"He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot, will be victorious."
~ Sun Tzu
Chapter 60 ~ Holding Pattern
ECOTS
The next day was a Saturday, and as such there were no classes, however informalized they'd become.
Unfortunately a lack of credentials wasn't stopping the Professors from having end-of-term examinations, which would be starting the following week. McGonagall had already announced that 'short of the apocalypse' they would be having tests, some of which may or may not be occurring by stealth attack at any time in the corridors, so come Monday, every student should find themselves prepared, even on the way to the loo, lest they get a Troll grade.
Hermione, to Ron's horror, had seemed thrilled.
Harry wasn't sure what to think about that, but the idea of practical exams with stealth attacks in castle hallways appealed to him. Too bad he still wasn't supposed to be using magic. He'd been reading so much about spell work to compensate that it was actually frightening. When even Hermione was impressed it was downright terrifying. With frustration he raked a hand through his hair, Kally's eyes flickering knowingly to him.
Her hazel eyes glanced around the Great Hall for a fleeting second, checking to ensure no one was listening, before she leaned close, lips grazing his ear. "You took out a horcrux, Potter. Ought to get you an O in Charms, an O plus in Defense, and snogged for the next two years at the very least."
Harry snorted at the non-existent grade. "O plus?"
Her lips twitched. "Just go with it, Potter. For two years."
Harry shifted, dragging an arm around her waist to tug her close. "If I'm still here in two years," he drawled, "I've clearly failed something." As much as Hogwarts had become home, he had zero intention of having an eighth year there. He had plans for after; plans that involved her.
His brow thudded against hers, tugging her even nearer…
From the Hufflepuff table Terry Boot made a cat call. Harry ignored it, breathing in her intoxicating scent, needing this.
Unfortunately that was when the owls arrived, surely carrying copies of the weekend's Daily Prophet and Quibbler. They circled the rafters, feathers floating down, students shielding their food from the onslaught.
Harry's eyes caught onto an incredibly white owl, Hedwig circling down, papers clutched between his talons. He'd refused to subscribe to the Prophet, but he'd made damn sure to do so for the Quibbler.
Harry closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh against Kaylens as Hedwig landed directly in front of them, claws clanking against the cutlery. "Ready for this?" he asked, Hermione and Ginny having already seized their Daily Prophets.
Kaylens smirked against him, eyeing the papers dubiously. "Do I have a choice?"
"Probably a bit late for that."
"Hmph."
"The article on you isn't here, Harry," Hermione said, as if reading his mind, having rifled through the entire Prophet with shocking speed.
Slowly Harry pulled away from Kally, inclining an eyebrow. "Hermione, how do you know where the gossip section is?"
To his bemusement Hermione Granger actually blushed.
Kaylens simply let out a relieved breath. "Reprieved!"
Harry snorted, shaking his head. "Wouldn't count on that lasting long," he drawled, reaching for the Quibbler-
Ginny shrieked.
Harry's hand froze, wrapped around the circular as he looked for the cause of Ginny's outcry. Only there was no threat.
Not to mention Ginny wasn't looking at him.
She was looking at Luna.
Luna, who had her copy of the Quibbler already spread wide open and upside down.
On the front page was not the gossip article about his private life with Kaylens.
Instead he, like everyone else at the table, stared at another article, a different one, written by none other than Rita Skeeter.
The headline stared up at them, sandwiched between a bowl of porridge and a basket of apples, hovering eerily over a caption reading Broadway and Seventh Avenue.
The caption had a picture.
As if sensing their scrutiny, the picture slowly flipped until it was right-side up.
Those near Luna fell preternaturally silent.
Rain-slickened pavement glinted within the all but motionless image staring up at them, an abandoned newspaper flapping as fat rain drop after fat drop splattered against it. Rain pattered down, the gentle sound emanating up from the photograph. Other than that, it was motionless.
Other than that, it might as well have been a Muggle photo.
It might as well have been a Muggle photo, because nothing else was moving; not even the people.
Harry snared his copy of the Quibbler and jerked it towards he and Kaylens, Hedwig letting out an irritated shriek at the indignancy of not receiving a treat for the delivery. Harry didn't even notice.
His eyes were glued to the same photograph Luna was staring at.
The people lay sprawled across the square tiled-sidewalk, some stacked. Others could be seen half-under vehicles, as if the drivers had been unconcerned about running over another person's organs before crashing into the cars in front of them. A ramshackle Ford sat, lights on, engine still running, smashed against a towering flag pole.
It looked like Times Square in New York City. Harry had seen it on the tele back at the Dursleys once. He'd been younger, peering through the key hole of his cupboard on New Year's Eve as his aunt, uncle and cousin had flipped back and forth between the coverage streaming from different cities around the world.
Only in this picture the billboards and lights weren't flashing. A crowd wasn't blowing streamers or obnoxious horns. The advertisements all were blank, electricity cut off, with nothing left to power them. The cars were all stopped, smashed with doors hanging open, the occupants sprawled out on sidewalks and in the middle of streets.
New York looked dead.
Skeeter's headline blinked innocently up at him.
Plague Death Toll Reaches Sixty Five Million – When Will the Ministries Act?
All chatter at the table had gone silent.
Harry was suddenly, acutely aware of Kally's presence beside him. She was the only warmth he could feel. His grip on her waist reflexively tightened, fingers flexing hard enough to cause pain. Kally said nothing; he merely felt her fingers prying his just a bit looser as he stared down into the vacant eyes of a blue eyed man.
The man lay at the front of the photograph, the picture taken at a low angle, following the bridge of the man's prominent nose.
The poor bastard's head was twisted back at a convoluted angle, as if rigor mortis had set in amidst the throes of a seizure. Boils lay burst open all over the man's pale skin, a thick, black pus having solidified around the open wounds.
A single, gaping wound lay in the center of the man's forehead.
Like a bullet hole.
Harry's heart pounded as he reached out, dragging the article closer.
Kaylens had been sick with the plague once.
He hadn't been there for her.
His stomach lurched, twisting sickeningly.
As if sensing his thoughts Kaylens shifted, her arms sliding around his waist, her face falling to gently rest in the nook of his shoulder. Harry shifted to let her get closer as she joined him in reading. His heart thudded against his ribcage, a chill rising along his spine. Without a thought he dropped his head over hers, breathing in deeply, her scent – like fresh rain after an electrical storm - grounding him in a way nothing else could.
Kaylens grounded him in a way even Quidditch couldn't.
Harry drug in a steadying breath, then he turned back to the article, reading it.
The plague had spread farther than even the Order had been aware. They already knew a sizeable chunk of Ireland had been taken out, and that small segments of the United States had been exposed. But now…it sounded like a quarter of the Eastern U.S. had been taken out by it, 45 million estimated dead there alone. Another 2.5 million were estimated dead in Eastern Canada. New Brunswick and Nova Scotia had been all but wiped out.
It'd spread to mainland Europe and was appearing in isolated pockets in England and Wales.
As of yet, it'd somehow not touched Scotland.
Harry's heart thudded harder.
"How the hell did this happen?" Dean asked, Ginny grabbing his arm and yanking it around her. Thomas responded by dragging her against his side, the two reading together.
The statistics alone were chilling.
Kally nestled closer to him, her fingers trailing absently over his leg. It was inexplicably calming, the article serious. Damn serious.
And it had been in the Quibbler.
"I can't believe Rita Skeeter actually wrote this," Ginny breathlessly proclaimed, staring at it. Her brown eyes flickered up, suddenly looking stricken as she stared at something behind them.
Harry followed her gaze, it landing on the four Americans. The girl, Jessica, was holding the paper between two shaking hands, her typical unreadable demeanor shattered as she looked shaken. He didn't know them well, only from the few DA sessions they'd had together, but she didn't seem the sort to start crying in front of others.
In the stark silence of the Great Hall, he heard the whisper: "Her family was in New York."
Justin had said they'd all lost someone to the plague.
The brown haired girl may have now lost everyone.
"There's a list of towns affected in the U.K…" Neville said aloud, sounding stunned. "The ones wiped out too."
Harry flipped the page to that, staring. The list…
England's wasn't long. Scotland was untouched. Ireland had been decimated. Wales as well. And yet…
There were too many for comfort.
"Nothing near London yet," Neville breathed in relief.
Hermione was tearing through the Prophet, eyes wide. "The Prophet published it too," she breathed. "I can't believe I missed it the first time…"
Everyone looked, but Hermione was just shaking her head. "She sold it to both, but…the Prophet headline is different. There's no picture, and they also hid it behind-" Hermione violently flipped up a page to see, hissing, "Want ads."
Ron growled a little.
Before Harry had a chance to process the anger coursing through him at that, Kaylens had slipped away, her lips pressing swiftly to his cheek, a quiet apology murmured near his ear. Where there had been warmth pressing against him was suddenly cold, empty space.
It took him the half-second it took for her to stand to realize she had been quivering.
Harry spun around on the bench, on his feet in less than a second. Kaylens had already taken off towards the Great Hall doors, Harry catching up to her not three meters from them. His hand snared her arm, spinning her back around, the witch thudding against his chest, his arms instantly enveloping her.
He didn't know what was wrong, but at that precise second he didn't need to. Kally was leaning into him, clutching his shirt, trembling.
He wanted to know though.
"Kal…" he murmured against her hair, ignorant of every other person in the Great Hall. "Kal, what's wrong?"
She wasn't crying; she was too strong for that, but when she looked up at him her irises were sparkling with angry, violent sparks of magic. "Ross-on-Wye." The syllables came out as an angered hiss, her chest pressing to his as she breathed unsteadily. "It was on the list. I-I can't-"
Her words died abruptly.
Harry stared down into her eyes, miniature fireflies dancing beautifully within them, with her upset. He tugged her roughly against him, to hide that, burying her face in his chest so no one else could see.
They might be surrounded by Order members, but not all of the Great Hall knew what she was. And that…
He'd never risk that.
He suddenly understood why she'd gotten up so quickly.
Kally was shaking her head against his shirt, her shaking worse. Harry's brow creased, an unsettled feeling swelling up. "Kally," he asked, unsure if he wanted to know, "what's in Ross-on-Wye?"
She let out a scarcely controlled breath, it a half-hysterical laugh. "It's where I'm from, Harry."
It took him second to comprehend the meaning of that.
It took him another second for the guilt to swarm up. After all this time he'd never known where Kally was from.
His stomach pitched.
He hadn't a damn clue where she'd once called home, and he'd sure as hell never bothered to ask. Just like he'd never known her middle name. Just like he'd never known that her father had been in the Royal Navy. Just like he hadn't known that she was a swimmer. Just like he still didn't know her birthday.
The girl in his arms trembled, but did not cry.
If it wasn't for her eyes, if it wasn't for the way she was trembling, if it wasn't for the anger he'd heard in her voice, she would have seemed calm.
He clung to her tightly, whispers around them, but they were all too preoccupied to notice he and her. Every student and Professor in the Great Hall processed the same news however they had to.
Harry fixated on not having known where Kaylens was from.
Harry could have told anyone how she slept, curled up with blankets tugged over her head, persistently managing to always lose at least one sock overnight. He could have told anyone that she was not a morning person. He could have told anyone that whenever Kally became completely absorbed in reading something, that she'd absently seize anything long and narrow within reach, using it to pin her hair up in a messy bun, heedless of whether it was a quill or a bone that had recently been inside a rodent. She wouldn't care either way. She did the same thing when brewing potions. Harry knew how she fought, how she spent precisely four seconds on dangerous decisions before acting and doing asinine things, like jumping into shark infested waters, he knew each and every single spot on her neck that could elicit a spasmodic shiver. He knew how to make her gasp, moan. He knew that she was afraid of wands.
But he didn't know where she was from, her middle name, or when her birthday was.
Their little game was done. Harry grabbed her chin, tilting her face back up, to look at him. "When," he demanded hoarsely, "is your birthday?"
The aberrant, golden flecks of light dancing within her irises remained, but they'd grown duller as he'd held her against him. That alone was proof that he'd somehow, unknowingly, calmed her.
It was a mark of how off-guard he'd caught her that she actually answered. "October twenty second," she whispered, hazel eyes flickering over his, suddenly frowning. "Why? What does that have to-"
Harry had his face against hers, his nose bumping up alongside hers as he drug in a rough, shaken breath. "Everything," he rawly told. He wanted to distract her. He also wanted to tell her more, to tell her people she'd known back at her home would be okay, but he knew it was a lie.
They were still in the Great Hall, and her eyes were still flickering.
"Let's get out of here," he muttered abruptly, moving, tugging her with him into the castle's halls. She went with him without complaint, right until he tried to take her up the stairs, towards their common room.
She tugged back, hand slipping from his, shaking her head. "Harry…I need to go the dungeons."
Harry was left standing on the stair, alone, staring at her. It didn't take someone on Hermione's level of brilliance to figure it out. "You want to make more antidote," he said. It wasn't a question.
Kaylens nodded, hair slipping in front of her eyes. "Muggles are dying, Harry. They're dying because they can't fight it. Maybe if I'd just spent more time down there, making more of it, then they'd be-"
"They'd still be dead," he brusquely cut her off. Anger at the Daily Prophet, anger at the Ministry, anger at everyone for not having told them how serious the plague had gotten, how far it had spread, anger at himself was shoved down so he could focus on her. "Kaylens," he ground seriously, "even if you'd spent every waking moment brewing antidote, it still wouldn't have been enough." Millions…it was too much. Magic potions weren't something that could be mass produced in some Muggle lab like antibiotics.
It was with that thought that the cold dawning horror slipped past his defenses; Voldemort had already won the moment he'd made it magical in nature, at least where the plague was concerned, for that reason alone.
He could have vomited.
Instead his green gaze fixed onto her. "You couldn't make it all, Kal. Not to mention you'd have died. If not from overdrawing then definitely from Snape." He offered a grim grimace. "He might tolerate you, but even he has limits to keeping you down there."
Kalliandra was blaming herself, the two more alike than he wanted to admit in that arena.
In that moment Harry would have done anything to take that guilt away from her, but forcing rough, dark humor into his statement was the best he could do.
The reality was that using magic for her was a gamble, even with her wand. She could still die from it.
The reminder sent his gut coiling violently.
Kally stood below him, her conflicted countenance peering up. "You can't know that, Harry."
"Like hell I can't," he growled back.
She shook her head in vehement denial. "If I'd just made more then maybe-"
Harry was off the stair and back in front of her before he even realized he'd moved, both his hands firmly grabbing onto her shoulders, his head lowered to look her squarely in the eyes. "Kally," he forced, "I'm sorry your hometown's gone. But you can't draw the way you've been drawing every single day. If you'd done that you would have died. What about that don't you get?"
Beneath his hands she had gone unbelievably still, unmoving. Quietly she watched him, gnawing on her lower lip, as if afraid to speak.
That was alright. Maybe for once she didn't need to. Harry's grip flexed against her shoulders, his throat rising and falling in a rough swallow. He wasn't good at this kind of thing, but hell if he wouldn't give it a shot.
"If you'd done that," he repeated, forcing his voice lower, "you'd have magically exhausted yourself, or worse, overdrawn." His chest twisted viciously. "If you'd died before Snape and Black had figured out how to replicate what you did, then no one would have survived, because as soon as we were out of the stock we already had that'd be it. Hell, if it wasn't for you, half the Order would have already been dead from it."
Kaylens wasn't stupid; he knew she already got that, but getting something and accepting it were two different things.
Her eyes fluttered closed, Harry sighing heavily. "Let's go," he uttered, sliding his hands down her arms, grabbing both of her hands. This time the direction he set off in wasn't towards Gryffindor tower, it wasn't towards anywhere romantic; it was towards Snape's potions lab.
Harry stood in the doorway as Kaylens' rushed the all but decimated supply closet, snatching up the needed supplies. Groaning, he rubbed the back of his neck, wracking his mind for a way to argue this. There was a reason that McGonagall and Snape only let her work on antidotes every third day now. She needed the in-between time to recover. She worked on other potions, learning, on the in between days.
This was breaking that.
He knew better than to try to argue with her.
Harry stepped into the lab and started to help.
That was how Snape and Black found them, half an hour later. Multiple cauldrons were brewing, Harry chopping things up according to directions thrown out by Kally, while Kaylens worked like a witch possessed.
His gaze shot towards Snape's, the wizard's lip curling as he eyed the work Harry had done. Then, to his surprise, he stalked off with a sneer.
The Potion's professor began his own in silence.
Regulus Black shook his head, sharing a look with Harry that indicated mutual derision for the man, but he too began to brew his own cauldron of antidote.
That was how the four of them remained for hours: in silence. They worked, antidotes brewing, Harry not missing the somewhat possessed look glinting in Kalliandra's eyes.
Something in him wrenched painfully, for there was nothing he could do for her.
It wasn't until McGonagall walked in that he realized however bad this was, that it was about to get worse.
ECOTS
Kally leaned bonelessly against the wall, staring blankly as McGonagall spoke. The plague was in in England and mainland Europe in isolated pockets. Ireland was gone, the Eastern seaboard of the U.S. gone, Wales gone. All the villages within England near the Welsh-English border were the ones that had been decimated, including the ones surrounding the Forest of Dean, like hers.
She still knew people who had lived there.
They probably thought she was dead.
The cauldron's bubbled around them, the dungeon humid, sweltering. Harry wordlessly fell into place on the wall alongside her, hands in his pockets, his elbow brushing against hers in silent solidarity.
Kally felt like she could barely breathe.
According to McGonagall, saving England, Scotland and Europe…there was still a chance.
They needed to teach the brewing of the antidote to more wizards. Due to the volatile nature of the final step, simply owling the ingredient list and instructions would fail to suffice. It was too risky. They could not risk losing the last remaining potions' masters in their world to the explosion that had nearly claimed Snape's life.
Not to mention they couldn't write the instructions down. If they did Voldemort could get his hands on them. No one could know how to, not unless they were trusted.
The tension practically rippled from Harry, Kally quietly nudging his foot with hers as the Headmistress told them the Order's idea: send Snape, Regulus and her to various Potion's masters in affected areas. The more trusted people who could brew the antidote, the better.
They couldn't save everyone, but they could sure as hell try.
Kally's eyes closed as McGonagall's hawkish gaze cut to her, already knowing what she was going to ask.
She needed to go, to leave. They wanted her in France within hours. They'd apparently be sending the American Jake with her. He'd been a potion's prodigy back in the States and had been hired on as a potions class assistant just after graduation, so he'd be able to teach the wizards how to cast the spell that she wandlessly could do, the one that combined the final ingredients, safely.
He'd be the buffer if they realized she was a Reach.
"I'll go with her." Harry's tone was hard, Kally's eyes snapping open to find her boyfriend staring resolutely at McGonagall, nothing humored in his gaze.
If anything Harry looked downright murderous.
McGonagall lips drew into a thin, strained line. "Nothing against your spellwork, Mr. Potter, but until you are fully healed, you cannot be expected to defend yourself with the degree of…magical precision required," her green eyes swiveled between he and her, adding, "or her."
Harry's mouth opened, clearly ready to argue that she couldn't do spellwork either, only for McGonagall hold up a hand, cutting him off. "Mr. Potter, regardless of her limitations, she is one of the few that has the antidote memorized. And given Ms. Kaylens'…limitations, she will need a guard. Currently it cannot be you-, otherwise I would consider allowing it. Contrary to what you may believe, I personally think you will learn nothing if you are never thrown into the metaphorical fray."
Harry stared at McGonagall, jaw moving through several unreadable expressions.
Then, off to the side, a candle snapped in half.
Kally's stomach leapt into her throat.
It didn't stop her from reaching out, snaring his fingers between hers, her eyes silently begging him to please, please relax. Magic…
Merlin…the idea of Harry being told to not do magic was disturbing. If she were honest with herself, the fact that he'd died, the fact that doing magic could damage him, the fact that he was being driven to accidental wandless magic because of her…
It terrified her.
Her fingers clutched at his, desperately. His green eyes clenched, anger rolling off him in palpable waves, another candle snapping before she felt the tension slowly draining from him.
Kally's breathing was unsteady, both of her hands snaring at his wrist, it small comfort given the situation.
That was when another, horrifying thought struck her, her head whipping around towards the Headmistress. "What about Harry's heart?" It was still damaged, still healing. Madame Pomfrey had checked him out yesterday, it improving, but still a long way from fully functioning without their bond and Fawkes.
McGonagall's expression fell, clearly having no response for that.
Snape, however, did. "Isn't it obvious?" he questioned sourly, seeing their attentions all divert his way, adding, "you blithering imbeciles," almost as an afterthought.
It wouldn't be Snape if he didn't find some way to insult them.
The Headmistress inclined a sharp eyebrow. "By all means, Severus," she permitted, sarcasm bleeding from her lips, "if you have an idea share with the class."
The pale-faced wizard scowled, his lips drawn in a manner she had not seen before. "Love." He spat the word as if it personally offended him. "Lilly Potter sacrificed herself to save…him." He looked at Harry as if he couldn't have disagreed more with that decision. "That type of magic leaves a residue. It's why the boy has been safe living with those…Muggles all these years."
His sharp, dark eyes jerked from Harry and back to McGonagall, drawling, "That type of magic ought to work just as well at healing him as the little…bond the two PDA-rule-breakers share. " He waved a hand dismissively at them. "Not that I care, but if he returns to the Muggles sooner rather than later, then whatever work that phoenix of his and the boy's inappropriate…behaviors," this time he cast a disapproving look directly at her, " hasn't already done towards healing that corroded muscle of his ought to be completed with Lilly's magic."
Snape sounded distinctly uncomfortable, disgusted even talking about it.
Kally stared at Snape and for the first time in her life seriously debated flat out kissing him. If she had to go, then Harry would be fine. He'd be okay. He'd-
"Not a chance in hell," Harry growled, "that I'm going back there."
McGongall ignored him. "Severus, you truly think that will work?"
Snape looked like he'd recently chewed broken glass, his dark eyes shooting toward Harry with an unreadable expression. "You remember Lilly, Minerva," he said in a tone so flat it was near inhuman. "It has to."
Harry's back had dropped against the wall, as if he needed it to physically support himself, staring at Snape.
Snape stared straight back.
The hard part of Harry's throat rose and fell in a strained swallow.
Snape's did the same. "Resident celebrity annoyance or not," he said staidly, "it will, indeed, work, Mister Potter."
Kally knew nothing good about the Dursleys. She expected Harry to argue, to protest.
Instead fingers slipped even more tightly between hers, and he nodded. "Alright." He looked unhappy, his eyes carefully remaining away from hers. "If it's get me able to do magic again, quicker, then alright."
The dungeons went so quiet a single drop of water could be heard, dripping from the damp ceiling.
Remus practically burst into the room, the door slamming thunderous, his light brown eyes darting between the room's occupants and the many cauldrons. The American Jake was right behind him, his ordinarily perfect hair askew, Fred and George Weasley right behind him, Dean practically bowling into their backs.
Catching his eye her face lit up for a half second, Dean shooting her a crooked, impossibly familiar grin around the twins, before McGongall cut off any words anyone could possibly say.
"What exactly are you four doing here?" McGonagall demanded. The acting Headmistress waved Jake in, shooting Remus and the others a look so stern that even the Weasley twins looked as if they were considering bolting.
Naturally they just stood up straighter and shot her identical, cheeky grins.
Fred waggled his eyebrows, somewhat lewdly at her, and George began to audibly plan his twin's funeral.
Remus shook his head distractedly, eyes locking onto her and Harry, candidly explaining, "I heard." He didn't have to explain what he'd heard. He stalked across the room without preamble, unearthing two small mirrors, holding one, in particular, up directly in front of Harry's torn face. "Harry, I think it's about time you take this back."
Harry stopped breathing, his grip clenching around her hand so hard it physically hurt.
Then he mechanically reached up, taking it, looking like he was touching a viper.
Remus merely grimaced. "He would have wanted you to keep it. You are Prongs the second."
Harry did nothing. The hand holding the mirror dropping limply back by his side as Remus handed the other one to her. Glancing into it, she did not see the hazel-colored eyes looking back she expected.
She glanced up, surprised, knowing exactly what it was because she already had one. "It's a two-way mirror."
Remus nodded. "While you're gone, Kalliandra, you can talk to each other using these," he stated kindly, looking between he and her.
Kally instantly felt a surge of gratitude towards him, Harry still wearing that strange expression. She didn't have to say a word for him to sense her questioning look.
"It was Sirius'," he uttered.
It felt like she'd been hit in the stomach. Sirius. It was the one name, the one person who could drive Harry to muteness.
"So," he grunted after some time, "I'm supposed to be content with talking to her from the Dursleys through…." Finally he looked down at it, growling, "This."
"Harry…" she whispered.
"No," he interrupted, "it's fine. I just-" he stopped. It took him a second, a long second, Fred, George and Dean telling McGonagall in the background that they were going with them, while Harry stood there, holding the two-way mirror in his free hand.
He looked like it was poor consolation.
When he spoke again his voice was quieter than she'd heard it in awhile. "I don't like not being able to help you, Kaylens."
Her eyes flickered with open, naked concern. "You already did, Potter." He'd grounded her, steadied her when she'd felt about to break. All it'd taken was seeing three little words, her former hometown, to rattle her to the point of instability.
He'd drug her back from that edge without even trying.
Potter grunted, as if not fully buying it.
Kally squeezed his hand.
With that his viridian gaze lingered on the two-way mirror for a moment, as if coming to terms with the only options at their disposal, before it slid up, meeting Remus'. "Thanks, Mooney." He sounded sullen.
Remus offered a heavily lined smile, looking older than his years. "Of course, Harry." For a second it looked like he was going to say more…
Then he breathed a long sigh. "Can't have my main warlock getting surly," he said, though the humor did not reach his eyes. "Might affect your duties, and we both ought to be terrified of Tonks." The corner of his mouth twitched, just a bit.
Then he turned back to the others, all of whom were engaged in a fierce debate.
Dean had his mouth open, looking irritated. "I'm going with Kal. Not you, you got that? Kal-"
"If you have even a modicum of sense," Snape sneered, "you will come with me." The look he shot him was full of meaning, Kally's stomach instantly dropping as she realized what they were arguing about and why.
They were both spies for the Order.
Who the hell knew what they would do while they were gone, what Dean would be forced to do.
Dean, if possible with his dark, mocha skin, actually paled.
Fred just shot her a grin. "Hey Kally-kins! Great news. I've gallantly offered to be your night in shining armor since that one," he pointed at Harry, "and that one," he now pointed at Dean, "are stuck with the stiffs." Then he walked up and slapped Jake on the back, dropping a heavy arm over the other wizard's shoulder. "No offense U.S.A., but don't trust you. And that one," he pointed directly at her, "is under my protection. Got it?"
Jake shot him a look so steady it was almost frightening. "Got it."
George's blue eyes narrowed slightly, nodding stiffly at the American. "Good. Because you see, thing about us Weasley's," gesturing at Fred, "we've got eyes everywhere."
Jake rolled his eyes. "Any chance, Kalliandra, on calling off the hounds?"
Despite herself, despite the way her heart was fluttering with complete and utter warmness, for she had friends, ones that cared about her, she smiled at Jake. Leaning back against the wall, leaning against Harry's shoulder, she murmured, "Guys…"
Fred made a disappointed sound. "Fine, but I reserve the right to test products on him."
Jake looked like he wanted to ask what the hell that meant, but quickly decided against it, his eyes sliding towards Harry. His brow creased, he and Harry eyeing one another warily.
"Don't worry, Potter. I've got your girl covered. No funny business."
It was said in an attempt to be humorous, almost flippantly.
Something in his tone was downright lacking.
Still, Kally felt Harry marginally relax, even if his fingers tightened more firmly upon hers.
She was pretty certain her hand was broken.
It happened quicker than she would have liked. Within minutes she was in her dorm, tossing clothes into a backpack, things happening in a whirlwind, like the last time they'd been separated. She felt like her breathing was barely controlled, the reality that her home had been decimated by the plague, or rather…what had once been home, still sinking in like a slow acting toxin. The people she'd known, friends she'd had…
They were now gone.
All of them.
She hadn't thought about them in nearly a year, blocking anything and everything to do with that place out.
Now it no longer existed.
She raked a hand through her long hair, barely able to breathe.
She was now leaving Harry, her own heart murmur having cleared up sometime last week, according to Pomfrey. Magical travel for her was safe again.
For Harry it wasn't. They were preparing to fly by broom to Little Whinging so his mother's remaining magic could take her place.
They could be attacked. They could be killed. They might never make it.
And she wouldn't be there.
Kally could have cried.
Instead she shouldered her pack, rushing down the stairs to where Harry was already waiting, flinging herself into his arms. With a grunt he held onto her, his hands slipping around her back, tightening with a vice she never wanted to leave.
But she had to.
This was war.
Kally slowly slipped from his arms, Harry's hands remaining on her, their heads pressed together as they both hovered there, at the base of the girls dormitory' stairs, quietly breathing one another in.
"I'll be quick," she heard herself promising. Wetting her lips, unbearable pain stabbed through her. She didn't know if she was lying or not.
The last time they'd been separated she'd nearly died, and when she'd returned…
He hadn't exactly been waiting for her.
Eyes so grave, so severe, so green regarded her.
Harry seized her lips, the kiss so vehement, fervent that it left her gasping for breath, pressed against the rail, barely able to stand on her own. She didn't need to.
Harry held her up, his arms looped tightly around her waist. Never would Kally think he was ill, not with how he held her, supported her. Without a thought her mouth was deliriously pressing back to his, his taste, his scent assaulting her. Freshly cut grass and earth and frankincense….
Kally broke away, hands on either side of his face, fiercely whispering, "Get better, Potter." She needed him to. She needed him to be alright, fine, so he could be sodding hers again, anywhere. So she wasn't afraid that he would collapse, die.
She just needed him.
Harry nodded against her. "Yes mam," he muttered, Kally growling a smidgeon.
She said goodbye to Fawkes, scratching him just behind the crests on his head, several more feathers having sprouted up when he finally deigned to drink more of the potion they'd made. She scratched him beneath his beak, the phoenix nuzzling her fingers, giving her a pain-free nip, before looking to Harry, as if checking to see if he was okay.
Somehow, this made Kally feel better.
Kally soon found herself in the entrance hall, Fred Weasley shooting her a grin. He and George saluted one another goodbye, the other Weasley twin going with Regulus. Harry's grip on her hand lessened only slightly at that, her wizard as uncomfortable as she was.
It probably didn't help that something about Jake seemed to rub him the wrong way.
Dean and her hugged one another, her best friend all but squeezing the life out of her. She managed to whisper a swift threat in his ear, that he better come back or she'd hunt him down and kill him. That if he needed her she'd find him. He'd laughed in her embrace, mumbling a barely audible, "I believe you," before making her promise the same.
Harry had calmly informed Jake that if she didn't come back in one piece, he'd snap him like a twig.
He definitely had meant it.
The American just smirked. "Didn't come here to lose, Potter," he offered, slapping him on the arm. "That includes not losing people I'm guarding."
Kally had hissed under her breath, Harry begrudgingly nodding, acknowledging, "Good."
It all passed fast. Before she knew it Harry had her drug against him, her face gently held between both his hands, his nose bumping against hers. Kally's breath hitched as his lips brushed her own, everything having been so different when they'd woken up that morning. It'd been peaceful. And now…
Now she didn't know when she'd see him again.
"I love you," he uttered, caressing her cheeks. The magical tingling, like static electricity, tracing the path taken by the pads of his thumbs, Kally shivering.
She pressed her lips to his, chastely, murmuring, "Love you too…prat."
A low rumble vibrated his chest. "Wench."
"Idiot."
"Harpy."
"King of-"
He shut her up with his lips, Kally making a contented sound as he pressed her back against the entrance hall's wall, heedless of Snape's snarl, of Fred and George's whistles and cat calls, of Dean's groan, of Regulus' long-suffering sigh and Remus' snort.
The other students were having a normal Saturday; they were saying goodbye.
Harry would have to tell Ron and Hermione, Neville, Luna and Ginny what had happened later.
He broke away, both gasping for air, Harry demanding, "What's your middle name?"
This time he didn't catch her off guard. Her chest squirmed, twisting as she felt undeniably loved, despite the sodding strange way it had all happened. "I'll tell you," she promised, "when I get back. When you're better."
His hand fisted within her hair. "When you get back," he vowed, "I'm never letting you leave again without me."
Her breath caught, Kally nodding against him, whispering, "What's yours?" She didn't know it. She had no idea what his middle name was. Until today she hadn't even known he'd lived in Little Whinging.
Harry Potter was still a mystery to her.
He just snorted. "Same deal," he drawled, "goes for you. Come back, and I'll tell you."
She huffed, Harry's malachite eyes studying her intently, Kally's hand sliding to the side of his head, discontent to not touch, feel.
"Suppose," he muttered, "this means our date is off."
Somehow her heart twisted, the thought of missing it undeniably bothersome. "I'm holding you to it the second I'm back."
Both his eyebrows raised, a skeptical look delivered. "The second? No time allotment for debriefing?"
She simply narrowed her eyes, affirming, "Could have sworn that's what Fred was for." He could do the debriefing. She could see Harry.
"Reasonable enough."
"Mhmm."
Despite where they were, despite the situation, they both smirked. They could hear others moving, prepping, Harry finally breathing tensely, confessing, "I hate feeling useless, Kaylens. Should be going with you. Not leaving you with…them." He sounded angry: angry at himself, angry at his heart, angry at Fred and Jake for going instead.
Kally nudged his nose with hers, acutely aware of the irony. She was the one usually feeling useless, not the other way around. "You're not," she promised, fingertips brushing against his ear.
Harry grunted skeptically.
She stood on her tiptoes, words a bare whisper against his ear. "Someone's got to research where those things are, Harry. Who better?"
Harry's hands slid down to her waist, clenching.
"Just don't," she continued, "go after them without me." Lips now brushing his earlobe, she murmured, "I still need practice, Potter." At killing one, before she tried to attack the one in him. Her heart was pounding fiercely at the thought.
Harry said nothing for a long while, simply holding her close.
Then he shifted, mouth once more finding hers.
Nothing else was said; nothing needed to be. There was only him and her, his hands on her waist, in her hair, her back pressing against the castle's cold stone wall as Harry made certain she knew how he felt in front of every single person there.
Eventually Dean came over, clearing his throat, before awkwardly tugging her away. Harry's eyes flashed like lightening as he watched her go, Kally nearly tripping as she watched him right back.
It wasn't until they reached the edge of the grounds that Fred took her by the arm, nodding at Jake. "Ready?"
One-by-one the others all apparated, disappearing to portkey locations, where portkeys would be waiting.
Then suddenly something tugged within her chest, her stomach, and the edge of the Forbidden Forest and Hogwarts Grounds vanished, leaving it and Harry behind.
ECOTS
Harry stood within the door of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and watched the witch he was in love with walk away. Every step she took sent something clenching in his gut, a flash at the far periphery of the grounds indicating that she was truly gone.
Two of his brothers had gone with her.
He was getting sick of watching people he loved have to leave. Every time they went off to battle, every time they went off on another mission, every time never knowing when and if they'd make it back…
It never got easier.
Dumbledore's words, about how they all had a purpose, a place in this war, a part to play, ricocheted within his head. Right now he tensely knew what his role was: he had to figure out where the rest of the horcruxes were.
Then he could find them, and kill them.
Then he'd be free.
That didn't mean he liked this. Harry's grip tightened on the doorframe, knuckles bulging. The stark, towering hall loomed around those left behind, morning sunlight spilling in through Hogwarts' open doors, casting streaks of light across the floor. It almost seemed serene. Too bad Harry felt anything but.
A firm hand fell upon his shoulder, clenching in solidarity, the physical presence of his father's last remaining friend small comfort given his girlfriend was again gone.
"How long," Harry ground in blunt inquiry, gaze never leaving the spot he'd last seen her, "will they be gone?"
Lupin's grip dug deeper, but it was McGonagall that answered: "As long as needed."
Harry grunted, dissatisfied with that response. It could be days, weeks, months. The thought of anything longer wasn't one he could even entertain. His grip dropped to his pocket, feeling the solid presence of the two-way mirror there.
At least he'd be able to talk to her.
Lupin appeared to be reading his mind. "They'll come back, Harry," he assured, but all it took was one glance at the man to see he was worried.
Kaylens meant just as much to Lupin, and his strained expression showed it.
Harry's stomach dropped out. "If they don't," he promised, "if even a single one of them doesn't…" His jaw worked tensely. "I'll kill him, Mooney."
Remus Lupin just snorted besides him. "Kill him? What were you planning to do before now, Harry?" The Marauder grinned humorlessly, it more scowl then mirth. "I didn't realize letting him off with a warning had been on the table."
Harry huffed in annoyance. "Riddle was going to die. Just now it'll be a hell of a lot more painful."
McGonagall clucked in disapproval. "You disable your enemy quickly¸ Mr. Potter. If the animal kingdom has taught us anything, it is that you do not toy with your food."
Standing there, every solid centimeter of his form tense, he couldn't help but spare McGonagall a dryly amused glance. "Learn that as a cat, did ya?"
The stern witch's green eyes flashed into vertical, cat-like slits, in response.
Harry forced a grim smile, before turning back to the all-but-empty grounds. He held himself in tight control, but all he desired was to hex things: violently.
He'd deluded himself into thinking he could keep Kaylens near him, at all sodding times. Waking up from being dead had that effect on one's mentality. It was only in this instant, in her sudden absence, that he remembered how impossible that would be.
She could be taken from him with a single word, a single request for help. She might not be a witch, but she had a skillset that was needed, and somehow Harry doubted that her being used for it was going to end anytime soon.
He growled beneath his breath, McGonagall clearing her throat. "We'll need to prepare for your departure, Mr. Potter," she clipped, back to business. She never had been one for emotions. "Might I suggest returning to your dormitory to ensure your necessary items are packed?"
His teeth ground so hard it was a marvel enamel didn't chip off then and there. "Why bother? I'll be back in less than two month."
"Oh, will you now?" McGonagall sounded almost amused. "Two months is the end of July, Mr. Potter. Unless you know something I do not, term does not begin until September 1st. Perhaps a lesson in counting is in order?"
Hell, he was fairly damn certain McGonagall had just tried to make a joke. Even that did nothing to calm his nerves.
"Is it, or is it not remaining open throughout the summer?" he asked bluntly. By it he meant Hogwarts. "Not exactly like we have a Board of Governors to dictate us anymore, do we?"
"He is right, Minerva," Lupin stated calmly. "The Order will need a safe haven in which to train in."
Harry's chest twisted with gratitude. Having Lupin in his corner, agreeing with him at every step, meant more than he could ever express. He cast a backwards look towards the acting Headmistress, her dark hair up in an austere bun, her green eyes burning with thought.
"Hogwarts, Remus, has always been a safe haven for children. I fear what the Ministry would do if we were to turn it into a training grounds for soldiers."
"Isn't that," Mooney questioned, "what it's already become?"
McGonagall's lips pinched into a severe frown. "They'll come for us here eventually, Remus. You and I both know that."
Lupin's grip tightened upon Harry's shoulder. "They'll come anyway."
"And what then?"
"We fight," Harry grated, gaze directed back out across the grounds. "I talked to Dumbledore about it, before…" He stopped abruptly. The wizard wasn't dead. They'd find him. "He had ideas on how to defend the school." He paused, dryly pressing, "Come to think of it, so did Hermione."
The Transfiguration Professor's lips has drawn into a thin, tight line. "I dislike the idea of turning my students into warriors."
The looks Harry and Lupin shot her were identical looks of pure derision.
"Of all the arguments out there," Mooney stated calmly, lips twitching with some ill-concealed mirth, "that's the one you're going with?"
"Might have been more believable," Harry agreed, "before she'd started shrinking herself to fairy size and stealth attacking us in the halls with gusto." Of all the 'classes' they'd had for the past year, survival training had been, by all appearance, McGonagall's favorite. "Could have sworn I saw her smiling."
Lupin grinned, teeth actually showing, whilst the Transfiguration Professor tisked humorlessly. "Whether I have enjoyed teaching students or not, there is still the matter of funding. You both forget that without the Ministry and Board of Governor's support, that Hogwarts will be devoid of funds before the end of the first month back. Our contingency funds were all but dried out from this year."
Once more Harry's stomach dropped out. He hadn't considered the financial ramifications of the Ministry's act.
Lupin just smiled. "That won't," he stated, "be a problem."
Now it was Harry and McGonagall's turn to fix Remus with identical looks.
The wizard in threadbare robes proffered a strained expression, explaining, "Sirius was the last remaining Black. In his will, he left not inconsiderable funds for the war effort behind. He named me the Gringotts' account holder, so I've simply been…holding onto them, waiting for an opportune place to use them at the appropriate time." His light brown eyes flickered with concern to Harry, before returning to the Headmistress. "I'd have to look at the school's financials, but with the help of the House Elves, school gardens, and any professors willing to remain and to forego a salary, we ought to be able to remain running for a least another five years."
McGongall's expression barely moved, but Harry swore to things unholy he thought something like surprise flickered within her gaze.
The fact that war cost money was something he had honestly never considered before. He wondered if Hermione or Ron had.
For now he stared at Lupin. "Hell Mooney," he said, "if you're rich, maybe upgrade your robes a bit?" He purposely gave the man's sleeve a tug. "You know, before your wedding?"
Lupin fixed him with an only slightly aggravated look. "War effort, mini-Prongs. Not personal funds."
Harry shrugged, not even minding the moniker. Instead he looked towards the acting Headmistress, fearing for a moment that she, like so many adults had for his entire life, would say no.
Only she didn't.
"We'll have to keep up pretenses of running it as a discredited institution," she clipped. "Enough students will need to be seen leaving, sent home, to ensure it is pulled off. The Ministry cannot know what we are actually doing. And we will," she added, eyes fixing upon Harry, "continue regular classes. I do intend for you to all be competent, fully qualified witches and wizards when this is all over."
Harry smirked. "Won't Hermine be thrilled."
"We'll need the Hogwarts Express," Lupin agreed, ignoring his sarcasm. "I can see to the arrangement of portkeys for anyone wishing to return to the school. If they are of age, once they have safely returned home long enough to keep up pretenses, they can then take them back to Hogsmeade or to the edge of the Forbidden Forest." The man hovered solidly within the doorframe, seriously telling, "We can ensure they've learned the oblivation spell before they've returned, so they can wipe and replace their parents' memories with false ones regarding where they've actually gone. That ought to buy us some time. At least until early September."
McGonagall made a disapproving sound, but did not protest Mooney's heartless plan.
Harry just snorted derisively. "Muggle summer camp," he drawled, "is an option." He didn't know of anyone old enough to fight in a war that went to summer camp, but hell, 'training by Mad Eye Moody in the halls of Hogwarts' ought to count as one. That'd be as good of an excuse for people to use on their families as any.
"For those from Muggle families," Lupin stated slowly, "it may perhaps be best…if they were to think their children were dead. For a time." Spotting the looks he received from both Harry and McGonagall, he coolly ground, "It would be better for Death Eaters to believe they were dead, if they to interrogate them. It'd make them more likely to leave them alive. Otherwise, they may kill them simply to get their children's attention."
A hard edge sliced through Harry's chest. He couldn't believe that Lupin of all people had suggested students obliviate their own parents into thinking that.
Harry did not miss the haunted look in the man's eyes. Suddenly he realized why…the werewolf could not have survived the first war without having lost more than just Harry's parents. He had to harbor survival instinct, and survival instinct was not always kind.
His parents had learned that at the hard end of Voldemort's wand.
He wondered if Remus' had as well.
Harry's chest gave a dull throb, but otherwise held steady.
"In that case," McGonagall stated firmly, "I have over-confident children in need of a lesson in dueling and others in need of advanced charmswork. Mr. Potter, I'll trust you'll see to your preparations? We will leave before dinner. Twilight ought to make it most difficult for those vile bags of Death Eater filth to see through our disillusionment charms in route." With that Harry heard the flap of her emerald robes as she spun and headed off to torture his classmates.
Remus' grip tightened, almost painfully onto his shoulder, before he abruptly released it. "Do you need help packing, Harry?" All traces of pain had evaporated from his tone, as if they had never been there at all.
Harry rolled with it, turning to look back out at the grounds, wondering when the hell everything had gone sideways. It seemed like forever ago when he'd first crossed the Black Lake with Hagrid, staring at a magical school of witchcraft and wizardry for the first time.
Now they were training for a war, using it as their last bastion of defense.
And he had to leave it.
"No," he uttered finally, "I only need a couple of books." He'd get Hermione to do an expandability charm on a pack. If he were going to be off, exiled with the Dursleys, he was going to make damn sure he made the most use of his time, and that meant reading. The second he was back there'd be no time to waste. "I'll also need something to transport Fawkes in."
Remus stiffly acknowledged, "I can arrange that."
Farther off on the grounds Harry saw a flashing spark of light in the air, Luna clearly testing something for the Order's symbol. Whatever it was, it didn't take, because nothing shone in the air.
They were all doing their part. It just pissed him off that there was so little he could do right now.
Right now, standing there, everything wascalm, peaceful. Harry wasn't stupid enough to think it'd last. It wouldn't. Not for long. Not with Voldemort out there, prowling. Nothing was guaranteed.
They could all be dead within the year.
"Remus," he uttered, grip releasing its vice on the doorframe, "there's one more thing." His eyes returned to where he'd last seen Kaylens, his chest clenching as cold realities settled in like heavy weights in his gut. He swallowed. "Might need your help with it."
A gust of wind sent the grass across the grounds rippling, it moving like a wave until it reached the periphery of the apparition barriers, far out of sight. Harry watched, somehow able to see despite the distance being far beyond what human eyes could see. He followed its path to the spot she'd last stood, his heart clenching.
Neither he nor Kaylens had voiced it, but Harry already knew.
It might be the last time he saw her alive.
Mooney, oblivious to his thoughts, inclined his eyebrows, flecks of gray heavily tainting what had once been light brown. "Help? For my main warlock?" Lupin sounded strained. "Name it, Harry." Coming up alongside him once more, he added with forced humor, "I will, of course, request in exchange you don't hold back on binding and gagging me when I inevitably do attempt to run the morning of my wedding…"
Harry's gaze slid towards Lupin, it darkened with ill-humor. "Funny you mention weddings," he brusquely told. "I need a ring."
Remus squinted in the sunlight. "Define," he stated cautiously, "ring."
Harry's eyes immediately narrowed, his darkened green eyes conveying everything he needed to. "Gonna be seventeen in just over a month, Mooney, and since I'm under lock and key and can't get to Gringotts myself, do I really need to spell it out?"
It took a second.
In fact, it took several.
Then the Marauder processed it, his eyes shadowing with something unreadable. He looked towards the Forbidden Forest, as if expecting Kalliandra to still be standing there, before his gaze darted back to him. "Harry, do you really think that's wise-"
"Yes."
His tone held no hesitation.
Lupin's expression, however, did. The lines of his face had grown firm, drawn. It looked like he was attempting to formulate something to say. "I asked what your intentions were with her," he told gravely, "months back, Harry. In return you asked how you were supposed to ever have intentions for her, given everything you've been through." A pregnant pause punctuated the statement. "This seems, perhaps, a grievous overcorrection."
"We're at war, Mooney." Harry didn't so much as blink. "I've already died once. I'd rather not wait around until that's a permanent state to tell her how I feel."
Lupin's brow creased so hard it was a wonder it didn't etch permanent lines. "And you don't think she already knows?"
"She does," Harry countered, "but again, why dick around until it's too late to do anything about it?"
Both of Mooney's eyebrows shot straight up. "Dick around?"
He smirked humorlessly. "Sirius' words, not mine." Lupin opened his mouth, but Harry cut him off. "Besides Mooney, weren't you the one who gave me that word of advice to not waste time, few months back? Padfoot was just agreeing."
Again, Lupin opened his mouth. "Harry, I was suggesting you take the girl out for dinner. Not an altar." He took a deep breath, adding, "And I assure you, Padfoot would agree-"
"Given that between the two of us," Harry countered, "that I'm the only one to have actually talked to him recently, I can assure you, he wouldn't. His idea, actually."
Mooney balked, staring at Harry with an expression he'd never seen before. Harry didn't wait around to find out what it was. "Being dead," he dryly explained, "had some fringe benefits in the 'catching up with godfathers' arena. Now, are you going to help me or not?"
Mooney was still staring at him. Harry knew what he was thinking; he was thinking it was rushed. He was thinking Harry was too young. He was probably thinking about how, a year ago, he and Kaylens hadn't even known one another.
Hell, Harry didn't even know her middle name, yet he sure as hell knew enough to know that however long he had left, that he wanted it to be with her.
Lupin drug in a breath so long and so loud that it practically echoed in the empty entrance hall. "Harry…whatever you may have gone through, saw…I assure you, rushing to do-to do this due to a war is unlikely to end well. We saw this the last time, and wizarding marriages…they are not like Muggle ones. They are permanent. They-"
"Permanent?" he drawled. "Well hell, here I was thinking of asking her on a whim and only keeping her around for a year. Maybe half of one. Not like I love her or anything."
Mooney shot him a look that could have melted glaciers. Harry just leaned in the doorway, arms crossing as he fixed his mentor with a bullish look. "Mooney, I want to ask her," he ground stiffly. "I'm not dumb. Not going to even try to follow through until after-" His words abruptly died, the wizard dragging in a terse breath as he looked away. Something Kaylens had said churned in his gut. "Not planning to make her a widow, Mooney," he promised more quietly. "Won't follow through until after this is over. Just…I need to know there's someone waiting for me when it's done."
Understanding, with pity flashed within Mooney's wolfish gaze. "Harry, Kalliandra would still be waiting for you when it is over, ring or not."
Harry's musculature stiffened subtly. "That's the case, then what exactly's your contention with me asking?" His hands flexed against his arms, pointedly waiting.
The pity he saw in Lupin's gaze made him nauseous. He didn't want pity; he just wanted her. Lupin uttered nothing, as if uncertain what argument to make.
Teeth gritted, Harry pressed, "Look, I know she'll be waiting. But I need her to know, whatever happens, that if I have a choice I'd have been waiting for her too." The implications of what he said were heavy; he was as unlikely to make it out of this as her. So it was important, whether he survived or not, to make certain that she knew how much he'd wanted her, how much he'd wanted to survive, how much he'd wanted this thing with her to be permanent.
It was important because she didn't know about the prophecy.
Neither did Remus.
His gaze flashed towards Remus. "It's important to me, Mooney."
Lupin was eyeing him uncertainly. "I'd advise against this-"
"Advise away."
"-if I thought you'd listen to a word of it."
Harry grunted in affirmation that he had no plans of doing so.
Lupin just sighed, looking like he was already thinking better of this. "You're going to go ahead with this," he stated cautiously, "whether I agree to help or not?"
The look Harry shot him could have cut glass. "What do you think?"
It was like watching a glacier break, Lupin's unreadable expression cracking to reveal a tidal wave of emotions that Harry'd rather avoid dealing with. Hesitance, concern, doubt, pain…it didn't exactly instill a warm and fuzzy feeling in him.
"Well?" he finally grunted.
Mooney sighed, dragging a hand through his graying hair in a gesture eerily reminiscent of himself. "I think," he grated sullenly, "that you don't need a ring."
He arched an eyebrow. "Know I'm not the best with women, Mooney, but could have sworn a ring was a prime component."
Lupin shot him a look that told him exactly what he thought of his cynicism. "You had to inherit your father's cheek," he muttered dourly, closing his eyes as if rethinking something. Finally… "You don't need a ring, Harry. You already have one: your mother's."
Harry grimaced. "Call me dumb, but last time I checked I didn't have anything of my parents." Pausing, he corrected, "Outside of the Marauder's map and invisibility cloak." But that was it. Those two things were the only things he had left from his parents.
The amount he knew about them, had left of them, could have fit in that cupboard under the stairs back at the Dursleys with room to spare.
Remus was frowning deeply. "You have an inheritance, Harry. You didn't think that Gringotts vault they set aside for your schooling was all you had left, did you?" The werewolf cocked his head in an expression eerily reminiscent of a puzzled hound.
Harry had thought that. Leaning in the doorway, he shrugged. "What else was I supposed to think? They didn't exactly die of old age, Mooney. Didn't reckon they were rolling in galleons or anything." The vault had been full enough, far fuller than the Weasleys when he'd made that trip to Diagon with them, but he barely knew a thing about wizarding funds.
Lupin was looking at him with a peculiar expression. "Merlin, I've really missed the train with you, haven't I, Harry?" He suddenly looked older, aging before his eyes. "There's so much I meant to tell you, and never did." With a heavy sigh the werewolf turned, looking out, over the grounds with him as he let out a humorless breath. "To be honest, Harry, I should have found you years before I started teaching here. I think a part of me didn't want to. I was afraid….that since your mother and father thought me a traitor, that perhaps you…"
His father's last remaining friend did not finish the statement.
Harry felt like something inside him was off. "Well," he said simply, "we both know dad was a bit of an idiot." He'd seen enough in Snape's memories to know that for a fact.
Lupin's gaze instantly slid to his, a weary smile on his lips. "I see you're doing marvelous at not judging him too harshly."
"When the shoe fits…"
The former DADA Professor sighed. "Your father was brash in his younger years, Harry. I had hoped, despite what you may have seen in your training with Snape, that perhaps you'd come to realize he was more than that…"
"Yet he thought you were a traitor," Harry countered bitterly.
"Yes, well," Lupin stated quietly, as if unaware that he was even there, "they were dark times, Harry, and I am a werewolf."
The scoff he let out was so loud and bitter it sent a few birds sunning themselves on the castle stairs scattering. "Oh great, so he was a prejudiced arse too?"
Lupin's eyes darted to him, as if alarmed. "Your father was one of the few people willing to accept me as I was, Harry. Never allow yourself to think otherwise."
"Then why the hell did he think you were the traitor?" he countered harshly, harsher than intended. Harry pointedly waited, anger at his father, anger at the war, anger at Kaylens being gone all rising to the surface.
Mooney fixed him with a broken look. "According to Sirius, James had…concerns. Voldemort had been heavily recruiting those on the fringes-"
"So werewolves," Harry huffed, hastening to add, "and I don't care that you get fuzzy part of the month, Mooney, or if my parents thought you were a traitor. Given what happened with Peter they weren't the best judges of character."
Saying it aloud, for the first time, Harry realized he meant it.
He was pissed. He was pissed that they had chosen the wrong secret keeper. He was pissed that their bad judgment had not only gotten themselves killed, but had also landed Sirius in Azkaban, Lupin with a permanent psychological complex, and him with a horcrux in his head.
Yeah, best efforts or not, his parents had really screwed the pooch in the 'protecting one's friends and family category.' Even if his mother had managed to save him, it'd still only been temporary. If Kaylens' insane plan didn't work, he was still going to die.
Given that he loved them despite that, Harry found his head space to be quite messed up.
At the end of the day though, it sounded like the wrong secret keeper had been his father's idea anyway. His mom's mistake had been going along with it.
Lupin had fixed him with a somewhat sympathetic look. "Lilly," he said calmly, "was an excellent judge. Your father was simply…overly cautious."
Jaw set, Harry wasn't sure what to say, so decided to say nothing. He just thudded his shoulder back against the doorframe, leaning in the castle's main entry as if enjoying a late spring day before Hogwarts let out for the summer.
Mooney, to his credit, was smart enough to remain silent for awhile, the two keeping companionable company. Scents from the grounds wafted in, grass and wildflowers and duckweed from the Black Lake mingling upon the breezes.
It was Lupin who finally broke the silence, sounding distinctly uncomfortable. "So…you're serious about Kalliandra then."
Harry grunted acknowledgement. "Understatement," he dryly admitted, "of the year." There were a lot of things he was unsure about, but Kaylens wasn't one of them. No matter how much they fought, no matter how rough the argument, he knew she'd be waiting for him at the end of it. She accepted him, just as he was, even when he pissed her off.
That alone told him enough, twisted as it was.
"You told me to think about the things I actually want out of life, Mooney," he finally forced. "Well I did, and it's her." He fiddled with the mirror in his pocket, wanting to use it, aware he shouldn't. It was too soon. For all he knew Kaylens, Fred and Jake had just walked into hell, and the last thing she'd need was to be distracted.
Remus stood beside him in companionable silence, finally telling, "That case, I suppose I should be getting your mother's ring to you."
Despite his anger at his parents, Harry's chest twisted. "How do you even have that? Shouldn't that have been burie-"
He stopped himself there.
Lupin smiled, almost sadly. "They were, with their wedding bands. Lilly's engagement ring they left to Sirius, to give to you once you were of age, so you could pass it on to your witch. Sirius, in turn, left it to me."
Sirius. Harry's throat tightened. "Wonder what they'd think, if they knew Kaylens wasn't a witch."
"She's a fighter, Harry. That alone would have had Prongs approving. As for Lilly…" Lupin glanced at him, quietly stating, "Kalliandra makes you happy. For Lilly, that'd have been enough."
She made him happy…
Harry swallowed thickly. "We should head in," he uttered. "Get ready." Talk of his parents, Sirius, Kaylens…
It was enough for one day.
For a long moment Mooney said nothing.
Then he clapped him on the back, nodding assent. "Sure Harry. Let's get you ready." And with that…
He prepared to leave Hogwarts, with Fawkes. The war was going to rage on, but Harry was sidelined. He'd leave, he'd go to the Dursleys, back to that place he'd thought he'd be permanently free of, if only to get back in it.
ECOTS
The trip back to the Dursleys was shockingly uneventful. As far as Voldemort and his followers had been concerned, they had assumed Harry would not be transported back until the end of term, so the change in schedule had been somewhat fortuitous.
Three weeks passed in a blur.
Harry Potter sat in his bedroom in Number 4 Privet Drive, feeling equal parts overwhelmed and bored. Research lay sprawled out across his bed, on the floor, on his desk. Letters from Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Luna, Ginny and even Neville and Tonks remained in a pile near the foot of his bed. Even Moody had sent a shortly penned note, attached to a book titled Practical Defense Against the Improbable. The book had been fairly frightening, the Dursleys learning that the hard way when his uncle had attempted to physically remove it and shove it under his dresser, shouting for him to, "Get that unnatural thing out of my sight!"
The book had rewarded his uncle's efforts by trying to swallow him whole. It'd gotten his uncle's portly body stuffed up to the shoulders in its bindings by the time they'd managed to yank him out of it. It'd taken both he and Dudley pulling on the book, with Aunt Petunia tugging on his uncle's legs to accomplish it.
His uncle had promptly tried to kick him out.
His aunt had taken one look at Harry's face and oddly hustled her son and husband out of the room, as if afraid.
Since then they'd had an unnatural sort of truce. Harry knew a reckoning was surely coming, but for now he'd been left in peace to read and research whatever he wanted, so long as that 'blasted owl' and 'bald pigeon' of his stayed quiet.
Hedwig and Fawkes had been less than pleased at his uncle's monikers for them, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Hedwig was contemplating trying to remove several of his uncle's fingers if given half the chance.
Fawkes, at least, was staring to look better. He'd gotten a considerable amount of plumage back, despite the gaping bald spots remaining. He was still weak, but could actually stand on his two skinny legs.
Hermione had sent him a book about phoenixes, which was currently open in front of him. He was about three quarters of the way through, and thus far had learned nothing other than some suspected lore about their origins in Mesopotamia, Saudi Arabia, or Egypt – depending on which source you believed – and a bunch of other facts he'd already known.
Phoenixes did not feed on seeds; they preferred frankincense or other aromatic resins, juices of amomum, ginger, and other herbs.
They could live as long as five centuries before needing to burst into flames to regenerate, but typically had to regenerate far sooner due to their 'adventurous' nature.
The exact number of phoenixes in the wizarding world was unknown. Muggle lore would claim there was only ever one at any one time, however wizards knew of just over twenty, worldwide. Fawkes was one of them, thanks, in part, to Albus Dumbledore's fame.
Harry snorted at that. "Well Fawkes," he mused, "looks like we both have that problem." Fawkes padded across the bare-bones mattress to where Harry sat, his back leaning against the wall, the book propped up on his knees. His bed didn't exactly have a bed frame, and was no more than a mattress tossed on the floor in the center of the room. Apparently Dudley had gotten so fat he'd actually broken his, so the Dursleys had improvised.
Harry didn't exactly mind. It was still a bed, and it was a far sight better than the one he'd had when he'd been sleeping in a cupboard.
His relatives just kept visitors from coming upstairs. The one time one had since he'd been home – Aunt Marge - they'd casually informed her that he was 'of a bad sort' and had broken his bed in a fit of fury at being asked to clean his room, so they simply hadn't replaced it.
Harry had taken a certain amount of glee in fixing the once obliviated Muggle with a sinister grin, telling, "Oh yeah, I really like to break things. You know…furniture, glasses, noses…"
The vile woman had started in on how he was like a dog so ought to be treated as one. Harry'd heard it all before. He'd heard the slurs about his parents, he'd heard the commentary about how he should be permanently locked up, and he'd heard about her unfiltered thoughts on exactly what they should be doing with him. He'd heard it all when he'd been younger and in less control of his magic, and he'd blown her up like a balloon.
Unfortunately for Aunt Marge she didn't remember any of that. Harry did though, so for now he just fixed the woman with a grim smirk, one that scared Aunt Petunia into hustling the portly woman back downstairs with haste.
"I can't believe you consented to keep him. Where I come from when a bitch goes bad, the litter is put down!" Marge's voice could be heard drifting up the staircase and through Harry's closed door. He'd clenched his fists and eyes, it taking every solid bit of willpower he had to not go down there and crush the woman's throat.
A few more weeks, he reminded himself. A few more weeks and he'd be healed, and out of here.
Right now he actually needed the Dursleys, even if they were unaware. So he stayed in his room and silently seethed.
His familiars were less forgiving. For one, it was a marvel that Hedwig hadn't torn straight through his cage, and Fawkes had stared at the woman in such a calm, calculating way that it'd reminded him of a BBC special his Uncle had once made them watch on serial killers. He'd wanted Harry to know how to act like a hostile child in need of going to a disciplinary school for boys, since that's exactly what they told anyone who asked about his whereabouts during the school year.
Fawkes had looked, for a second, rather like one of the prisoners that had been interviewed: a dead-eye stare that promised nothing good for the one it was directed at.
"It's okay, Fawkes," he'd assured, scratching the phoenix beneath the chin. "They're always like this, nothing new."
Something had cracked near Fawkes' pathetic tail feathers, a few sparks igniting the torn up newspapers that were currently serving as the phoenix's bed. Harry had hastily put them out, but his bad mood over Aunt Marge had evaporated.
It evaporated because that was the first time since Fawkes had regenerated that the phoenix had shown his magic.
Even Hedwig had looked impressed.
Another week passed.
By the time it got around to the end of Hogwarts' term, Harry staring forlornly at the calendar on his wall, aware that had he not gone and gotten himself literally killed that he could have still been at school with his friends and comrades, he'd gotten completely through the books that both Hermione and Moody had sent, including all the ones Dobby had found, detailing facts about Hogwarts in the forties.
He still felt no closer to figuring out what kind of horcrux Riddle might have made with Hazel's death. Sitting there, in his room, like a prisoner, he felt distinctly helpless. It didn't help that he kept staring at a picture of a long dead witch from the forties, one that looked frighteningly like the girlfriend he'd barely heard from.
Over the past month they'd been able to talk only a half-dozen times, and even then for only a few minutes. Her first stop had been to Beauxbatons, where the school had apparently been teeming with so many people that getting alone to talk safely was next to impossible. Two of the times that they'd managed it had been Kaylens hiding – quite literally – in a stall in the girl's bathrooms.
That had worked fine, right until an overly prissy witch had walked in and heard Kally apparently talking to herself on a toilet and professing how much she missed him. She probably could have talked her way out of that one, but that whole 'bit' where she promised what she was planning to do to him the second she got him alone again had probably been a lot harder to explain.
Despite himself, Harry had found that more amusing than he ought to have.
Harry was left, sprawled out on his bed, staring at the picture of Hazel from the forties, wishing he'd had the foresight to actually get a picture of Kaylens before she'd left. He didn't have one, and Harry was well aware that staring at the likeness of a long dead witch was pitiful substitute.
At one point he'd actually reached out and touched the picture, Fawkes making a sound that Harry could only describe as the phoenix equivalent of Hermione rolling her eyes and muttering, "Oh for Merlin's sake, Harry!"
Harry shot the phoenix a wretched look. "Like I need you to point out that this is pathetic."
Fawkes snorted through his beak, Harry groaning. It didn't take long before he'd thudded his head back into the book, banging it repeatedly against the inner binding. Had Hermione been around to witness his abuse to the old tome she might have actually hexed him.
Now that'd be something to see.
He tried re-reading Riddle's diary, to see if there was something, anything that he might have missed. But after two more hours he couldn't focus.
Harry was distracted.
He was distracted because Lupin had followed through.
Laying flat on his stomach, Harry held up the ring in his hand, the gold band glinting in his bedroom's dim lighting. A heart shaped emerald shone in the center, the solitaire gem fiery. The edges picked up pinpricks of light, however dim, the stone flashing as if burning whenever it was moved. Something in fancy script was engraved on the inside, Harry unable to decipher the Latin.
Lupin hadn't been kidding; his father had gotten his mother one hell of a ring.
Even Fawkes had let out an approving trill.
It'd come earlier by owl post, along with a note. The note was in a messy scrawl, the scribe clearly having pressed the quill tip far too hard with a brazen disregard for common protocols – like fully forming letters.
He'd recognized the handwriting immediately.
It was Sirius'.
Harry,
If you're reading this letter and getting this rock rather than finding it shoved up some random witch's –
The next words were scratched out in thick ink, with an apology penned in Remus' far neater handwriting: Sorry Harry, nearly of age or not, you're far too young to read about the scavenger hunt Sirius planned to send you on to find this. You don't need to know about that sort of 'man's right-of -passage.' It will only give you nightmares.
-then that means I've probably bit it. That's a shame, not because I'm dead – although that would suck – but because I'm sure you would have enjoyed the vanilla-flavored- icing-exotic-dancing component of the-
Once more, Remus had scratched out what Sirius had written, Harry's mouth twitching in a strained smile.
Point is, Harry, this belonged to Lilly. She and your dad would have wanted you to have it. It's special; it's not just some ordinary, run-of-the-mill engagement ring. I would know; James drug Mooney, Wormtail and my arse around to every wizarding gem cutter within two continents before finding it. (Speaking of, if Mooney's still kicking ask him to tell you about Budapest – yowzers.)
I swore to James and Lilly that, if the worst were to occur, that I'd do my best to desecrate the ring on general principal for making us go shopping with him, thus the shoving it up-
A bunch of hastily scratched out words….
-and that I'd make sure it got into your hands. Before you give this away, think long and hard about it. This ring is rather unforgiving about do-overs.
If you somehow did inherit Lilly's capacity to think before jumping in, prick yourself somewhere and put a drop of your blood on the gem. I was told not to tell you anything else, as it's supposed to be an eventual surprise, or some other kind of sappy, romantic nonsense that fools like James buy into. And I do mean buy. I still think he should have bought into being a half-owner of that brothel in Amsterdam. He could have bought three of these with the inevitable profits. Those ladies were something else.
Anyways, if you give it to the right girl, it'll always come back to you.
Make sure you pick a good one, Harry.
~ Padfoot
Harry re-read the last letter he'd ever get from Sirius about thirty times, turning the ring slowly over in his hand. Padfoot and Prongs were gone. Wormtail, a traitor. Mooney, the last remaining.
Pick a good one, Harry…
"Definitely did, Padfoot," he assured aloud, the empty room his only witness.
Now he just needed her to come back.
He needed her to come back alive.
His grip clenched hard around the ring, the emerald's sharp edge digging against his scarred and callused palm, skin breaking. Harry had not meant to do that, but pinpricks of blood had already oozed out of his flesh, unseen by his eyes, and the life-giving fluid pumping through his veins touched the mineralized beryl's surface.
In that moment, the instant his blood touched the chromium and vanadium laced rock, it happened; a pulsating throb emanated from where the ring lay within his fist.
The thrum was like that of a beating heart.
It swept out from his fist, across the room like a rippling wave. The magic swept out and into the room with the swiftness of an encroaching storm's breeze, his impossible hair blowing from a gust that did not exist. The few picture frames he'd managed to nail into the walls – gifts from Hermione mostly – swayed from the disturbance, while Hedwig's cage physically rocked.
Before Harry could even ponder what happened, his uncle had started shouting across the hall, having clearly heard something. Harry instantly looked to Fawkes. The only reason his aunt and uncle had allowed the birds to be kept in the house at all was because he'd promised to keep them locked up.
Harry was on his feet in an instant, picking up Fawkes and barely getting him back into the cage before Uncle Vernon began to pound on the door. "WHAT WAS THAT BOY?!"
Harry spun around as the handle began to jiggle, flicking the lock to the cage behind his back so his uncle would not know Fawkes had been out.
The portly man glared at him from the doorframe. "What was that, boy?" he repeated thunderously.
"What was what?" he feigned ignorance.
The Muggle his aunt just had to have married scowled. "You know exactly what," he snarled, storming into the room and immediately sweeping it with his gaze. "There was a breeze. It was unnatural. At nearly eleven! Just the sort of something your sort would do."
Harry just lifted both eyebrows, as if equally curious. "A breeze? Sure Dudley didn't leave any windows open sneaking out again?" Spying his uncle's infuriated look at the reminder of Dudley's less than noble antics, it took considerable effort to not laugh.
His uncle continued looking about his room, hellbent to find something. Harry's fingers curled tighter around the ring, concealing it from view.
"Where's that-that stick of yours?" his uncle demanded angrily, more steps resounding from the hallway, his Aunt Petunia clearly having been woken up and on her way. "You were doing magic, weren't you?" For a second he looked almost gleeful. "Ohhh those freaks will have that stick of yours for it this time!" He spotted it, laying on the desk. "Give it here-"
Harry lunged, snagging the wand and sending papers on the desk scattering in every direction, well before his uncle could lay a hand on it. His aunt appeared in the doorway, struggling to fasten her dressing grown.
Seeing Harry holding his wand, Vernon froze, as did she, both of them staring at the wand like deer in headlights.
"Threatening us again, boy…" his uncle stammered. "Those freaks told me about this. Casting underage spells and threatening your guardians? They'll definitely have you in prison-"
Hedwig let out an indignant squawk from his cage, Fawkes fixing the man with that same, terrifying look.
Harry interceded with a calmness he did not feel. "I don't need," he interrupted dangerously, "a wand to hex you, Uncle Vernon." His malachite gaze shifted between his uncle and aunt, Harry bluntly telling, "If I really wanted to, I could do without it. This," holding it up, "would just make it easier."
He'd long since decided he wasn't going to pretend that magic didn't exist around them.
His aunt blinked owlishly at him, her lips pursing with a combination of disgust and fear. His uncle's face just began to turn varying shades of red. Their attention was fully on him.
"Why doesn't everyone go back to bed?" Harry suggested. "Because as much as you like to scream and threaten, you need me here as much as I need you." He paused, dryly clarifying, "Regrettably."
Vernon let out a sputtering sound so prominent spittle actually flew. "Need? NEED!? I need you in this house like I need an infestation you-"
"What exactly," Harry questioned flatly, pocketing his wand, "do you think has kept you, Aunt Petunia and Dudley safe all these years?" He wanted to lunge at his uncle and pound him into next year, but he couldn't. Not yet.
The object of his ire snarled. "My family wouldn't be in danger if it wasn't for you!"
Once more Harry reminded himself that he couldn't just up and hex Vernon like he'd love to do. Instead, he inclined an eyebrow in a decidedly Remus-like gesture. "You're married," he stated slowly, as if explaining something to a particularly dense individual, "to the sister of a Muggleborn." He gave it a second to set in, well aware his uncle understood all of these terms by now. "Both Aunt Petunia and Dudley would be on Voldemort's hit list on general principle because of that alone, given he's taken a liking to cleansing the genepool of anyone who might have a mutant variant that could produce Muggleborn wizards or witches like my mom." Harry looked between the two of them, adding, "Better saddle up when Dudley has kids, because guess what, they might be freaks like me."
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, Harry ignoring the outraged sound his uncle made and the gasp his aunt made, before pressing, "That's without considering that he wants all Muggles, like yourself, dead in general. So yeah, you're in danger just because of me. Keep telling yourself that."
Behind him, Harry swore to things unholy, that he heard both Fawkes and Hedwig actually snicker.
A vein in Uncle Vernon's head twitched violently. "We should have left you on the doorstep where we found you."
Harry didn't so much as blink. "But you didn't. Which, much as it shocks me to say, means you have something of a conscience somewhere that actually works." Harry stepped away from Fawkes' cage, just in case Vernon tried to attack him or throw something. He didn't want to risk it missing him and hitting Fawkes. "Besides, if you didn't take me in, Voldemort would have gotten to you, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley a long time ago. These protections you've enjoyed from the blood magic from my mum would never have been here, and you'd probably be dead. So don't pretend you've kept me around just to do me a favor." Harry glanced towards his aunt, suddenly frowning. "Unless Aunt Petunia never told you about them?"
Judging from the stricken look on his aunt's face, Harry had hit the nail on the head.
His Uncle Vernon sprayed more spittle. "There is no magic at work in this house other than yours! Now you listen here boy! I will get to the bottom of this, and what you were doing-" He stopped, eyes narrowing instantly onto Harry's hand with a look of interest. "What's in your hand?" he demanded, stepping forward and holding out his. "Come now, show me. What were you doing to my house?"
Seeing the way his uncle was looking at him Harry took a step back, clenching his fingers around the ring even tighter. "No."
For a second Harry thought his uncle had gone mute.
Then his face began to vibrate, as if having some sort of attack, his mouth opening to begin a bellowish shout-
"Vernon, let's leave this unnatural nonsense and go to bed. It's far too late to be dealing with his sort."
His uncle about balked, jerking around to look at his wife so fast it was a marvel his fat neck didn't snap in half right then and there. Harry just kept his gaze on the large man, not risking even blinking.
His aunt hovered there, in the doorway, looking equal parts disgusted and afraid. She wasn't paying attention to him though, all her efforts focused on her husband, and for the first time Harry wondered if all of the disgust and fear were really directed at him.
"Vernon," she stated coolly, " you'll wake up the neighbors if this continues, and we don't need them asking more questions than they do already what with his…unnaturalness."
Words aside, for some strange reason his aunt was actually trying to help.
The tension in the room was so thick it could practically be cut with a knife. His uncle looked jadedly between them both, his head darting back and forth like a whip. Harry held his breath-
Vernon grunted angrily, storming out of the room with a last, "No more funny business, boy! Or those birds of yours and you will be out! OUT!"
Somewhere else, off in the house, a door slammed shut. Aunt Petunia, however, remained hovering in the doorway, clutching her dressing grown, staring at him like she wanted to say something.
Harry just swallowed, mouth rather dry all of a sudden.
"When you leave," she suddenly asked, "will the protections the old man put in place go away?"
Something in him that had held onto a smidgeon of hope, hope that she'd helped him out of some strange, long-hidden concern for his well-being, flared out. "Yeah," Harry told seriously, "they will."
Her lips tightened into a pencil-thin line, as if thinking hard. "And when do you plan on leaving?"
Feeling the ring practically burning a hole in his hand, Harry tightened onto it, almost needingly. "Few weeks," he told. "My birthday at the latest."
It was a tense, strange moment.
Then his aunt nodded tersely, muttering, "I suppose it's time we considered moving." Her eyes flickered around his room, as if really seeing it for the first time. "Been in this house long enough."
She made to leave-
"Get out of the U.K., Europe if you can."
His aunt froze, her back already to him, but her hand lingered on the doorframe. Harry didn't know what had caused him to say it, but it was out there.
His aunt breathed deeply, her breath sounding almost shaken. "It's him again, isn't it?" she practically spat the words, attempting to sound strong, but failing. "The one who killed my sister, he's back."
"Yes."
"And if we leave the U.K., Europe, my Dudley will be safe?"
Harry couldn't help but grimace. "You might," he offered, "want to stay away from the U.S. and Canada too." He didn't fancy finding out that his aunt, uncle and cousin had turned into plague-ridden zombies and begun eating the brains of living people. They were already bad enough as it was.
His aunt hesitated. "Will you…will you need anything, before you get out?"
Had Harry not heard the words himself, he might have fallen over in shock. Something in his chest thudded harder, as if trying to remember how to work again. "Nah," he passed it off as casually as he could. "Already used to running so…I'm good."
The look his normally pinched-faced, disgusted looking aunt turned on him was one of pure alarm. "What do you mean running?"
"Voldemort killed my mom and dad. You didn't think he'd kill them and not come back to finish me, did you?"
Harry wasn't used to seeing anything approximating concern leveled in his direction by her, but right now…it was. His gut twisted, but he suddenly felt for his aunt he shoved deep, deep down.
His aunt, apparently, did the same.
Saying nothing else, she made a choking sound, like she'd just burned her tongue on hot tea and inhaled some in the process, and quickly turned, vanishing from his sight.
Harry was left alone in his room, staring at the door, holding his mother's ring in his hand. His heart pounded, realizing that the only blood family he had left would soon need to flee the country. Soon he'd be homeless. Soon he'd have to set off to find every horcrux, so he could finally kill that piece of shit that had caused everything bad in his life.
His gaze jerked towards the clock, seeing the minute hand half past eleven.
That meant, wherever she was in France, it was half past midnight. It was late, but Harry didn't really give a damn.
He strode to his dresser and yanked the two-way mirror off it, half-expecting to see Sirius staring back. But he wasn't. He was gone.
Harry looked directly into it and growled, "Kaylens," in a tense, clipped voice.
He hadn't heard her voice in over a week. He hadn't seen her actual face in over a month, since that day in the Hogwarts' entrance hall, pressing her against the cool stone wall, kissing her goodbye. He hadn't seen her smile, let alone actually talked for longer than a few minutes in nearly a month.
Harry waited, heart pounding, ring clenched tightly in hand. He could feel the blood smearing where it'd physically cut him, but he didn't care. All he wanted, in that conflicted second, was to hear her voice, to know that out there, away from Privet Drive, that she was okay.
Hermione – against his wishes– had taken out a subscription to the Daily Prophet for him. On a daily basis he'd been getting updates on the increasing number of Death Eater murders all over Europe and the U.K., on the spreading plague – and his girlfriend was in the sodding middle of it while he was stuck here.
The black mirror flickered, something shadowy moving within it…
Then the unfamiliar blue eyes of Jake, the American, appeared. The wizard's normally well-behaving blonde hair looked askew, the git rubbing his eyes tiredly as he blinked repeatedly. "Potter?" he croaked, voice heavy with sleep.
Harry's stomach dropped, his gaze flashing with anger. "What the hell are you doing with Kaylens mirror?" She'd been staying in one of the girl's dormitories…
The American, the one that was admittedly better looking than him, that was older, with an inheritance, and a shared damn interest with Kaylens in potions yawned. "Freaking hell, Potter, you have any idea what time it is here?" The mirror was jostled slightly, Harry catching sight of a pale-stoned fireplace, then of a bed. "We we're sleeping…"
The restrained anger at his uncle came out all at once, Harry growling, "We?" into the mirror, something audibly cracking on the opposite side. Jake physically jerked, an ancient-looking candelabra on the wall having snapped in half, clattering to the ground.
In the background Harry heard the distinct, familiar sound of Kally, followed by a loud, masculine yelp and subsequent thud. The mirror jostled again, Harry catching sight of his Kally bolt-upright in a bed, her wand leveled out in front of her, one foot halfway out of bed, the other still tangled in sheets, whilst her loose tank top clung to her in a way that had his heart pounding for a whole new set of reasons. As usual she appeared to be missing at least one sock.
And she was physically in the room with Jake. Possibly in the same bed judging by how close she appeared.
His stomach dropped out. Jake, however, didn't realize how close to death he was.
The mirror bounced around again, the bastard just blinking tiredly, looking bored. "You just do that?" he asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder towards the shattered mount. "Monks are gonna be pissed in the morning."
Monks? "What," he grated, "the hell," growling, "are you doing in the room with her?"
Jake blinked, confusion replaced with alertness.
Then the asshole actually laughed. "Jesus, Potter."
"Jake, who are you talking to?" The second male voice sounded familiar…
"Miller," Kally growled tiredly, "you better hope there's still a body bag left with your name on it."
Harry realized that Jake's surname had to be Miller, but the soon-to-be-dead wizard was just chuckling. "You try to do a nice thing for someone, so they don't get woken up, and get rewarded with death threats, and get the opposite. Sheesh. Hold on a second..."
The mirror was jostled a bit, the distinct words, 'pissed off boyfriend,' 'breaking shit,' and 'better wake up' heard in the background.
Then he heard another familiar sound: the distinct snort and guffaw of a Weasley twin laughing.
Harry instantly realized the source of the other voice: it was Fred.
Confusion flooded him. The three of them must be sharing a room.
So why in the hell had Kaylens told him she was staying in a Beauxbatons girls dormitory?
Harry had just enough time to feel semi-humiliated and semi-physically ill when Kally's face filled the mirror, her long, golden hair tousled. "Harry?" she asked, raking a hand over the top of her head. Her breathing was swift, as if startled. "What's happened?"
He realized with a start that he'd not only broken something through a two-way mirror connection in a jealous fit, but that he'd alarmed his girlfriend.
And now she thought something was wrong.
Well shit.
Through the two-way mirror he could hear the bastard Jake chuckling to himself, Kally's hazel eyes narrowing tiredly, as if having trouble focusing.
"Er…" he stated, extremely coherently.
Her lips parted, looking absolutely bewildered. "Harry, it's the middle of the night. Is everything alright?"
Harry was just noticing how her brow creased beautifully when worried, when he realized he should probably answer with more than an errr. "Um…yeah, everything's fine," he said. She was alive. She was alright. She was looking back at him through the mirror, worry swirling within her irises. "I just…" he wet his lips. "Hadn't heard from you in awhile, so…got worried."
"More like homicidal!" he heard Jake say in the background, Fred guffawing louder.
Kaylens' eyes instantly narrowed, glaring at something outside the mirror's field of view. "I will inflict physical harm on both of you in your sleep," she threatened, before returning her attention back onto him. She studied him for a second, a cold coil in Harry's gut. She was sharing a room…with Jake.
"Harry, you're really a cock-block when it comes to sleep. I've got hot dream girls waiting me in REM! I need my dream girls, Harry! None of the veelas would let me play!"
And Fred.
Harry practically growled again.
Kally suddenly sighed. "We left Beauxbatons a few hours ago," she offered by way of explanation. "They're out of the supplies we need, so now were at some old wizarding monastery off the coast near Avranches and Mont-Saint-Michel." Fred made an upset sound, Kally rolling her eyes, adding, "And Fred is still bitching about not hooking up with a sixth year veela."
Harry only understood about half of that, but managed to reign in his murderous thoughts towards Jake. "Wait, you left?"
She nodded tiredly, again raking her hand through her hair in slight agitation. "Yeah, we just got in a couple hours ago," she explained, looking slightly more awake. "Was planning to tell you, but it was late enough I didn't want to risk waking up your aunt and uncle, so figured I'd message you in the morning." Her eyes glinted with subtle amusement, telling, "I see that worked out well."
Harry blinked. "So um…you're at a monastery?"
"Yeah, a pretty small one…" she said, somewhat awkwardly.
Harry wasn't sure what to say. What exactly did one say after inadvertently vandalizing a monastery and waking up your girlfriend in the middle of the night, after threatening to harm one of her bodyguards?
It was only then that he realized how pale she looked, how utterly and completely exhausted. Once more his chest twisted, wanting to know how exactly they'd gotten there, his mouth opening to do just that.
Kally beat him to it. "We may have run into some trouble on the way," she said in quiet explication. In the background he could hear Fred and Jake both scoffing something that sounded distinctly like 'understatement,' Harry wanting nothing more than to leap through the mirror to get to her. "Plague victims are in Normandy. We found out on one of our stopover points while apparating."
Harry processed that; when apparating far distances wizards typically did it in a series of stages. Several shorter apparations would be done, rather than one long one, to reduce the chance of splinching. If they'd apparated into what they'd thought was a safe zone, only to find themselves surrounded by plague victims…
"Merlin…" he muttered, eyeing her worriedly. "Are you okay?"
Kaylens offered a wane smile, murmuring, "Yeah Harry, I'm okay." She yawned, her nose scrunching in a way that was unbelievably cute, before quietly telling, "Hold on a second." The mirror shifted slightly, a pillow coming into view, Kally's face plopping back into the mirror's field a few seconds later. As far as he could tell, she'd propped the mirror on a pillow so she could lay down and still talk to him as she went back to sleep.
An instant later he heard Fred groan something akin to, "Salazar they aren't shutting up," followed by what sounded distinctly like a silencing charm followed by a levitation charm that sent what looked distinctly like an old tapestry whipping around Kaylens' bed like bed hangings.
Clearly Jake and Fred were eager to not hear a word of their conversation. Harry had enough common sense to actually wince, apologizing, "Sorry about…this."
Kally just smiled knowingly. "Don't be. I missed…this." Her lips curved perhaps a bit more. "They can deal. They're big boys."
"Yeah um….about that-" he started nervously.
"I'll see if the monks can fix it in the morning, Harry," she told, already anticipating what he was going to say. Even across the distance she could somehow penetrate his thoughts. "Take it you weren't too happy when Jake answered my mirror?"
Now it was Harry's turn to drag a hand through his hair. "What answer," he asked guardedly, "would make you the least pissed?"
To his utmost surprise, she actually laughed. "Not sure if I should be mad that you don't seem to trust me, or flattered that you'd go so Neanderthal on someone over me."
"Let's go with the second one," he suggested, grabbing his blanket and walking towards the door to stuff it under the bottom, soundproofing it as best he could. The last thing he wanted was for his uncle to wake up again. Task accomplished, Harry stalked back to his mattress and dropped down onto it, taking up a similar position to the one she had.
Both Kally and Harry went quiet, his green gaze studying her through the mirror, the silence almost unnerving. His throat rose and fell in a hard swallow as he racked his mind, desperately, for something to say. "I trust you, Kally."
Both of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows inclined slightly. "Do you?" There was no malice in her quiet query, just…concern. "I mean…seemed like you did just think I was sleeping with Jake, or Fred, or both." Kally's hand came up, tucking up beneath her pillow as she got more comfortable. Her long lashes flickered over her impossibly golden irises, the non-witch studying him curiously.
Harry's internal organs all decided to revolt simultaneously, and he'd never been more grateful for a silencing charm as he was right then. She deserved an answer: an honest one. "I keep waiting for something to go wrong with….us," he admitted. "I don't think you'd do that, but this…this thing between us is good, real good, and in my experience anything even half this good typically gets wrecked by something."
He held his breath, mentally kicking himself for even admitting that out loud.
Kaylens brow instantly furrowed, lips parting with dismay. "That's not going to happen, Harry," she whispered. "I don't know what's happened to you before but…that's not going to with me, okay?"
Something warm stirred in Harry's stomach. He couldn't believe his luck. He was talking to Kaylens, telling her a not exactly good truth, but even after sticking his foot in his mouth she wasn't running.
"Okay," he agreed. "Sorry, I'm just…"
"It's okay," she repeated, interrupting him before he could make more of an ass of himself. "I hated Beauxbatons. Not getting to talk to you, it…I didn't like it." She shook her head against the pillow, quietly growling, "When exactly did I start enjoying talking to you?"
"Dunno," he replied, lips twitching as he got comfortable on his pillow. "Here I thought we were both just in it for the mind-blowing snogging."
"Hmph."
On his side of the mirror, Harry smirked.
On her side, Kalliandra bit down on her lower lip, gnawing prettily on it, but Harry didn't miss how her lips tried to curve up anyway.
Out of sight of the mirror, his free hand turned the ring over between his fingers. At some point while talking to her the cut on his palm had healed. It no longer caused pain to turn the cool metal over and over between his fingers, the motion somehow calming to him.
"So," he finally uttered, "Skeeter's article came out about us."
The sleepy look on her face evaporated, her eyes widening subtly. "Merlin…how bad was it?"
"As lewd and salacious as expected," he relayed, smirking. "Speaking of, where'd you get that love-potion-laced lipstick that keeps me coming back for more? Got it on great authority from Skeeter's article that that's what you've been using. Was thinking of getting Romilda one…"
Kally growled loud enough that both Fawkes and Hedwig actually looked concerned.
Harry smirked, enjoying the rare sign of possessiveness far more then he ought. He didn't fancy his girlfriend winding up in Azkaban, and after reading Skeeter's article she very well might. It'd been less than flattering…Rita had theorized that Kaylens clearly had to of resorted to magic to 'bag Harry Potter,' given that the 'witch' was rather plain and that the Triwizard Tournament champion, savior of the wizarding world, and Quidditch prodigy could clearly do better. After all, the girl had no notable family to speak of, and even the Muggleborn Hermione Granger or the pureblood Romilda Vane, also in Harry's year at Hogwarts, would have been better far prettier and better matches for him.
Harry could not disagree more. Even incensed, pale, and tired post-zombie fighting viewed through a two-way mirror Kaylens was enticing as hell.
Once the war was over he'd find a way to get Skeeter back, assuming someone else didn't kill her first. For now…
Kaylens made an impatient sound through the mirror, Harry's grin returning. "Like I'd touch," he said aloud, "Romilda, when I have you." Everything about his tone conveyed how damn serious he was, and to his shock Kaylens did something he'd never seen her do before.
She blushed.
Harry grinned. "Consolation, the article traumatized me. Not because of what Skeeter wrote, but because Ron sent me a very detailed letter asking for tips…" Ron had taken the tantric sex jest, something Skeeter had seized onto like a starved wolverine, far too seriously.
Kally smothered a laugh in her pillow, before quietly groaning, glancing up at him. "Merlin Potter, I feel like I should be able to hex you for all of this."
He smirked, holding up his fingers so she could see them, and beckoned. "Come and get me."
From across the channel Harry watched Kally smile at him, and his chest soared.
Later that night, much later, well after candles at the monastery had been blown out and after his lights had gone off, they both fell asleep talking to one another. Kaylens did first, Harry blearily watching her through the mirror, those long lashes of hers fluttering over her spectacular irises, as if unable to keep them open.
He wasn't far behind.
It was the first good night's sleep Harry had gotten in awhile, and when he woke up…
Fawkes' dish, full of the nectar-like potion Kaylens had made, was empty, and Fawkes…
Was fully feathered.
ECOTS
Author's Note: So there we have it…the last transition chapter for awhile. (I think.) I'd like to apologize for the stuff coming up, but nah.
