Author's Note: Updated as of February 2020. Still being beta read.
Chapter 20 ~ The Companion of Grief
"Hope is the companion of power, and mother of success; for who so hopes strongly has within him the gift of miracles."
Samuel Smiles
ECOTS
Dean lay on his back. A rich, blood red canopy hung overhead, but he didn't see it.
He hadn't seen it in hours.
He'd been staring at it, because it was better than seeing the empty bed next to his. It'd been Seamus', but Seamus was gone.
Seamus was gone.
The bed hangings stirred.
Ginny slipped between them and crawled across the covers until she was lay beside him. He considered telling her to leave, but when he looked at her, actually looked and saw, all he saw was her pale skin, her freckles standing darkly out against her bloodless complexion, her nose and eyes red and swollen as if she'd had a bad run in with histamines.
They were so red they nearly matched her hair.
Wordlessly he wound his arms around her, Ginny burrowing against him. His shoulder got wet. He didn't care, he just felt sick. A pit in his stomach wouldn't stop growing. It wouldn't go away; it never would.
Seamus was in the hospital wing, a white sheet pulled over his face. He'd seen him, and it'd been the hardest blow he'd ever felt. Harder than that fight they'd had when he'd punched him in the face; harder than the hit to the head he'd taken that same night.
It was as if a dagger had run him through and wouldn't stop bleeding, but every time Dean felt for it, there was no blood.
It dawned a dark, gray-red dawn, and the sinister rain outside continued, pooling upon the window sills. He couldn't close the windows to block out the wind, because when he'd first seen Seamus' empty bed he'd felt a cool, unfeeling numbness sweep him.
It'd been followed by a white hot anger, and Dean had thrown open each pane, wrenching them all hard enough to tear the wooden panels straight off their hinges.
He'd done it to each and every single one. It'd been oddly therapeutic.
Now rain water dripped onto the floor, the irregular rhythm driving him closer and closer to the breaking point. Neville was oblivious. His dorm mate's steady snores filled the air, and with each passing sound Dean felt the urge to smash something violently.
Seamus was dead. Harry was missing. Ron was injured. Hermione had been taken. Kally was gone.
His fingers twisted in Ginny's red hair. They were gone, but she was still there. Dean didn't move; he just lay there and let her quietly cry until slowly, gradually her breaths became more and more regular.
Eventually she slept, but his dark eyes remained open, staring at the canopy.
It was all he could do.
ECOTS
Angelina ran from the room, her black hair whipping behind her in a tight braid, and Harry felt like he was about to be sick.
Seconds after port-keying, Kaylens had lost consciousness.
Harry'd still been regaining his footing from the portkey, that dirty rag Fawkes had brought them still in hand, when she'd gone down. He'd barely managed to grab her in time, the non-witch nearly cracking her head against the bannister, and he'd gotten knocked so far off balance that he'd gone down with her.
Harry clutched her against his chest in a soaked, near hypothermic heap, and that was how Angelina had found them.
Kaylens was sick.
The girl he'd been kissing was sick.
Harry had overheard some of it, back in the hospital wing. He'd even told her in that back alley of Hogsmeade that he had. She hadn't denied.
And now she'd collapsed.
His heart thundered. "What's wrong with her?"
He'd asked, and he'd barely recognized his own voice.
Angelina had hit him with three consecutive warming charms in response, declared him 'mildly hypothermic', and told him not to worry, it was just the bad night taking its toll. She'd babbled something about magical travel being a lot for a weakened body to take, so that was all it was. She'd told him everything was going to be fine, to not worry.
And then she'd rushed out of the room with an intense look in her eyes, the same one she used to get before their Quidditch matches, and Harry had known then and there that it was a lie.
She came back with a hoard of supplies.
"Harry lay her there. Get her sleeves."
He managed to stagger to his feet and did as he was told, laying Kaylens on the faded couch. She sunk into the torn up cushions, stuffing bulging out at the additional weight. It appeared to be the only real piece of furniture on the first floor, and he too squeezed onto it.
He couldn't leave her; he wouldn't.
Reaching down he grasped the cuff of her wet sleeve, rolling it up. With every inch of exposed flesh another bruise was revealed, his insides twisting at the thick, deep purple marks lining her skin. A sickly yellow-green rose up in places, her skin bulging in spots from blood that had welled up just beneath the surface.
In the dark of the clearing he hadn't noticed.
Angelina knelt beside them, her hands moving methodically, with the calculated movements taught in healer training. His former teammate was cleaning the inside of Kaylens' elbow, inserting a small needle into the bluish line of her vein. He could only watch from where he sat on Lupin's worn couch, holding Kaylens' messy head of hair in his lap.
"Harry, hold this. Hold it high."
He nodded mutely, taking the fluid-filled bag from her, watching the yellowish-brown solution slosh about within it. Following Angelina's instructions he held it shoulder high, unable to remove his eyes from Kaylens' serene face. Her deep hazel eyes were now hidden behind pale eyelids, her face in desperate need of washing. A streak of mud still highlighted her cheekbone, an angry cut that looked half-infected across her left cheek, a gray coat of ashes lending her a ghostly, freckled appearance.
Kaylens didn't have freckles.
Reaching down Harry brushed her hair aside, revealing a dried smear of blood hiding near her hairline.
A deep bruise was forming there as well.
In fluid motions his former housemate attached a long, clear tube to the IV in her arm with a quiet click, retrieving the fluid filled bag from him. With both of his hands finally free he found himself smoothing the hair away from her face, wiping the mud away with his thumbs.
He could feel Angelina's eyes on him. "She needs to rest Harry."
He did not answer right away, contenting himself to watch as Angelina waved her wand, the IV bag rising to remain suspended in mid-air. Slowly the liquid began dripping from the bag into a small, tube-like chamber.
Swallowing hard, his gaze rose pointedly to Angelina's.
"What are you giving her?"
Angelina never ceased working, and she was already shooing Harry's hands out of the way as she carefully grasped Kaylens' other limp arm, tapping just above the elbow with her wand.
Kaylens' blue vein bulged just long enough for another syringe needle to be inserted, only this time Angelina was drawing blood, rather than starting a drip infusion.
"Angelina?" he prompted gruffly.
The young healer sighed wearily. "It's a mixture of red blood cells and platelets Harry." She pulled back on the syringe, and it began filling with a viscous, dark red blood.
Harry hastily looked away.
"Why does she need that?" he ground out, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.
Leaving the needle in her arm Angelina unscrewed the full syringe barrel, setting the blood sample upon a floating tray she had conjured. She made quick work of attaching a new, empty one to the needle as she repeated the process.
"How about you Harry?" Angelina asked dismissively. "Knowing you, you've probably managed to bang yourself up good."
"Don't change the subject."
Angelina's dark eyes darted up, "I'm not. I'm a healer, Harry. That's why Dumbledore left me to wait for you two. I just had to check."
His tired eyes turned to his own hands. He flipped them over, observing his healed, calloused palms. The deep slashes the broken glass had left were gone. Fawkes' tears had healed them, dripping into his wounds when he had reached through the thick rain to take the port key.
Before he even had a chance to wonder why Fawkes had bothered healing such minor injuries, the phoenix had flown away.
"I'm fine," he replied staidly, realizing he meant it. He no longer felt the deep scratches, torn by the werewolf's claws, down his back. Even the bone deep chill the icy rain had left was gone.
All that was left was the sick sensation churning within his stomach, his only relief the girl in his lap, who was incapable of responding.
"What's wrong with her?"
In the empty, windowless room, Angelina removed the needle from her arm.
"Nothing that can't be treated," she said quietly, rising from her knees, apparently done.
"That's not what I asked."
He did not miss the way her eyes avoided his.
"Nothing that I can tell you. For what it's worth...I'm sorry about that, Harry."
He swallowed, the sound seeming much louder in the still air. He bowed his head, spying a spot of gray ash near the corner of Kaylens' mouth. It made him feel off. He'd been kissing her there, indulging, having a heavy snog fest with a girl for the first time.
He'd kissed Cho before, once, but it hadn't been anything like that. Hell, he hadn't felt anything like that.
The gray ash was still there. Without thought his thumb wiped it away, Harry's stiff demeanor relaxing as a sleepy murmur emerged from Kaylens' cold lips.
Angelina watched it all, silently placing each of the blood samples into a carrying case. Misty air curled out the top of it, it obviously charmed to be cold. For a moment her clinical nature vanished, a sad look overcoming her ebony features.
It was then that it all came together for Harry. Every little detail that she had let slip, every sign of fatigue, every word that Death Eater had said.
He swallowed heavily. "She's sick," he said, finally acknowledging it. "What's wrong with her…it has to do with what she is, doesn't it?"
Though he had asked, there was no question in his tone.
Angelina looked surprised. "You know?"
His eyes lifted to hers. "Yeah. That's why you couldn't tell me, right?" He shook his head. "Dumbledore isn't aware I know."
She sighed tiredly, but he was already continuing. "Ron and the others, you said they're fine and that they were taken to Hogwarts."
She just nodded, earning a hard look from him.
"Then why were we brought here?"
"I wish I knew, Harry. All I know is that the Order is finally utilizing the safe houses it's been setting up."
His brow crinkled, his hands unconsciously caressing Kaylens' damp hair, which was strewn across his lap, leaving wet marks on his trousers. That was new information to him. "There are other places asides from headquarters?"
"Of course. Don't ask where, because I don't know."
His smile was strained. "Smart. Don't let any one person know too much about anything in case they're caught."
"Exactly."
They both fell silent, Angelina looking like she was hesitant to leave. For the first time Harry actually noticed the room he was in. It was older, the couch the main piece of furniture. Dark-stained wooden planks lined the walls, and a bookshelf stood alone and lonely in the corner, packed with well-kept tomes. It was so full that they were packed three deep, smaller books resting on top of the actual rows, corner sticking out.
It looked strangely empty, like it belonged to someone who had been forced to sell their belongings off piece-by-piece.
"Where are we?" It occurred to him that he didn't know, but wherever this was, it looked like someone still lived here.
"Remus Lupin's. You remember our old Professor right?"
She said it so off handedly that it was like a blow to the gut. His dad's friend lived in this furniture-less place, where ever the couch smelled old and stuffing poured out.
He remembered too well that Lupin's robes always looked shabby, shabbier than Ron's.
Now Harry had an all new reason to feel sick.
He swallowed it down, and this time he almost welcomed the rising panic the IV bag elicited. At least that was carefully controlled. He gestured at it, shooting out a question, "Why does she need that?"
She gave him a pitying look. "Harry, perhaps I'm not the best person to explain that."
"You're a healer," he said in a carefully controlled tone. "Who better?"
Angelina opened her mouth, as if to respond, but she never got the chance.
"Perhaps I can, if you would only allow me."
Harry's head spun, as did Angelina's. Neither had heard the person's arrival, and his heart was thundering at the fatalistic possibilities that could have resulted from such a lapse on their parts.
Fuck. He was getting mad at himself now for not being paranoid enough.
Harry's eyes narrowed, anger mixing with relief as he saw another loved one intact and standing in the hall's doorframe. A bitter laugh broke his throat, and he gestured into the room. "By all means, it's your house after all."
Professor Lupin stepped wearily into the room, looking worse for the wear. But then again, Harry reflected, didn't they all? The thought nearly sent Harry laughing. Instead he bit it back, another bitter sound growling deep in his throat.
From the look on Lupin's face, Harry knew he had noticed.
The deep lines made him look tired, aging him. Harry could commiserate; he was exhausted himself. Plus, if he was being honest about things, he didn't exactly feel sixteen. He never had felt like a kid. Hell, forty was a better estimate.
But that wasn't what caught his attention; it was the way Lupin's gaze stayed firm on Kaylens, his one-time Professor dragging a hand through his hair. He looked like he'd just lost something.
Lupin had lost a lot in his life, more than even Harry had. Of course, he was still young. There was time to catch up in that category.
As if sensing his dark thoughts, Kaylens stirred. His attention was suddenly riveted to her, his hand on her cheek. Half of him hoped desperately that she'd wake up, but another more honest part wanted to know what was wrong with her.
If she woke up he had a feeling he'd never find out. She was far too stubborn to burden anyone else with her pain. He knew that now.
It was startling how much could change in less than twenty four hours.
Harry's half angry, half questioning gaze finally lifted. He was startled to discover Angelina's absence. Somehow she had slipped away unnoticed, leaving him and Lupin alone.
After having been ignored by him for over two weeks, he wasn't sure if he was happy about that or not.
"It's good to see you, Harry."
"Is it?" He couldn't help it, but his voice was cold.
Lupin looked stung. "Of course it is."
"Well forgive me for being skeptical," he said, and his tone was biting. "It's not like you haven't spoken to me in awhile."
"I had my reasons."
He inclined an eyebrow, "You had reasons for believing Sirius all-but-killed my mum and dad too."
"That's below the belt Harry."
"Good."
Remus ran a weary hand through his graying hair, leaning back against the wall. For the longest time neither spoke, the entire meeting arousing conflicting emotions within Harry.
He wanted to slug him.
Lupin deserved it, for what he had done to him, to Tonks, to Kaylens, by ignoring them. He got that the man wanted to shelter them from his canine side, he really did, but that was no excuse. He'd transformed from that spell, then avoided them like the plague. He'd sent their letters back. Hell, he'd even been absent that summer, leaving him to deal with Sirius' death alone. In truth, Harry was still pissed about that too.
And then he had the audacity to walk in and say hello as if nothing were amiss between them? For having sent not one owl that summer?
All of Harry's pent up frustrations with Lupin finally bubbled over, conveyed in a single icy look. Outside the cold, first of November wind rattled the sidings. The weather matched his black mood perfectly.
"I'm sorry, Harry."
He nearly laughed. "Are you?"
"Yes," Moony said. "For everything."
Harry looked up, meeting the pleading stare of his father's last living friend. He felt pissed. He felt abandoned.
But he also saw his family.
He swallowed hard, remembering the rifts he and Ron had been through, and the one they were in now. All those years ago, when he and Ron had fought during the Tri-Wizard tournament, Hermione had called them stupid.
She had been right.
Life was too short to hold grudges.
The reminder of Hermione's plight and the thought that Remus could be taken just as easily, sent him grimacing. It was strained, it looked like a half scowl, but it was honest.
"Just….don't let it happen again, alright?"
Lupin looked genuinely surprised. "I won't."
"Good," he said, damn serious. Too much had happened to let petty shit like grudges and 'being afraid of biting someone' get in the way of family. "Case you missed it, Moony, you're kind of all I have."
Now Lupin just looked upset.
Harry looked away and mentally cussed himself out for being such a girl about this. But fuck…
Maybe he wasn't quite so desperately alone in facing all of this.
Moony apparently came to the same conclusion as him, because he simply inclined his head towards the slumbering girl in his lap. "How is she?"
Harry felt his brow instinctively furrow, his brain once again compartmentalizing what he could worry about and impact in the here and now.
"I'm not sure," he replied honestly. "But Profes...Remus, what's happening to her?"
The startled look upon Remus's face faded, his kind eyes regarding him carefully.
"I assume you already know then?"
"Yeah." His voice was filled with naked concern, Harry keeping his hands determinedly on her. It was strange as fuck. A month ago he'd entertained the possibility that she could be one of the student Death Eaters. But now…
Now things were different.
Remus studied him for a long moment, his eyes falling on the way Kaylens lay in his lap, and Harry didn't give a fuck if Lupin noticed.
The former professor's brow crinkled with both curiosity and pity. "Are you sure you really want to know Harry? Sometimes not knowing is better."
Harry grimaced. "No offense, but I've had enough of being kept in the dark."
Lupin didn't move; he stayed right where he was, leaning against the wall, but somehow the way he was leaning seemed to grow a bit more heavy. "It is not that kind of being kept in the dark, Harry. It's just…" he paused, seeming to consider his next words carefully. "In life there are things that you can do something about, and then there are things that you cannot. When presented with the latter it can haunt you."
"If that's supposed to make me feel better, hate to break it to you, Moony, but you're doing a piss poor job of it."
"It wasn't meant to be comforting, Harry. Just a fair assessment of consequence if I tell you more. You've had rather enough to deal with until now. Do you really want something else to be bothered with?"
Harry flat out snorted, and the sound was damn derisive. "And what if I'm already bothered?"
For a second he swore Remus' pupils turned into vertical slits, before shifting back to round. "Then I'd say things between the two of you have changed. After all, she's out cold and you have yet to try and throttle her."
Harry's stomach dropped, because that was true. Problem was he was slowly losing his mind, having her this close to him, in his literal damn lap. "Don't tell her that," he said, keeping his voice light. "This whole frenemy thing we've got going on has been pretty damn good to me."
Remus smiled sadly. "Wouldn't dream of it." And the way his father's oldest friend looked at him…
Deep inside him something snapped, and Harry found himself nodding with no particular reason. "Good," he managed. "Because I've got no idea…"
Harry trailed off, unable to finish. He just looked down at Kaylens' pale face, feeling the phantom sensation of her fingers raking across his shoulders, her hands dipping beneath his torn sweater.
Fuck.
"You have no idea what's going on between the two of you?" Remus said, reading his mind.
"Yeah," he said, still looking at her intensely, "something like that."
Both men went silent. The air was still, the room windowless, it dark except for a few candles. Harry's eyes fell closed, his ears seeking out the soft sound of Kaylens' regular breathing. Somehow, even with his growing unease, this calmed him. Having her sprawled out across his legs, her head in his lap, his hands in her hair, calmed him.
Having kissed her, had calmed him.
She made a tired sound, turning her face into the palm of his hand, and this throat just about shut.
His eyes snapped open and he spoke decisively, "I need to know what's wrong with her, Moony."
A loud sigh filled the room. "I was afraid of that."
And Remus explained; he launched into Hogwarts class lecture mode and explained like he was talking about some unknown entity and not the girl in Harry's literal fucking arms. Harry reckoned it probably made it easier for the man, but it made the delivery no less clinical.
It sent his blood boiling, the only thing restraining him from leaping off the couch to put a hole in the wall the fact that he'd have to move Kaylens.
Remus talked.
He talked about how wizards and witches had evolved in the first place. Somewhere in human history, human blood cells had begun mutating.
And cancer had reared its ugly fucking head.
It hadn't even been courteous enough to rear its ugly head just once; it'd done it multiple times. Most of the blood mutations had resulted in cancerous blood streams, and those had killed any in possession of those variants. Muggles and wizards alike still struggled against those diseases, leukemia the most prominent.
But there had been some individuals where the blood mutations had been beneficial.
Harry sat there, sunk into the cushions of the couch, and listened as Moony explained how everything, both living and inert, contained a form of energy. Not all of it was measurable in the Muggle fashion, and it was this form of energy, the kind that would fail to register accurately on electrical scales, that allowed magical beings to flourish.
It was magical energy. It came from their surroundings, and over time some individuals developed the ability to manipulate it, without adverse effects.
Others were not so lucky.
There were people like Kaylens, people like Reaches, who could delve into the magical realm, but for them doing so was dangerous.
Thanks to a dominant mutation, witches and wizards had developed completely new cells in their blood streams. This extra cell type was precisely why wizards and witches were highly discouraged from every going to a Muggle doctor; they'd get diagnosed with cancer erroneously. The doctors would take one look at their blood under a scope, see a cell that shouldn't be there, and raise eighty alarms before calling a chemotherapy unit and oncologist.
It was also why wizards and witches couldn't donate their blood to Muggles. A Muggles' immune system would identify these new cells as intruders and attack them just as they would a foreign pathogen, except in the case of a blood transfusion this would happen on a massive scale. Antibodies would form, clumping around the magical cells, and a massive, system-wide incompatibility reaction would follow.
Blood clots would form, kidneys would fail, blood pressures would plummet…
Inevitably the Muggle would die, and they had, each and every single time. Be it of a heart attack or a stroke, a pulmonary embolism or a burst blood vessel, kidney failure or massive neurogenic shock, their bodies reacted in the same way to magical blood as they would to a transfusion of an incompatible blood type.
Ironically wizards could receive blood transfusions from Muggles.
Harry's head hurt, and he gave serious thought as to why Hogwarts didn't have a biology class. It'd have made basics, like understanding all of this, or hell, women, easier.
Remus explained that it was just like how a person with an O blood type could not receive a transfusion from someone with AB blood, but a person with AB blood could receive a transfusion from someone with blood type O. It was all about an immune system response to something new that wasn't there before. In the case of ABO blood types, it was the presence of A and B antigens. In the case of wizardry, it was the mere existence of a magical cell in the bloodstream.
Harry shifted on the couch, careful to not move Kaylens' head, and listened. He shut up and listened, because he wanted to know.
Lupin pressed onwards.
It was a well-known fact that electricity and the body, or any type of charge and the body, didn't mix. But when a wizard incanted, something extraordinary happened: that magical current got conducted safely through their physical bodies via these new blood cells. It allowed their bodies to act like electrical circuits, the magical energy crackling along the cellular and polarized membranes of these specialized cell types. The energy was able to pass through their magical cells without ever touching a single other cell.
It was a perfect system. It let magic flow through their literal veins, without ever causing damage to their other cells, tissues, organs.
Some wizards were better at it than others, either due to focus or superior cellular structure, much in the way that some Muggles were in possession of better mitochondrial DNA, so better at aerobic endurance, and thus better athletes.
There were occasions when witches and wizards would become fatigued, and such occurrences usually happened when the person was performing wandless magic, or a particularly complicated spell. The reason for their exhaustion was quite simple: when one's body functioned like a circuit, if excess magical energy was taken in and not released in the form of a properly cast spell, then that energy would remain stuck in their body. Thermodynamics dictated that energy could be neither created nor destroyed, so that energy had to go somewhere. And since magic runs quite literally ran through a wizard or witch's veins, their magical cells would be the first to be electrocuted by that magical overload.
Fortunately magical cells were quite robust, and their plasma membranes were more than capable of absorbing such overloads.
Red blood cells, however, were not.
There were occasions, rare ones, where too much magic was absorbed, and too much magic failed to be released. The end result was that the energy would burst through that mage's magical cells, frying blood cells essential in the sustentation of life.
Red blood cells were particularly vulnerable, and when one's red blood cells died off, circulating oxygen to the cells became impossible.
It was how Luna Lovegood's mother had died; she had suffocated, while still breathing.
Such deaths were a rare occurrence, because human blood contained far more red blood cells than strictly necessary for life. It was how Muggle Sickle Cell Carriers managed to survive, despite half their red blood cells being warped and non-functional. It was fascinating, really. A human only needed less than half their red blood cells to actually work in order to live. So when a wizard or witch over-drew on magic, only some of their blood cells got killed. There were almost always enough left to allow that individual to continue functioning in a normal, albeit fatigued, manner.
The first time Harry had tried the Patronus Charm he had overdrawn like that. He had been left winded, gasping for breath on that lakeshore, just like he was after every Quidditch practice.
Yet he had partaken in no physical activity.
He'd passed out.
And to think, he'd always thought it'd been from the dementors.
It wasn't; it was because he had lost red-blood cells, the very cells responsible for carrying oxygen throughout the body, and his body was responding as it would in an oxygen-deprived manner.
Yet he had survived.
Reaches had never evolved that far. They had never developed additional cells in their blood stream, and the mutation allowing them to conduct electrical current lay directly on their red blood cells.
Not exactly a recipe for longevity.
If they overdrew, the first cells to be damaged were the ones that transported oxygen, and they'd be royally fucked.
Their mutation was one that worked, but it functioned poorly. Wizards had evolved much more gracefully, for their additional cells provided a barrier to protect them against overdrawing. Ultimately it was this defense mechanism that had allowed the wizarding species to not only survive, but flourish.
Lupin's explanation tumbled around in his head. Unlike in him, the first cells to die in a Reach when they overdrew were their red blood cells. For a Reach, the likelihood of suffering Luna's mother's fate was a certainty.
Harry felt sick.
Because of their mutation, Reaches even manipulated magical energy differently. It was incomplete and twisted. They had little control of it, unable to conjure and transfigure the way an actual wizard or witch could. They couldn't access magical energy correctly. They could just access energy in general, and that meant electricity, life energy, magical energy, any form, and when they dallied about with magic it happened indiscriminately. A wizard's mutation targeted magical energy, specifically, and that was what made proper wizards so much more superior when it came to magic.
Truth was, a Reach could really only do one thing well, and that was seek energy in their surroundings and pull it out.
And pulling energy, magic out of something had only one effect on the subject: it killed it.
And then, just when Harry had thought it couldn't get worse, it did.
He really wished Lupin would stop talking.
Reaches might not possess the same type or level of magic that a normal witch or wizard did, but they still ran the same risk if they failed to use their magic at all.
An obscurus could form.
Kaylens didn't even have the option of writing off magic completely. If she did she'd still die, only instead of from overdrawing and suffocation she'd die from her own repressed magical energy destroying her.
If she wanted to live, she'd first have to learn how to use magic, and use it safely. Then, and only then, would she have the option to stop without running that risk.
Eventually Remus shut up, and Harry was glad.
He fucking hated this.
Kaylens would die. She'd die from overdrawing, just like Luna's mom had.
Right now, there in his arms, she was only still alive because her bloodstream had far more red blood cells than it actually needed. She was capable of tolerating a certain degree of it, but the margin was slim.
It made sense now, why she'd passed out. She'd been oxygen deprived to begin with from that little stunt of hers in the Three Broomsticks, but then when she'd nearly drowned, when Harry had had to breathe for her…
That oxygen deficit had only grown worse.
No wonder she had passed out when the portkey had spun them in unending circles. He'd be lucky if she remembered touching him at all. And that thought made him sick. Fuck if he knew why though.
What he did know, as he sat with her in that musty and empty room, was that she had no learning curve. Young wizards and witches in school had a buffer that allowed them to make mistakes, but she didn't. She didn't have the cellular cushion to absorb it.
For her the only reward of overdrawing was death.
She would suffocate while still breathing.
It was why her red blood cells were being replaced even as Lupin spoke, for every time she drew energy into herself she was slowly killing her cells. Dumbledore was determined to replace as many as he could, as often as he could. It was the only way to sustain her, to ensure her a longer life.
It was the only way to let her live, without risking brain damage.
Suddenly he understood the intermittent bruising he had seen upon her throughout the year.
After Remus had turned, he'd seen the marks on her in the hospital wing. Her platelets had been killed when she had overdrawn, to protect him from Moony. She had passed out in Grimmauld Place from the effort, her body forcing her into unconsciousness in a last ditch effort to prevent her from doing further damage to herself.
The image of her lying unconscious on the floor of the Three Broomsticks flew through his head.
He had known that she had risked exposure for what she was, but fuck… She had risked death there, to protect people who hated her.
And he had once accused her of being a Death Eater.
She was killing herself, and she'd been doing it to help him.
A sickening sensation flooded over him, his hand rising to rifle through his still wet hair. He scarcely heard Remus as he tried to lie, tried to tell him it wasn't a bloody death sentence, but Harry knew better.
It was.
It absolutely fucking was.
Kaylens was dying; it was just a matter of time.
His grip on her tightened, as if holding onto her could prevent the inevitable. Lupin was talking about treatment, about how if they maintained her blood count at proper levels that she would be able to live a normal, full life. That she could survive long enough to learn how to control it.
All it took was a single look into Remus' cheerless eyes to know that his friend didn't believe what he was saying.
"Will she die?"
His own voice, his own question, sounded so far off.
"Harry nothing is certain. If she doesn't overdraw then we'll never have to worry about that possibility."
"Remus, will she die?"Harry's words were tight and tense, every muscle in him wanting to punch something.
But he didn't. He just sat there, dragging his hand through Kaylens' hair slowly, fucking carefully, making damn certain he wasn't hurting her.
Remus looked at him, and before he said a word Harry already knew the answer.
"From what we know, Harry, the others like her...they all overdrew eventually."
Eventually.
The foolish recesses of his mind clung to that word, the ridiculous companion of grief stirring within him.
Hope.
It wasn't until sometime after dawn when he finally fell asleep. The IV was long since removed from Kaylens' arm, her sleeping form pulled into his arms. He hadn't moved; he hadn't wanted to.
At the moment Harry didn't give a damn about who could see.
ECOTS
It would be hours before anyone noticed.
Remus Lupin had retired, and Harry had refused to move. The werewolf hadn't the heart to force him, so he'd left him and Kalliandra down in the living room, where in truth there had never been much actual living.
Hours later, while the two teens and the wolf slept, another figure prowled the house. From the darkened hall a single candle appeared, levitating ominously as it preceded its owner into the blackened room.
The house's lower story harbored neither windows nor doors to the outside world. This made sense; a werewolf lived here, and during the moons before Wolfsbane that young wolf had always been locked in the cellar. The lack of windows had always been a secondary safety net, in case he escaped. He'd been a child then, and his parents had done all they could to keep him from hurting anyone else.
Now another more dangerous monster loomed in the room's shadows.
With a casual wave of their hand that figure crossed the carpeted floor silently, their silhouette pausing above the slumbering teens. The figure knew that neither would awaken until their sleeping spell and potion had run its course.
The male had trusted them, and earlier he had drank the water they'd put down in front of him without question. The sleeping charm was merely a precautionary follow up. This teenager, after all, was powerful. The Dark Lord might not admit it, but he feared him, and that made the figure cautious.
The figure waited a minute, then another, but ultimately Harry Potter was out.
Good. No one within the walls would be the wiser to their actions. Tonight they would begin their plan, and it was one neither side knew about. Not the Dark Lord, and certainly not the Order.
A syringe was filled, its needle swiftly inserted into the slumbering girl's vein. Kalliandra's pulsating blood, bluish in tint through her pale skin, flashed silver.
A moment later the strange hue faded, a grim line of satisfaction stretching over the figure's shadowed face.
ECOTS
With a sharp click the door to Dumbledore's office opened.
Tonks shot out of the armchair she'd been dozing in. "He's back," she whispered. Lounging in the armchair besides her Regulus nodded.
She'd given that asshole cousin of hers a reprieve, for now. She could always kill him later.
Out in the hall, suddenly visible as the door opened, was Ron Weasley. He lay slumped besides his discarded crutch on the floor, sleeping soundly.
Crusantheus hung on the door miserably, his knocker curled and contorted around his ears so as to block out the sound of the young Gryffindor's snoring.
"Kill me..." it squeaked. "Please."
As tired as she was Tonks couldn't help but smile.
Regulus had a different approach; he lazily took aim, an evil glint in his eye.
"No!" shrieked Crusantheus. "I didn't actually mean it!"
Regulus continued advancing on the cowering knocker until a deep voice intervened.
"No need to fret. Crusantheus. Did you forget that the killing curse has no effect on brass knockers?"
Crusantheus peeked out from behind his knocker hopefully, as Tonks spun around, rounding on the infuriating thing's rescuer.
Somehow Ablus Dumbledore was standing behind her, looking rather jovial. Not at all like he had just returned from a meeting with the darkest wizard their world had ever seen.
"Morning, Nymphadora. Fancy a biscuit?" As if on cue a tray of biscuits appeared in his outstretched palm.
Tonks blinked at him.
Then she mentally revisited her androcide fantasy, where she killed all living males and only left a few chosen ones alive for use as breeding stock.
Regulus, completely unflummoxed by their sudden intrusion, walked over to carefully inspect the food offering. "I take it negotiations proceeded satisfactorily?"
"The exchange will be made in two months' time."
Tonks gaped. "Two months!"
"They probably need time to repair the little Mudblood," Regulus commented, directing his gaze to Albus. "I assume you requested that she be returned in one piece."
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Her wounds will need some...healing."
Tonks eyes widened in concern. While she still did not see how Hermione for Dumbledore was a fair trade, she had grown rather fond of the girl during her time at Grimmauld Place. She was sharp, quick witted, and good for Harry.
But this?
A pair of sky blue eyes regarded her carefully, their twinkling somehow dimmer than she remembered.
"I know what you are thinking Nymphadora," Dumbledore said kindly, as if reading her mind. "But part of the reason I made the blood pact here with Regulus, rather than in Voldemort's presence, was so that I could ensure Hermione's return on my own terms. He could have chosen to reject the blood pact had he so chosen, but he did not."
Tonks opened her mouth to ask precisely what those terms were, but a raised hand silenced her question.
"The terms were that if she were returned in the exact physical state that she had been in before the Hogsmeade attack took place, that I would trade places with her, becoming Voldemort's prisoner. Something, I am certain you know, Tom has desired for some time."
"I bet he was only too happy to accept that trade," Regulus stated, smirking widely. "Imagine that...Albus Dumbledore, the Dark Lord's greatest nemesis, handed to him on a golden platter with a side of cherry."
"Actually," Dumbledore corrected, "I believe the expression is 'served on a silver platter with a cherry on top.'"
Tonks spluttered, focusing on the sick sensation within her stomach. The war effort, the Order, could all feasibly collapse without Dumbledore's leadership, and here he was bantering with an ex-Death Eater, wizarding world deserter right after selling his life to the devil.
"Dumbledore," she said, voicing her far from calm thoughts aloud, "respectfully sir…what the hell were you thinking?"
Dumbledore's eyes locked on hers, losing their twinkle. "We have lost far too many students to this war already. I could not stand by and lose another."
She swallowed the lump in her throat hastily. She should have known all along that the safety of others would always come first to Dumbledore. He would have done the same for any of them.
Love of one's friends was a powerful thing.
For some strange, peculiar reason Regulus was eyeing her strangely. "Surely you can't possibly be this stupid?" He didn't even wait for an answer. He just turned to Albus, stating, "I thought she finished her education? Wasn't deductive reasoning a part of it?"
"She has grown into a brilliant Auror, Regulus. I rather think that she is simply too overwhelmed with worry to consider alternative reasoning."
Her head hurt. Tonks' head physically hurt, and it wasn't just from Ron Weasley's snoring out in the hall. It was the fault of all Y chromosome possessors. Yes, androcide it was.
"What is that," she said dangerously, "supposed to even mean?"
Her cousin practically rolled his eyes. "Taxing as it is cousin, do try to stress your synapses long enough to consider the many benefits that could arise from one of our own winding up in his headquarters." He paused, adding, "Surely even you can understand what discovering his location could mean for our side."
Tonks felt oddly weak and grabbed a hold of the back of a random chair. It squeaked, as if offended, but she didn't notice. "So it's not just for Hermione…" she said, processing this new piece of information. Her eyes flew towards their leader. "You're going to tracking charm yourself, aren't you? So we can find you."
Dumbledore smiled benignly. "I assured Tom that there would be no spells or potions used for duplicitous purposes, I am rather afraid my dear."
She tried to think, her eyes darting from him to Regulus. Her cousin seemed far too relaxed, and looked far too smug.
He'd also been living in the Muggle world for years.
And just like that Tonks suddenly got it.
"Mother of Merlin," she said, sitting down abruptly. "They're going to tracking chip outfit you like a bloody dog."
"Of all the things I have endured in life," Dumbledore said, "this is far from the worst."
"That's…"
"Shocking that none of you have thought of it before," Regulus drawled, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, it's a marvel you haven't lost your war on all fronts already, cousin. You have to use tricks, tactics that they will not see coming. And if there is one thing that the Dark Lord has a blind spot for, it is Muggle technology."
Tonks just blinked several times, then closed her eyes and wondered if it could possibly work.
"So, old man," Regulus queried, taking a bite of his biscuit. "Find out anything else of interest during your little tryst?"
If possible Dumbledore's eyes darkened further. "We have to assemble the Order. The plague was unleashed in Dublin."
Tonks' eyes flew open "Dublin, Ireland?"
Regulus frowned. "As brilliant as you are, how were you placed in Ravenclaw again?"
She scowled. "I was in Hufflepuff," she snapped, glancing towards the slumbering forms of Kenneth and Emily. Their home city was infected. Merlin…
"So how'd you come by that fun fact, Albus? I never exactly took you two to be old school chums."
For the briefest of seconds Dumbledore's eyes took on their old sparkle. "For all of Voldemort's prowess with Legilimency, he never quite mastered Occlumency. He has always surrounded himself with loyal followers, and until recently he simply did not have the need."
Regulus chuckled. "So he's good, but you're better."
Tonks blinked. "But I thought he was one of the most brilliant students Hogwarts has ever seen?"
"Ah..." Dumbledore said, smiling again. "As is Ms. Granger, but even she cannot fly upon a broom."
Tonks gaped at him.
"We all have our weaknesses, Nymphadora. Severus never would have survived his role as spy had he not been better at Occlumency and Legilimency than Voldemort. We should simply be grateful that this is one of Voldemort's few weak points."
Tonks frowned pensively. So He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did have weaknesses. They really were not fighting for naught.
With an air of finality Regulus clapped his hands together, making the already nervous Crusantheus bang his knocker rather loudly. Ron Weasley gave a violent start, snorting so loudly that he woke himself up.
Tonks watched wearily as the redhead blinked groggily, eyeing the situation in front of him until his eyes landed on the Headmaster. It took a moment before a figurative light bulb clicked on in his sleep-befuddled mind.
"Professor Dumbledore!" he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet, a flurry of wooden crutch and gangly legs sliding on stone. It didn't take long before Ron was flat on his arse once again, groaning from his fall.
Regulus eyed him mockingly. "And they call Hufflepuffs the duffers."
ECOTS
Harry's eyes snapped open.
There wasn't much time for anything else.
The girl in his arms made a sound, and he blinked blurrily, peering down the bridge of his nose at the messy mop of hair resting on his chest. Kaylens was there, alive, and very much on him.
But whatever warm feeling he ought to have felt never came.
Kaylens lurched violently, a chilling cry cutting from her throat.
She nearly bucked right off the couch.
Without thinking he grabbed her, hands gripping her arms, her skin beneath his fingers turning white with the pressure. She let out another cry, and this time it was scarcely human, the non-witch in his arms flat out crying.
And then she went still.
So, so, so still.
Harry was groggy, his head in a drugged fog, but his heart still managed to shoot straight up to his throat; it was like being woken up by a gunshot. "Kaylens…." he said, voice gruff and urgent and thick. He scarcely recognized it. It should have been thickened with sleep, but it wasn't. Adrenaline had flooded him the second she'd made that awful sound, and now he could only stare at the witch he held.
The witch he'd kissed.
The witch that was dying.
He had her in his damn arms and she was having some kind of fit in her sleep.
"Kaylens" he tried again, this time louder. He spoke near her hair, his breath unsteady, but fuck…he kept her close. He wasn't sure if that was more for his safety or hers, but he gave her an experimental shove, shaking her lightly in a pathetic attempt to rouse her. "Kaylens, you're dreaming," he muttered. "Wake up."
She needed to wake up.
She didn't.
She just cried out again, that sound ripping from her throat. It resonated through the dark room, raw and intense. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up, a primitive part of his brain recognizing it, because he'd heard it before.
It was insanely tragic, yet unbearably beautiful.
It chilled Harry to his very marrow; a human couldn't make that sound.
It happened fast.
One second his arms were wrapped tightly around her, shaking her in an attempt to rouse her, and in the next she wrenched violently away. She shot up quick, her eyes flying open in the dark, only to slam shut as the witch uttered a far more familiar shriek of pain and jerked back.
She hit him right in the face with the back of her head.
"Fuck…" Harry grunted, grabbing at his teeth. He could literally taste the blood, his world giving a hard and heavy spin. "Kaylens, fuck." Blankets and hair and blood were in his face, pain erupting from his split lip.
She said something; something human.
Harry instinctively grabbed at her arm in damn relief.
It was short- lived; she pulled away so violently that they were both sent tumbling from the couch to the floor in a frenzy of limbs and hair and blankets. His back struck the floor first, his knees having been tangled unnaturally in the sheets that Remus had clearly tossed over them, and with a swift groan Harry rolled over, on all fours-
A swift kick to the back sent his face smashing into the ground.
He was pretty certain that grunt of pain had just come from him, but he didn't notice. Something akin to calm and collected panic had risen in him, and his head shot up. He ignored the throbbing pain in his nose and lower lip, Harry squinting at his surroundings. His glasses were missing. Slowly he reached a hand out, allowing it to roam across the soft carpet in his search.
And then he remembered.
His glasses were still lying in some godforsaken puddle in the middle of the forest. By now they were probably some acromantula's chew toy.
Cursing he blinked rapidly, his eyes finally adjusting to the darkness and settling on the slightly fuzzy outline of Kaylens. She was sitting upright, some good two meters away, her knees drawn to her chest and her face buried within them.
He swallowed hard, the only sounds in the room now were his rough breaths and her rapid, erratic ones. In stunned silence he observed her as best as he could. Her bare feet were sticking out from beneath a thick blanket, which despite their tumble still partly covered her, while she breathed as if having run a marathon.
He didn't know what the hell was going on, but he wasn't a stranger to mental intrusions. For all he knew Voldemort had found a way to get into her head in her sleep.
Then again, she didn't exactly have an extra special, best-friends-forever head scar like he and Riddle did.
His teeth practically ground and he moved towards her, cautiously. "Kaylens..." he whispered, reaching out-
She recoiled, scrambling away like a frightened animal.
Her reaction stung.
Harry could only stare as her back hit the room's wall, a strange whimper emitting from her throat. Warring emotions mixed, chief of all confusion. Of all the reactions he could have guessed that Kaylens might have had when they woke, this was the farthest from it.
He could have understood if she'd slapped him. Hell, he'd have understood if she'd shouted and told him she never wanted to see him again. He'd even half prepared himself for her to not remember a thing given her oxygen deprived state at the time. But this?
Harry sat there on the floor in a pile of crumpled blankets, his face and back throbbing, and felt completely and utterly helpless.
Kaylens curled her legs to her chest and buried her face in her knees. Her bare feet slid across the floor, like she didn't know how to get traction, her hands clenching and unclenching so fast it was like she'd forgotten how to use them.
Even in the dark he knew what was happening.
She was sobbing.
Harry froze. He'd started to move, now kneeling, but at that sound he froze. Kaylens had stood by his side and literally faced down Death Eaters and werewolves and Ministry officials. She hadn't blinked an eye; she hadn't let loose one complaint. Yet her and now she'd been reduced to this pitiable state by a mere nightmare, or worse, by the concept of waking up by him.
The thought that Voldemort could be in her head slithered through his mind like Nagini's spectral form.
He had to help her.
Harry moved and was on her in four long strides.
"Kaylens," he said, tentatively laying a hand on her shoulder. She whimpered, shrinking away from his touch, and he fought back that hollow ball in his gut.
Something was wrong; something bad.
"Kaylens look at me," he commanded. Now he crouched directly in front of her, but the non-witch's face remained determinedly adverted.
He grasped her by both shoulders in a firm, hard grip normally reserved for the Quidditch pitch, and her head shot up. A furious clicking exploded from her throat, her eyes changing, and then-
She lashed out. Violently.
Harry dove back to avoid her flailing hands and feet, landing on his tailbone, and a sinking feeling swept down from his chest all the way down to his bowels.
She was making that sound again.
Now he knew why he recognized it: he'd heard it on a dark night in the Forbidden Forest, years earlier, when he and Malfoy had encountered Voldemort in spectral form.
He'd been feeding on the blood of unicorns, and the sound of that beautiful creature's death throes had reverberated in Harry's nightmares for months.
Kaylens was making unicorn sounds, shying away from him, acting like she didn't even recognize him.
Then again, maybe she did. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she just didn't remember everything they'd been through in the last twenty four hours.
He swallowed down that hollow feeling and acted. He didn't hesitate; Harry shot out a hand and his wand flew into it, the wizard never realizing what he'd just done. All of his attention was on her, and he'd immobilized Kaylens' arms and legs within seconds.
She was conscious, but incapable of lashing out.
He hated this.
He crawled back to her, a suspicion already forming in his mind, and with deep damn dread he took her delicate wrist and pushed the sleeve of her battered sweater up.
And then Harry stared at it. He stared at the smooth, perfect skin beneath his fingers.
The bruising was gone.
It was gone.
Bruising like that, even with potions, didn't disappear overnight.
He already knew what had happened, he just didn't know how.
And however it had, it had happened while they'd slept, together, when she'd been in his literal arms. He should have been able to protect her!
A surge of anger white hot and upset flared within him, and Harry licked his lips. He shoved it all back, that simmering fire threatening to consume him, and with gentle movements he could barely constrain he grabbed her chin, lifting her head until he could see directly into her fucking remarkable eyes.
Harry hadn't admitted it to himself before, but he fucking loved her eyes.
Now nothing he recognized was in them, and that oddly helped.
He felt less guilty about what he was about to do. He'd promised her he wouldn't do it to her, not ever again, and here he was breaking that within days.
But he had to know what had happened.
He had to know now.
No one else would be willing to do this. He already knew how the adults in their lives worked. Too little too late, every time, and he wouldn't allow it with her.
There were strict rules against the unauthorized use of legilimency, rules he'd already broken. Hermione had taught him that much, ranting in shock at him after his last misuse of the talent.
And here he was, about to use it like a weapon on the same girl all over again.
"I'm sorry," he said, but his voice was rough, unapologetic. "I really am, but you're not giving me much choice, Kaylens. I-" He stopped there, and with mechanical movements he lifted a hand, brushing her hair away from her eyes. The strands had dried mud on them, but they still felt silky and pleasing beneath his fingers, and it occurred to him that he really liked that too.
Kaylens hair and eyes made her otherwise plain face absolutely fucking beautiful.
His stomach dropped and he stared into her eyes, both of his hands sliding up to cup her face. Her gaze flickered in fear, and he hated it.
But her fear was warranted.
He only hoped he was wrong.
He whispered the word like a snake, "Legilimency."
The overpowering wave that was her life flooded his mind, capturing his senses in a whirl of indiscernible events. He groaned, desperate to stop the twister-like effect of the memories swirling around him. It was different than the last time, so unbelievably different that it assaulted and caressed and harassed his head until a dull headache rose up at the back.
A cacophony of clicking, beautiful and powerful in its raw intensity all but attacked, only to be replaced by a familiar voice.
"This wouldn't happen t-t-to be t-t-the home of Joshua K-k-kaylens would it?"
Quirrel was there. He was seeing it again, reliving the afternoon when the man possessed by Voldemort had shown up at her front door and hurt her, killing her older brother. She had seen her own brother murdered right in front of her.
Only this time the images were fleeting, distorted, as if Harry were viewing them through a thick pane of smoky glass.
The man kicked open the door for the second time. Kaylens' small body was thrown backwards, her petite form sliding across the floor. It was as if everything were on the fast forward feature of a Muggle VCR. There was the knife, her screams, her brother...
The purple piercing curse lit up the hallway, and her brother went down.
Harry could almost feel what Kaylens had. The hot, fiery pain of the blade plunging into her flesh. The searing as it was drug in a deep line across her shoulder blade. The fear as she watched the blood pooling from her brother's wound slowly stop pumping.
Harry hated Voldemort for all new reasons.
The image shifted, fading. Everything went black, misty, the powerful sound of a herd stampeding grew and grew and grew. It was loud and thunderous and Harry slammed his hands over his ears at the intensity. Around him trees and bramble and underbrush whipped past, shaking and rattling as a herd stampeded through the forest, moving faster than he'd have thought possible. Trees whipped past in a blur of green and brown and green again. Harry was surrounded by others of his kind now, and he recognized them as his.
Or at least, that's how Kaylens would see it.
His name was Lightning.
A flash of horns, silver and twisted and beautiful filled his vision, and then they disappeared.
The images twisted again, surrounding Harry in a confusing mirage of forest scenes followed by scenes of her childhood. Silver horns flashed around him, gleaming as the herd ran beneath the moonlight, while golden hair flashed throughout her life on the heads of three children: herself and her two brothers.
And then another memory slammed into Harry so hard it nearly doubled him, this one crystallizing into perfect clarity.
It was one of Kaylens.
It was mid-afternoon, though the sun barely shone through the over-cast sky. Before him was a poorly kept yard, bordered on three sides by a thick, rising tree line and hills. Harry swiveled in the murky memory, feeling Kalliandra's recollection lurch dangerously as another memory threatened to bleed into this one. The sound of hooves, the sound of the herd on the run, pounded in the distance.
Harry collapsed onto the dewy ground, watching as a man with golden hair, tinged heavily with gray, methodically stacked sandbags away from the house. Fog crept across the lawn, curling around his feet, each grunt echoing in the silent valley.
And then the children were led out, and Harry's soul shivered.
Kaylens appeared to be the same age as in the last memory, only now she stood beside a boy, one barely older than her, and she was digging her nails into his arm.
"S-sean..."
Their father pried her hands away from her brother, forcing a gun into her hands. Harry knew what she knew: it was illegal. Kaylens had held it, looking away, her face averted until her father had forced it back. Her legs had been weak, frozen, rooted to the damp ground, and Harry could practically feel her heart's fearful fluttering at the feel of the cold and unforgiving metal was shoved between her fingers.
The thick fog curled high around the six foot stack of sand bags, and as it began to drizzle her father aimed her hands towards the stack.
"Shoot it."
Kaylens pulled the trigger and cried.
Professor Quirrell had memory charmed everyone to believe that her brother had been shot and killed, covering it up. Kaylens hadn't needed charmed though – she'd never actually seen the wand. She'd believed it all on her own.
But she was scared of guns; petrified.
Again her memories shifted, Harry now in a thick grove of trees, stomping his hooves in warning as a hooded figure approached. The figure's hands raised very slowly, carefully removing the hood of their robe, allowing a cascade of thick, black hair to come tumbling around her shoulders.
The woman's countenance remained hidden by the deep forest shadows, yet Lightning was calming.
It was a virginal woman. She could be trusted. Lightning could tell.
The unicorn never saw the other cloaked figure creeping up from behind.
There was pain. So much PAIN!
The man's dagger soon shone silver with Lightning's blood.
Harry stood in the shadows drawing deep, ragged breaths. He could practically feel every inch of pain the poor creature was going through, the only sounds that of the screeching animal and that of the dry branches cracking beneath Harry's shifting weight as he watched, powerless to stop any of this.
The man bottled and corked a measurable amount of blood from the unicorn, leaving it barely alive. A light chuckle escaped the hooded Death Eater at the sight.
The woman with him, the virginal one, stepped out of the shadows, and Harry's breath stopped.
It stopped because he knew her.
Angelina stood in the dim light, and began to help deposit the bottles into a thick bag slung across her shoulder. Something dark was inked across her forearm, but he couldn't make it out.
It all ended just as abruptly as the first time he'd violated her.
Someone in the real and physical world outside of Kaylens' mind grabbed him and violently threw him out. Harry found himself flat on his back staring up at Remus' shocked face.
Kaylens continued to whimper.
ECOTS
"Would you mind repeating that?"
Tonks blinked stupidly. Somehow she had thought being told that the "plague of all plagues" had been unleashed upon the citizens of Ireland would have had more of an effect upon its President.
Instead the newly awakened Kenneth Bothan sat behind Dumbledore's desk, clasping his hands, waiting for her response with an inquiring look upon his face.
She silently damned Albus for having left them to break the news to Kenneth while he went to call an emergency meeting of the Order. She wasn't good at this sort of thing dammit! She had at least expected to get a rouse out of the man, but instead he was infuriatingly calm.
The problem was obvious; Kenneth was insane.
"Basically Ken, all of your people will be dead within the week," Regulus stated with ironic cheerfulness. "But look on the bright side, at least you won't have to run for re-election."
Tonks' dark eyes swiveled to her cousin, her mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish.
Kenneth, however, seemed entirely unperturbed.
"So," the President started with a curious frown, "what you are saying is that wizarding folk have no treatment against this?"
"Well..." Regulus mused thoughtfully. "We could always Avada Kedavra those who have already contracted it. That ought to slow its spread, right Nymphadora?"
"Regulus!"
Kenneth looked appraisingly at her cousin. "And this Avada Kedarva treatment? How effective is it?"
Regulus grinned like a jackal. "Supposing we were able to isolate those who had already contracted it, we could find out its method of dispersal, while simultaneously establishing a quarantine and treating the pain of the already afflicted-"
"By killing them!" Tonks burst in, unable to believe the wicked game Regulus played with the President's hopes.
"Ah," Kenneth said as if suddenly understanding. "The treatment has a high mortality rate. How high though?"
Regulus grinned widely, while Tonks contemplated murder for the dozenth time in twenty four hours.
ECOTS
"Harry! What in the name of Merlin did you think you were..."
Harry closed his eyes, grinding out his words. "Something's wrong with Kaylens," he interjected. "I had to find out what."
The room's silence was broken only by Kaylens' labored breathing, and her clear distress drew Lupin's attention. He felt the werewolf drop to his knees beside them, and he cracked an eye to watch as the former Marauder scrutinized her.
The Professor looked flabbergasted as he picked up one of her stiff arms. "Harry, you've immobilized her."
"For good reason."
Lupin threw a disgusted look over his shoulder and snatched his wand out, clearly intending to remove the spell.
"Professor I don't think tha-"
Kaylens lashed out, landing a strategic kick that sent Lupin sprawling flat on his back next to Harry.
"I told you," Harry groaned, shoving himself up on his elbows. "Kicks hard, doesn't she?"
Lupin coughed harshly in response, choosing to ignore him as he rolled over to check on Kaylens. She was already scrambling along the wall on all fours, backing herself into a corner. On her way she somehow managed to hit the only other piece of furniture, asides from the couch, and several books came spilling down, scattering across the floor like rocks thrown from a distance.
The crashing sound only intensified the poor girl's whimpering.
Harry's eyes remained on her, watching as she curled her legs to her chest in a feeble attempt at self-protection. But he already knew…her mind was compromised. There wasn't anything that could protect her from that.
But he'd be damned if he didn't try.
"Professor," he asked, "what kind of curse does drinking unicorn blood entail?" Then again, she'd been unconscious. For all he knew it'd been stuck in that IV bag. An IV bag that Angelina had set up.
A slow burning rage simmered in him, but he fought it down because right now he couldn't kill Angelina. Right now he needed to help Kaylens.
He choked down a rough swallow. "Drinking it, or getting it in any other way," he clarified, unnecessarily adding, "she had an IV in her. I don't know…I don't know what was in it." He clutched at his own head, groggy and sick feeling.
Hell, it was like he'd been drugged too.
The adrenaline had worn off and Harry was finally feeling the dull throb in the back of his head, a sure sign that he'd been hit with a sleeping spell or potion.
Lupin still hadn't answered, Harry impatiently demanding, "Well?"
Lupin opened his mouth and faltered. Harry remained lying on his back, his upper body propped up with his elbows, silently hoping to Merlin or Godric or fuck even Salazar, that the former Professor would put the pieces together. Lupin had to believe him. He had to trust him. None of the adults, except for the dead and buried ones, had ever trusted him in time for it to actually matter.
And right now he needed it to matter. Kaylens mind was messed up, and he had to fix it. She'd been with him. He should have protected her. This was his fault!
So Harry stared at Lupin and waited.
Sirius had died because people hadn't trusted him, because Snape hadn't shared crucial information with him when it would have mattered, and Harry didn't think he could take it if the last link to his father failed him too.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the lycan's head turned towards him, and even in the dark room Harry could see the knowledge flashing in his eyes.
Moony understood his meaning.
"Her bruising is gone," Harry whispered, driving another blow to any doubts the professor could have. "Don't know about you, but other than phoenix tears what else in the wizarding world can heal someone that quick?"
Every muscle in Lupin went tense at once.
"Harry, if what you're saying is true..."
"It is," he assured. "Unless Kaylens has a habit of sprouting hooves and neighing, then I saw memories in her mind that sure as hell weren't hers."
Kaylens' whimpering had finally quieted, casting the room into a deathly silence.
Lupin swallowed audibly, a torn expression on the man's face.
Harry wanted to punch something, finally snapping. "If it's not unicorn blood then why would she have those memories, Moony?"
Hearing his old Marauder name snapped Lupin out of his contemplative stupor. "It's magically potent…unicorn blood that is. In fact it is so magical that their memories are often heavily imprinted upon it." He shook his head slowly, as if clearing a hazy fog himself, and Harry half wondered if he'd been hexed as well. "To possess a unicorn's blood is to not only possess their life stream, but their very being."
"How about," Harry said, "we try English."
Lupin sighed heavily. "There isn't much precedent for this, but….in the early 1900's medi-wizards began experimenting with different treatment options for terminal diseases. There was a virginal researcher doing work with unicorns. They tried to harness their healing powers by injecting terminally ill patients with the animals' blood. It cured the patients, but the side effects…" Lupin shuddered, digressing, "The blood was hard to obtain to begin with. Unicorns don't normally donate willingly, not to mentio-"
"What side effects?" Harry interrupted, and fuck his voice was hoarse. He clenched his eyes shut. The feel of her in his arms flooded his senses, the woodsy scent that had clung to her all night coming back, overwhelming him like a tidal wave.
It was fear.
Harry Potter was afraid.
His eyes snapped open as Lupin's distressed voice filled the room.
"Most went insane."
Harry nearly choked. "Insane?"
Lupin looked years older. "They never were able to distinguish between themselves and the animal again," he relayed. "Can you imagine it Harry? Having a lifetime of memories that were not your own suddenly shoved inside of your mind? Unicorns live for hundreds of years…it was only natural for those obtaining their blood to become confused. To them it would feel as if they had spent a longer time being a unicorn than a human being. It's the very definition of a half-life."
The sick sensation twisting within him intensified. Kaylens' mind had revealed exactly what Lupin was talking about.
Remus continued his scholarly recitation of facts aloud. It was probably easier than dealing with the devastating fallout facing them in Kaylens' crumpled form.
"When one slays such an innocent creature, Harry, it leaves the curse of a half-life. But when one is given the blood unwillingly, or when the animal is left alive, the curse does not lessen; it simply changes its manifestation. It-it changes into that."
And with that he gestured at Kaylens.
His throat constricted, but Harry managed to croak out a single word.
"Explain."
There was no mistaking the sick look on Lupin's face. "There's two ways to be cursed by unicorn blood, Harry. The first...well the first would only be done by someone desperate. They would have to be hanging onto life by a thread to risk the curse's wrath, because the price…no sane person would contemplate it. If you kill a unicorn for its blood, the price for the atrocity is losing all ability to love. A life without the capacity for love is devoid of joy, happiness, family…" Lupin shook his head, disgust etched in his every feature. "In a desperate attempt to save their own life they lose the only thing that makes life worth living for. Once they take that path they truly lead a half life, only experiencing the darker sides of the emotional spectrum."
"Then the mediwizard, the one using it to cure his patients, did that happen to him?" Harry didn't like how desperate he sounded, and he glanced at Kaylens. "What about his patients?"
"There are ways to collect it, ways for it to be done without incurring the wrath of the curse but…those ways take time, Harry. Gaining the long term trust of a unicorn, let alone permission to inflict injury upon it, are not easy tasks. But if Kalliandra was given this blood unwillingly-"
"Then that won't happen to her," Harry said, jaw set. "That won't…it won't happen…" he trailed off, unable to vocalize such morbid thoughts aloud. No human deserved that. She didn't deserve that.
Once again Lupin looked ill. "No…" he said gruffly. "No it won't, but that's where the second type of curse comes in, Harry."
Right. Moony had said there were two ways to be cursed by it. Lovely. Jade eyes cut across the room to where Lupin still sat on the ground, flat on his arse from Kaylens kick, and there was nothing good in his expression. "Talk Moony," he said, "now."
Such was the situation that Lupin didn't even tell him off for being an ass. He just shook his head. "If you're given unicorn blood as a treatment," he said, "even if properly obtained, it still curses the recipient. In those experiments it bought the patient's time, it bought them life, but their mind…their mind was no longer their own. Think about it…their very essence is in their blood. Their magic is so powerful it holds onto to even their memories, the essence of what they are. Every patient that received blood like that…they wound up with a host of memories within their minds that were not their own. If your mind is shared, if you cannot tell where you begin and an animal ends, then it's not really your mind or life anymore, is it?"
Something about the words sent Harry's heart twisting.
"It is a half-life. And that's not all…"
Of course it fucking wasn't.
"Unicorns...they are such innocent creatures, incapable of sin, incapable of inflicting pain... Even if she did somehow recover, Harry, could you imagine having a saint following you around for the entirety of your life, correcting your every mistake? Could you imagine sharing your mind, your life, with memories of what true innocence is? A unicorn is the true embodiment of that, and I can only speculate based on what happened to those patients in their more lucid moments but…"
"But what?"
"It came with a gnawing guilt over anything they'd done that was wrong in the past. Between the confusion over their identity and their newfound guilt over even the smallest of transgressions…that alone could be enough to drive some mad."
Fuck.
"A half life..." Harry whispered aloud, suddenly understanding. Somehow Kaylens had been given unicorn blood. It was the only explanation. And now she was sharing her mind with a bloody quadruped.
She'd feel guilt that she shouldn't. She'd have memories that weren't her own. She didn't even know who she was right now!
She'd been cursed.
None of this was her fault, and the thought sickened him.
He'd been with her. He should have prevented it!
"Not all the mediwizard's patients went insane," Harry finally said, recalling Lupin's earlier words. "You said most."
Lupin shook his head. "They all went insane at first, Harry. But only two managed to reclaim enough of their minds to function. Two out of dozens."
Harry closed his eyes, his voice filled with sardonic irony. "She just can't catch a break, can she?"
The Professor shook his head in response. "There's only one way to be sure."
Without warning Lupin snatched his wand out, summoning a small flashlight. Soon a metal blur came flying through the doorway, landing in the professor's outstretched hand.
Harry frowned at the action, not understanding, but in one swift motion the professor had it on and aimed at her face. Lupin clearly knew exactly what he was looking for.
Kaylens was suddenly shrieking again, and judging from the grim look on the professor's face he had found all he needed to know.
A metallic click sounded as the flashlight was turned off, and Kaylens' cries instantly died down, slowly fading to a dull whimper.
"She's sensitive to light..." Lupin stated. "There are only a few conditions I know of that cause that."
"She's not a vampire," Harry stated coldly, earning a reproving look.
"I wasn't even about to suggest it. But animals tend to have better nocturnal vision than us Harry. Lycans and unicorns are no exception, and when I was first bit..." he trailed off, his face twisting into a peculiar expression. "Once I was bit my whole body changed. My eyes were the worst though."
The professor suddenly adopted an almost whimsical expression. "Did you know there are more square nerves per inch in your eyes than on any other part of your exposed body? If you ever want to cause someone pain just jinx their eyes and-"
"Professor," Harry interjected, at the moment not carrying about the finer points of jinxing.
Lupin shrugged. "My bite caused a whole new layer of tissue full of light sensitive cells to grow across the back of my eyes. It's called tapetum lucidum. It lets me utilize less light to see, so I can see with one-sixth the amount you can. But when it first happened...before I was used to it..." He shuddered. "Merlin it hurt. The slightest light felt like the sun was blasting me in the face. Hell, it had me in tears for the first day and a half."
Lupin raised the flashlight, pointing it directly at Kalliandra, flicking it on and off with each syllable. "Just. Like. Her."
Kaylens' whimpers died down as the light was turned off for a final time, and suddenly Harry understood the flashlight. Unicorns had excellent night vision as well, and the flashlight was Lupin's way of confirming what he already knew.
Kaylens had a layer of light sensitive tissue growing across her retinas right now. No wonder she screamed at the light.
"Harry," the scholarly professor tone was suddenly gone, and the wolf was deadly serious, "was she fine last night? Before she lost consciousness?"
Harry was quick to nod.
"And was she exposed to their blood at any point? Was there even the slightest chance?"
This time he shook his head.
"Then sometime between then and now someone injected that blood directly into her veins. She couldn't have done it herself, or drank it while unconscious."
Harry's mouth opened, but his question of how that was possible died on his tongue.
He knew the answer.
There was only one person who would willfully curse another within the house. There was only one person who had needles. There was only one person who knew how to do that in the first place.
And he'd seen her in Kaylens' mind.
"Professor what's going on? I heard yelling."
Harry's eyes narrowed, every muscle tightening. Angelina had finally come, drawn by the incremental shouting. There she was, rushing through the room's threshold, drawing her cloak hastily around her as if nothing terrible were amiss.
He almost half admired her balls; she'd actually stayed.
If he hadn't known better he would have thought she was actually surprised at the situation she found. But he knew better. No one took that long to respond to screams like the one's Kaylens had unleashed unless it was intentional.
"Why is it so dark?" Her voice sounded honestly confused as she flicked her wand out, lighting every candelabrum in sight.
His eyes flew to Kaylens, who had immediately began shrieking, clamping her hands over her eyes, screaming as if hell itself has sent its demons up to drag her into its depths. His chest constricted at her obvious pain.
Lupin lunged at her in a decidedly wolf like way. "Kally, don't!" he was shouting, fighting her for control. She lashed out, and Lupin grasped her wrist in a single, fluid motion, quickly capturing the other as well.
The professor had already forced her hands down against her sides, kneeling on her legs in a vain attempt to prevent them from flailing. He was far stronger than Kaylens, but she was desperate, fighting to block the candlelight from her eyes as Lupin fought to prevent her from inflicting damage on herself. Now he was yelling at Angelina to extinguish the candles, and Harry still had not moved.
He was too busy watching Angelina, noting the guilt flashing within every brown pigment in her dark gaze.
Her black eyelashes fluttered, and the betraying emotion was suddenly gone.
His blood boiled, his arms vibrating with suppressed rage as she began speaking, a panicked edge to her voice.
"What's going on?" she asked fearfully, rushing across the room to aid Lupin. "Remus!
What's wrong with Kally?!" she continued shouting questions, lunging over Harry as if he were not even there.
She dropped to her knees besides where Lupin and Kaylens wrestled, her ebony skin gleaming in the candlelight. Her dark eyes widened in feigned horror, her face a mask of innocent concern as she reached out to help restrain Kaylens.
And Harry lost it.
Her hand never reached Kaylens; her tainted fingers never touched her body. Before anyone could realize it Harry's hand had flown out, snatching the oversized sleeves billowing around the traitor's wrist, and he'd tugged her callously to the floor.
Harry lunged to his feet, stamping the heel of his foot against the girl's throat, pinning her to the ground.
"Don't. Touch. Her," he growled, the world rippling around him.
Power swelled within him, the strength of his magic unleashed by the raw anger pumping through his veins, and the feeling...it was intoxicating.
Angelina's body undulated like a worm beneath him. She was choking, spluttering incomprehensible sounds, the shock clearly written across her face. Her hands were clawing at his foot, her fists slamming against his legs as she fought for air.
He scarcely noticed any of it.
"H-harry...st-top..." she gasped, her eyes rolling backwards, fingers going slack as her pleas went unheard.
"Harry! Let her go!" shouted Remus, followed by a loud crashing as he and Kaylens tumbled into the bookcase, knocking it sideways.
Books went flying, scattering everywhere. The resounding crashing masked the dull thud of Angelina's limp arm hitting the floor.
Lupin let out a pained howl, and Harry's hand shot out. He felt the magic dripping from his fingertips like water.
With a flick of his wrist the candles went out.
ECOTS
The descending sun of midday zenith was partially obscured by the perpetual cloud cover, casting the not-so-distant Dublin-Wicklow mountains into a deep fog. Yet the man paid the ominous surroundings no mind, nor the racking cough that had swiftly descended upon him. Instead he stared out the windows of his South Dublin address, admiring the view afforded by his working class neighborhood.
With a small smile he leaned further back into his recliner, letting the smoky scent of fresh baking fish fill his nostrils. Meredith was cooking, and from the smell of it she was cooking the fish he had caught just that morning. They were bound to taste delicious. Everything his wife cooked always did. It was just a shame their middle child, Eva, had inherited his culinary sense, or lack thereof.
"Father, you feeling alright?"
The man turned to find his eldest son in the doorway, a concerned expression crossing Edward's freckled face. The man smiled, for the resemblance between father and son was striking. Edward had been the only child to inherit both the freckles scattered across his nose and the dark head of hair adorning his head. The other two of his children bore his wife's ash blonde hair and startling dark eyes. Edward, however, had his blue-green ones.
He graced his son with a warm smile. "I'm just fine m'boy. Just a bit of a cold."
"You sure father? Perhaps after dinner we should take you to the physician. Your neck looks awfully swollen."
Curiously the man rubbed his tender lymph nodes, shocked to find that they had doubled in size in just a few hours.
His son smiled cheekily. "Mother is of the mind to not let you go off fishing at such ungodly hours again. She said something about catchin' yer death on account of it bein' colder than a yeti's arse."
The man couldn't resist a grin. "Well perhaps yer mum is right. The thermostat dropped to ten Celsius this mornin' before I ventured out."
"I'll tell her you said so."
The man's eyes widened in mock horror. "Now you'll be doin' no such thing boy! Because I'll guarantee that once yer mum's done houndin' me that yer'll be next."
Now it was Edward's turn to look fearful, and the man leaned back, smiling in satisfaction. The boy still remembered the time Meredith had wrapped him head to toe in a snow-suit, complete with two scarves wrapped around his head and oversized mittens. Oh! How the boy could hardly walk in that contraption!
"Father," started his boy diplomatically, "I think I'll just be off to get a head start on my algebra."
The man smiled in satisfaction as the door closed behind his boy. Yes, despite their humble surroundings his boy would soon grow into a fine man. And while he had never been able to provide all that he desired for his children, they did wonderfully with what they were given.
It was no small point of pride for the man that he had worked his way from the North side of Dublin to the South. While most of the people in his income class tended towards the Northwest side of the city, here he was, raising his family is Tallaght. It might not be one of the wealthier districts characteristic of South Dublin, but its rich sense of history had captured his children's hearts from day one. He still remembered how young Eve's eyes had grown wide as saucers as he had explained the origin of the district's name.
Tallaght. Pit of tears. The very name was reminiscent of the mass grave dug there during the last Black Plague. Thousands were said to be buried just beneath the sewers, and that little bit of knowledge had had all three of his children off and running, screaming and laughing in increments as their young minds invented ghost stories along with it.
How proud he had been when Edward had shown him a story he had written. It had been about a young boy and his ghostly friend, a child who had died during the Black Plague. The ghost child had been buried beneath the fictional boy's home, and had appeared to the boy when another unknown illness ran rampant through the city. With the ghost child's help the young boy had been able to save the city, and his family.
The man leaned back in his chair as a bout of coughing shook his lean frame, a deep pain shooting through him. He clung to the hand rests tightly, waiting for it to pass, all the while thinking of the future.
Yes. An author would be a befitting profession for his eldest. Edward would one day make a fine novelist.
The man smiled, proud of his children in a way that only a father could be.
If only he knew how soon history were to repeat itself.
