Author's Note: Updated as of January 2020. Please note that this chapter was written almost two decades ago, so even though it's been edited/updated, the overall writing style is a bit different. You'll find that in various chapters since I experimented with different writing styles from time to time. (After all, what is fanfiction for if not to learn to write better and experiment?) Please note these chapters are still being beta-ed so given this is an over million word story, please forgive the occasional typo until we've completed that.

Happy reading.


Chapter 14~ Amongst Us Part 1

"Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, merely changed and transformed from one form to another."
~ Paraphrase of the First Law of Thermodynamics


ECOTS


It was as it was before, the feeling.

She didn't fear it. She should have, but didn't.

It came as natural as breathing, the magic embedded deep in her DNA, and at the end of the day Kalliandra knew what she was: a monster.

Carried within her bloodstream were specialized red blood cells, their membranes carrying a lipid bilayer that had been altered by mutation. Electricity and magical energy crackled eagerly across their surface, and as the energy within the air around her thrummed, being drawn in, into her very blood, the charge built up, increasing, multiplying with frightening measure.

That was the funny thing about energy: capacitance was so natural, so normal. The human body was an electrically-conductive object; that was its very nature; it could store electric charge, and that went doubly so for magic.

Kally was simply evolved to draw it out of them and into her, to feel it, play with it, move it.

But unlike wizards she couldn't control it. She couldn't manipulate it to do what she wished. She couldn't transform it into inspiring and useful things. She couldn't conjure fluttering birds or transform a goblet into a rat. She couldn't create a shield for protection or stop an incoming attack. She couldn't even fight back, not like they did.

No.

She could simply siphon it, shift its course, then release it in one harsh burst.

Doing so allowed her body to be treated like a circuit for magical energy, electricity. But the problem with being a circuit was inevitably there'd be a surge past what she could handle, past what her blood cells could absorb. There was no magical surge protector for her, and in truth…it didn't take much to kill a person.

She could siphon the life, the electrical energy that powered a person's heart, right out of them.

She could also die trying.

Knowing all of this, Kally drew anyway.

An enchanted bat dove down, buzzing Ludovic Bagman's head, the man swatting it, but Kally didn't notice. She simply closed her eyes and reached, and the world around her began to feel different.

It vibrated, thrumming with energy. Her view of the world shifted three steps to the left. It was another way to see, to feel the world, similar to how how a bat could see the world using either its eyesight or sonar. A bat could echolocate, feeling the literal world around it without ever physically touching it, and that…

That was exactly what Kally did.

The Three Broomsticks shifted, and the quaint pub with wooden chairs and benches filled with people and butterbeer changed into something else. She no longer saw any of that. She simply saw energy, electricity, feeling the way each and every single body within it thrummed with life.

She could feel them, the sheer act enticing her breath to come in sharp, pained gasps. The gentle tickling of prior, that feel of static electricity lightly traversing across her skin, had been long since vanquished, replaced by fiery tendrils of unchecked energy weaving steadily through her, searing across her very skin like fiery, unkempt tendrils of hell.

The very atoms of her cells were moving in unnatural ways, and it hurt.

Pained eyes flickered open upon the world, reflecting the light as only she could see it. For the golden mist swirled throughout the room in thick, stifling electron clouds, sending fiery chills searing through the hollow shell of what she had once been.

The particles danced, shining from all that was alive, emitting softly from all that was dead, as energy must do. Just because someone died didn't mean they no longer held energy. They did, it was just…different, and Kally viewed it all.

The human eye had always been blind to the subtler forms of energy's majestic ballet, but not so for Kally. It was a dance to which she was privy.

It was her curse.

She did not fear it, nor did she embrace it as she so ought. She simply breathed, allowing the palpable chill to fill her lungs, cooling her lips as it passed. The energy crackled through her, bursting red blood cell after red blood cell as it got to be too much. One-by-one she felt the life in each person in the pub, her magic bypassing them all, seeking, searching, and then….

She found who she was looking for.

His presence filled her.

The hot particles upon the once barely discernable breeze vibrated, the golden mists tightening together, coiling snugly from her to him. Electrons and magic danced upon the air, flowing in a closed circuit between them, her will unconsciously directing the charged particles to dance within the rhythm of her domain.

Fiery cold, soothing pain... Such were the sensations of electrocution, and all its conflicting ambiance.

That ambiance beckoned, heeding her call as she pulled, drawing it from him, taking it upon herself without heed for consequence. She didn't care if it killed her. She didn't care if it overloaded her cells. She didn't care, so long as it hurt him.

The entire world erupted into bright, golden sparkles.

Besides her, drawing her concerted concentration from the impenetrable world of her mind, she noticed Potter stirring, taking advantage of the distraction.

Kally was glad for it. She had someone to kill, and didn't want it stopped.

Ludovic.

She could have chosen the other Death Eater, but she didn't.

Ludovic, as the other had called him, had stood idly by, watching them butcher her family with barely a grimace.

He had not lifted a finger at first.

And then he had.

"I'm awfully sorry about this kid..."

She hadn't known she could hate that strongly. But now…she did, and Ludovic would regret it. They all would. She would see to it if she survived this. But for now…

Ludovic first.

Potter moved. She could feel it despite her closed eyes, as surely as she felt Ludovic's heart. She felt the steady thump thump as electrical stimulus traveled down the heart's conduction pathways, moving through specialized cells from node to node as it forced his cardiac muscle to beat, to contract. She felt it moving, flowing…

Then she grabbed ahold and snuffed it out like a candle flame.

Ludovic Bagman grabbed at his chest and groaned.

Kally neither heard nor cared. She pulled Ludovic's strength of life into herself, as she had done twice before, robbing him. The energy driving his heart pounded frantically, pulling from her, recoiling like a frightened child.

She pulled harder.

She smothered that fire of resisting life for as long as she could, crying out in pain as it hurt her too, Kally feeling Ludovic doing the same.

It was her or him; one would die first.

Today it was him.

A body thudded to the debris covered floor, the thump reaching her ears even before the magical backlash did.

The thing was, everything that had just occurred had taken place within a poorly closed circuit. The residual energy would have to go somewhere. It could go into her, or it could ricochet out and harm all the others present, so there really was never any choice for Kally to make.

No one else was getting hurt; it'd only be her.

That white hot thread of energy, the one that had vibrated so thickly between she and Ludovic, snapped.

She drew it straight back to her.

Her eyes flew open, and for a moment she saw the sparkling, cloudy hues of golden light dancing around her, rippling in that connecting cord.

In the next the electrical backlash hit her like a brick to the face.

Besides her Potter was moving, standing, shouting...

All of this registered within seconds, and then she passed the hell out.


ECOTS


"Stick with the pack. Go astray and we will kill you ourselves, brethren or not."

The pack leader's words reverberated inside the wolf's pounding skull, distracting it from the pungent scents tempting its olfactory senses. The cruor of injured townsfolk teased the pack, stimulating their bloodlust's desire.

Yet the pack controlled it, tramping as one across the periphery of what had once been the epitome of quaintness, before spreading out, fringing across the outskirts of the forest, taking cover in the forest's shadows. Here the pack would fight back the stragglers, catching any who sought to flee Hogsmeade before their task was complete.

The Death Eaters had a mission, and it went beyond attacking Hogsmeade.

They were herding the townsfolk, making sure they all remained within the boundaries of the village.

A dim part of the wolf, the part that had retained Remus' mind, recognized that some of the Death Eaters had remained untransformed and had taken up position around the town itself, their wands held aloft.

They were chanting, casting something. Some type of spell was being slowly woven around the entire village, and a green-blue light began to emit quietly from their wands.

And it was their job, the job of the wolves, to herd any straggling villagers back into the towns' center.

Lucius claimed it was 'for their own benefit' and that he would 'see with time.'

Nothing good could come from that.

And then a wizard walked up and tossed down a slab of bloodied meet, and the wolf took over.

Remus snarled and lunged forward with overt savagery, snatching at the meat and tearing it apart. The animal's furor at being deprived its quarry bled from its canines, and a wizard – a human and wolf hybrid like himself – snarled that they were not to kill anyone unless they had to. Bite them if they must, but killing to feed was not on their agenda for today. Only Muggleborns could be killed. Anyone caught destroying or killing a pureblood would be dealt with, harshly.

They needed wizarding blood to survive, after all.

The wolf reared back its head and howled. It needed to feed.

The coarse bristles of its snout were pulled back in anger as they were told once again to wait. The hirsuteness of the beast's hide was coated in the cruor. His fur had been covered in blood before, his pelt torn when he had transformed, his flesh jerked and yanked as his bones had twisted and writhed.

But the pain was diluted, subdued.

Voldemort had fixed that.

The knowledge drifted through the animalistic savagery plaguing the wolf's mind, forcing it to remember who it was, why it was here, what its job truly was beyond the desire brought about by the feigned hunt.

But the bloodlust coursed through his system and he struggled to get it under control.

He was Remus Lupin, friend of those within the town's walls, the walls sheltering beneath the very tree boughs he and the other werewolves hid below. He was there to discover Voldemort's intentions and plans. He needed to identify weaknesses that could be used against him. But when it came to weaknesses…

Remus was no longer sure that Voldemort had any.

Generations of healers had failed to cure lyncanthropy, yet from a certain point of view Voldemort had succeeded. He hadn't been able to rid the blood curse from a wizard's veins, but he'd harnessed the power, wrenching control of the transformation from the moon and giving it back to the man.

And he'd enhanced every good quality a werewolf had, enhancing their healing and speed in a way that should frighten.

They stood on the brink of Hogsmeade, prowling the perimeter, prepared to attack only if necessary. Their were not to kill, maim, or injure the town's inhabitants in any way. They were merely to form a guard around the town's circumference, ensuring that all wizarding occupants remained within its walls, for a time.

And when that time was over, they were to be gone, fleeing into the forest where a portkey would await their return to the Parisian catacombs.

If anyone was caught trying to escape the town, they were to bite them and drag them bodily back in.

The spellcasters continued to weave a powerful spell over the village, a mist forming in the woods.

Remus did not know what the reason for this peculiar Death Eater activity was, not yet, but all his suppositions vanished the second the scent of blood wafted upon a stale breeze right to him.

His bloodlust returned and he lunged forward to hunt, to kill! An elder wolf, an alpha, lunged after him and bit down hard, fangs digging into Remus' pelt as he hauled the newly changed wolf back into the forest, preventing Remus from doing the one thing he now desired to do above all things.

He wanted to hunt.

The only problem was, within that village the only thing to actually hunt were his friends.


ECOTS


The air pulsated.

Then, just like in Grimmauld, it glowed. Pinpricks of golden light formed, the air suddenly heavy, the pressure in his ears increasing, it hard to move.

He moved anyway.

"I can only give you a moment"

It was her. She had done it before and she was doing it again. Kaylens was doing this.

She was creating a distraction, a single chance to take them out, and by fucking Merlin he moved.

The heady pressure increased and his eardrums practically screamed, an electricity crackling around him, but Harry forced his arms to obey, grabbing Rosmerta's wand as Dolohov's drugged eyes fixed on Ludo Bagman, the former Ministry Official disappearing behind the bar and clutching his chest.

Harry didn't have time to consider what the fuck had just happened to Bagman. He was busy.

He catapulted to his feet and twisted the wand, his grip so damn precarious it was a miracle he didn't drop it.

But he still managed to point it right at the remaining Death Eater, shouting, "Delirium Modente!" with his last burst of energy, the curse ripping free.

A dark curse.

A Death Eater deserved nothing less.

It struck Dolohov in the chest; the wizard never saw it coming.

A bat swooped down as Dolohov dropped like a bag of bricks, and Harry couldn't help but think that it had been easy. He didn't know what he'd expected? More of a fight?

He never did see Dolohov's eyes as the last fledglings of sanity were stolen, but the curse left Dolohov's large frame writhing upon the ground, hands clutching desperately, tearing thick, bloodied chunks of hair from his scalp. He rolled around on shattered glass and pissed himself in a puddle of butterbeer, and Harry didn't feel an instant of guilt.

He just felt a sick jab to his stomach.

Harry stumbled. Someone cried out. Something snapped and the heady pressure lifted.

It disappeared as suddenly as it came, the golden pinpricks of light blinking out, that horrible pressure that made it hard to move, incant, think vanishing with a breath. Harry fell to his knees, breathing deeply, watching in grim satisfaction as one by one, memory after memory, fled from Dolohov's twisted, scarred mind.

The Death Eater would be unable to recall even his own name once the curse had run its course.

Harry felt empty. He didn't feel guilt. He didn't feel satisfied. He just felt grim determination to never, ever again allow the Death Eaters the upper hand. He'd picked the spell, that spell, for a reason: it wouldn't kill the person, but it would incapacitate them, permanently.

Every time they left a Death Eater alive the Ministry of Magic locked them up, and every time Voldemort helped them escape.

No more.

No. Fucking. More.

It might be cruel, it might be a dark curse, but it wasn't an unforgiveable and it was still more than Dolohov had deserved.

It was nearly a minute before he realized that while the others were stirring, Kaylens was not.


ECOTS


Kenneth Bothan ran like the hounds of hell nipped at his heels, a cold sensation sweeping his mind. Words, people speaking….he could hear them in his head even though he knew they weren't there. These were memories, and the logical part of him screamed at himself that this was magic in its darkest form.

"Mr. President, your wife and daughter are amongst the missing."

They reached the car and he fumbled with the keys before getting his fingers to work. Then he bodily tossed his child inside, before running around to the driver's side.

The whole process had taken maybe twenty seconds, but felt like years.

The car door slammed behind him and he looked over, finding that his daughter had slipped off the seat and onto the floor. She was curled up, whimpering, begging for her mum.

A stab of pain so raw and acute he could barely breathe swept him. Marie. She had died, and he had thought he would too, but the thing was….

He hadn't.

He had to live for their daughter. He had to survive to take care of her, to make sure that she knew that she was loved and protected, even if he felt as if his own soul had been torn out to lay beneath the ground with Marie.

Fumbling with the keys again, his hands frozen, Kenneth himself froze.

A strange sound filled the car and he looked.

Ice was crackling over the windshield.

From that moment he had about three seconds, and then every ungodly memory of the past week erupted as if on surround sound on a stereo around him.

The hospital doors slid open, the glass paneling revealing his haggard reflection. At the end of the guarded hall, lined with security, awaited the morgue.

Identification of the body had been necessary.

"Tonksie! Tonksie! Daddy, where's Tonksie!"

Emily's hysterical crying drew his eyes through the rain slicked windshield to where Tonks stood just outside. She'd caught up, but was just…sanding there, a look of pure consternation on her normally warm face. She stood before the hood of the car, her wand aimed out as her breath misted in front of her face.

She looked honestly afraid.

The temperature had dropped at least thirty degrees in minutes.

"Kenneth, go!" Tonks shouted. "DRIVE!"

He jerked the car into reverse and hit the gas.

Through the windshield he saw Tonks get launched into the air, flying at least three meters before she slammed wetly down and disappeared from his line of sight.

Something had hit her; something he couldn't see.

In front of the car there was a burst of bright white light, a dog – no a wolf – barreling out and shining like a thousand watt spotlight.

Ice crackled on the side windows now.

The mortician gestured to the nearest gurney, Kenneth's heart lurching.

He'd already known who lay beneath the sheet. He had seen their revival attempts. He had seen the bluish tint to his wife's once lively lips, but they hadn't been able to get her going again.

Yet having seen her...knowing what was to come...

The car crashed into a headstone, the bumper taking out the statute of a now probably very pissed off saint, and Kenneth kicked the car into drive. The tires spun in the gravel, but he gritted his teeth and pumped the gas until the car lurched forward.

Emily screamed.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he said with a calm he did not feel.

He had to get to Tonks. He had to get to the witch. She had to get in. They were not leaving without her.

Without warning, without a single sign, the car lurched violently, halting as a resonating thud reverberated throughout the hood of the vehicle.

The thunderous sound startled him more than his daughter's cries, more than the sound of his cartilage breaking as his nose collided with the steering wheel, for a large dent had formed in the hood, the glass of the windshield cracking, splintering out until a network of spider webs formed across it...

They'd pulled the sheet back, Marie's eyelids and red lashes revealed beneath…

It'd nearly killed him.

A lock of her auburn hair had fallen loose, hanging off the metal autopsy table.

Emily screamed. "DADDY!"

Kenneth shook himself and stared forward. Something invisible had collided with their car! The ice coating the windshield began to get scratched, being clawed by invisible hands, and he could feel blood trickling down his face. His nose screamed and his hands had a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel so tight that it physically hurt to pry his hands off it.

And then a burst of light shot out at whatever it was on their hood – the thing he couldn't see – and an unearthly SCREECH filled the air.

The scratching stopped, and Kenneth could see Tonks standing there unsteadily in the mud, her wand held aloft, looking ready to collapse.

"Emily, stay here!" he commanded, tossing the door open, bracing himself.

He took off into the rain, reaching Tonks as she fired off another burst of light. She slipped in the mud and he grabbed her, hearing the Healer telling him again and again and again that his wife was dead. That there was nothing more they'd been able to do. That her brain had been deprived of oxygen for too long.

Tonks fell back against him and fired off another spell, defending he and Emily from whatever it was only she could see.

Her other arm was flailing, her whole face changing, moving in ways a face should not move.

"Dammit!" she screamed at him, choking on the thick downpour. "Dammit, Kenneth! You were supposed to drive! Get away!"

"Not without you!" he shouted into the wind, the rain slapping against him. His arms looped beneath her, hauling her with him, sliding her across the grass as her wand arm remained steadfastly out, preventing him from completely lifting her. She was limp, like a doll, but her arms remained firmly out as she refused to stop holding a spell he couldn't fully see. He silently thanked years of rugby, otherwise he wasn't sure he'd be able to drag her. She wasn't exactly light after all.

Another spell burst out of Tonks wand, and she looked rather ill.

They smashed into the side of the car with all the grace of brawling teenagers. The headlights blazed a brilliant path of light into the dark day, the storm shrouding the entire cemetery in deep shadows, and in that path of the headlights Kenneth saw something moving the grass as if a very large form was moving towards them.

Every drop of blood in him turned to ice.

He tried to stand, knees suddenly weak, and he yanked on the rear door of the vehicle. He yanked and yanked until it opened, Tonks shouting something but he didn't care right then.

He didn't care because right then he finally saw it. There, in the beam of the headlights, he saw it.

A huge, looming shadow, flanked by many, many more, were surrounding them.

He couldn't see the source of the shadows, what was casting them, but he could see the shadows.

"My God…." he whispered. The palpable chill in the air growing until the frost splintered across every window of the car. He stood there in the rain and stared, Tonks jumping forward and casting the spell straight through the windshield, the witch shaking as she tried to hold it.

It was only then that it dawned upon him why Tonks would not lower her wand.


ECOTS


Harry was kneeling on glass. It hurt, but it didn't register until he tried to move. His gaze shot up from Dolohov, the wizard no longer writhing around, and he looked around the room.

His eyes caught first on Ron's immobile body and his stomach tightened, but with a choked throat he moved on. He couldn't do anything for him, so next he found Hermione, slumped exhaustedly against the wall, but otherwise intact. She was alive. Hermione at least was alive. He looked at her, and looked at her more. Her hair was a hellish mess, chunks of it littering the ground, and the witch was clutching her side, but she was otherwise alive.

Relief, just the tiniest bit, hit him.

Neville looked bruised and beaten to hell, his lower lip puffed up and bloodied and his right eye nearly swollen shut, but he was on his feet and checking on people.

And Luna still sat right where she'd always been, only she'd somehow lost her shoes.

Harry did a double take, then decided he didn't want to know.

Something screeched across the floor and Harry nearly drew his wand again. He stopped, barely. A wizard he didn't recognize, but who looked oddly familiar was on his feet, his tawny brown hair flopped into his face. This wizard gave him a quick nod, before setting about locking and barricading the front door, casting a series of illusion spells on the front windows.

Right. Just because they'd taken care of the Death Eaters in the immediate room, didn't mean there weren't others. "Luna," he said, and his voice sounded oddly tight, "how far did you get in that song?"

"Nine bottles of butterbeer, Harry," she said with a decisive toe wiggle.

He practically laughed. "Nine," he called to the wizard setting up barricades and defenses. "Luna counted nine outside."

The man's head whipped around and he looked at Luna, as if mildly impressed. "Good on you, lass."

Luna didn't seem to even register the compliment.

It didn't even occur to Harry to ask how Neville, Hermione, and the random man had gotten out of their bindings.

And it was only then, over a minute later, that Harry realized that Kaylens hadn't moved. She lay on the ground, flipped on her side and slumped over the remnants of a broken chair, without so much as a finger twitch.

His stomach dropped.

"Kaylens..." he mouthed. She was pale, her skin damp and gray-looking, and she just lay there.

There were other patrons scattered across the pub. They could be unconscious or worse, yet Kaylens was the closest to him.

Harry moved.

Hastily he moved, muttering a spell that loosened the ropes on his wrists. In two seconds flat he'd wiggled them off and dropped down beside her, the glass digging sharp and deep into his kneecaps. It hurt, but he didn't care. The glass just crunched, tore his jeans, and his wrists gave several sharp, angry throbs to remind him that the skin was scabbed over and that their owner was a moron who played with sharp objects.

Harry grabbed her and flipped her over, the witch making the sort of sound dying giraffes did. But she didn't open her eyes. She didn't so much as twitch.

"Kaylens," he muttered, grabbing her face and giving it a slap.

Nothing.

She did absolutely nothing.

Instead a bloodied lock of hair slipped over her eyes, the witch bleeding from somewhere on her head.

"Shit," he muttered, smoothing it back and trying to think. He didn't know what to do. He had to-

"Harry! Get away from it!"

Harry's veins flooded with ice.

The voice rang out again, full of threat. "I mean it, Harry."

Slowly he looked up.

Harry Potter stared slack jawed at Ronald Weasley. His dead best friend clambered to his feet, a dark bruise encircling the whole left side of his freckled face.

"Harry," he repeated, his wand pointed right at Kaylens and him. "Move. Away. From. That. Thing. Get away, before it wakes."

Ron's words dripped with a blind hatred that Harry'd never heard in his friend's voice before, not even directed towards Malfoy. But Harry couldn't do anything. He couldn't even talk.

Harry blinked stupidly, not fully processing what was happening. All he knew was that Ron was not dead, Ginny's curse had not worked, and now a pair of icy blue eyes were fixated upon Kaylens as if she were Lucifer incarnate.

Fortunately for Harry, Luna was not nearly as thrown by Ron's sudden return to the realm of the living.

"Why hello, Ronald. I was wondering when you'd stop pretending."

Ron's eyes flickered to Luna's for the briefest of seconds, before his wand shot out, fixated upon his quarry.

"So how long have you been awake, Ronald?" Luna continued airily, rising to her feet in one fluid motion. Her bound hands began fiddling with her hair, chunks of dirt falling out of it from a potted plan.

Ron's bruised face contorted into a scowl at this. "Long enough."

The blonde moved over to where Ron stood, staring at Kaylens as if he expected her to leap to her feet and tear out someone's throat. "Well Ronald, would you mind undoing these for me?" Luna said, extending her wrists to him expectantly. "Harry seems a bit preoccupied."

Ron's gaze never left his target, his wand flicking to Luna's outstretched arms without a glance, sending her tight ropes coiling free.

Luna smiled happily, flexing her wrists at eye level as if to test them, and Ron took a step forward.

"I'll ask you one more time, Harry," he muttered. "Get away from the Grim."

Ron was alive.

Ron was alive.

Harry hadn't even processed that, but that alive friend of his had a wand levelled at him.

Harry's confusion by Ron's sudden return to the land of the living would have to wait. At a loss for explanations, he turned back to Kaylens, dropping a hand on her forehead, his stomach flipping unnaturally. Her skin felt cool beneath his own, and he could practically feel Ron's poisonous stare burrowing into him.

Ron thought Kaylens was a Grim.

A Grim?

Harry wasn't sure what that meant, but she was pale, cold, and nearly gray. He had an awful, sinking feel in the pit of his stomach. He'd had the same one in the hospital wing as she'd lain there, still for days.

"Kaylens…" he muttered.

"Harry!" Ron snapped. "She's a bloody Grim. A Living Grim. Get the hell away from it."

He ignored him.

He ignored him because where his hand was a gentle tingling had started, radiating out and onto him, running across his open palm where his skin fell into contact with hers.

It was like small bits of static electricity were passing between them, and Merlin…

Merlin it felt fucking good.

His fingers trailed down her face, a soft moan escaping her lips, drawing her shallow breaths into stark contrast with his own relieved one. "Jesus Kaylens," he muttered, before turning back to face the rest of the room.

He nearly forgot about Ron's babble. Instead he looked at Dean, the wizard sprawled beneath an overturned table that Luna was up-righting. His dorm mate was clearly hurt and hurt bad. "We need to get help," he said. Along the walls the scant others present were watching with bated breaths. He looked for the tawny haired wizard that'd been helping. He'd been older. "We need to get out of here before-"

"First you need to get away from the Grim Harry!" Ron bellowed, voice thunderous. "You might not know what the bloody hell she is, but I do. And you saw what she did!"

Hermione let out a muffled protest, and Ron's eyes flickered for a moment to where she sat, propped up, wide-eyed and staring. It looked like she was trying to say something, but her broken ribs weren't letting her.

It was the distraction Harry had needed.

He moved, fast. He placed himself between Ron and Kaylens, his own wand out, and he pointed it directly into Ron's furious face. He didn't know what the hell was happening to Ron, but he'd been hit with a hex – an unknown hex, and he obviously meant to harm Kaylens.

He was deluded. Grim's were omens of death. A living, breathing, sentient being could not be one. Not to mention he was pretty positive that even if she was one, then that sure as hell wasn't the sort of thing you wanted to piss off.

And still, something in the back of his mind stirred, reminding him of his previous suspicions, that he'd once accused her of being a hag. He'd wondered if she was a part species, because it would have explained why she was always in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Harry swallowed and his throat was dry. "Ron look," he tried, "we don't have time for this. There are other Death Eaters in town and we need to prepare. We need to get read-"

"We can't leave that thing lying around," Ron challenged, raising his own wand until it was eye level, directed at his scar. "I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't seen it, Harry. But leave a Living Grim lying around long enough and it will kill you."

"Ron, stop it!" Hermione shouted, sounding winded.

Behind him an unhappy murmur rose from Kaylens.

Luna hovered over Dolohov, sending thick ropes coiling around his arms and legs. And as Harry watched her, he noticed one of the non-student patrons inching away from where they stood, her frightened face fixated on Kaylens as well.

His eyes narrowed. "Would someone kindly tell me what's going on here?"

Hermione made a pained sound, but tried to sit up. Neville dropped down immediately to help. It looked like she was shifting positions to breathe better. "She can't be a Grim," she said weakly. "Ron….he thinks she's a Reach, but she can't be." Her voice was ridiculously weak, her entire body barely supported by Neville.

Harry's eyes did not leave Ron's for a second. "A Reach? And to me that means...?"

"An energy shifter," Neville supplied. "That...that t-thing that just happened..." The Gryffindor attempted to wave, nearly dropping Hermione in the process. "That thing with the air... It was energy. They can draw on it when they need to-"

"When the need to kill people," Ron finished angrily. "I'd bet my broom Bagman is dead, Harry. That thing," he indicated, gesturing violently with his wand, "did it!"

"And she also quite possibly saved our lives," Neville said, sounding disturbingly reasonable. "Come on Ron. Harry needed a distraction to take out Dolohov."

"She could have killed us all Neville!" Ron shouted, mercifully unheard upon the street as Luna's silencing charms were cast upon the windows and doors.

"But she didn't!" Neville shot back, setting Hermione down in one of the few chairs that had escaped unscathed.

Harry looked around the room, and he couldn't help but notice that the few adults present seemed to be staying completely and totally silent.

Ron's resolve only grew. "Harry, she's not human," he declared. "She's not even a witch! All she is, is an energy draining leech that would kill her own mother if she had the chance. That's why they call them Living Grims! Whomever comes in contact with one dies! Meeting one is like seeing your own-"

"Death?" Harry supplied, finally getting angry. His head hurt. Ron being alive, Kaylens being…whatever it was they thought she was. It was too much to process. They had bigger things to deal with, like Ginny being alive and imperious-cursed outside right now.

"Ron," he said, trying to reason, "if she had wanted to kill us, don't you think she already would have? It's not like we've outright brawled and yanked out her hair, or anything."

His last sentence was dry as fuck, and Ron's expression faltered, just long enough for Harry to know his point had hammered through his thick skull. If Kaylens had really wanted to kill them, she'd had ample opportunity.

Instead she'd done the exact opposite, at least for him.

Hell, now she'd done it twice.

Hermione shook her head. "Ron, she can't be a Reach." She sounded pained at the lack of certainty. "Remember History of Magic, the unusual species unit? You know with Veelas and Vampires? Things like that? I did some additional reading-"

Ron stared at her and blinked. "Of course you did."

"-and I found a book that covered Reaches, and a Reach can't do Magic! They simply can't, and I've seen her do magic in class."

Ron snorted, a smug expression crossing his face. "A pre-magicked wand. Don't you see? We've never actually seen her do anything beyond basic, first year spells now have we?"

Harry's mind churned, searching for something to refute the statement, but when it came down to it, he honestly hadn't seen her do any magic. She'd stunned him, but that was it.

In Dumbledore's office she hadn't even reached for her wand. She hadn't even tried to defend herself.

In Borgin's shop she hadn't either.

Nor on the train.

Nor in Grimmauld.

It was like using her wand wasn't second nature, like she didn't know how to use one.

Harry felt suddenly cold. "Look," he said, "just don't touch her. Leave her be, at least until we figure a way out of this mess."

Ron's expression didn't soften, but after a long and cold glare his wand arm fell. "Fine, Harry, but remember whose idea this was. Grims are supposed to be killed on sight. So you can deal with the Ministry. Not. Me."

Killed on sight?

An iron ball dropped in his stomach. "You're fucking kidding me."

Ron's expression said otherwise. Harry glanced at Hermione, an enchanted bat having flown and taken to nesting in her hair, his best friend looking far too tired to fight it.

But she managed to send him an upset look, one that told him everything he needed to know.

Ron was right.

Of course he was. Mr. Weasley worked at the Ministry. Ron had grown up in the wizarding world. Ron knew all of its prejudices, even agreed with some. Hell, Ron had been afraid of Lupin upon first finding out hadn't he?

"A Grim...a living Grim...amongst us...amongst us again..."

The whimpering of the woman, who was still attempting to slide away, reached his ears, and the sound of her frightened ramblings made him realize just what he was dealing with.

Kaylens had killed someone. She'd killed someone. His eyes flew to where Bagman had fallen, only to watch Ron traverse his way there, as if in slow motion, bending down, taking a pulse...

Ron's eyes lifted, and they grew cold like glacial chips of ice. Then they swiveled towards the girl on the floor, and that was all the confirmation Harry needed.

Bagman was dead.

Harry's stomach wrenched and he turned to look at her.

Golden eyes were staring back, a frightened expression across her pale face.


ECOTS


The car door slammed behind him, the rain having left the leather interior drenched. "Tonks!" he shouted, concern that she would pass out very prevalent. The window was covered with ice, and he needed to drive. But if those things got any closer…

"Go…" she managed.

His foot met the gas and he marveled at how the hell she was still conscious. The Auror's wand was still held tight, aimed out the window, quietly muttering about a man named Lupie.

"Daddy... Dada..."

Something was boiling within him, something worse than fear as he shifted into reverse, slamming on the gas so hard the subsequent tire squeal left Emily screeching.

Tonks was leaning between the front seats, aiming her wand through the ever widening crack in the windshield, screaming as he stabbed violently at the defroster.

Somehow, amidst it all, his brain was still working logically.

Hydroplaning on the slick soil the car spun. Cranking the wheel into the turn the spin slowed until it was under his control, and they were on the road, driving, sobbing, shaking.

He wasn't sure when he finally lost consciousness. He was only sure that they were far beyond the cemetery where his young wife lay.


ECOTS


"Kaylens?" he practically had to dig the word out of his throat.

She looked at him, and it was like he'd never seen her before. A few tiny pinpricks of light still danced in her irises, her hair tousled and tangled, her skin a disturbing shade of pale-gray.

She wet her lips, her eyes flickering from Ron to him and back again, and both of her hands were shaking.

And then it hit him.

He rounded on Ron.

"You were going to kill her?!" Harry practically exploded as he put the pieces together. He moved without thinking, shoving himself in front of Kaylens and shielding her with his entire body. "Is that what you planned?" he demanded, and his wand was back up. "It's not enough that the Ministry indoctrinates their petty prejudices against everything and everyone, but you were stupid enough to actually consider listening to them?"

The red head's expression faltered, and it didn't take long to see why.

Ron had just noticed that Kaylens was awake.

Harry was furious for reasons he could not begin to understand.

"What's the matter Ron?" he said, and his voice was colder than an arctic front. "You had no problem talking when you proclaimed her ass inhuman a second ago. Gryffindor lion got your tongue?"

Ron let out a stutter, Hermione making a sound. "Harry…Harry stop."

He didn't.

"Couldn't quite catch that, Ron," he savagely bit, and this time he nearly growled. "What the fuck were you planning on doing?" Anger flooded him, hot and molten, and he wanted nothing more than to hex his best friend straight in the head.

Funny, how his mood shifted. A second ago he'd been happy as hell Ron was alive. Now he just wanted to mind wipe him.

A slight motion caught his eye and he glanced at Kaylens. She still sat on the floor, looking woozy, but her incredible fucking eyes were looking up. She looked at him as if she'd never seen him before.

Their eyes locked, and he grimaced. It was the best he could do.

"Don't move," he mouthed, incapable of articulating anything else. If she moved he couldn't protect her. If she moved someone, anyone might get off a spell that would end her. But all Harry knew was that if she was a Reach, then it wasn't her fault. She'd been born that way. She hadn't asked for it, just like he hadn't asked to have a death sentence hanging over his own head.

You couldn't help what you were.

Suddenly every hostile action, every word that had passed between them made perfect sense.

The whispered conversation in the bookshop, her anger at having been overheard, her familiarity with Remus, her unwillingness to get discovered when hiding on the train, why she'd been literally everywhere she'd been.

She wasn't a hag. No. She was something else, and whatever the fuck a Reach was, he bet his ass that Voldemort wanted one.

She'd been hunted. Dumbledore had been protecting her, hiding her in plain sight.

His anger at Ron's actions boiled over.

He leveled his wand once again. "Answer the question Ron."

Ron's eyes, glued to the floor, refused to look up. "I...I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Doesn't look like you were thinking at all actually."

"Harry you don't understand what those things are capa-"

"Sure I do," he interrupted, and his voice dripped with acid. "Saving our asses from Death Eaters and werewolves seems a good start."

"That thing needs put down-"

"Ronald, stop it!"

All eyes darted to the small brunette in the chair.

"Tell me you weren't even considering that," Hermione practically begged. "I thought you were too smart to go by what the Ministry says. It's just another petty law."

"It's not petty Mione! It's for our protection-"

"Protection from what?" She sounded near hysterical, wincing as she clutched her side. "Anyone with a wand is dangerous. Just because she's different doesn't mean she should be singled out."

Ron's jaw dropped. "Hermione! She killed Bagman! Did she show any mercy then? Did she?"

Hermione's full lips parted and a look of abject upset mixed with conflict crossed her face. "He was a Death Eater," she finally said, as if having a hard time getting out the words. "Logically, he might have-"

"That's insane, Hermione."

Harry's skull gave a dull, hard throb as he listened to Ron. This didn't sound like him. It didn't sound like him at all. Ron knew what Death Eaters were capable of. He'd fought besides him! "Ron what the fu-" he started to say, only for Luna to cut him off.

"Actually Ronald," Luna said, "I think Hermione's the most logical person in the room. You should really listen to her."

Everyone's heads darted to her, and Luna looked up, seeming startled to find so much attention on her. Then again the sight she was greeted with was probably fairly daunting.

The room had been decimated, only the enchanted bats intact, and even one of them was sporting a flaming wing. Harry and Ron stood twenty paces apart, Harry's wand levelled directly at Ron's face, which was partially covered in pumpkin seeds from a decoration exploding. Hermione was teetering out of her chair, breathing heavily and clutching her ribs, while Neville stared as if they'd all lost their minds. And out of the two conscious adults only one wasn't whimpering in a corner.

Every other person in the pub was either knocked out or dead.

"Oh," Luna said, her dreamy expression vanishing. "We're listening to me then?"

Neville choked on a laugh, then winced as the pain in his nose caused immediate regrets. "Awphays phisten to phou, Phuna."

Harry's malachite gaze cut towards his dorm mate and he frowned. "Can someone please fix, Neville?"

Hermione cringed in pain but managed a nod, and he heard the slight sounds of conversation as she cast a spell, frowned, and then cast another.

The entire time the room was eerily quiet, and Harry couldn't help but feel unnerved by the adult wizard, the one that looked strangely familiar as he knelt there, pensively studying all seven of them. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and until then had been remarkably silent.

Until now.

"I think it's possible," the man said in an accented voice, "that some of us may be overreacting." His light brown eyes shifted with a vague smile towards Ron, and he lifted both his eyebrows up as if waiting for someone to concede the point.

Ron actually balked. "You can't possibly be talking about me."

"Well," the man said, "you were considering killing someone until about thirty seconds ago. Surely even you can understand why that might be perceived as a little rash?"

The Gryffindor's star Keeper jerked his head around and looked at the room at large. "Will someone tell me where the hell he came from?"

The older wizard simply smiled and brushed his hands off on his pants. "Your friendly neighborhood, Aussie, at your service. Forgive me for not engaging in this little drama sooner, but I rather thought tending to the wounded took precedent, so those who got hurt wouldn't do something grossly inconvenient, like try to die."

Harry realized then and only then that the man had been slowly going from unconscious body to unconscious body and tending to them. Half the people now sported bandages across their heads and slings.

How the hell hadn't he noticed that?

He was going to get killed by Voldemort. He just knew it. The snake was bound to sneak up right behind him and hex him in the back of the head before he even noticed.

Finished with Neville, Hermione took a deep breath. "Ron, I think all that we're trying to say here is that we shouldn't start hexing people."

"She bloody well killed someone, Hermione!"

She visibly winced. "Ron, he would have hurt us."

The red head scoffed. "This is Bagman were talking about."

"He would have."

The verbal diatribe between the two teenagers ceased and Harry glanced back, shocked to see Kaylens on her feet, standing, albeit unsteadily. Her wrists were still bound, hanging awkwardly behind her.

She looked hesitant, unsure. "Ludovic Bagman, was his name, yes?"

It was more of a statement than a question, and Harry let it hang there as he turned to untie her arms for her.

It took two seconds, the ropes dropping. "Thanks," she breathed, wincing as she rubbed at the bruised skin. Like him she had cuts on her wrists, abrasions where the skin had rubbed.

Ron scoffed angrily. "How could you know that? You murdered him without giving him a chance!"

Kaylens took a step back and eyed his friend like a frightened animal. "Because-" she started.

"Because WHY!?" Ron burst.

That's it. Harry was going to hex him.

"Because he didn't show any mercy to me!" Something broke in Kaylens' voice and she glanced nervously around the room, Harry shooting a threatening look of his own. He didn't trust his best mate or that witch in the corner.

Ron's eyebrows went low over his eyes. "Mercy to you? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

Harry honestly wanted to know too, but he gave Ron a hard stare.

Ron ignored him. "Well?"

"You really should put more effort into your revisions, Ronald," Luna said. "It would help your deductive reasoning skills tremendously."

Everyone looked at her again, and Luna blinked owlishly. "Ludo hurt her. It's obvious." She finished adjusting her sock, which was striped orange and black and went all the way up to her knee, and glanced back at where Kaylens had practically backed into the wall. "That is what happened, isn't it?"

Kaylens wet her lips and looked a little scared, managing a nod. "Yes."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Like you can believe anything that thing says!"

Hermione was pleading in a calm, rational voice. Ron was snapping back and Hary caught the phrase, 'Bagman wasn't a killer,' but suddenly that all seemed so unimportant. For Neville had just asked what spell had actually hit Ron, and Harry was suddenly wondering that as well.

Hermione had gone ashen. "Ron, Neville's right," she quelled. "This isn't you."

And then, just like that, all of Ron's strange behavior clicked into place.

Harry turned around, scanning the room, taking in each of the unknown patron's faces. Most were still unconscious. In fact, all except for the one Aussie and the stammering lady were. But Hermione was right, this wasn't Ron. He may be brash, often speaking without thinking, but Ron was not violent, and he sure as fuck wasn't murderous.

Harry's eyes landed on that whimpering woman, and in a second of inattention she let it slip.

There was an unnaturally concerted expression on her face.

He was positive the growl came from him.


ECOTS


She hated this. She hated all of it. A bat swooped down, rustling her hair, and she closed her eyes and whimpered.

She wasn't used to this, to magic. It was foreign and dark and terrifying. The scents of apples and pumpkins mixed on the air, mingling with piss and beer and blood. The entire room was wrecked, nearly everything destroyed, and people littered the ground.

And at least two of them wanted her dead.

Kally stood there, on her own two feet, feeling nauseous, ill, like she was going to collapse at any second. A high pitched buzz rang in her ears - oxygen deprivation – and she listened as the room at large essentially debated whether or not to kill her.

She couldn't blame them. She'd killed someone.

She wet her lips and her eyes flickered open, anchoring onto the fallen form of Ludo Bagman. It was like an invisible weight pressed down on her chest. Her left hand shook, her breaths unsteady, but…

She didn't regret it.

She couldn't.

The Three Broomsticks moved around her, but it all was happening – the conversation, the debate, the chaos – through a dull, buzzing filter. All the voices seemed muted, unreal, and she focused everything she had on trying not to collapse.

And then Potter's wand lashed out, a red spell firing out and striking Weasley full in the chest, and everything came rocketing back into stark clarity.

The wizard dropped like a rock from the astronomy tower, hitting the ground, and while her eyes were still fixed on that a hand grabbed her by the wrist.

Potter wrenched her back, pulling her tight behind him. The muscles in his arm shook, his fingers pressing firm into her forearm, and Kally tried not to wince as his hand finally loosened, but only a little.

It was like he was afraid she would run, but he didn't say a word to her.

No.

His eyes were fixed on the gray-haired woman in the corner, his words like sharp pieces of flint. "Let. Him. Go."

The woman stopped whimpering and blinked from behind large glasses, looking like an oversized owl with beady eyes.

Potter leveled his wand right at her. "Your idea? Clever really," he bit, and the vitriol practically bled from his tongue. "But really, would love to know why you targeted her." He jerked his head back, leaving no doubt that he was talking about her. "Is it because you're just another brain washed Ministry pawn, or does your leader closely resemble a snake?"

His voice was becoming rather snakelike himself. Or it could be her head, which was still reeling from her previous feat, that awful buzzing still in her ears.

Potter gave her wrist a strangely reassuring squeeze, angling his shoulders so that he perfectly blocked her from sight. Kally was left staring at his back, one of Potter's arm twisted behind him so he didn't have to let go of her.

"Harry what..." Hermione sounded hesitant, and Kally's own eyes flicked over in time to see Hermione's dark ones flitting from one end of the room to the other, between the woman and Ron, then between Ron and a shattered plant holder.

Suddenly the brown haired girl moved, clutching her side, staggering to Weasley and scattering broken bottles in her wake.

The woman watched her progress for a second, and then another…

And then all pretense of whimpering stopped, the gray haired woman's mask dropping, her face twisting into a foul expression. "Whatever it is that you are insinuating boy, you should know that I am a Ministry official."

Potter let out a barking laugh. "I'm supposed to be impressed by that, aren't I?"

"Considering that you are committing a crime by keeping that thing alive-"

Her heart flipped.

"The last time I checked the use of an Unforgivable curse was a crime too," Potter bit, slipping his fingers in between her own. "So really, why use it on a sixteen year old wizard? Were you seriously that scared of her," his head tilted back towards her again, "even after she just saved your ass?"

Kally's breath came out all at once, not understanding what was happening. Potter hated her. She hated him, but instead…

Here they were.

Kally hung onto his hand in silent reassurance, and Potter squeezed back.

"Man's got a point, Leanne," another voice chimed in, this one cheerful and accented. "And as a Ministry official, surely you know that the use of an Unforgivable on an underage wizard merits the kiss, not just a life-long Azkaban stint." The other patron smiled like the cat that ate the canary.

Then he stood up, walked on over, and plucked that witch's wand right out of her hand. He gave it a little spin, pointed it and Ron and incanted, "Finite!" before cheerfully telling, "You can go ahead and wake him now girl. I suspect he'll have quite the headache, but he ought to be safe now for polite company."

Hermione nodded, cast enervate, and the Weasley jerked awake.

Potter acknowledged none of it. He just kept his wand leveled at 'Leanne' with one hand and his other tightly within her own.

"Why Amarante," the gray haired witch said, sounding far from welcoming, "what brings you to England? I thought your belligerent parents would have taught you well enough to stay away."

Amarante waggled his eyebrows in an oddly familiar way. "Well you know Très and I, never too far from trouble."

Potter hissed a breath, and Kally realized why: Amarante was the spitting image of one of the Hogwarts professors. A Professor Très?

She thought he taught DADA, but she wasn't exactly in DADA…

"We should go," Luna called dreamily. The witch was barely visible, hidden beneath a curtained window that she had been peering out of.

"Why?" Potter's voice was sharp and urgent. "Do you see someone coming?"

"No…" She emerged from beneath the drapery. "Just a feeling, Harry. I think the iras are trying to tell me something."

"Ira's?" questioned Leanne.

"Yes," Luna said. "They're little orbs that float in and out of this plane of existence. They can see the future you know."

The gray haired woman scrambled to get her feet beneath her. "You're all mad! I don't know what they teach you at that pathetic school of yours-"

"Hogwarts is not pathetic," Neville said with a scowl, his own wand now drawn and leveled at the disgusted looking woman. His nose looked a lot better, even if blood was smeared across his face.

"Neville's right. Hogwarts is really wonderful," Luna agreed. She paused, then added as an afterthought, "And iras are real."

Amarante appeared greatly amused. "Ah, well at least the students aren't too put off by my brother's teaching methods are they?"

Leanne scowled, but Amarante wasn't done.

"So let me guess, Leanne. You're considering turning her," he gestured towards where she stood in Potter's protective grip, "in to the Ministry, and were too much of a coward to confront her yourself, which is why you put the red headed boy over there under the Imperious. Is that it?"

The woman was beginning to look like a cornered animal. "I have every right to do so! That thing is a monster!"

Kally cringed and Potter saw, his eyes resting on her far too critically for far too long.

It was like he was looking straight through her, something strange in his eyes.

The horrible woman was still shouting.

"-that should be put down! And as for you!" she hollered, turning to Potter. "Consorting with such a thing! You of all people!? After that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named I would have thought you of all people understood the importance of getting rid of the bad when you had the chance! Why I never-"

"You ungrateful wench!"

Kally's attention tore to where Ron Weasley was sitting up on the floor, rubbing his head rather gingerly.

Despite this both his blue eyes were focused on the older witch, swimming with undiluted anger. "Harry and her both helped save your pathetic arse, and all you can do is holler at them? What are you, daft?"

The woman's eyes flashed and there was something terrifyingly mad in them. "I'll report you. I'll report ALL of yo-"

Amarante visibly yawned, and in a heartbeat his wand was out.

"Obliviate!"

The deafening roar of Potter, Luna, and Amarante all attempting to extinguish the woman's memory at once sent the wench's head snapping back into the wall. Her eyes rolled around for a count of three, before unconsciousness finally set in.

The Ministry official slumped to the floor with a dull thump.

The patron besides the woman stirred, blinking and looking confused.

"Well that solves that," Amarante said cheerfully, dusting his hands together. "The name's Amarante by the way. I was supposed to be visiting with my brother this weekend, but well..." The man shrugged sheepishly, his ear length hair falling into his eyes. "Got knocked out by him instead. Ruddy imperious wasn't something he could ever throw off very well I'm afraid."

But Kally hardly heard him. She hardly heard anything.

Her eyes had just landed on Dean, and he wasn't moving.

She jerked her hand out of Potters and moved, dropping down by his unconscious form.


ECOTS


No sooner had Kaylens released his hand than Amarante turned his wand on the remaining conscious patron. "Sorry dear but... Obliviate!"

Hermione shot him a critical look.

"Can't leave her free to turn the girl in either now can we?" Amarante pointed out. "No offense, but the British Ministry of Magic is a bit outdated in their laws and views. Australia has the decency to leave unusual species alone as long as they are not harming anyone."

Tension still rippled through him, but Harry nodded a quick thanks. Enough had gone wrong today. They couldn't afford any loose ends, and Amarante had a point. They didn't know how much that other patron had heard.

"Is it unusual that no one here is dead?"

Luna's question was met by five bewildered gazes. Only then did Harry realize that she had not been merely milling around the entire time, but that she had been checking the other patrons to see if they were alright.

Her question did not seem to set well with him, nor Neville apparently.

"Isn't that a good thing?" he asked warily.

Luna's mouth opened, but Ron cut her off. "No Neville, it's bloody well not. Think about it, why would Death Eaters even bother attacking then? If they're not planning to kill or abduct anyone what's the point? All of us are alive, and even they aren't that incompetent. I thought for sure my number was up when that green curse hit me but it wasn't Avada Kedavra, I can tell you that much."

Hermione mad an odd noise, but Ron went on, "And think about it. Why didn't they off Harry when they had the chance?" He glanced at him sheepishly. "Er, sorry mate, but you know what I mean."

He nodded. "It's okay Ron."

Ron nodded, glancing at Kaylens now. "Sorry about earlier Kaylens. I may not like you but I would never..." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Sorry."

"I know," she replied, but she didn't look up, her attention fixed on Dean. It was apparent that she was uncomfortable.

For once Ron noticed something a girl was doing, and he grimaced hard, shaking his head like a wet dog. "But I mean it."

She still didn't meet his eyes, but this time at least gave a small nod. "It's alright," she said, and it was entirely unconvincing. And then, in a voice clearly meant for only herself, she murmured, "I know what I am."

Ron frowned, as did Hermione. Harry just felt oddly sick, flexing his fingers on the thin air where her hand had just been.

Kaylens didn't look at any of them, her skin still a pale, ashy color, her eyes fixed with disturbing concern onto Dean's ear.

"Well," Amarante said, pulling their attention away and yanking on his earlobes, "if I could venture a guess I would say that this whole," he waved a hand around for emphasis, "debacle was merely a way to distract us from something far more sinister."

Harry did not like the sound of that.

"Well whatever their aim was, I suggest we leave." Ron was pacing now. "But if Amarante is right then they won't exactly let us walk right out of here..."

Luna's gaze drifted towards the rear exit. "Our best shot is the woods."

Ron froze. "The Forbidden Forest? Wonderful."

"No...she's right." Kaylens voice was oddly strained, her brow creased with concern as she continued examining Dean. "If I create a distraction one of us should be able to make it back to the school, Death Eaters or not."

Everyone, with the exception of Luna, looked at her oddly.

"What do you mean by distraction?" Neville asked warily.

She looked up and there wasn't an ounce of hesitation on her face. "I mean I go out, draw their attention away from the forest, and give you lot a chance to get away."

Hermione and Amarante were both shaking their heads.

"I can't condone allowing a teenager to put themselves in harm's way," Amarante stated flatly, all trace of lightness gone from his voice.

"Well if you're all right and they're not aiming to kill I'll be just fine," she huffed. "You were so sure of that a minute ago."

The older man's jaw dropped, leaving Harry with an uneasy feeling. "Kaylens I don't..."

She cut him off.

"Look! No one else may be hurt severely but Dean needs help," she said heatedly, gently fingering his ear. "His skull is fractured, and from the looks of it badly."

"How do you know that?" Ron eyed her the way one might eye a flobberworm that had recently learned to talk.

She closed her eyes and sighed. "The human brain is encased in a protective fluid, and if it's fractured badly enough it can ooze out through the auditory cavities-"

"His ear," Hermione supplied, responding to the confused looks on his, Ron's, and Luna's faces.

Ron seemed to be having trouble accepting it. "And you're a healer since...?"

Her shoulders visibly stiffened, and she looked away, but when she spoke there was a tense clip to it. "I've seen it before, Weasley. Now do you want to argue or help your friend?"

The red head threw up his hands. "No need to get testy..."

Harry interrupted them before it could escalate farther. "We have to go. No more time for discussion."

Kaylens nodded, rising from Dean's side. "For once I actually agree with him."

Her voice was firm, steady, a steely glint in her eye as she tore her eyes away from her fallen friend. "He needs help and he needs help soon. We need to move."

"Someone is going to need to stay here," Neville pointed out. "Merlin knows what a Death Eater would do to an unconscious Muggle-born. Not to mention Madame Rosmereta and Lara."

"I'll stay," offered Hermione, earning her a startled look from all parties. She shrugged sadly. "For once I'll admit that I can't do something. My ribs…I'm sure they're broken. There's no way I could outrun anyone right now."

Ron's face became drawn. "Fine. But you're right about one thing Mione. You're in no shape to fend for yourself at the moment, so someone else needs to stay behind."

Harry's eyes flew around the room, taking in the possible volunteers. There were the other unconscious patrons – all five of them - Neville, Kaylens, Ron, and Luna.

"I'll stay," Neville volunteered. "I'm not in as good of shape as the rest of you. I'd have trouble outrunning them on foot."

Ron's eyes narrowed onto him, but there was something approving in his voice. "Alright...but that's something we need to fix once this is over."

A sly smile crossed Neville's face. "The quicker you get out of here the sooner we can get started."

Ron nodded. "Alright. Hermione, you and Neville take Dean into the girl's restroom. Well prop the back door open so if anyone does come in here they'll think we went out through the kitchens. It might buy you an extra thirty seconds to set up defense or escape."

Harry eyed his friend carefully.

Ron went on, "The rest of us will go out the men's restroom window. It leads right into the alleyway between here and Dervish and Bangs."

Harry nodded. "Then you three," he nodded at Luna, Ron, and Kaylens, "can try to make it back to Hogwarts while Amarante covers me."

Kaylens let out a protest, but a wave of his hand silenced her. "You're not going. End of discussion."

"I should create the distraction," Amarante countered.

"No," Harry replied, shaking his head. "We need a distraction, and the bloody Boy-Who-Lived is going to give them one. I doubt the Death Eaters, orders to not kill or not, will be able to resist the chance to have a go at me. Besides, you're the more experienced wizard, so your aim is bound to better than mine, and you know more spells than I do."

Amarante eyed him apprehensively, before a cheeky grin lit up his eyes. "Well alright then," he said, clapping him on the back. "Death Eater target practice. Looks like you're not going to have all the fun after all there, Harry."

As Amarante went to help Luna with the bracing of Dean's neck, and the moving of his limp form, all the while whistling a Muggle show tune, Harry wondered who exactly he had just asked to cover for him.


ECOTS


Her skull ached.

Pinpoints of bright light speckled her vision, and Tonks couldn't help but think that they needed to be sprayed away with a very large hose.

Preferably a power hose.

The car had crashed, and with a dull headache it occurred to her that under better circumstances that ride might have been fun. She made a mental note to find Remus, rent a Muggle car, and play 'slide it down a muddy hill' at the first opportunity.

Right now wasn't it. She'd been thrown into that tiny space between the back and front seats, and her bum was quite literally stuck. Blinding pain in her shoulder let her know it'd been dislocated, and a small drop of blood dripped off her eyebrow and into her eye.

Maybe this was why they had seatbelts.

With a shove and an oomph and more than a few grunts Tonks managed to break free, and collapsed with all the grace of a lady – she was a lady dammit! – onto the seat.

The leather was so wet it was practically slimy. Like a tentacle. Or a slug. Or a tentacle slug.

She forced herself to think past her pounding head – she was pretty sure she had another concussion – and she took stock of the situation. Yup, she was still trapped in a car closely resembling an ice box. Only now a tree branch jutted through the front windshield, ending where Emily's head would have been had the girl not been thrown out of it. Now the kid was curled up in a whimpering ball on the floor mats, but at least all her limbs and head were still intact.

Hrm…perhaps that was an argument against seatbelts.

Tonks shook herself and tried the handle. They had to get out before the dementors caught up. Unfortunately the door appeared to be wedged shut by a tree.

The car had veered off the road, bouncing first into then out of a ditch, before slamming right into a wooded grove.

Well, if you were going to wreck a car you might as well wreck a car.

Her fingers found the automatic window key, pressing until she realized that it too, was nonfunctional.

Now this was downright unfair. She nearly swore, her left arm flailing uselessly at her side as she looked for a way out. An 'ease of access' sticker clung to the window and stared her mockingly in the face.

Whoever had designed this vehicle clearly hadn't ever had to crawl around in its half-crushed backseat, because if they had they sure as Helga wouldn't have had the audacity to put 'ease of access' on it!

The windows were still covered in ice, and Tonks glared at them. Then she braced her back against one of the back doors, lengthened her legs so they could reach the opposite side's window, added some additional pounds of muscle to them, and then – after deeming her newly morphed 'man legs' satisfactory - she kicked out at the glass.

The glass and the window curved out, buckling back in against her bruised feet.

It actually hurt.

Tonks cussed, like the half-man, half-woman she was, and kicked again. And this time she aimed for the corner.

It gave way. Splintering spider web shot out across it before the window collapsed out, giving way to hundreds of glittering shards. It was interesting, because the glittering shards sparkled, just like a dozen other lights already flashing within her vision.

She wondered if that was normal or concussion induced?

Tonks calf oozed blood, a large gash in it, but the concussed metamorphmagus didn't even notice.

"Kenneth," she croaked, sounding like a frog. "Kenneth wake up."

Kenneth was cataleptic, and his only response was to slip off the dashboard and onto the icy steering wheel, the brunt of his weight pressing down on the horn. It blared. Loudly. A single noted beep shattered the afternoon silence that until then had only been broken by the sound of the still groaning engine and the pounding rain.

"Ugh, men. Even knocked out they don't listen to me."

She reached over the seat and gave him a shove.

He slouched over, like the good unconscious man-President he was, and thumped against the door.

Good. She really didn't want to have her soul sucked out because of a car horn. They didn't need to attract any unwanted attention, and dementors could move fast.

Now….how long they had been out? How far had Kenneth driven before his adrenaline had worn off and he'd passed out? He'd lasted longer under the dementors' influences than most, but Tonks seriously needed to know how much distance the dementors had to make up. They could have thirty seconds, or maybe ten minutes, or an hour – she always had been bad at time tables.

Right. Well, if they were going to escape they all first had to wake up. She poked Kenneth experimentally to see if he'd twitch, and he did. In fact, he groaned like a zombie and blood splattered out of his nose in a fine mist.

Well that answered that: the President's nose was clearly broken. There was a dried chunk on his upper lip, and it looked like he'd been eating a sadistic lollipop flavored for the vampiric sort.

In the face of half a dozen dementors Kenneth had managed to maintain his composure, and he had been without the benefit of a protective Patronus. This Muggle was made of stronger stuff than the most battle hardened of wizards.

And yet it was a car wheel that had sucker punched him.

Well, he wasn't waking up soon. She had to get help. Now.

Contorting herself as best she could, she slithered out the window with her one good arm and inured calf, and she clawed at the slippery roof for balance. That worked out well for her; her sleeve snagged on a glass shard embedded in the window frame, her palm slid off the roof, and Tonks smacked bodily into a tree.

She glowered at it. It was, after all, the tree that had prevented her from opening the door in the first place. As Tonks lay there, bright lights twinkling in her vision and disturbingly reminding her that she might slip into unconsciousness at any moment, her world suddenly lit up.

Shite. There was something she was supposed to do when it came to bright lights, and she was positively, absolutely positive that it had something to do with running into them. Or away from them? Shite.

A pair of headlights turned off the road and shone down on them, blinding her.

She waved her good hand around, slinging mud and water in the process, rather discouraged that her new man-woman-legs no longer seemed to work.

She did, however, manage to yell for that device her Muggleborn father had always carried around, a mobular something or other.

And then any thought about mobulars died. Shock erupted through her entire being, and Tonks gaped like a fish. The car door had opened and slammed, and a figure had stepped out into the beam of the headlights.

It was Sirius Black, and he was silhouetted within them.