Author's Note: Updated as of January 2020. This chapter was written decades back when I was first experimenting with different writing styles, because to get good you have to experiment. So any 'changes in style' you may see in this chapter or the next few are a result of that. Any stylistic changes are temporary.
Chapter 17 ~ The Black Pool
"The unwritten law of triage is knowing when nothing else can be done, and actually accepting that."
~ Mass Casualty Incident Personnel
ECOTS
Dublin, Ireland: population in excess of 450,000 Muggles, with 334 witches and wizards.
Since medieval times the locale has served as the capital of the free standing Republic; the Black Pool, or so the Anglicism had stated. Now the expanse of land it rested upon stood as one of the most populated pockets of isolation upon the earth.
An island.
It really was the perfect place for Voldemort's experiment to begin.
3.65 million Muggles lived within the Republic of Ireland alone, with another 1.6 million in Northern Ireland. Between the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland there were 1,694 humans of magical descent, and that didn't count magical beings.
For comparison, the United Kingdom only contained 3,432 wizards and witches, and that was amidst a population of over 58 million.
Ireland had a magical populace over six times that of the UK. In fact, the island contained the largest percentage of magical beings per capita of any place on the planet.
It would soon contain the lowest.
At the mouth of the River Liffey, the bustling Black Pool of commerce lay in wait, as did a woman clad in the disgusting vise of Muggle apparel.
The rain had let up considerably in comparison to the early morning pelting, yet the harsh drizzle did nothing to mar the once striking beauty as she stood alone upon the Lucan bridge, dark hair flowing in the wind like a canvas born of the Renaissance.
In truth, had one possessing the skill sat to immortalize her countenance, it would have born striking similarity to a painting that had once hung centuries earlier upon the inlaid walls of Sarsfield castle.
The only dissimilarity between the canvases would lay in the minute detail of the subjects' hands. The latter's pale, elegant fingers had been through war and back, and those fingers uncorked a clear vial with surprising gentleness, tilting its contents over the ancient brick viaduct until they fell into the water supply below.
Those fingers were also supposed to be dead.
As the woman disappeared, seemingly without a trace to the eyes of a Muggle passersby, the beginnings of the curse began filtering into the water system of downtown Dublin.
The Black Pool would soon reawaken a Black Plague.
ECOTS
Love.
Because of it cities have been erected and fallen. Homes have been made and broken. Mere mortals have been resurrected and forgotten.
It holds the capability of silencing the strong, immortalizing the weak, dashing the dearest of dreams and destroying the darkest of fears. Its sheer power is unfathomable, and it is due to this overwhelming emotion that the human spirit is capable of being either broken or urged onward to survive seemingly insurmountable odds.
For one raven haired wizard, the pressure born of hate and preserved by his ability to withstand it was upon him as it had never before been.
The fate of the war, of wizarding kind, of the world rested on his shoulders.
The blank, deadened eyes of Seamus Finnigan haunted him, just like Cedric's had, just like the blank, startled expression upon Sirius' had.
Harry breathed in deeply, the non-witch clutched in his arms a strangely reassuring presence. He turned his face away from the world and buried it against her skin, and for some absurd reason she let him.
It has been said that it is only strength of character that separates the weak from the strong. Therein rests their unfaltering ability to do what must be done, in the darkest of times, even when presented with no unquestionably good option.
They'd stayed in the forest for awhile, but eventually they had to move. The sun was setting, and this was the last place they'd want to be when night finally fell.
Wordlessly the girl had taken him by the hand, silently leading him through the thick coppices and bramble, disregarding the way the coarse briers tore her skin, snaring her clothing. Her silhouette seemed incapable of feeling, and the young man's envy of her skill was thickening, for each thorny prick dragging across his skin sung the guilt he felt, crying for his intervention in what they had left behind in Hogsmeade with the tug of a portkey.
The man felt guilty of abandonment. The killing of Death Eaters he could honestly care less about.
The wizard had been forced to leave his friends on the battle ground. It hadn't been his choice; a portkey had wrenched them away, but they'd wound up in an unknown location in the middle of a forest, so right now he was incapable of helping anyone.
That fact pissed him off to no end.
Harry's footsteps sunk into the damp earth, following Kaylens' tracks as they pushed their way through the thickets, stumbling into a small moonlit clearing, a murky pool of water collecting near its edge.
The two brave souls stood torn and battered, bathed in the blue hues of moonlight that filtered through the night sky's mottled clouds. Both had been through different versions of hell and both had survived, but the differences were palpable.
Harry had retained the ability to trust a rare few, but he was loath to accept their help.
Kalliandra trusted no one, but knew when to accept help.
They were the perfect exemplifications of both sides of the same spectrum.
It would perhaps be the breaking of the other besides them that would finally teach them each how to do what the other lacked, and to again care without restraint.
ECOTS
October 31st, Halloween, 1996.
It would forever stand as the day of infamy, as the night when Aurors had fallen upon the town in striking force, scattering Death Eaters to the far flung corners of the UK, to wherever their alcoves of safety lay, leaving the scarcely varnished village under the jurisdiction of the Ministry.
There was much to sort out.
It had taken so long for the authorities to reach its inhabitants that the spell the Death Eaters had woven had already been completed; not that the Ministry knew that.
Hogsmeade had not been the only town to fall under attack that day, and since it had been the only all wizarding village in Scotland, Head Auror Shacklebolt had been forced to make a tough decision: they would come to the aid of Hogsmeade last. He had reasoned that Hogsmeade was an all wizarding village right next to Hogwarts, and because of that the inhabitants had a better chance of defending themselves than a Muggle area would.
After all, Muggle areas had few defenses, while the citizens of Hogsmeade had at least been armed.
Weeks later half of the magical populace would call for Kingsley's head, but the man never wavered in his decision. He steadfastly stood by his decision to go to the aid of the weak first.
But aid to anyone had been slow. The Death Eaters had been strategic this time, and the Aurors had found that out the hard way.
The bastards had set up anti-apparation wards around every attacked town and village, and the Floo networks leading into them had been shut down. When the first calls for help had reached the Ministry of Magic, the Magical Law Enforcement division had reacted as it normally did: its operatives attempted to apparate in, wands blazing.
More than a dozen Aurors and Hit Wizards had been splinched in less than twenty seconds. They were still looking for another half dozen. Those missing operatives had disappeared when using the Floo network.
The tactic had made it almost impossible for help to reach anyone.
By the time the Aurors had actually gotten to any of the villages being attacked, to any of the areas where Muggles and wizards lived in close proximity, such as near Ottery St. Catchpool, there had been so many Muggles murdered and sprawled lifelessly across the ground that it had been physically hard for the Aurors to walk, let alone fight back.
But there had been no fight to have.
As the Aurors had arrived, the Death Eaters had disappeared as quickly as they had come.
It was almost like they had been in these strategic places for a very specific purpose, and that purpose had been completed long before anyone had ever arrived.
Even more disturbing than all of this, was how the Death Eaters had found a way to conquer the anti-apparation barriers.
How?
The damage was widespread. Throughout the UK, from Dundee to Belfast, from Diagon Alley to Dublin's Aingingein Marketplace, from the Orkney islands above Scotland to the towns bordering the English Channel, magical recesses of homes and beings, small pockets of isolated homes and wizards, and places of commerce had been taken over.
Wizards and witches had all been targeted, held captive until night had fallen, and each surviving being of magical descent present professed to have felt the same effect. It had been a cold wave that felt worse than death. It was like a quickening of the blood that had seeped into their very souls, raising the shackles of animals and hairs of humans, eliciting the screeches of owls and cries of children, and that spell had fallen across all parties right around dusk.
Something had happened that day, for the Death Eaters had swarmed into the villages and private homes, killing only Muggles and the wizards and witches who had dared to fight back before the arrival of the Aurors, and they'd held them all hostage until night fall.
And then, just like that, they'd let them all go.
Thirty four dead, one hundred and sixty injured, and that was a count of magical beings in England alone.
The Muggle death toll had been far more staggering.
Seamus Finnigan had been amongst the fallen. He'd been killed by an evisceration curse, and the caster had been one Ginerva Molly Weasley, a school aged witch held under the imperious curse.
Ginny Weasley was now in the hospital wing of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and had thus far refused to speak to anyone. But she didn't need to talk for those close to her to know what had happened: she had fought the imperius curse strongly enough to save her brother – a killing curse required intent after all - but she hadn't been strong enough to save her boyfriend.
It was a thought that would haunt her for the rest of her life, and while she remained silently mute under the care of Pomfrey, Dean Thomas sat in the cold corridor of the hospital wing's hallway.
The noise of the hall was deafening, reverberating with the frenzied footfalls and echoes of frantic parents unable to locate their children. Very few had taken credence to Dumbledore's assurances that there were only three children within the hospital wing, two of whom Dean treasured above life itself.
He hardly felt the pain as another large father trampled upon his foot, and he pulled his legs closer to his chest, wishing to sink into the wall for all he was worth.
Seamus was gone.
Ginny was no longer speaking.
Kalliandra, Harry, and Hermione were missing.
And no one was letting on what had happened to Ron.
Dean felt sick, and his mind churned with what had happened to him when left in the presence of Voldemort himself.
It was then that the sandy haired mother of Seamus stumbled into the hall, nearly knocking Luna Lovegood to the floor, her deadened eyes remarkably similar to how Ginny's had been when he had found her, crumbled and shaking besides Professor Tres' unconscious form in the kitchen of Madam Puddifoots.
Pressing his forehead to his bent up knees, shame dealt its final blow, for he now knew the truth.
He was going to hell, if this was not already it.
ECOTS
Somewhere, deep in the forest, Harry calmly observed the sky. The autumn leaves struck a stark contrast to the night's dark backdrop, and deep gray clouds blotted out all semblance of starlight, save for the few persistent pinpoints and the sliver of moonlight fighting their way through the mottled mess.
It was exquisite.
Though no amount of beauty, nor staring, could drive the disturbing thoughts from his skull, and with a resigned sigh he dropped down to kneel besides Kaylens, his kneecaps sinking into the damp dirt.
"Are you okay?"
Harry heard her, but failed to respond. He didn't know what the fuck he was feeling right then, too many conflicting emotions to count, but he was damn certain if a true Legilimens looked inside his mind that they might actually scream and run.
Literally.
Then again, if he was lucky they might just hex him dead, for his own damn good.
Harry stared down at the water and his reflection flickered, wavering on its glassy surface, and that doppelganger flat out mocked him. Staring back were the accusatory jade eyes of a killer, an abandoner of friends, of someone who seriously wanted to be anywhere but here.
But here he was.
He'd killed without regret earlier; he'd do it again.
"Potter?"
She spoke quietly this time, and Harry didn't even look up. Was he alright?
"No." His cupped hands plunged into the spring, scattering that damnable reflection from its surface, the ripples swelling out across the water until the reeds on the far embankment actually swayed. The sound of water lapping at the edges was hypnotic.
A long time passed, the sound of light splashing besides him mingling with the sounds of the night. Harry watched her reflection in the water as she rubbed blood off her hands, splashing her face. A nasty looking cut had streaked down the right side of her face, and for the first time he was actually noticing.
Until now he'd just assumed that all the blood hadn't been hers.
Harry rubbed at his own hands, the cuts on his palms, fingers and wrists reopening. That piece of glass in the Three Broomsticks had been nasty. But hey, at least the water felt like the Black Lake in December, iced and unfriendly, so he'd be pleasantly numb while he bled the fuck out.
Kaylens touched him.
Harry might have jerked if it'd been an hour or two earlier, but he didn't. He'd gotten so used to just randomly touching her that he almost liked it. Her hands carefully wrapped around his own, giving them a slight tug up and out of the pond.
It was only then that he realized he'd had them shoved firmly beneath the ice water.
Great, he was so messed up over leaving everyone, over seeing Seamus dead, over nearly getting Kaylens killed that he'd gone cataleptic. Fantastic
He looked up and found Kaylens strange eyes holding his, concern blatant. "We need to do something about this," she said carefully.
Her breath had misted in front of her face, crystallizing on the rapidly cooling air, and Harry had just enough fight left in him to be able to think that if it was already this cold a half hour after the sun set, that they were in for a really great night. Hell, if Voldemort were lucky hypothermia might do the bastard a favor and just finish the job for him.
"Potter?" She slid her thumb over an uninjured part of his wrist and he damn near shuddered. She looked honestly and completely concerned.
He wasn't used to this.
He swallowed, grimacing. "Not sure what you think we should do," he said, surprised by how hoarse he sounded. Pinpricks of pain shot through his wounds as feeling began to return to his hands, and he realized why: Kaylens was holding them between hers, calmly attempting to warm them.
He seriously considered cussing her out on general principle.
But he didn't; he let her do whatever the hell she wanted.
The corner of her mouth twitched up just a bit. "Realize this might be a bit of a stretch," she said, "but we might want to stop the bleeding. Unless passing out sounds like the kind of thing you're into."
"It'll stop bleeding one way or another eventually."
Kaylens' went absolutely still, and the barest trace of disquiet appeared on her face. "That's not funny."
"Wasn't meant to be."
The look she shot him was downright annoyed, the intense color of her eyes not dulled at all by the lack of light. They didn't blaze gold like they did in direct sun, but now there was an almost amber sheen that reminded him of Lupin.
Those eyes shot down to his hands, the non-witch taking a sharp breath as she became fascinated with the gashes running up and down them. They hurt, but it'd been necessary. He'd had to cut the rope that had bound him back at the Three Broomsticks somehow.
That small pub now held some of the most important people in his life, and he had never felt further from it.
He just hoped that Ron and Luna had gotten back to the castle in time, but there'd been wolves in the forest, and that…
That took him down an entirely new horrific line of thought.
The sharp sound of cloth ripping catapulted him back to the present, and where his hands had just been now lay a strip of shredded cloth. Harry blinked and his brain sluggishly processed it. Kaylens had torn a shred of cloth, from his cloak, and the Reach was wrapping it tightly around his palm, winding it up and over his wrist where the deepest of wounds stretched, pulling it tight.
He cringed, but did nothing to stop her. He did, however, sound skeptical as hell. "Do you know what you're doing?"
She tugged the last strip firmly in place, and with a satisfied sigh she tilted her head to the side, a curious expression befalling her. "Well…" she replied faintly, her cold thumb tracing along his skin around the makeshift bandaging, "you better hope so."
Harry grunted.
She gave the bandages on the back of his knuckles a little flick.
He scowled at her, taking his hands back and giving his wrists a testing flex. The movements were stiff, but would suffice. "Not bad," he finally conceded, glancing at his torn sleeve. It hung tattered and flopping in the cool night air. "Just had to destroy my cloak didn't you?"
"Hmph."
She offered no further reply, and instead turned back to face the pool of water, lazily trailing her fingers within it, her eyes falling shut.
It took him a second to notice it.
Kaylens hands traced an effortless path across the surface, her fingertips glistening with wet, shimmering droplets. Unconsciously his eyes were drawn to her, and for the first time he noticed the ambling play of magic before him. Her fingers danced lithely over the dark water, a dull glow radiating at the threshold where the static surface finally broke against her skin, glittering pieces of magic leaving her to amble beneath the water like waterborne fireflies.
He regarded the interplay, a slow curiosity rising as flecks of magic trailed beneath her hands, coloring the light swellings she was creating. Ripples, swelling out in successive rings, bore the sparkling only a scant ways before the light tumbling within them faded away.
It was subtle; it was beautiful.
It was not for the first time, nor for the last, that he realized how little he still knew about the magical world.
He had no idea how she was doing it.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Though her face remained averted from his, her reflection upon the rippling water betrayed a faint smile. "You know," she replied softly, "I'm not entirely sure."
"Experimental magic? And you call me reckless?"
"Well," she whispered, her hair falling loose from behind her shoulder, tumbling to veil her face, "insane is probably a better term."
Merlin, she sounded downright impish.
Harry shook his head with a wry breath. "Could have told you that, Kaylens. We're actually getting along. That's downright apocalyptic."
She cast him a small smile, withdrawing her fingers from the water and flicking the clear droplets from them in his direction.
His grunt of protest was ignored, for her watchful eyes had flickered out across the rippling water, gazing searchingly into the shadowy forest, and for the dozenth time since their first meeting, he wondered if she could see things he could not.
He looked too, glaring into the woods to see if there was any movement, any sign of danger, any sign of an enemy at all.
There wasn't.
Then again, knowing his luck Voldemort himself would come strolling out with a welcome party any second.
A light furrow creased Kaylens' brow, barely discernable as the clouds moved to obscure the cool moonlight, throwing shadows across the entire clearing. A gentle breeze sent the reeds protruding from the embankment swaying, and the non-witch's demeanor stiffened, her shoulders not relaxing until the plants' hypnotic motions stopped.
Despite whatever calm she was faking, she was even more nervous than him.
"Jittery?" he asked.
To his surprise she actually nodded. "Yes," she whispered darkly. "I-"
She stopped, and whatever it was that she intended to say, she never finished.
He grimaced and looked at the tree line one more time, but there was nothing. "If anything's there," he said damn seriously, "the reeds block us from view to the North. The South end's too far away for them to get a really accurate shot. So if you look East and I look West we're covered, alright?"
He didn't want her feeling on edge. The hell if he knew why.
Kaylens was shooting him a peculiar look. "How do you know which way is North?"
"North star," he said, smirking just a bit. "Not paying attention in astronomy I take it?"
The little scowl she shot him…it had his stomach twist. The wind picked up, rising in intensity, and it sent the reeds tilting so far sideways that their tips dipped into the pond's surface. Kaylens remarkable eyes shifted to them, that scowl shifting into something entirely different. If he hadn't known better he'd say it looked almost calculating, like she was trying to figure out a particularly complex puzzle.
Speaking of puzzles, he had one of his own. "Are you familiar with port keys?"
She turned a questioning look on him right as another blustery breeze swept past, her hair scattering like a feathery halo around her face. He honestly couldn't tell whether she nodded yes or no until it died down.
"If it was a conditional portkey," he said, reminding her of his earlier statement, "that took us here, it might not be a one and done type of deal."
Thinking aloud, his hands were already delving into the deep folds of his thick cloak for the kunnskap. Eventually he found it, taking care to not actually touch it. Instead he dumped it out on the cold earthy mud, and he made damn sure to not touch the dulled golden chain to his flesh.
Kaylens eyes filled with sudden understanding. "You think it could get us back."
He shrugged. "Worth a shot." He reached out for her hand with his bandaged one, but stopped when she jerked away, his fingers freezing, hovering a mere fraction of a centimeter over hers.
She didn't take it, and that…that bothered him.
Harry sucked in a breath and his eyes caught hers. "Trust me?"
She shook her head. "That's not the problem."
He didn't move. He just waited, not missing how her fingers curled in on themselves, forming a loose fist.
It was like she was afraid to touch him.
He felt oddly hollow. "You have to touch a portkey to make it work," he reminded, "and you have to touch it at the same time."
And still Kaylens didn't move. She sat there, shivering in the moonlight, the kunnskap abandoned and laying on the ground. He'd have yanked his hair out if he'd thought it would hel;p.
"I'm not testing whether or not it works," he pressed seriously, "unless you take it with me." And then, like the asshole he was, he didn't give her a chance to hesitate further.
He dropped his hand flat atop hers, Kaylens actually cringing. He tried to ignore how bad that actually felt.
"Geeze, thanks," he said dryly.
Hazel eyes shot open, as if upset to have upset him, and quite suddenly his entire hand was tingling.
Harry's skin was tingling, and Merlin it felt good; it was like her magic was reaching for his. Harry sucked in a breath all of his own, but still managed to level a glare in her direction.
Kaylens was impervious.
She didn't glare back; she didn't even look offended. "You're mad," she said simply.
His throat went oddly dry. "No," he said flatly, "this is my happy face. Couldn't tell?"
A minute passed, and then another. Steadily the hesitation within her eyes vanished, and slowly she turned her hand beneath his, allowing her fingers to interlace tightly with his.
Her palm pressed to his, Harry's pressing to hers, and the tingling trailing across his skin only got worse.
A little, hesitant smile played around her lips. "Can't blame me for being worried, Potter. For all I know you have cooties."
"What's the real reason?" He wanted to know. Fuck, they'd practically been cuddling earlier, so for her to suddenly get gun shy…
Kaylens wet her lips; Harry held her eyes and pointedly waited.
"I was scared I'd hurt you," she admitted. "I don't…I don't have control of it. Not like you. Magic, that is, and before I wasn't using any, but then…" Her eyes flickered towards the still water, and suddenly it all made sense.
She'd been playing with magic across its surface, and hadn't been controlling it.
Her eyes flickered up to his. "I didn't know if it'd last longer than that or not."
"Oh."
"Yeah," she whispered back, "oh."
He could have sworn there was a little sarcastic edge to that. Harry let it go, on account he wasn't sure he'd ever heard her talk that much.
And still she looked nervous.
"You're not hurting me," he said, and he held his gaze steady, "just to be clear."
Something in the way she sat, something tensed, seemed to relax.
Harry didn't know what else to say. She was like a constant bomb that needed defused, so he squeezed her hand, and then, keeping her fingers tight between his, he guided her back to the kunnskap.
"Take it with me."
His eyes never left hers. If they could re-activate it, maybe it could take them back to Hogsmeade. For all they knew it'd require only a simple touch of their fingers to its surface, and he wasn't risking leaving without her.
He absolved to never leave her alone, not anywhere, not ever again, even if she was pissing him off. She had this tendency to attract trouble that was worse than him.
With baited breath they touched the chain together.
Nothing.
Sharing a half disappointed, half relieved smile, they exhaled the breaths they had both been holding.
Harry let her go damn quick and re-gathered the chain. The muscle in his chest was pounding hard, and disappointment, anger, and something he'd rather not think about rose up in him.
Ultimately Kaylens was the first to break the impenetrable silence.
"Your portkey doesn't seem to be working."
He cast her an irritable glance, examining the runes carved into the pensieve's vial. Unsurprisingly, not one depiction cast a shred of light onto the situation at hand. Maybe, just maybe, he would take Hermione up on her offer to teach him ancient runes when they returned.
That was assuming they ever got out of here.
"I was right. It is conditional," he finally decided. "It's the only solution."
At this Kaylens' brow creased critically, and he explained further.
"You know how most port keys are touch sensitive, taking people back and forth between two places?"
Her head bobbed lightly, another cold gust sending her hair awry. This time she didn't bother fighting with it, and let it lay as it fell.
He fought back a small smile as her nose wrinkled, her long strands clearly tickling it. "Well…" he said, "a conditional port key only activates under certain circumstances. You can be touching it, but it won't take you anywhere because its 'condition' is not met." He glanced down at the vial, slipping it into his cloak once again. "Dumbledore made this for me, so I'm guessing it activates when the wearer is in mortal peril, you know? Like if they're about to di-"
Die.
Harry stopped, and it was like ice flooded his chest.
Kaylens noticed and tried to talk to him, but he honestly didn't hear her.
His stomach churned. He hadn't known that the kunnskap had doubled in purpose. He hadn't known that it was a portkey, not until he'd felt that telling tug behind his navel, right about when a werewolf had literally been lunging at them with its mouth wide open.
His oversight of Dumbledore's security measure could have gotten Kaylens killed. If it'd portkeyed him away and she hadn't been touching it…
She'd be dead.
Just fucking wonderful.
Sometimes he really hated Dumbledore.
Kaylens said his name and he repressed the desire to hit things. An unnerving feeling spread through him, and he forced himself to look at her. She wasn't dumb, so he wasn't saying anything she didn't already know, but…
"If the chain hadn't broke and you hadn't still been touching it, that wolf would have torn out your throat."
He said it bluntly, seriously. His features had gone dark as his tone.
Kaylens tilted her head to the side and eyed him curiously.
He looked away.
She made an amused sound and reached out for him, her hand dropping atop his. This time it was without hesitation. He found himself staring at the back of her smooth knuckles, and it was some time before his eyes lifted back to hers.
She was smiling. In fact, she seemed to be laughing.
"It's okay," she said, voice tinged with amusement. "I know you weren't purposely trying to leave me to fend off the wolves myself, Potter."
And despite her tone, he felt himself pale.
He flipped his hand around and grabbed hers, and fuck he didn't care that it physically hurt. He clutched so tight that his wounds may have torn clean open. "Kaylens, if I hadn't-if you-"
He stopped.
He stopped because she was flat out laughing at him. She had bit down on her lower lip, eyes alight. "Now who's the one stuttering?" she asked, shaking with light laughter.
Harry was pretty positive that he was going to be sick, but Kaylens grabbed onto his other hand now, slipping her fingers between his own, willingly interlocking them.
She was alive. She was alright. He closed his eyes and grimaced. "Kaylens….this has been a disaster."
"It could have been worse," she said matter-of-factly. "Honestly Potter, it could have been a lot worse."
He seriously wondered if she knew how messed up she sounded.
And just like that it happened.
Everything they'd just been through, every bit of panic, of fear and worry for the others, that he'd been fighting down came rushing back. The entire alleyway had been filled with dead villagers. Seamus was dead. Ginny might be. Ron and Luna were in the Forbidden Forest with those werewolves, and they'd both nearly gotten killed multiple times.
And she thought it could have been worse.
Hogsmeade had been taken, Dean could be dying, Hermione was injured, and the others like innocent Ginny Weasley, the sister he grew to have, were under the imperious. And that was the optimistic fucking outlook.
Kaylens knew about all of this, yet could sit there and say that.
His bright green gaze flew open, and then it went dark, narrowing onto her. "How can you possibly say that?"
Unapologetically she held his eyes, her expression falling. "Because it's the truth."
He swallowed, every fiber of his being disagreeing with each of her uttered syllables.
"Seamus is dead," he reminded. "We abandoned the others. We failed them. Or did you forget that we just up and lef-"
"No we didn't."
He stared and wondered if she'd hit her head. "We failed, Kaylens."
She shook her head slowly, jaw setting determinedly. "No Potter," she countered. "Luna and Weasley needed a distraction, and that's exactly what we gave them. All we can do is hope they took advantage of it." She paused. "If we hadn't then we would have failed."
Lifeless blue eyes…
"What if it wasn't enough?"
Her eyes flickered searchingly across his face, her brow creasing concernedly. "Do you really have that little faith in them?"
Her voice was as serious as he had ever heard it, and as gentle, yet the bitterness could not be kept from his voice as he pulled his hands away from hers.
"I don't know anymore." He didn't know which was worse: the hurt expression on her face, or the realization that he didn't have any faith in Ron or Hermione to take care of themselves.
But he was right to be concerned. The Department of Mysteries had proven that much. They might have went with him, but they'd both gotten taken out almost immediately. First Ron to a bunch of freaking tentacles, and then Hermione to a hex.
Hell, he had more faith in Luna and Neville than his actual best friends.
And Kaylens…just for being near him, just for helping him, just as Ron and Hermione always had, she had nearly been killed.
"I'm of no good to anyone," he realized somberly. "Not to anyone. I couldn't even keep my best friend alive." Ron may have survived, but when Harry had seen that green hex heading for Ron's back he'd froze.
Had it actually been a real killing curse, then Ron would be dead.
Kaylens eyebrows had creased. "Potter…"
"I'm serious," he said, and his voice was heavy. "Everyone around me dies. I'm not good to anyonei. Not to Ron, not to Hermione. I got Sirius and Cedric killed. I-"
"What?"
He failed to catch this. Harry just swore under his breath and dragged his hands through his hair, tugging at it. He just got people around him killed. He got them killed and failed to help. He must have muttered something else under his breath, but he didn't even notice.
Unfortunately whatever it was, was self-depricating and perfectly clear to the girl besides him.
"How dare you."
This time he heard her, her voice vibrating dangerously, his eyes instantly flying to her furious expression.
Deep within her eyes something frightening was stirring.
"How dare you say that," she breathed quietly. "In case you didn't notice Potter, you are worth something Because if it wasn't for you, your friends would have never made it out of Hogsmeade, and not only that…"
She stood abruptly, brushing her hands on her jeans furiously. She was so mad her left hand was shaking.
"If it wasn't for you I would be dead right now, Potter. But perhaps I don't count." Her fiery eyes burned a searching trail across him. "Not to you at least."
Her last words were cold, and the absence of her hand, no longer within the confines of his own, struck him in a way he was ill equipped to explain.
He had willfully pulled his hand from hers in anger.
Right now that hand rested on top of his head, fisted in his perpetually unmanageable hair.
Fuck.
She was halfway across the clearing before he realized that.
Harry scrambled to his feet and closed the distance between them, catching her around the arm before she could make it any farther. She struggled, but it didn't stop him from pulling her to him and holding on.
He didn't let go. He just wrapped his arms tightly around her form, stroking her hair until she stopped struggling.
"That came out wrong," he muttered. "I'm sorry."
She uttered not a sound. She just dropped her face against his shoulder and stopped fighting him. He pulled her closer, warmth sinking through him as her hands burrowed beneath his robes, snaking around his midsection to hold him back.
He didn't know what was going on, but he wasn't about to stop it.
Not any of it.
"I never meant for you to think..." He swallowed thickly, breathing deep as he whispered into her hair. "Didn't mean to make you think I didn't care Kay-"
"You're an asshole," she interrupted, her voice barely heard, muffled as it was against his robes. She shook her head against him. "Is there anything you don't blame yourself for?"
His throat vibrated oddly. "Not really," he ground out, a hand rising to tangle within her hair. He didn't know what the fuck was wrong with him. He couldn't stop touching her. "Though with good reason…"
Her form stiffened and her face swiveled to look at him.
He didn't give her the chance; he dropped his forehead against hers and hissed at her to just stop. "You don't know me, Kaylens, alright? So don't." And he was right, she didn't know him. She didn't know how many deaths he was responsible for. She didn't have a damn clue.
She also didn't argue.
Despite this he was prepared to do anything to prevent her from leaving. Instinctively his arms encircled her shivering form ever tighter, wanting, needing to keep her warm at the very least.
Her glistening eyes turned up, both anger and assurance swimming contradictorily within them. "Even you," she whispered, "can't possibly be this self-deprecating. I might not know you, but you've been keeping me from getting hurt since day one. And back in Hogsmeade you did all you could for literally everyone."
"Well," he murmured gratingly, "that's a matter of opinion."
"Well your opinion sucks."
He chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. "If I knew this was what it took to get you to actually talk to me…"
A soft murmur of disapproval emitted from between her lips, an infinitesimal glare shot up. The changes on her once impassive face were startling, and Harry couldn't help it: his hands moved across her back, his eyes fell shut, and he breathed her in, clutching her by her sweater, twisting it in the process as another exasperated sigh escaped her lips.
Against his skin he felt her eyelashes flickering shut, her warming palms sliding out from beneath his cloak. "Potter…" she whispered, sliding her hands till they lay flat against his chest, "sometimes I really hate you."
Nodding against her skin, he inhaled deeply, their unresolved conflicts fading from his mind. "You're in luck," he replied, "because the feeling's mutual."
"I'm sure…" she murmured, her face upturning as a blustery autumn wind sent her long tresses scattering haphazardly between them. His arms pulled her in closer, the loose sides of his robe billowing out and enveloping them both.
For the longest time they stood there, him shielding her from the darkness' icy claws, her shielding him from regression into the darkness of all he had been partly responsible for. And for the thousandth time since their paths had first crossed, he found himself listening to her admonishments.
Predominant amongst them was his newly bestowed title, a strained smile crossing his face at the thought.
Not only was Kaylens in his damn arms, but she was swearing at him.
Because she was worried about him.
"King of Idiocy," he repeated, one of his hands sliding to rest along her cheek. "I can't believe you called me that."
Her fingers curled tight against his chest, capturing the folds of his beer stained robes. "From my point of view it's fitting."
A sad chuckle caught in his throat. "So I've been told."
"And I'm sure it has sunk in as well as that froth you're covered in."
He shook his head, his nose tousling her hair further. "Just remember…" he growled quietly, "I owe you."
"Do you?" she asked, inclining her head to look innocently at him. "I thought it was the other way around?"
Despite his lack of joy, he found himself smiling. "You do, I just owe you a drink, and I don't mean the kind in a glass."
Her eyes shone with understanding, "You mean the kind overturned on my head."
"Just wait…" he whispered, lips falling upon her exposed earlobe. "You'll sit down in the Great Hall, and when you least suspect it…"
"Does it count that you deserved it?"
"And you don't?"
"Point taken."
"You know," he mused aloud, "you're awfully agreeable tonight."
"Well I don't fancy being strangled by you," she said. "Alone, at night, in the Forbidden Forest? It'd be awfully easy for you to get rid of me."
He about jerked, tugging back to better look at her. "We're in the Forbidden Forest?"
God he hoped he had misheard.
ECOTS
The doors of the entrance hall were wide open.
Parents ran back and forth in complete panic, searching for their children and dragging them in and out, as if unable to decide what to do with them. Keep them in school or don't? Are they safer at home or not? It was total havoc, the entrance hall an epicenter, and some smart house elf had gotten sick of the doors slamming open and closed right around when a small child had nearly been taken out by one of the two story high slabs of wood, and they had chosen to just prop the entrance hall doors wide open.
Regulus Black strode through them, robes billowing ominously in his wake, looking for all the world as if hell itself could not deter him from his mission.
It was like the man had forgotten he was a wanted criminal.
Then again he was supposed to be dead. With the fruitfly-brain-like mentality that most of humanity had, Tonks supposed she could understand why her cousin was so confident that most of wizarding kind would have forgotten his face. It had been nearly two decades.
Dumbledore intercepted them on the stairs, Tonks ushering Emily and a fully recovered Kenneth in front of her, the two Muggles in a slightly drugged state.
Perhaps slightly wasn't strong enough a term…. it'd required a pretty heavy punch to get them to stop screaming and running away from the Hogwarts front gates. Those Muggle repellant charms had been potent. She'd tried a nice, calming touch, while Regulus had rolled his eyes, conjured two darts, and nailed them with what he swore was a 'sedative fit for a rhino king, downgraded to the appropriate dosage.'
She wasn't entirely sure she even wanted to know what that meant.
The door to Dumbledore's office slammed shut on an indignant knocker, Regulus wasting not a moment.
"He's attacked everywhere?"
Dumbledore crossed the room, quickly climbing a small ladder to retrieve a small paperback, leather-bound text. "Of course."
Neither of the two men appeared uneasy with the other's presence. In fact, it was downright infuriating. It'd taken Tonks at least the better part of three minutes to stop gawking at him, and he was her own cousin. It was absolutely unfair that the Headmaster was this unflappable.
That annoyingly unflappable leader of the Order appeared entirely unsurprised by Regulus Black's sudden return to the living.
"Then his plan remains the same as before."
"Indeed…" Dumbledore replied calmly, descending his perch. "It's a shame the Ministry did not listen to our warning the first time."
Tonks gawked. "Our?" She looked around for help, but found only an unsympathetic phoenix, several confused looking portraits, and an Irish President who had toppled sideways into a chair and begun to snore.
It was completely and totally undignified.
A lot of help he was.
She snatched at the back of Emily's shirt and all but scruffed the child to keep her standing. The kid had just swayed dangerously sideways. "What do you mean our?" Tonks snapped, her voice getting unnaturally shrill. "It sounds like you both were in on something together."
The Headmaster paused in step and fixed her with a clear, blue-eyed look over his spectacles. "Regulus came to me with his suspicions years ago, Nymphadora. Though I am rather afraid that, at the time, I had little cause to believe him."
Regulus rolled his eyes. "And now here we are."
"I trust you can forgive an old man the mistakes of his youth."
Her cousin let out a snort so derisive that Tonks actually pinched herself to make certain she was actually here, awake, alive and witnessing this.
"Excellent, then we can move forward from here," Dumbledore said without missing a beat.
Tonks cast an askance glance the Headmaster's way and maintained her maternal like scruff on the small child. "So you knew this was coming?" she demanded. "These attacks?"
"I had my suspicions," replied the Headmaster, squatting in front of young Emily, extending the text to her. The auburn haired child took it without a thought, as if she were a puppet with strings being pulled.
Tonks eyed her like she was a pod person.
"My child," Dumbledore requested kindly, "would you do an old man the favor of reading a bit to him?"
Emily's head bobbed gently, opening the leather bound book with robotic motions, and as she began to read the clouded look disappeared from her eyes, as did her drugged state.
Kenneth woke himself up with a particularly loud snore.
"The only way to allow Muggles to feel at ease within our grounds," Dumbledore said in response to her questioning look, "short of removing the wards, is to read from this book."
Tonks merely nodded, while Kenneth looked around and blinked, clearly confused. Emily, however, had already spied the squishy looking arm chair her father had fallen into and wasted no time in making a bee line for it.
She pounced on him with all the exuberance of childhood, and Tonks was pretty sure she heard one of his ribs re-break.
She winced.
Regulus watched Emily as if she were a particularly annoying flea. "If you don't mind," he drawled, "there is the small matter of a Dark Lord to attend to. So if you wouldn't mind…"
His request was clear.
Dumbledore merely smiled, and with a calm wave of his hand several ethereal sheep materialized out of thin air and began flying in slow circles around the two Muggles. The Irish President rubbed at his eyes and within five blinks passed out, his small daughter held protectively in his lap.
It was only then that Dumbledore's smiling exterior faltered, something far more serious flashing behind his half-moon spectacles.
Tonks remained silent. Despite the crap she gave Kingsley as a matter of sport, she knew full well when she was out of her depth.
That in itself was disturbing. She, an Auror, was out of her realm with the discovery of the multiple attacks throughout the U.K., while Regulus merely grimaced, as if having long expected such unpleasantness.
The last remaining heir of the Black family gestured to the sleeping family. "He's come after the family before?"
Both Tonks and Dumbledore nodded, while Regulus paced.
"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may be a lot of things, but impulsive isn't one of them," Regulus said seriously. "If he's attacked them it's not a coincidence, it's targeting. And I'm willing to bet it has something to do with his plan of eradication."
Her heart fluttered uneasily. "Eradication?"
Regulus paused mid-stride. "Surely your education was not that bereft of grammar to provide suitable excuse for your failure to understand such a short syllable word as eradication?"
Her dark eyes narrowed in annoyance, her tongue held in check only by the discipline born of years under the supervision of Kingsley and Mad-Eye's loose wands.
Regulus' equally dark eyes left hers duly and his pacing resumed. "At a time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named desired merely the eradication of Muggleborns alone. The cleansing of our world would have sufficed, for then he would be free to rule it."
Reaching the wall he did an abrupt about-face, continuing undeterred in a straight path. "His views eventually changed and he decided that both Muggles and Muggleborns would have to go. If his plan remains similar to the plot of before, the plot I failed to assist in properly, than today marks the beginning of the plague."
Tonks frowned. "Plague?"
"Illness. Pestilence. The eradication of a large percentage of mankind. Do try to keep up cousin. If you need additional assistance I'm certain the Headmaster has a thesaurus around here somewhere."
She rolled her eyes. "I just meant that there hasn't been a plague of precedence here since-"
"The Great Plague of London in the seventeenth century," he dismissed. "Yes, I'm aware."
All eyes, including the drowsy Emily's, turned to regard the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. Though while Emily gently tugged at her dozing father's sleeve, mumbling about the picture man in awe, Regulus glared in annoyance.
"Salutations Grandfather," he greeted with considerable sarcasm. "As always I am fortunate to have never been forced to suffer your condemnable, condescending presence in life."
Phineas ignored the insult, choosing to correct Regulus by reminding him that he was his Great-Great-Grandfather, and as such demanded a greater degree of respect.
"That irritable stone doorknocker demands respect as well, but that does not mean we give it freely to just anyone who asks," he said dryly, his long fingers creating a hollow melody along the shelving.
The Headmaster's eyes twinkled at the sound of Crusantheus' on-cue protestations from outside the door. "Your presence has charmed everyone within earshot, Regulus. I can only hope to earn such praise by the end of our meeting as well. I'm beginning to feel left out."
Simultaneously all of the portraits, Tonks, the doorknocker, Fawkes, and a merman sculpture snorted.
Regulus and Phineas surveyed the room with identically critical expressions, glowering at those uncouth enough to snort in their civilized presences.
"I've wasted too many years abroad to idly stand around and be chortled at. There is again, the matter of a Dark Lord to attend to."
Tonks sobered immediately, her eyes fixating upon the child and man under her protection, the ones Regulus himself was responsible for saving when she had failed.
Her mouth formed the words, her emotionless clip telling of her seriousness. "Fine. Brief us."
To her utter shock he actually did.
"Do you remember the coordinated attacks in my youth, Headmaster?"
"The ones just before your disappearance?"
Black nodded somberly. "Yes, only on a smaller scale. On that day I was to deliver a vial into the River Thames. That vial contained a rather creative pestilence the Dark Lord had begun engineering. The intent was to spread it through the water supply of greater London." Sirius' ghost betrayed not a hint of emotion, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
"It was only natural," he continued, "for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to coordinate attacks upon wizarding villages, entrapping the wizarding folk within. The orders were to neither kill nor harm the inhabitants unless absolutely necessary, and while the magical folk were trapped he unleashed a spell, a counter curse if you will, one that would grant all those within the wards at the time of its casting immunity from the plague."
"Wait…wasn't there a risk of the counter curse failing?" Another portrait, one by the name of Dilys Derwent, made the inquiry.
Her cousin's dark glare was answer enough.
"Why the hell would he risk wiping out the wizarding population of Britain, when there were other places he could have tested it?" Tonks asked, directing her cousin's dark gaze from the defenseless portrait to herself. "This is his home."
Regulus thin lips went taut. "Nymphadora, you again underestimate him, assuming he places value in abstract concepts such as love and home." His eyes narrowed considerably. "He does not, and what better place to test an experimental vaccine, if you will, then upon a populated island."
Dilys Derwent's eyes widened, and Kenneth let out another one of those jolting snores.
"If the counter curse proved ineffective than the only wizarding communities lost would be those of the U.K.," Dumbledore said sadly. "A reasonable loss to one such as Tom, considering his strongest resistance has always been in Great Britain."
Regulus nodded. "If it was ineffective only a small portion of the world's wizarding population would be lost, yet millions of Muggles would be gone with them. And since it was on an island, isolated from the main continents, the chances of it spreading to the other continents without this influence would be very slim indeed."
Dilys shook her painted head. "Not with Muggle transportation. Now-a-days it could spread-"
"Quickly," Regulus supplied. "There were plans to prevent this, to shut down major Muggle transportation networks until the experiment had run its course. However, what those plans were, I was not privy to. We were on a need-to-know basis. But word reached me that if it was successful he fully intended to strike from multiple fronts. While the world reeled from a plague of unprecedented proportions he had a goal to get the Muggle nations fighting one another. He thought it would serve as suitable distraction from what he was doing, with the added bonus of letting them all kill one another off."
Listening to the conversation, Tonks' stomach churned. The cold calculation that must have gone into an endeavor such as that…
Her parents' accounts of such dark times were what had driven her to join the ranks of the Aurors in the first place. She'd been only seven years old when what Regulus had detailed had happened. The reasons though…they were never discovered.
Regulus Black was now explaining the undisclosed reasoning behind the twenty four deaths that had occurred that day.
Her own cousin had been slated to be the trigger man for a sodding plague.
"So," she said, voice a bit tight, "you were supposed to release it once the wizarding communities had been immunized. Is that it?"
He shot her a scathing look. "What other possible conclusion could you draw from all of that?"
She didn't even have time to be annoyed with him, because she was already too busy thinking. The plague back then had never been unleashed. Regulus Black, the trustworthy son of a noble pureblooded family, hadn't done his part. There'd also been no war instigated, but just this week Voldemort had made a play to start one.
He'd started with attacking the Irish President.
"It seems," Dumbledore stated, as if reading his thoughts, "that Tom has gotten tired of being patient and changed his timeline. He appears to be implementing all aspects of his former plan at once, rather than in segments."
"Well he did get killed by a one year old," Regulus drawled, "you can hardly blame the man for being in a bit of a rush."
Dilys the portrait snorted.
Abruptly Regulus reached into his pocket, and in one swift move extracted a vial, setting it on the Headmaster's desk. "I have kept that safe," he told, "for years. Whatever it does, it was rumored to make the Bubonic Plague seem like the flu. I can only assume, judging from today's events, that he's had this released somewhere nearby."
Dumbledore spun in a swirl of moon-crest-covered robes and spoke in short words to Fawkes, the phoenix disappearing in a fiery puff of smoke. It'd been sent to summon Severus and the best of healers to begin examining the deadly contents of the vial.
With an ashen face Tonks took it all in, only one thought resonating within her head.
They were absolutely fucked.
ECOTS
"Kaylens?"
She regarded him quizzically, nodding slowly in response to his question.
Harry wondered if she was actively trying to kill him, or if it was just her gross ignorance of magic that was doing it. Later when he wasn't actively concerned about their necks staying intact he might ask, but right now they were in the Forbidden Forest, at night, and she hadn't thought to mention it. Given that it'd been Dumbledore's portkey they could have been in Germany for all he'd known.
"I don't know about you Kaylens," he said, damn serious, "but that's not exactly a good thing." He'd been in here at night more than once, and each and every single time had ended in near disaster.
Centaur shootings, spider snack attempts, Voldemort channeling his inner Transylvanian on unsuspecting unicorns…
Yeah, this was far from good.
Not to mention how in the hell could Kaylens of all people have known where they were at? It wasn't like the trees had labels on them with directional arrows reading 'Hogwarts, 2 km that way'.
The non-witch in his arms looked legitimately confused, her eyes peering up at him. "Why not?"
Harry's jaw set hard. Temporary isolation within a woodland was one thing, but isolation within the Forbidden Forest was an entirely different beast. Literally. He dropped a hand on her head and smoothed her hair out of his face, looking over her at the tree line. He swept his gaze over it defensively, but still saw nothing.
Right. If they got attacked by something else, he'd take it as a sign that literal deities had taken a hit out on his ass.
Unsatisfied, yet helpless to improve matters, he dropped his hand off her head and both arms fell down her back, his hands stiffening along her spine. "Kaylens," he whispered urgently, "why the hell didn't you think to mention this earlier?"
Her chest rose against his, her breath misting against his chin.
"I didn't think it was worth mentioning," she said.
Swallowing hard he regarded her through narrowing slits. "Perhaps I'm wrong," he said lowly, "but when something concerns our safety I'd consider it worth mentioning."
"Alright," she said, drawing the word out skeptically, "so say I had told you before, what would you have done differently? It's night, Potter. We can't exactly travel in the dark."
"I like the dark."
"So do arachnids."
His eyes narrowed further. "How could you possibly know about them?"
Lifting her chin defiantly she met his gaze. "Hagrid."
He nodded, voice heavily laced with sarcasm, "And I'm sure he's in the practice of telling all his students about Aragog."
"If you're referring to that overgrown former pet of his," she said, and her voice was practically acidic, "yeah, I'm already clued in."
He shouldn't have said what he said next. Problem was, he did anyway.
"Why would he tell you?"
Her expression fell, and something shifted in her eyes. Instantly her hold on him loosened. Until then they'd both still been touching one another; now it was only him. "I can't do magic, Potter, just like he was forbidden to after his expulsion, so shocking as this might be we had something in common."
Grinding his teeth to prevent an interjection he listened warily.
"The only thing that saved him was being able to work with the creatures of this forest Potter, did you know that?"
"You can't work around them without a wand, it's too dangerous. And unlike you he at least had his…"
"Umbrella?" she whispered shrewdly. "No. Not at first. Besides, he's had me with creatures you can manage in other ways that don't require a wand."
Right. That sent about a hundred red flags up in the back of his mind, but he'd get back to that. "And what does any of this," he demanded, "have to do with you not telling me where we were before now?" He stopped, adding, "How the hell can you even tell?"
She rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows fairy mushrooms," she pointed off to the side, "don't grow anywhere else, Potter. They get used in a lot of potions, and I've been to this clearing before and it's pretty far back in."
He inclined an eyebrow questioningly, encouraging her to continue.
She made a frustrated sound. "We're near their nest, you idiot."
"Their?"
"Aragog's."
His blood grew instantly cold and his hands tightened along her back. "You still should have told me."
She smiled sadly. "Since when did I have to inform you of everything within my head?"
"Since now."
She shrugged impassively. "I'm surprised you didn't know. It was your port key that took us here, so I assumed you had known where it had taken us."
Exasperatedly his eyes fell shut, chest rising as he inhaled deep. "Did I just imagine telling you Dumbledore made it? Or did I not already relay that I had no clue that the vial was a port ke-"
"You told me that recently," she interjected. "We were here in silence for hours. How was I to intuitively know that you were unaware of our location before then?"
"You should have said something the second I told you I had nothing to do with the port key Kayle-"
"Considering that you were in mid-apology I'm going to disagree," she said heatedly, leveling her gaze to his. "It's not often that one sees the great Potter apologize about anything and I wasn't about to interrupt that."
His hands dropped at her words, for the conversation had turned in a strikingly different direction. She merely took a step back, regarding him from a safe distance with masked eyes.
"It's the truth Potter. It didn't even occur to me that you were clueless about where we were until a second ago. Before I was busy being concerned that you were actually capable of showing some semblance of human emotion…." Her eyes narrowed, tones drowned in sarcasm, "Asides from anger or suspicion that is."
With that she dropped down to the ground, becoming utterly fascinated by the swaying reeds as he was left with naught but her back to regard.
This was not how it was supposed to be. Every time, every single time he'd tried to get to know her, given her half a chance to actually talk and explain how the hell she kept winding up in the wrong place at the wrong time, she'd gone cold as ice and all but bolted, and from what he gathered she did that with everyone. She was the one whose emotions were constantly masked. She was the inhuman one, not him.
By the time he was done telling her that, in not quite succinct sentences, he was reasonably sure that her expression would betray hostile intent towards him.
Though as he moved to stand beside her kneeling form, suddenly the escalation of their argument seemed worthless; Kaylens had turned away from him, the back of her wrists wiping at her eyes.
It was a long time before either again spoke, the only sound the howling of the wind between the forest's trees.
"Kaylens I…"
She shook him off. "Don't bother, Potter." Fuck, she sounded upset. "Just-just don't. Not all of us have the luxury to leave our feelings unmasked, alright? So leave it."
Only one word came to mind, and he spoke it, unable to articulate in any other way his question as to why she'd been so hostile until now. Every time they got civil, near talking, she backed off.
"Why?"
Her head bowed low, the ends of her long tresses dangling loosely in the rippling water. Finally, a small stretch of eternity passing, she again spoke.
"If you had the choice between keeping people safe or putting good people at risk, what would you do?"
Harry found himself standing still, frozen in that moment, heart thudding louder than it ought. Never before had someone uttered the words, or given voice to the question that so oft haunted him.
Not in the way she just had.
It was like she'd read his mind.
She turned on the wet grass, her glossy orbs rising in a determined way, betraying all the pain she had until now kept so carefully hidden.
"How can you let yourself care for others, when it could get them hurt?"
ECOTS
Dean felt empty as he numbly shoved past the Fat Lady's portrait. Whether the password had fallen from his lips or not was something he would never know, and something the Fat Lady would keep to herself.
"Neville."
He addressed his dorm mate in a monotone, unable to look the boy in the eye, even as Neville smiled sadly, hauling his trunk down the stairs.
It was well after midnight, the majority of the students already gone, taken away by their families. Those remaining till the next morning, or indefinitely, as Dean was planning, would already be in their dormitories.
Save for Neville, who's gram had just arrived to take him home.
Neville shook his head sadly. "It isn't right. I shouldn't leave like this."
Dean shrugged, walking past him up the flight. "Then don't."
The other boy paused in his tracks, turning and nearly losing his trunk in the process. "It's not that simple."
Dean sighed resignedly. "It is Neville. Just take a stand for once. Don't back down." Like I did…
Neville's face furrowed anxiously. "And what happens if she doesn't let me?"
"We are at war Mr. Thomas, and soon you will be forced to choose a side!"
A strong hand stretched out to rest against the cold stone wall of the tower, and Dean steadied himself from the onslaught of regretful memories.
"Dean, what if she tries to make me?"
"Make your choice!"
His expression hardened, hand leaving the wall as he turned to regard his nervous looking dorm mate, whose neck was craned high to see where he stood higher up upon the stairs.
"Neville…" he said seriously, his deep voice echoing upon the empty walls of the tower. "No one can make you do anything. Not unless you are too weak to stand up for what you want," his eyes narrowed dangerously, "or for what you think is right."
Swiftly he strode down, taking the stairs two at a time until he was again level with the nervous looking boy.
"No one can force you to do anything," Dean said, his dark eyes squaring off with Neville's. "Not McGonagall. Not Snape. Not even Voldemort himself."
Leaning in Dean let his dark stare drill into Neville's light one. "And especially not your Gran," he whispered fiercely. "No one can force you to do something you don't already want to do, man. So if you think staying here is the right thing, then you better do it, lest you regret it later."
Neville Longbottom looked as if he'd never seen him before and gulped apprehensively, for in Dean's normally congenial eyes there was no pity.
"There's nothing worse than looking back and wishing you had done something differently," Dean imparted intensely, straightening as a tabby cat bounded down from the girl's dormitory. "And I would think that someone who could face down Death Eaters, defending himself the way you did back in Hogsmeade, would not be one for backing down."
With a last glance at the cat Dean trudged up the flight, hell bent on retrieving Ronald Weasley's things. How in the hell he was to get Ginny's was another matter entirely, but the only thing he really knew, or cared about at that moment, was the satisfactory sound of Neville's trunk dropping to become abandoned on the stairs.
Later, when Dean came out of the dormitory, he would be greeted with an empty common room, Neville's unrelenting shouts of being needed at Hogwarts filling the halls.
ECOTS
Kaylens words hit close to home.
Deep in the forest, the impenetrable silence was once again shattered by her cheerless voice. "Once someone cares for you, and I mean truly cares, Potter, no amount of resistance is going to get them to back off." Her words were practically haunting, Kaylens having averted her face, avoiding his eyes. "Once you let someone in there really isn't a way to go back, is there? So why on earth would I ever act like I cared about anyone when I'm just going to wind up de-"
She stopped.
Harry's chest wrenched; he didn't have to ask what she'd been about to say.
Dead.
"I can't do that," she finally whispered. "It wouldn't be fair. Especially not when I could get them killed."
He felt sick.
Harry Potter felt sick.
In that moment, the wind stirring the grass around his feet, he realized how abysmally stupid he had been.
Kaylens wasn't just sick; she was dying. She'd never been standoffish to be a bitch; she'd been standoffish to keep him and others safe. Whether she meant so that they wouldn't get attached, or if she meant to keep them safe from Voldemort – she was one of the creature types he was trying to collect – or if she just meant safe from her own brand of magic – since she didn't know how to use it yet, and uncontrolled magic was dangerous – he didn't know, but whatever she had meant…
It all suddenly made sense.
Harry's legs felt off, like they suddenly didn't want to work.
Kaylens had nearly said dead.
And it got worse. Her words had rung true on an entirely different level; Ron and Hermione would never leave his side, not ever. A long time ago they had said there had been a point where they could turn back, and they hadn't.
Harry Potter suddenly realized when that moment had been, for both of them.
"I think I can judge the wrong sort for myself thanks."
Ron's face had glowed with acceptance.
"It was my idea Professor. I went looking for the troll. I had read about them and thought I could handle it. If Harry and Ron had not come when they did, I'd probably be dead."
A sad smile tugged at his heart, for Hermione Granger, knowing them as nothing other than cruel taunting boys, had broken every moral she had that Halloween night.
And she had done it for them.
The point where he could protect his friends had long since passed. If he had wanted to keep them safe he never should have talked to them to begin with, so that time was over. If he wanted them to survive their best chance would be together, not apart.
He had been a fool to think otherwise.
Too much ran through his head for it to be even remotely healthy, and he felt like it might explode.
Eyes blinking rapidly, he regarded the girl who had brought all of this to light, torn on what to do. Ultimately all he could bring himself to do was to quietly watch her, paralyzed by the sheer thought of speaking when he was only just realizing how little he understood about her.
Kaylens was in pain; real, raw, physical pain. He'd caught glimpses before, but they'd been only that: glimpses.
Now, looking at her he could see it all. It was in every fleeting expression, in the way her left arm and hand trembled; it was in the way she winced and bruised so easily, and in every shakily indrawn breath, in every halting gesture.
The rather plain, disheveled girl before him, the one capable of holding so much in, was suddenly strikingly beautiful.
In a moment of indecision he crossed to her. Gone was the stumbling boy who had once been unable to articulate a coherent thought around saddened females. Now, in the face of necessity, drawn together by circumstance, he found that his concern suddenly lay with the only person he held the power to help.
Kaylens.
He dropped a hand on her shoulder, the realization that her cloak was gone striking him hard. He'd removed it back in Hogsmeade, when he'd had to access her chest in that alley, but he'd never re-fastened the clasp.
It had been left behind, and in the rapidly chilling air she had let slip not one complaint.
Despite the stiffening of her shoulders beneath his throbbing palm, he knelt down, one arm snaking its way around her quivering form. Goosebumps rose across her neck everywhere that her hair had been swept aside, her skin far too cool for his liking, and Merlin….
He hated this; he hated everything about it.
Kaylens was sick.
Lowering his mouth to her ear his breath traced along her skin, his chin falling to rest on her shoulder as he spoke.
"You're stubborn, missing your cloak, and didn't say a word," he whispered, pulling her back against him, trapping her arms against her chest with his own. "You also look like literal hell, and I don't fancy having you not only irritable but sick."
"Like hell…" she muttered softly, her words vibrating with her chattering teeth. Casting his eyes to the water he could see her reflection, and distracted expression. Her eyes were closed, like she couldn't concentrate with him there, touching her. "You should see yourself, Potter."
"I'll let you revel in that torture alone," he said dryly.
A chilling breeze swept the clouds overhead aside, revealing the sliver of moon residing there that All Hallows Eve. Kaylens dark colored strands tickled his face, his eyes falling shut as he reveled in the strange sensation, a sensation only she could give.
He cracked them back open when he felt her finally shift in his arms, the non-witch turning to regard him.
Before she could speak his hand rose, silencing her.
"Thank you," he whispered, watching the anger fade from her eyes. Now only confusion, mingled with mild surprise swirled there. The crease of her brow was question enough, and he shook his head, mumbling how it was hard to explain.
And it was. How the hell could he ever possibly explain just how many realizations he'd gotten from her uttering just a few sentences?
He couldn't, so he tightened his arms around her, pulling her to her feet before releasing her. Shrugging out of his cloak he spread it out on the ground, earning a puzzled look from where she stood, her own arms now wrapped tightly around herself.
Her lips parted slightly, though her protestation fell silent, for a thick woolen blanket now lay where his cloak had been a moment before.
Pocketing his wand he nodded satisfactorily. "Transfiguration," he offered by way of explanation, picking it back up. He hesitated for only a second before stepping forward to wrap it around her shoulders, his hands lingering there.
There was a lot…there was a lot he wanted to say, but fuck if he knew how. So instead he grimaced, his entire expression set in stone. "If we remain here, we'll be safe?"
Haltingly she nodded, a golden tress falling loose from behind her ear. Her nose crinkled ever so slightly as the tress tickled it.
His hand lifted to brush it aside, and Harry watched as her eyes turned to the forest, studying it with a barely concealed longing. "We're welcome here," she whispered softly, "for now at least."
And against every ingrained instinct, he trusted her unquestioningly.
"Then here we'll stay."
Sliding his hands down her arms, taking her hands in his, he led her away from the water and towards a large oak with a comfortable looking trunk.
Within minutes a soft, smoke-free fire burned before them, his back to the oak and her resting comfortably against his chest, his arms encircling her tightly as she pulled the woolen blanket to her chin, covering them both.
Beneath the woolen fabric, where no eyes save theirs could see, two hands intertwined around a golden chain, a small vial carefully clutched between their palms, just in case.
