was just a child, and that the kid certainly wasn't a villainous sorceress.
Fortunately Emily didn't notice that she was gawking at her like a trout, because the red headed child had her head tilted back, her mouth wide open, catching rain drops.
"The waaaateeer's driiiippiiiing on meeee," Emily gurgled gaily.
Tonks gave herself a mental shake and straightened out the umbrella, before she inadvertently drowned the kid. The thing had been tilted so awkwardly that a cascade of water had been pouring down onto young Emily's head in a way that would make even Victoria Falls envious.
"Sorry Em..." She gasped out, but her voice wavered. Dammit.
"It's okay, I like the rain," Emily declared, darting out from beneath the umbrella, stomping her feet merrily in the collecting puddles. "I like puddles too!"
Tonks blinked in surprise. The child's mother had been drowned in one barely a fortnight ago.
"Your friends are in trouble Nymph."
Emily's sopping wet braids swung about her face, her arms held out as she spun in circles, her head tilted skyward to catch the rain.
"Tonksie come play!"
Tonksie. The kid was calling her Tonksie now.
Yet a minute ago she'd called her Nymph. The girl had strolled straight up to her, looked right up into her eyes, and called her bleeding Nymph.
It occurred to Tonks almost far too late what had happened. "Bloody hell," she whispered, her body temperature dropping to absolute zero, and it had nothing to do with the wind.
Over Emily's twirling figure she could see Kenneth Bothan kneeling in the soggy cemetery grass. His wife's grave lay before him, the carefully placed irises scattering in the heavy wind.
Tonks heart was about pounding out of her chest and she sprang forward, grabbing Emily by the back of her coat and hauling her too. "KENNETH!" she screamed. "Kenneth! We have to leave here now!"
ECOTS
Oval eyes opened and fixed onto the quaint village, a strange hunger surging on his tongue.
Hogsmeade.
Dead leaves billowed across the central thoroughfare, children running along the dirt path and playing with the enchanted bats that swooped down at their heads. It was Halloween in the heart of the village and laughter drifted to them in the forest.
It was enough to give the hunger within him pause, and a deeper part of Remus recoiled in horror, stepping back from the forest's edge. He backed right into a tree, the bark cutting at his ass, for werewolves had no use for clothing.
Tonks would have loved it.
Remus Lupin hovered at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, spying upon the villagers as they celebrated Halloween, and he knew with a calculated certainty that Hogwarts had made a special allowance to let the students attend even though it was mid-week.
The October breeze bit chilly lines across his skin as he tried to not feel sick.
A claw lashed out and an unclothed forearm hit across his chin, Remus' head snapping to the side and pain erupting in his neck. He jerked his head back just as quickly, lips peeled back and a snarl in his throat as he growled at Nott for the attack.
Nott looked amused. "Surprised half-breed?"
Instinctually his claws extended, breaking his skin with a fiery pain. Remus did not answer. Instead he growled lowly, extending his ears into long points.
He hadn't even known he had done it. The potion he'd drank, that vial…it had twisted his DNA into something else, something changed. The hair on the back of his neck sprouted, and sound prickled his ears, the change bringing the sounds of the village to life.
But in the distance, over the laughing of children, Remus could hear a single shopkeeper begging for their life. There was a sickly cultured voice offering them salvation in exchange for allegiance to the Dark Lord and a steady supply of their inventory.
"That fool of an old man will never know what hit him," Nott snarled, his voice flooded deep with hate. "We'll be here and gone before he even gets out his walker."
The urge to lash out and strike Nott rose up like a tidal wave and he nearly did, but Lucius' indecipherable growl cut in, breaking through his angry thoughts, arousing something far darker...
It was time to change.
An unnatural heat filled his veins, a bloodied taste on his tongue, and as the bodies of men – wizards – around him began to crack and shift and change into that of wolves. His did too. He was resigned to it. He had to do it, yet resisted. His amber eyes met Malfoy's and he snarled defiantly. "There are children here."
Lucius merely smiled. "I'm counting on it."
And then the dark wizard threw a bloodied piece of meat directly into his face, the almost rubbery texture of uncut fat smacking solidly into his nose and slinging pinkened blood directly into his eyes.
Remus grabbed it. It was reflex.
Then he tasted it.
Then he pressed it tighter to his face and nuzzled it.
The change to his DNA reared up and in a blackened flash his eyes rolled back into his head. The hunk of flesh had jagged edges, unevenly cut, and he grabbed ahold and sniffed, ignorant to what he was doing. Remus' tongue licked out, lapping at it like a kitten with a bowl of milk, his teeth all shifting to make him the perfectly evolved hunter.
Where human hands had been now there was nothing. The meat dropped to the ground, smacking bloodily into the dirt, before a snout snatched it up and tore it to shreds. And there, upon the ground where Remus Lupin had been, now stood a werewolf, the pungent scent of freshly spilled blood inundating its senses.
The wolf pawed the ground eagerly, and for a moment, just a moment, Remus Lupin was lost.
ECOTS
Harry Potter felt like he was being drug across glass. A seriously disturbing noise crinkled and he was pretty sure he was being stabbed in multiple places by tiny sharp objects. What were those called? Shards? Shards? Harry tried to grasp onto the word to no avail, its meaning fucking elusive as it fled from his pounding skull.
But hey, at least someone was dragging him somewhere, so he had that going for him.
The tight grip on his ankles disappeared and his feet dropped to the floor. A moment later he felt a thump, thump, thump reverberate through the floorboards, as if another body were being dumped besides his.
His aching skull idly wondered if they'd ordered the same 'drug over glass' special that he had.
Or was it dragged? Fuck, his head really hurt. Why did his head hurt? He tried to shift, to rub at it, but found his hands oddly didn't work, Harry letting out a mild groan as he lay there on the pub floor.
And then, through the twisted haze of a mild concussion, a single word shattered through: Ron.
Ron!
Harry jolted awake and felt like he'd been stabbed in the gut. No. No, no, no, no. This wasn't happening. Not again!
Harry's skull practically exploded in pain the second light hit his retinas, but he managed another low groan and squinted. Everything was blurry. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, trying to find Ron, but he didn't see anything. All he felt was the steady throb at the back at his skull, the throb that reminded him how he'd been clubbed in the back of the head, the throb that was causing pain, pain, pain and telling him that Ron was gone, gone, gone.
A flash of the palest of yellows caught his eye.
Drifting in and out of focus was Luna Lovegood, sitting cross legged, her wrists tightly bound in her lap. Her dreamy blue eyes fixed on him in concern and he could have choked in relief.
"Why hello Harry."
He choked on a laugh. "Luna," he rasped, "you're alright." Just thinking sent a sharp throb through his skull, and he tried to move to her-
His arms were bound behind his back.
He struggled for all of twenty seconds before the blinding pain in his head nearly made him black out. Whoever had tied these things was either an expert in sailing or into some seriously twisted bedroom antics.
With a frustrated thump he hit his hands against the floor, a stabbing pain ripping his fist.
Luna frowned. "Harry, you hurt yourself."
Like he really needed her to tell him that; there was a shard of glass sticking out of the meat of his fist, and judging from the liquidy warmth welling up around it, trickling down his fingertips, he was positive it had sunk deep. "Gee," he muttered, "you think?"
"Well of course I think, Harry. Doesn't everybody?"
Luna was far too calm given their current situation. Hell, he was still slumped over sideways on the floor. He looked at her like a gasping fish left to sun dry on a dock and sputtered.
At this Luna looked quite upset. "Oh no, Harry," she said, "they didn't break your thinking chip when they hit you with that bottle did they? That'd be terrible, Harry, because it was really quite a good one."
Harry might be wrong, but he was pretty certain that Luna was talking about his brain being broke. Great, just what he needed: Voldemort in his head with a touch of traumatic brain injury on the side. It was like pie with whip cream, or ice cream with sprinkles; just a touch of a little something extra to give it variety.
But Harry was still on the floor, like Ron had been.
Just like that he remembered everything.
Harry shot a blurry look around the pub. Blood dripped down his hand, soaking the rope, and he struggled, trying to sit up. Eventually he managed it, nearly toppling over as his change in position caused the blood in his veins to flow just a bit harder, the increase in pressure making his head hurt worse.
Luna allowed him to use her shoulder to avoid keeling over, and a drop of blood fell off his hand, smacking against the floor with a hollow thud.
It felt like his chest. It was suffocating, a hollow weight of despair, and Harry could barely breathe as it all came rushing back.
It was near paralyzing.
Ron was gone.
Harry's vision cleared, and for the first time he got a good look at the pub, able to see what had happened. The pub had been ruined. The floor now resembled a greenhouse, a shattered plant holder having sent soil strewing across nearly a quarter of it. Butterbeer covered the rest, pooling together with other concoctions in frothy puddles. Broken chairs and overturned tables created hazardous paths, broken glass glittering in the afternoon sun, casting surreal spectrums across the floor.
But that wasn't the worst of it, because Ginny's hands had done the unthinkable. She'd cast the killing curse, on her own brother.
The tap behind the bar dripped noisily, and Harry felt like everything was slowing down.
Drip.
Death Eaters were in Hogsmeade.
Drip.
A strangled sob shattered the silence.
Drip.
His fists snapped shut, tugging at the bindings. His eyes blurred with rage and he searched for Ron, while Luna made soothing sounds.
Drip.
In the spaces where neither glass nor soil lay, patrons did.
Drip.
Half a dozen, either unconscious or dead, lay upon the floor at scattered intervals.
Drip.
The rest, the conscious, had been bound and lined up against the walls. He and Luna were against the far left.
Drip.
"Stupid crying Mudblood!"
Hermione!
Drip.
She lay collapsed against the far wall, her arms bound like his own, and before Harry could do a single thing he watched a hand strike across her face.
In front of her towered a ranting figure clad in black, and clenched within the cruel confines of that Death Eater's fist trailed long locks of bushy hair.
A large bruise ran the length of her tear stained cheek.
"I should have finished the job when I had the chance you filth," scowled the Death Eater, throwing back his hood.
Harry's breath caught in his throat.
Dolohov.
The image of Hermione's limp form in the Department of Mysteries flashed through his mind. She had nearly died at Dolohov's hands...
"What do you think here, Ludovic? Should I finish her off?" the Death Eater called out, kneeling in front of her. "Or what about you, Mudblood? Care to join your worthless red-headed friend over there?" Dolohov poked her like a slug with the end of his wand and Harry saw red.
Hermione was far calmer.
She met Dolohov's gaze without flinching.
Then her lips curled back to spit in his face.
He recoiled as if he'd been shot, a look of the pure revulsion sweeping his wasted features. "Oh you filthy..." he muttered, frantically wiping his face in the folds of his cloak.
"Hey Antonin!" an overly cheery voice called out, stopping Dolohov's hand mid-strike. "Since we're only supposed to watch the kiddies until He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gets back, what do you think about-"
Harry felt his blood chill. He knew that voice.
Dolohov rounded on the cloaked figure, who had just emerged from behind the bar, waving a salvaged bottle of wine.
"Ludovic, he is our Lord and shall be addressed as such!" Dolohov roared, a dangerous and mad glint in his eyes. "One more slip and I'll make sure the Mudblood lover isn't the only corpse in here!"
Harry's heart sank and he tried not to look at Ron. He'd seen the red hair on the floor. Hermione's eyes were fixed right on him, his best friend's face contorted in undiluted grief.
The new arrival – Ludovic - appeared unconcerned and began filling two whiskey glasses. "Antonin what you need is a good, stiff drink."
Dolohov scowled, quickly aiming a powerful kick to Hermione's midsection. The crack of her ribs echoed between the pub walls, as did Harry and Neville's cries of protest.
"LEAVE HER ALONE!" he screamed.
The other Death Eater just frowned, as if nervous. "Now Antonin was that really necessary?"
Dolohov turned, his wand raised in obvious theat. "One. More. Word. Ludovic. Just. One."
Ludovic raised his hands in a conciliatory manner, knocking his hood from his face in the process.
"Now Dolohov she's just a girl. All I was saying is tha..."
But the rest of his words were lost upon Harry, for beneath the vise of the dark hood was the boyish face of Ludo Bagman.
ECOTS
Kenneth Bothan's head shot up and Tonks ran forward, wrapping a protective arm around Emily. The fallen umbrella lay forgotten, spinning in concentric circles around and around on a bunch of pebbles, like a toy in the billowing wind.
"Kenneth, we need to leave!" she cried, abandoning her hold on Emily's coat and outright hoisting the child into her arms.
Tonks had never been accused of being subtle, and right now her voice rang out loud and urgent. The President didn't need telling twice. He'd already stood up and begun springing back to them.
He was a man who understood that the world was a dangerous place, and that there was a time and place for questions. Standing in a downpour in the middle of a cemetery, right after an attempt on you and your entire family's life wasn't one of them.
Emily squirmed, her auburn head following her father's progress. "Daddy, your knees are all muddy," she scolded, and Merlin she sounded serious. Tonks almost pitied whomever the girl went out with when she started dating. Almost.
Kenneth just gave a grim smile. "I can take her."
Tonks nodded, relinquishing the girl to withdraw her wand. The chill in the air was closing in, and Tonks already knew what it was. It wouldn't be long.
"What's going on?" Kenneth asked, voice calm and authoritative and urgent.
"No time to explain," she said, taking off down the path. "Just suffice it to say were about to get visited by something ugly and lacking poor fashion sense!" She heard Kenneth's heavy footfalls behind her, splashing in the muddy water, and she rather intentfully let her ears grow larger so that they turned into mini-sound-collecting-devices on the sides of her head.
It helped her hearing in this downpour considerably.
They rounded the bend in the pathway, the heavy grove of trees falling away to reveal the dismal lot. The car, their escape, was in sight, yet heavy despair drenched her soul.
Nymphadora's feet slid in the gravely mud and she came to a halt, throwing out an arm to stop what was left of the Bothan family.
It was right then that little Emily Bothan began to whimper.
Kenneth's dark eyes quickly blinked away water. "Tonks what's thi-"
"Daddy we need to run. Please daddy, run!" Emily pleaded, hysterical. Her face buried into Kenneth's shoulder, and Tonks shivered. She felt it, but she knew no one should be getting affected yet. Not quite yet. The little girl was sensitive. She had to be, and Tonks filed that thought away and the possible reasons for it for later.
Right now she had bigger problems.
Much bigger.
Down the path floated three looming figures, their cloaks rustling unnaturally, as if unaffected by the rain and wind.
And then she felt the presence behind her, and immediately every awful, horrible thing she'd ever felt flooded her mind.
"Daddy PLEASE!"
Tonks reached out and grabbed ahold of Kenneth's sleeve, shaking her head. "I don't think we have time to run."
ECOTS
"YOU!"
Ludo Bagman's bluish eyes turned on him, a pleased smile replacing his previously perplexed one. "Ah, Harry boy. I was wondering when you'd come around."
Dolohov scoffed. "Precious Potter indeed. Tell me Potter, how was your wittle nappy?"
"So tell me Harry," Ludo interjected, seeming determined to steer the conversation his way. "How have things been?"
"Yes wittle Potter, how have things been without that mangy old dog of yours?"
"Antonin..." Ludo sounded distinctly uncomfortable.
In the distant background he could hear Neville's choked stuttering.
"H-how have they been?" Harry repeated, dumbfounded. "How have they been?!"
"Not too good, Mr. Bagman," Luna's misty voice drifted out, answering for him as he gaped like a fish. "Harry's been having a rough year, as you can see."
A pitiless snort came from Dolhov's direction.
"He lost his godfather, and with people such as yourself switching sides and betraying him, I trust you can see why," Luna continued, as if casually discussing the weather.
Bagman was suddenly refilling his drink.
"After all, Harry doesn't want anyone else to die, and when people he trusts start killing people that makes it hard on him. Not to mention he's gone and cut himself again. He's rather accident prone you know."
Harry's head shot to hers and he opened his mouth, but no words came out. He imagined if they had it would have been akin to, Luna what the hell!?
Bagman reacted similarly. The former celebrity's glass had stopped halfway to his lips, and it was a moment before his composure returned.
"Now I've never actually killed anyone per say, Miss...?"
"Lovegood.," she supplied. "We met at a Quidditch tournament. Daddy was writing the most interesting article about a new species of gnomes that lived in broomstick twigs."
His mouth formed into an 'o' that made it very obvious he did not remember her, and Harry rather wanted to hit him.
"Lovegood," Bagman continued. "I apologize for forgetting you. I mean no offense by it, it's simply hard to keep track of all the people I meet, particularly the ones that haven't been hard at work making a name for themselves. The drab ones do tend to fade into long forgotten memory. You understand? I can hardly be blamed for it. But back to this killing thing, it's just that-"
A strange calm had overtaken Harry, and his voice shot out like a bullet. "It's just that you're content with allowing others to do it for you, is that it? You're content with being a coward. You know, you can hardly be blamed for it, especially when you're already so used to robbing real wizards and taking the credit. You always have stood by and let others do the actual work."
"Exactly my boy. It's not my fault that they decided to harm those of lesser talent than-"
"You're just as much to blame as them!" Harry burst.
"Why Harry that's simply not true."
Luna nodded serenely. "Harry's right. It's called being an 'accessory,' sir."
Harry shot her a black look. "Don't call him that. He hasn't earned that."
Bagman eyed him apprehensively, swallowing hard. "Now Harry, you know how the Ministry is," he began imploringly. "They never support anyone but themselves..."
"What the fuck," he bit, "do they have to do with this?"
"Why everything, Harry. You see if we want to trace blame back, if we go far enough-"
"At least they don't kill anyone!" Harry bellowed, arms shaking with suppressed fury.
"But Harry j-just think about this for a second," he said, faltering for a moment. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name-… I mean my Lord," he quickly corrected himself, spying the malevolent look of Dolohov, "he just desires the Ministry's downfall. So long as people stay out of his way no one will get hurt. Now I ask you Harry, my boy, is that really so bad?"
"Replacing one dictatorship with another?" he bit. "Yeah, sure. Sounds real fucking logical to me."
Besides him Luna nodded approval, her fingers drumming against her bindings to some unrecognizable tune.
"When you disappeared my grams was worried about you! Y-you... You're…" Across the room Neville Longbottom's voice rang out, surprising everyone.
Harry caught a glimpse of Neville's uncharacteristically contorted face.
It was frightening.
"You're no better than Bellatrix you slime!"
The poignant accusation hung thick in the air, no one speaking. Bagman had become very interested in his drink, shifting uncomfortably under the angry eyes of all save for Dolohov.
Drip.
This time it wasn't the tap that had dripped; it was his hands. Harry'd nearly forgotten that he had a rather significant bleed going on, and he half wondered if that light headed feeling was from blood loss or the concussion.
Harry shook his head, ignoring the slight spin of the world. "You were acquitted once Bagman," he said, eyes scanning the room for a way out. "So tell me, were you a spineless coward back then too, or just stupid?"
Bagamn cringed. "Harry, I was never a Death Eater!"
"But you are now," Harry said. "So tell me, why'd you do it?"
Dolohov's smug expression betrayed even his interest in the answer, and Harry was not about to let the Death Eaters distraction go to waste.
Keep them talking. Keep them distracted. Constant vigilance.
Harry didn't exactly know what he was doing, but he knew that he had to do something or they were all going to die. His hands began roaming across the floor behind him, feeling for another sharp sliver of glass.
"Well you know Harry, goblins, they're nasty business," Ludo said, fidgeting. "You know how they are if you owe them any monetary debts and..."
Harry did his best to glare, feigning interest as Ludo's brow creased curiously.
"Come to think of it you probably don't, Harry. But it's not fun business, goblin debt collectors that is. And since the Ministry wasn't about to increase my salary these boys said they'd be glad to help me out of my jam."
"That you got yourself into!" Neville shouted from across the room.
Bagman eyed Neville warily. "I can see where you'd think that but-"
"BUT WHAT?" Neville roared.
Luna inconspicuously sent a broken bottle piece sliding his way, his fingers coiling around it like a snitch.
"But these Death Eaters, they're not so bad."
Harry very nearly dropped the shard, his eyes bulging out.
"Not so bad?" he repeated.
Bagman nodded vigorously. "No! Not at all Harry! In fact they're rather-"
"Tell that," he hissed, clutching the glass shard so hard it was a wonder it didn't cut his finger off, "to my mum and dad. Tell that to Sirius. Tell that to Ron!"
An odd expression crossed Bagman's face. "Now Harry really..."
Harry's lips parted, accusation dripping as thick as the blood from his coiled fists, only the sound never came.
Another soft sound and flicker of movement on the floor drew the breath straight from his lips.
"Kaylens…." he breathed softly. He had nearly forgotten about her.
"Ah, another one to join the fray?" Dolohov called cheerfully, sauntering over to where she lay, partially concealed by an overturned table.
The Death Eater reached her, roughly dragging her squirming form up.
"Can't leave you free to roam around now can we?" he hissed, drawing unnaturally close to her.
Harry's stomach lurched as Dolohov's lips grazed her blood stained cheek.
"After all, fiery tempers like you..."
"Get. Your Hands. Off her," Harry spat, drawing Dolohov's attention to him.
The Death Eater's attention shifted to him, and the wizard regarded him coldly. "Or you'll do what exactly?"
Harry stopped sawing at his bindings. He couldn't risk Dolohov noticing. "You don't want to know," he said.
"Oh but I do!" A cruel light danced in his eyes. "I'd very much like to know what Precious Potter thinks he could do to me."
Harry met his eyes and didn't blink. "I could show you why Voldemort is so afraid of me. How's that sound?"
The cords winding around Kaylens' wrists snapped tight, Dolohov's tense grip betraying his agitation.
Harry went on, the room swaying unnaturally as he spoke with malicious measure. "Or you could do yourself a favor Dolohov, and leave. Leave before you make me really angry."
Dolohov sneered, but because Harry was watching for it he saw it. The Death Eater shifted uncomfortably, mirroring Bagman's movements, just for a second. Harry might be a student, he might be 'just a boy' to some of them, but Riddle didn't target and hunt down just anyone.
He also didn't fail to kill just anyone again and again and again and again and fucking again. Really, he figured the bastard had taken shots at him not five times now, and failed every time.
No wonder Dolohov looked distracted, uncomfortable.
Harry took the opportunity to slice at his bindings yet again.
The glass, slick with his own blood, nearly fell from his grip. Thankfully the error was lost upon the Death Eater, for Dolohov had chosen that moment to turn Kaylens around, hissing something into her tangled tresses.
The glass slipped and Harry's wrist rung with pain, but he didn't have a choice. He had to keep going if he was going to get free. He felt a thread of the rope snap like a rubber band and the bindings got just a bit looser.
And then Kaylens body was tossed besides him.
His sawing movements halted. Harry's eyes drew to where she lay, panting faintly besides him, and he raked his gaze up and down her looking for serious injury.
"There," Dolohov sneered. "Enjoy your Mudblood friends, Precious Potter. Once our Lord gets here we'll see how brave you really are."
Kaylens' eyes flickered open with a wince, hazel irises fixing tiredly onto his, and all he could do was offer her a rough grimace. It was a bad situation; not much else he could do.
"Brave?" Hermione's weak voice chided from where she sat, propped against the wall. "You ask him about bravery? He's sixteen, not even a fully qualified wizard, yet you fear him so much as to disarm him and bind him? Seriously!?"
She spat all of this into Dolohov's approaching face, just before his hand reared back, slapping her roughly to the floor.
Hermione didn't make a sound. She just peered up through her narrowed, swelling eyes, just in time to see a dark boot rearing back.
"Hey Dolohov!"
Dolohov's foot froze mid-kick, hate-filled eyes flying towards Neville's pudgy face.
"You don't want to do that."
Dolohov's thick eyebrows disappeared beneath his mangy hair. "You presume to order me around boy?"
Neville shrugged casually. "You can contaminate yourself if you want," he sounded uncharacteristically Slytherin. "I didn't realize dirty blood suited a Death Eater."
Dolohov laughed roughly, buying Harry more time.
Neville, you're a saint!
Harry began sawing again. A bead of sweat broke free from his forehead, rolling into his mouth. It tasted salty. Harry set his jaw as he worked, the glass shard digging into his thick bindings.
Snap.
The shard slid so low, so fast, he nearly cut too deep, the breath of pain catching fast in his throat.
But the bindings were looser.
Twisting his hands he tested them, and he found that with two fibers severed he had a greater range of movement.
In the meantime Dolohov's fist had slammed into Neville's jaw. Harry twisted his wrists to force the ropes looser, and he ignored the burning sensation of dried wounds ripping back open. Warm, thick life blood welled from these spots, his scabbed over fingers feeling in his cloak, looking for his wand.
It wasn't there.
Fuck. They'd taken it.
Harry tried another pocket as Neville took another hit and held his breath…
Polished mahogany brushed beneath his rough skin and he about screamed in triumph. Rosmerta's and the waitress'! He still had their wands! They hadn't thought to search him for two wands, let alone three.
Besides him Kaylens' luminous eyes met his own, comprehension shining within their fiery depths. Luna just sat there and smiled, humming to herself as Neville got used as a human boxing bag.
But Harry could reach the sequestered wands.
He was armed.
ECOTS
"Pumpkin? Honey mummy needs you to do mummy a favor. Can you do that honey?"
Emily Bothan whimpered, her face buried in her father's rainy suit. It was wet and it smelled like rain, and she didn't like it that way. She liked it when it was dry. And now she really didn't like it because she wanted to look away, but she couldn't. The cold feeling was there. She could hear her mum, she wanted to see her, to hug her, but she was too scared to look away from the safety of her father's arms.
"Do you miss your mummy little girl? Would you like to see her?"
Emily squeezed her eyes harder, willing the voice away. "It's not mummy..." she whispered. "I can't see mummy. Mummy is in the sky."
Ah, ah, ah, ah. Little darling your mummy is busy now. Can't you see that?"
She shook her head frantically, squeezing her dad's neck. "No... No..."
"Open your eyes you little bitch!"
The cruel lady's dark eyes danced in her mind. She didn't want to see the lady again. She didn't want to.
"Daddy..." she whimpered frightfully.
"No not daddy. Mummy! You wanted to see her little brat, so here, LOOK!"
Emily hated these voices in her head. If she was going to hear voices in her head why couldn't she hear her mummy? Her mummy's had been a nice voice. She loved her voice. She wanted to hear it again.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tired not to cry. She should open them. Daddy would open his eyes. He would. He wasn't afraid of anything. Maybe if she opened her eyes the bad lady and the bad lady's voice would go away again.
Emily swallowed, counting hard to ten.
"Please mum..."
Emily's watery eyes opened, a dark suit coat staring back.
Mummy needed up. She needed air. The mean man was there again, shoving her face into the puddle. Her mummy didn't like water.
Emily cried out, screeching, shaking her head back and forth, throwing the images away. She wanted them to go. Her damp, rain-soaked braids flung into her father's face as she shook, but she did not notice.
"Kenneth, take Emily and go!"
"Tonks what's-"
"You can't see them Kenneth, but they're there!"
"No..." Her own whimpers rang in her ears, her icy hands shaking her mum. Whey wasn't mummy waking? She had to... "No..."
Emily lifted her head just a little bit. Maybe if she could see the nice lady then the bad one's voice would go away. Maybe that's what she had to do.
"What do you mean I can't see them?" her daddy was asking, but Emily's eyes had widened.
Her little blue eyes went wide as saucers and she opened her mouth to scream. "DADDY! Daddy the-the dark things! Monsters! Make them go away, make them go away! PLEASE!"
The nice lady with the pink hair looked at her. Tonksie. Tonksie looked at her like she was surprised, as if she'd just don't something very, very bad. The nice lady was soaked, had lost her umbrella, and was whipping her head back and forth now.
"Tonksie?" Had she shouted? Could the nice lady hear her? "Please make them g-go-"
"I've got them, Emily," Tonksie said, then her head whipped towards her daddy. "Kenneth, get to the car. Drive away. Drive as fast as you can without crashing."
"Tonks, we can't just leave you-"
"I'll be fine. Just go. NOW!"
Emily's reeling world reeled more, for her father had taken off at fast sprint, splashing water over her legs.
In the dim background, somewhere beyond her mother's screams, she could hear the nice lady shouting something.
Her world dimmed away as a silvery dog ran past.
Mummy always liked dogs…
ECOTS
Harry was armed, and he felt his stomach flip at the realization. They had a chance!
He released his hold on it and continued to saw at the bindings, slowly, rhythmically, trying to gain precious centimeters of mobility. He might be able to reach the wands, but like hell could he aim them yet. If he couldn't aim them, then having them didn't matter. But he was armed. He was fucking armed!
He was armed, and his next move was horribly elusive.
A strange dread settled over him. He half wondered if his father or Sirius had ever had performance issues like this. Not knowing what to do? Some 'chosen one' he was turning out to be.
With the rhythmic dripping of the butterbeer tap and the cracks and slaps of Neville being abused, Harry's mind fell curiously blank for the first time in what felt millennia.
But he still didn't know what to do.
So he sawed at his bindings; right now that was all he could do.
Kaylens moved, and Harry's gaze fell on her as she shoved herself up, her arms shaking fiercely. The issue was he didn't know if it was from fear or nerve damage; he just didn't know, and that bothered him, but he sure as hell wasn't going to ask.
"Nice to see you're alive," he whispered instead.
The witch had sat fully up and was breathing shakily, but she at least managed to send him a mildly incensed look.
The relief that flooded him was indescribable.
Kaylens studied him for several seconds, and Harry studied her right back.
Then her eyes flickered away, the witch looking around the room as if taking it in for the first time. Given she'd been unconscious until a minute ago, she probably was. Harry didn't miss how her eyes landed on Bagman's back – the man still turned and perusing the liquors - or how they stopped on Dolohov, who had thrown Neville against the wall and appeared to be slicing small, tiny cuts into his skin. Her breath sucked in, and every centimeter of exposed flesh around her neck and collarbone – her jumper was way too big for her – tensed.
Luna sang quietly to herself, seeming to count the numbers of butterbeer on the wall.
Kaylens glanced at her oddly, and Harry swore to things unholy almost smiled.
And then, without a word, Kaylens glanced back at him and scooted several centimeters closer. Harry might have fallen over in shock had the situation been different. The witch was close, so close that her bloodied sleeve nearly brushed against his skin. So close that he could detect a faint scent of apple cider on her, the witch's jumper soaked in it. So close that her hair touched his shoulder if she moved just right.
Had this been normal circumstances it would have felt strangely intimate, strangely familiar, but it wasn't.
No.
Kaylens had noticed what he was doing, so she was blocking Dolohov's view of it, so he wouldn't get caught, and he knew it without having to ask.
She was being as cautious as him, despite the slight sway to her stature.
Snap.
Another thread of the rope broke free, the release masked by Kaylens sudden, purposeful coughing.
Her head fell forward, her coughs lingering just long enough to seem genuine. Golden, tangled hair came cascading down, falling over her eyes like a veil, concealing her expression from all but him. He caught a whiff of honeysuckle – Hermione had shown him the flower once in a misbegotten attempt to 'expand his inner herbologist' - the scent pleasing amidst all of this.
The fact that Kaylens bathed and he liked her shampoo really shouldn't have bothered him this much. But it did. He tried to ignore her, but couldn't.
Instead he continued sawing and glanced over at her. Through that honeysuckle-scented veil, her long hair glinting in the dull afternoon light, he could see the determined look in her eyes. Long, dark lashes narrowed over incredibly golden irises, the witch focused on something.
He was curious about what, but didn't have time or the speech capacity to ask.
Luna sent a glass shard sliding towards Kaylens back as well, and the witch caught it as easily as he had.
It drew his eyes to the marks on her wrists, her arms bound behind her back just like his were. Only her skin was white and torn from struggling and being jerked around by Dolohov, and nasty reddish marks in the shape of rope burn could be seen.
He could also see a sickly yellow-green welling up in spots, marks of far deeper bruising.
An irrational anger rose up in his gut. Dolohov had hurt her.
That bastard would never lay a finger on her again.
He would never lay a finger on anyone.
Harry Potter had a few dark spells he was quite eager to try out.
Snap.
Luna's volume of singing increased.
Inconspicuous, careful, and Harry realized rather abruptly that Luna's little song about counting butterbeer only increased in number anytime a Death Eater walked by outside
She was counting the number of them in the village.
She was also creating a steady backdrop of sound that wasn't annoying enough to really draw the attention of either Death Eater – they'd just file her away into the 'loony' category after all – but it was loud enough to mask the sounds of his ropes being torn apart.
Fuck, Luna was smart. If anyone ever called her 'loony' again he'd personally hex them into the next decade.
Another thread broke. Snap.
Bagman uncorked the bottle of wine. "How much longer do you think it'll be till he finishes questioning the village, Antonin?"
Dolohov sneered. "Ludovic, you are trying my patience as much as the half-blood and these..." The dark gaze of the man scanned the room, taking in the few conscious students and the two patrons bound and lined against the walls. "These spares."
"But what if the Ministry-"
Dolohov kicked the floor, sending shattered glass skittering across Dean's fallen form. "We will be here and gone before those fools catch wind of this. Besides, these things are delicate matters."
Questioning the village? His ears listened, silently taking it all in. Besides him Kaylens appeared to be doing the same, while Luna shifted the glass shards on the floor around with her feet.
Bagman seemed besides himself with questions. Harry mentally egged him on to be loose lipped.
"Perhaps we could stun them all and take them back ourselves?"
Dolohov scowled in his direction. "He will not be needing all of them, and you would do well to keep your mouth shut from now on or I will shut it for you."
The discussion ended.
And then Bagman turned around to face the room at large, and settled back against the counter to inspect the selection of wine he'd brought out. "I'm awfully sorry about this," he apologized to the one on the right, "but you were simply a subpar year."
Harry stared. Clearly the man had been released from St. Mungo's a bit too quickly if he was talking to bottles of liquor.
But that wasn't what was significant about the moment.
No. It was what happened next.
Kaylens made an incredibly broken sound that he would never forget, as if she'd just realized something.
Harry glanced at her and nearly gawked.
She no longer appeared to be breathing, and the only sound he could hear seemed rattling, choked.
"Kaylens?" he whispered, half-urgent.
She sat motionless besides him, and Harry kept sawing at his bindings as he tried to think.
Kaylens was a lot of things, but expressive wasn't one of them. But right now there was so much upset etched across every smooth centimeter of skin that he actively wanted to remove it. For a second, just a second, there was something in her eyes – pain and fury flashing there - that he felt an almost physical jolt. It was like watching liquid fire broiling over, only to be snuffed out by a tidal wave.
"Kaylens," he whispered, "are you-"
She shook her head to cut him off, and her eyes stayed fixed on something across the room. Lifting his own he followed her gaze to where Ludo Bagman stood, pouring himself another fidgety drink, and then Harry shifted his own eyes back to her.
Her hateful gaze burned right through him, straight to Bagman. It was like she had only just seen him, just noticed him. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, her breaths coming unsteadily.
Her eyes fell shut, her fists opening and closing on thin air behind her, the witch dropping the shard Luna had given her, as if she suddenly had no interest in escaping. "You're bleeding Potter, are you alright?" she whispered shakily.
"I'll be better," he muttered lowly, Luna singing a little louder, "when we get out of here."
Minutes passed, the witch saying nothing. Inevitably he brushed his arm against her own, waiting for some sign that she was alright. In the interim he managed to get another thread of rope snapped.
Kaylens eyelids flickered open after that, and Harry swore he had just hallucinated, because her eyes were alight with an aberrant glow. It was subtle, but there. It was like watching a dozen tiny fairies light up her irises with a faint light, like a flashlight whose batteries were nearly dead.
But the glow was there, faint and real.
"Good," she murmured, "because I can only give you a moment."
Harry's mouth flapped wordlessly, shocked at the transformation before him.
Where his skin lightly touched hers, an unnatural tingling had begun.
ECOTS
Kally's world slowed.
Potter was alright. Neville was alright. And Dean… Merlin she didn't know about, Dean.
He'd pushed her away at the last second. He'd come out of nowhere and took a hex meant for her. A dried smear of blood across her left cheek told her that.
Someone had tried to save her, yet again. Dean had done what Potter had, and both of them had been hurt.
Kally pinned the man called Ludovic down with her eyes, like a predator, and for a passing moment she realized that was exactly what she was.
She should have felt something at that. She should have, but all she felt was an upsurge of pain, like the leading wall of a flood, and all the debris and water and mud from her past came surging forth with it.
It was because of this man, this man, that her family was dead.
Or he had helped, at the very least.
A gentle tingling began and her skin cooled, Kally feeling Potter's arm brush against her own, and it was almost enough to shock her. She jerked, her whole body trembling, pain erupting from the ugly scar in her shoulder and lancing down her whole arm to her very fingertips.
She tried to not cry out, but she may have failed.
Potter….Potter was alive in a way she suspected few other people actually were. Touching him…touching him felt off and wrong and yet so very right. There was something unnatural about him, yet he was full of something else, something magic, and Merlin…
She trembled and allowed herself to simply feel, forgetting about him, forgetting about every single thing except for the way every single cell in her body trembled, tingling, reaching out for some form of touch that they shamelessly begged for.
Across the room Hermione Granger moved. The witch's fingers had curled around chunks of her own bloodied and uprooted hair, the Gryffindor looking at them as if in need of something solid and tangible to prove that they'd been torn out of her own scalp.
Things seemed to slow more, a pressure increasing in her head and her blood and the air itself.
"Kaylens!" Potter hissed, his voice being kept down but barely.
She let her eyes fall shut and tried not to shake. She failed.
She'd lain alongside her remaining brother with a boot against her neck, her face being shoved down again and again into the mud. Rain had poured down, the house burning, the gurgling screams of her parents muted amidst the water in her ears.
The tingling began softly, like always, like a light feather playing across her skin, traversing its way upwards, inwards. It was like static electricity caressing every part of her all at once.
And then it began to radiate out, rolling in discrete waves, operating by its own indiscernible rules. It pulsated through the room, and like before it reached.
Kally's magic reached out. It was cold and heavy and terrible.
It was the only type of magic she could do.
A levitating charm would never work for her. A simple lumos would fail. Transfiguration or charms or shield charms would never work.
But this? This she could do, and with that wizard standing there she was suddenly alright with it.
A boyish face had appeared above her that night, sympathy in his oceanic eyes. "I'm awfully sorry about this kid..."
And then he'd hexed her immobile and put a foot down on the back of her brother's head, drowning him right in front of her, hexing him back to life, only to drown him again.
She squeezed her eyes shut ever tighter, involuntarily shudders traveling through her, the heady pressure in the very air building, pulsating in uncontrolled waves outwards.
The world was taking on a hotter quality, every nerve burning with fiery intensity as she began reaching, feeling. They had to get out of here, they had to escape, and Potter had the only wands. He was their best shot. So even though they'd warned her, they'd told her not to, Kally did the express thing they'd all told her to never do.
She reached.
The acrid presence of Ludovic Bagman filled her, and she began drawing.
Her intent was to kill.
