Murder at a Funeral

Harry frowned, a hand scratching his chin, and his brow furrowed in thought. He tilted his hand left, a moment, then right, before tilting it left again. He let out a sigh, dropping his arms in defeat and pacing; this was by far one of the hardest decisions he had to make in a long while. He stopped, turned and repeated: his right hand went to his chin, he frowned, and his brow furrowed.

He heard a groan but didn't turn. "Honestly," said Lexi, annoyed. "They're just paintings, pick one."

Harry glared at her. "They're not just paintings," he said aghast. "I don't know if you've noticed, but the is a choice between the Mona Lisa—the real one mind you—and the Last Supper. I mean I'm biased towards the Last Supper," Harry said with a slight smile, thoughts of irony running through his mind, "but I don't want her in my vault again."

"Then put them both up," Lexi said still annoyed.

Harry shook his head. "I can't do that now, can I? If I do, some of the townsfolk would notice and they might put one and two together, and that equals me being the most sought-after thief in the world."

"It's not like anyone would notice," Lexi said but from her tone it was easy to tell she didn't buy what she was selling, and Harry noticed.

He smirked, eyes shining as he said, "It took you three seconds to notice these were real. What's to say the others of your kind won't?" Lexi didn't answer. Harry returned to his works of art, both of whom were bobbing slightly up and down, occasionally trading places in front of the wall one of them would be spending during his stay in Mystic Falls.

"The Last Supper," Harry said finally, the irony always got him in the end and it made him chuckle every time he thought about it; said painting eagerly took its place on the wall, and at once there were the barest signs of motion, nothing overt. The Mona Lisa frowned, and Harry sighed, this was the reason he always took a long time to choose between the two; he just couldn't bear that frown in a face which had smiled for centuries. "But I'm going to find a place for you, Sweet Lady," he said even though he hadn't charmed the painting to the point where it could talk back—he was still experimenting though. He swished his wand and the painting began moving upstairs to the vault.

"You know," said Lexi, "I might be able to talk to you, but you aren't exactly fun to be around. Always thinking or enchanting, or whatever it is you do. It's boring."

Harry snorted. "Don't worry," he said. "It's only a matter of time before excitement finds me, I wouldn't be surprised if something I wasn't expecting happened at the Memorial. I'll feel sorry for the families if something does happens," he said and meaning it. The Memorial held the first twelve to have died, the first steps in a ritual that could unweave reality, Harry was more than certain something unexpected would happen, it was usually how the universe worked. He didn't want to miss it of course, but hoped he wouldn't inconvenience anyone with his presence.

"Mystic Falls," Lexi said. "You'll find that people here let go of the unexplained pretty easily."

Harry sighed, remembering days long past when he could Apparate or Portkey into a packed street and no one would even bat an eye, he always found that strange but never questioned the blessing, it made things easier. "It might have something to do with the supernatural world," Harry said. "Maybe it seeks to protect itself, its survival from the muggles that out-number us."

"Muggles." Lexi shook her head, a strange word she always called it, but she had taken a liking to it, it separated the supernatural from the mundane aptly and didn't have the connotation that vampires, werewolves, and witches weren't human in their own right. "Anyway, why would magic want to protect us?" she asked. "We're far stronger and faster than them—"

"And yet many vampires die by Muggle hands," Harry interrupted. "It doesn't do to underestimate Muggles." and he left it at that, memories of his first world flashing through his mind, he pushed them back, took one last look at the Last Supper—it brought a smile to his face—then headed upstairs for a shower and a change into a sombre looking suit.

He was quick about it: he showered then put on his suit, making sure to stretch his ability at Transfigurations and make his hair a little neater. It worked well enough, but he knew from experience it wouldn't last too long, his hair seemed to have a magic of its own, retardant to nothing but the strongest of magic and ever-growing so it was always long enough to give him a messy look. He looked himself over, and had to admit he looked far from the specky, scrawny boy who had attended Hogwarts: he was taller, leaner and his skin trying its best to stop being pale, his glasses were also gone, that from having met an old man with very powerful blood who had healed his hampered vision.

Harry ran his wand over his hair again, getting a few strands starting to point up to lay down again, then stowed his wand in his pocket. He turned in the spot, appearing without a sound beside his car, he got in and drove off.

He didn't get lost. He almost did, but getting lost would have been a hard thing to do with all the car already heading towards the church. By the looks of it, Harry guessed a majority of the townsfolk were attending the Memorial. He was quick to find a parking space and walked towards the large ornate church, ignoring the whispers breaking out with his passing. Small towns rarely got anything new and Harry understood that he would be the talk of the town when people weren't mourning the death of their own. It was nothing to worry about, and nothing to give attention to, it would happened and it would pass. He walked into the church, scanned for proper seating and then decided to sit in the last chair in the middle-row, the most unobtrusive place in Harry's opinion.

There were murmured conversations for some time, Harry occupying himself with thoughts of what he still had to do; the night before he had been hard at work setting up the protective enchantments of his vault, the thing was nigh impenetrable, and by Harry's estimation, it would take a coven of seven, thirty minutes to break into it. But there were powers Harry still did not know about, and so there was no real way of knowing whether his estimation was true or not. He had also moved most of his possessions from England: gold coins—he still hadn't let go of wizarding traditions—littered the vault floor, swords and armour he had successfully enchanted, his guns, both mundane and magical, a few art pieces he had stolen—it was a pass time when he was exceptionally bored—and what looked like miniature Nuclear Missiles encased in an Unbreakable glass case. If those got out, the world would most likely cease to exist.

The murmuring slowly dwindled, and Harry's focus went to the front of the church, where a brown haired woman stood at the stage. The woman, Mayor Lockwood, gave a small speech, the sentimental sort of speeches that made your eyes start to water even if complete strangers were being talked about, then she said, "Before we begin the Mass, we'd like to open the floor to anyone who would like to share a memory about out late friends on the Town Council. I know that April Young wanted to say something about her dad. April?" There was an awkward silence, no one spoke. No one moved. "April, are you still here, honey?"

The mayor sighed a little when April didn't stand. "Is there anyone else who would like to share a recollection of Pastor Young?" Mayor Lockwood asked the room at large.

Again no one got up, eyes drifted from person to person, each expecting the other to get up. Each expecting the other to partake in the human tradition of choosing only to see the good side of the dead, and not comment about any evils they might have committed, well except if one was a convicted criminal, but that wasn't the point. Harry watched as each person shifted uneasily, the same thing being done behind the podium by the mayor. But then, when it appeared the mayor would let the Mass begin, a girl stood, clutching the seat as she stood.

"Come on up, Elena," Mayor Lockwood said to the pale looking girl. She gave a small, shaky nod before walking up to the podium.

At the same time Harry heard a very familiar voice speaking in almost a whisper. "Don't know why that always make me smile," it said and a moment later the Stranger walked past him and took a seat a few rows ahead, next to a dark-haired man—those the only characteristics Harry could make out from behind. "She doesn't look good," the Stranger said.

"Maybe you should have told me she was rejecting all food sources," said the man beside the Stranger. Harry almost smirked, but quickly remembered where he was, there was no time to be smiling at a funeral even when peculiar occurences were at work. The girl had gotten to the podium, and she stood, slumping behind it.

"Jealousy's beneath you brother," the stranger drawled and though Harry couldn't see he knew a glare was being shot at the Stranger.

"Bite me," was the answer from the brother.

"I," she stopped, her eyes moving tiredly over the crowd; her hands clutched the podium with such force Harry thought she might break it. She took a breath. "When I talked to April earlier she was kind of nervous about coming up to speak. And now that I'm up here, I'm kind of nervous too. The worst day of loving someone is the day that you lose them."

She stopped, and Harry saw her nose flared a little. The movement was a little hypnotic, Harry's did the same, it was faint, but there was a stench in the air, salty and coppery. Blood, and it got stronger with the echoing sound of a drop hitting water.

"Do you smell that?" the voice was crystal clear even though it was a whisper.

"Blood," another said, different from the first or the Stranger and his brother. Harry stopped himself from moving, quelling his curiosity; he had heard about the trick before, drawing out vampires with the scent of blood—hunters knew how easy it was for an unexpecting vampire to lose their control.

The stranger knew this as well it seemed, because he said, "Nobody move. Don't turn around, it's a trap."

There sound of drops hitting water continued, the smell of blood getting stronger. Harry's heart was already beating hard against his chest, the blood was fresh, he could tell, and for that to happen, it meant someone was dying. He stopped himself again from looking around, every fibre in his being shouted at him to help whomever was in the process of dying right now. He tried to push the impulses back, tried to quiet the loud voice of his 'Saving People Thing'.

People die, he told it, each and everyday people die. But if I stand up, if I face this hunter, I will be putting more lives with the reveal.

His 'Saving People Thing' shook its imagined head, shooting a glare at Harry that made him feel disgusted at himself. When has that ever stopped you? it asked its voice high-pitched. When has being revealed ever stopped you from doing what is right? Standing up and save who ever it is, that's dying.

"Please turn to page forty-two in your hymn book. Let us join together in a song," said a male voice and Harry was a bit surprised he missed the vampire-girl leaving. He stood with the crowd, and quickly tried to think of a plan.

"Lexi," he muttered, hoping the started song would cloak his voice from the vampires. The blonde dutifully appeared, not that she had much choice in the matter, when Harry called, ghosts answered. "As quickly as you can, find the where the blood's coming from." The woman disappeared.

Harry heard nothing over the song, too many voices for his below supernatural hearing that he couldn't find the vampires. But the blood had doubled, if not tripled in intensity; whoever was bait, only had a few more minutes at best.

"Upstairs, to your right," said Lexi and Harry thought it over as quickly as he could. What could he do? A whole manner of things but what he needed now was a way to stop the person dying from becoming late, and doing it in a way that won't shatter the Masquerade.

Bollocks with the Masquerade, his 'Saving People Thing' shouted and Harry fully agreed. He would deal with that when it—a thought formed. "Witches," he said, picturing the dozen or so witches who had stood in his kitchen. They appeared a moment later, they looked at him with knowing eyes.

"I need a favour," he said and he didn't even wait for an answer from them. "I need you to make sure whatever happens isn't given attention to."

One of them smirked. "Then we will have your word you will stop the coming darkness," she said, and Harry absently nodded.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he said and he felt power wash over the entire church, he got into action. He walked out—

There was a light, and a furry of sparks as something slammed into Harry's shielded clothes. He paid it no attention and neither did anyone else for that matter, they stood watching the podium as if there was someone there—and indeed there was, but Harry didn't notice. He stalked up to the stairs, every part of him boiling with anger; this was unacceptable, being a hunter meant you protected humans from the things that went bump in the night, not put them in danger.

He turned a corner and dodged just in time as a meaty fist hurtled towards him. He jabbed his wand forward and the man, the same man who had spoken to the Sheriff, flew back and slammed into a wall. The man shrugged it off, getting to his feet and pulling out a knife from his pockets.

"I don't know what you are," the man said, "but I'm going to kill you."

He threw his knife, with enough force Harry couldn't dodge it; his shield appeared again, sparks flying as it an the knife collided. Harry whipped his wand, shooting a Stunner at the man but the spell hit and rebounded. Momentary confusion hit Harry but this was not the time for that; he shot another spell, a more powerful Stunner but the man dodged to the side, quickly getting to his feet and charging at Harry. They collided, and Harry felt all the air leave his lungs at the impact; they tumbled back, Harry losing his wand in the process. The hunter got to his feet, fists poised for a fight; Harry quickly did the same.

He grinned a feral grin, adrenaline flowing through his system and everything going into slow-motion. He was prepared for a fight.

FOCUS.

Right, the girl. The man punched and Harry blocked, wincing as the fist connected; he sent his own punch and it was caught, his arm twisted and another of the man's hands going at his throat. Harry's other arm was free, he opened it, pointing it towards the wand and it came flying at him.

"Relashio," he ground out, and he was suddenly let go. He twisted around. "Everbero." A green spell shot out, hit the hunter and slammed him viciously against the wall, the hunter's arm hung limply against him.

There came a small moan and all thoughts of the man in front of Harry disappeared; he rushed to the girl's side even as he heard the shambled motions of the hunter. The girl, her stomach red with the substance that pooled beneath, was pale and looked at the brink of death; Harry needed to work fast. He rushed to her side. "I'm here to help you," he said when he noted the girl's panic-stricken eyes; his wand pointed at her stomach, he started a song like spell he'd heard a very long time ago. He knew the wound would heal without a mark, but the girl had still lost a lot of blood. Harry pulled her into his arms bridal style, and got to his feet. He quickly went for the stairs.

"Vampire blood can save her," Lexi reminded him, and were it not for her, Harry was sure he would have overlooked the fact.

"Vampires," he said loud enough that it could be considered a shout. Faces turned, the Stranger and a face Harry could recognise even if he were blind. A Ripper. "I need blood, quickly or she's going to die." There was motion, but not fast enough. "Quicker!"

A blonde suddenly appeared in front of Harry, she looked worried. "I'll take her," she said and Harry saw Lexi nod behind her. Harry handed her over, and watched as the blonde put the girl gently down before biting her wrist and feeding the girl; she lapped it up and it would have been disgusting were Harry not worried about her survival.

The lead witch appeared a distance from the blonde vampire, she looked at said vampire with some disdain. "We cannot hold this spell forever," she said, and Harry understood.

"Take her out of here," Harry said. "Wipe away the memory of what happened here." and the blonde did as she was told just as Harry felt the magic snap, he turned on the spot before anyone could think to look at the back. He was aware he had blood covering his suit.

Harry appeared without a sound beside his car and waved his wand, cleaning the blood smeared across his blazer. He let out a breath, trying to calm himself and thinking about what had just happened, all the self-enforced rules he'd broken. First and foremost, he'd made an oath with witches; magic in most respects was binding, though usually the bindings could be broken because of free will, they often had disastrous results and Harry with his more than unfortunate luck didn't want to tempt the Fates, Merlin knew they hated him with a passion.

His eyes had subconsciously scanning the many rows of cars lined outside the church, the hunter was hurt, Harry's Bludgeoning Hex had most likely popped the man's arm from his socket, so Harry expected him to still be around. He didn't find him though, and after a few minutes he heard the Memorial begin at full-speed; Harry decided to hang back, get his mind in order.

Damage control, he thought when his mind got beyond the urge to fight and decided to work. He had the Stranger, the Ripper, the girl—Elena if Harry remembered correctly—and the blonde to worry about; they were vampires, and vampires were the gossip loving type most times and Harry didn't need the full scale of his abilities out in the supernatural world, if they were it could make things harder if he was captured. A Tongue-Tying Curse would do the job perfectly—memory charms didn't work on vampires—he would make it so they couldn't talk about what he could do even to each other, and a Finger-Crippling Curse for anyone who had the bright idea to write down his abilities. But all that wouldn't be easy considering he would need to catch all the vampires by surprise, and surprise didn't work too well when repeated, but he would figure it out.

Next were the witches and their coming darkness, now he'd been pulled in head first into something he didn't even know where to start and on top of that he'd made the oath to stop it. Stupid, Potter, said a mental voice sounding suspiciously like Draco Malfoy. Harry tossed it aside, at that moment it had seemed the smartest thing to do and he was necessarily regretting it. He had save a life and that was most important, his 'Saving People Thing' beamed at him, its eyes—and really should have said something about his mental state that he had so many different voices and figures in his head—shining in a Dumbledore like fashion.

So you've been pulled in, his mind-voice said. It sighed and long and annoyed sigh, then said, well at least we knew this was coming. What do we do now?

"Information," Harry said aloud. He needed the witches to tell him exactly what he'd gotten himself into before he could act, and I if they tried to send him out blind, screw the Fates he was going to go against his word.

Harry got into his car and drove home.