A/N Hey everyone. I know it's been a super long time since I last posted. I've had a really busy few months, and a lot of things kept cropping up which had to take precedent. I'm sorry about that, but I had a burst of motivation today and some time, and it let me finish up this next chapter. It's been a while, so I don't know if I'm quite back in the groove yet, and it might be a while before I get another update out, but I'm still working on it. I'll update this chapter again sometime in the next few days as well, as I didn't have the energy tonight to respond to all the comments that have been building up, and I haven't really checked them yet, truthfully.

Anyways, happy birthday to Ron Weasley.

As always, unbeta-ed, sorry if I miss any errors.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter or Supernatural, or anything belonging to J.K. Rowling or Eric Kripke, I'm just using the characters for fun. I receive no money off of this story. Don't sue me.

Chapter 25: A Not-So-Peaceful Interlude

8 March 1958

F and I have come to an agreement regarding the talisman. In exchange for his help acquiring its location, I am to provide him information on Agent R.

Consorting with demons is, of course, one of the higher offenses in the agency, but this talisman needs to be found, and I'm almost entirely certain that R is corrupt anyways. He always had sticky fingers, and that last operation went a little too well to have been a natural job.

I met with F at the rendezvous point today, and made the appropriate exchange. The talisman should come into my hands soon enough.

End Log

10 March 1958

The exchange went smoothly. The talisman is now safely in the vault, adding to the Queen's collection. As incoming agents, we're taught not to question the vault, and my own Mother chastised me away from it as a child, but I do wonder what she must do with these devices. The Artifacts Clause of 1851 prohibits the personal use of these items, likely because of the Royal Family's werewolf scare a century ago, but the vault is still accessed regularly.

A question for another day, perhaps.

R must have something to worry about, as three of his business partners have now been overturned to F. All of them openly corrupt, of course, with one of them facing fraud charges over a charity they endorse. Demons are inherently corrupt, of course, but I find that this one's terms of negotiation are not so intolerable to openly oppose. I have a feeling I shall make use of his services again.

End Log

11 March 1958

I've been assigned to a Tulpa case with McGregor. He was two years behind me in training, but he seems a decent enough fellow, if a little excited for his first field case. Admittedly, I've always found Tulpas fascinating. I feel as if their psychic properties should be more cohesively measured, as there is a tremendous potential there for growth in our psychic knowledge.

Perhaps I shall consult F, if the price is right.

End Log

15 March 1958

I take back anything positive I said about McGregor. He is too green to be doing this type of work, and needs to be sent back to basic training. He could not even put up the proper facade for more than five minutes when we were questioning the locale. The child about wet himself in excitement when we actually saw the Tulpa's figure of concentration, and couldn't manage to unholster his weapon.

I've no idea how he was assigned to me, or this case even. A Tulpa is a level 4 monster, minimum, not something fo-

"Harry!" The girl in question jolted, automatically snapping shut the journal held loosely in her hands. "Get down here!"

Harry slipped the shut journal under her lumpy pillow, sliding off her twin bed and making her way across her attic bedroom. She leaned over the half rail blocking her from the stairway.

"What do you want?" She waited for an answer from Bobby, but was only met with silence. She grimaced slightly, knowing that particular brand of silence. "Sorry, I'm coming." She hurried down the stairs, and then another set, before meeting Bobby in the kitchen, where he stood with his hands on his hips, a "Kiss the Cook" apron secured tight around his stomach. Harry stifled a snort.

"What are you laughin' at?"

"Nothing. You just look a little Betty Crocker, that's all." He looked down, frowning as if he'd forgotten.

"Shuddup," he mumbled. Bobby cleared his throat, resuming the mother hen pose. "Why the hell are there owls crashing into my windows?"

"Huh?"

"Look." Bobby gestured to the window sitting above the sink, where an owl was balancing precariously on the outside ledge. Now that she was looking, Harry could see there was another sitting in the window by the back door, and another in the open doorway. "Well?"

"I'm sure I can explain this." She crossed to the kitchen sink, unlatching the window and sliding it up. The owl hooted, his head bobbing irritatedly. He stuck his leg out impatiently, waiting for Harry to retrieve the letter before ruffling his feathers and flying away. She hurried to release the other owls as well. When all three letters were in her hand, the owls left and she was free to look through them. The first one had her name scrawled on it quite hurriedly, and a brief flash of fear coursed through her over the possibility that the letter held the beginnings of the conflict she'd been waiting on all summer. She broke the wax seal and pulled out a short bit of parchment.

Harry,

We don't know where you are, but if this letter reaches you hopefully you're safe. Having said that, don't try to come find us immediately. Dumbledore is furious, and the Ministry interference isn't helping.

Stay inside, please, we don't know if there are any more attacks planned.

Arthur Weasley

Harry blinked, staring at the letter in confusion. There was a heavy feeling starting to weigh down her stomach.

"What is it?" Bobby asked, having noticed her expression.

"I don't know." She pushed on, opening up the next letter, which she recognized as Ron's handwriting.

Harry -

I think they know something about your living situation. Dad left a few hours ago in a rush and then came back all confused and worried. I overheard him telling my mom something about 'Privet Drive', and didn't you say that's where those muggles used to keep you?

Anyways, there was something about Dumbledore too, but I didn't catch that. But apparently Dad's sending you a letter because he thinks something is after you. Watch out.

Ron

That was even more worrying, but Harry moved to finish the next letter.

Arthur's just told us what happened. Don't leave the house, whatever you do.

She set down Sirius' note, that brief fear bubbling into a strong uneasiness. Something had happened at Privet Drive, big enough to catch the attention of Dumbledore and the Ministry. She might have just been found out. Another owl swooped into the kitchen, dropping a note into Harry's hands.

Harry, my dad just flooed with a message for you. He says 'Dumbledore knows', whatever that means, and asks you to stay inside. The ministry is looking for you. Apparently some alarms were set off by some of Dumbledore's people, after they found your relatives with no souls along with a dementor roaming a muggle neighborhood.

The ministry is trying to find you to assign new guardians, and not good ones if Dad's mood was anything to go by. Whatever you're mixed up in, be careful.

Cedric

There was a ringing in Harry's ears. She didn't even know how to begin to process what was happening, but the most pressing issues took precedence. Dumbledore was trying to find her, and so was the ministry. The pit in her stomach grew as she realised what had to be done.

"Bobby." He turned from where he'd gone back to making dinner.

"Hmm?"

"I have to leave."

.

.

2 Months Earlier

"So you're saying that somewhere along the line, our family has witch blood in it?"

"Sort of."

"Freakin' witches." Dean stood suddenly, looking very tense. "I've been waiting for months for you to explain that crapshow, and now you're saying we're freakin' magical?"

"Congratulations?" He pinched the bridge of his nose tight.

"I don't have to go to Hogwarts, right?"

"No, you're past the cutoff date. You probably don't have any magical abilities whatsoever."

"Probably?!" Harry chuckled.

"You're just as muggle as before." Dean nodded, somewhat reassured. Then he stiffened, wheeling around like a plank.

"Sammy-"

"He would have gotten the letter last summer, if at all." He relaxed again, easing back into the chair across from Harry.

"So when that guy called me a squib-"

"It means that you're not magical, but you come from magical ancestry, yes."

"Can you stop cutting me off?"

"Sorry, it's sort of entertaining." She winked at him, and he rolled his eyes.

"So what now?" Harry studied Dean, trying to think of anything that would change by the additional knowledge of their heritage. She came to a swift conclusion.

"Honestly, I don't believe anything major will change for you or your family. Dumbledore knows about you now, but not the extent of our relationship, and you don't usually spend too much time in one place anyways so I doubt he'll bother having you followed."

"The more you tell me about this Dumbledore guy the less I like."

"Yes well, he is a conniving bastard set out to control all aspects of my life." Dean whistled.

"Really?"

"Well, those are my feelings. Hermione has tried to convince me that a lot of what I see is coincidental."

"You don't believe in coincidences."

"Not really, no." They sat there for a few moments, each brooding about their own problems. Dean sighed, unclasping his hands and removing his elbows from where they'd been resting on his knees, stretching. He looked over at Harry, a slightly bitter smile tugging at his mouth.

"Want to go shoot something?"

"Let's go."

.

.

Harry frowned at the headline of the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. It was a couple of weeks after she'd explained the situation to Dean, and the Winchesters were currently off trying to enjoy their summer while their dad knocked out hunts. Bobby was off somewhere in Ohio hunting what he thought might be a Werewolf. That, of course, meant that there was no one to take Harry's mind off of the outrageous article staring her in the face. There was nothing overtly libelous, it was merely a small snippet about potions ingredients prices going up, but snuck into one of the last sentences was a remark that she'd seen too often in her perusal of the paper.

One customer reported that the prices were Potter-Level dramatic.

Alone, she might have ignored it. But so many articles had been using this same tactic recently, equating her name to ridiculousness. She didn't get much information from Ron and Hermione, they were cut off by Dumbledore. But from the letters she'd received from the twins, she knew the war effort wasn't going so well. How could it, when all the ministry did was put down her name and Dumbledore's. Honestly, it was giving Voldemort a wide opening.

Harry set down the paper, her clenched fists bending the edges of the pages. She had a bad feeling about the months ahead.

.

.

Present Day

Harry flipped through another page of her Grandmother's journal.

20 March 1958

I've found being 'benched' most bothersome. McGregor still gets to inflict himself upon the people of the world, but I, the woman, must stay behind as a disciplinary measure. It is ridiculous.

I've been cataloguing old records to take up my time at the office, and I've found quite a few about F. He seems rather famous, or infamous I should say, among our past agents. He's been around for longer than I thought. I asked him about it the other day, and he didn't give me a straight answer about his age.

I suppose I'll just hope that I'm not just another woman in a long string of dames.

The young witch's eyes rose at that. She'd seen a reference to an 'F' quite often throughout the pages she'd read previously, but she hadn't realised that the figure and her grandmother had been…together. She gave her head a little shake and continued on.

I've also been filing some of the transmissions between our sect of the organization and the American one.

Well that was interesting.

They've been researching a new exorcism where one can supposedly 'cure' a demon. Personally, I have my doubts about it. Plus, I'm not entirely sure we should be attempting to cure demons in the first place. It seems like some sort of natural upset that may lead to karmic responses later down the line.

Harry's alarm rang suddenly, prompting her to put down the journal. She sat up, stretching and yawning as she pulled herself out of bed. She looked around the apartment that Crowley had set her up in. It was completely muggle, with a spell warding away owls. Sure, there was an ancient magic imbued in carrier owls that, well, discouraged people from tracking them to a receiver, but you could never be too careful.

She pulled on some jeans and a faded green jacket before crossing to the kitchenette. Harry grabbed an apple and snagged her keys, locking her door behind her.

"Morning Samantha." Harry turned around after hearing the snick of the lock in her door, smiling at Mrs. Baverstock. She was just heading back inside her apartment, having just finished the morning walk that Harry knew she took every day when the sun rose. She'd gotten suspicious of her elderly neighbor and where she went at such hours, only to find herself on a stakeout watching the lady shuffle through the park across from the apartment complex.

"Morning Mrs. B. Anyone special today?" The widow had been alone for ten years now, with her only child living two-and-a-half hours away and visiting sparsely. That didn't discourage the woman, as Harry had discovered on her ill-fated stakeout. After watching the woman flirt for hours with Jim, the newsstand salesman stationed half a block from the apartment, Harry was assured that there wasn't anything suspicious about Mrs. Baverstock.

"Oh, no. I saw Samuel, but he's married to Martha Wainwright, a few floors up. Shame, that man can-"

"Mrs. B."

"Sorry honey." Harry shook her head, a smile tugging at her mouth.

"Bye Mrs. B."

"Bye sweetie." Harry waved goodbye as she headed towards the stairs. She jogged down them, a wave of brisk air hitting her as she exited the apartment complex. It was still a little chilly in Minnesota, even though it was the middle of July. Harry didn't mind so much.

She hopped on a bus heading to the diner where she worked part-time. Crowley secured the apartment, but she had to pay for other expenses. Harry spent a four-hour shift scrubbing tables and sweeping floors, not quite trusted enough to handle the food yet. Afterwards, she got back on a bus going towards the library.

The witch entered the building, making a beeline for the quiet corner she had claimed as hers in the previous weeks. Slowing only to nod at Mr. Garret, the librarian, Harry sat down at the desk she'd dragged into the corner, pulling some newspapers out of her satchel. Spread out on the table were copies of the London Times, The Daily Prophet, and a few other listings. The political climate in Europe was the same as ever, not helped by the misleading articles that the Prophet liked to put out daily. They were publishing libelous material, something she'd have to make sure to ask Crowley to fix the next time he came around to trade in a demon name to keep up her part of the arrangement.

Harry grabbed a muggle newspaper from the pile, flipping to the article she'd circled in red marker. It was a new case in Kansas. There'd been a murder of a girl that'd reached the front page news, as the police had no idea who could have committed such a murder inside of a locked room of a house that wasn't hers. Harry had to wonder whether it was of monstrous origin or simply the beginning of the wizarding conflict. She spent a half hour more researching at the desk, before throwing on her coat and her bag, filled with all her papers. She left the library, turning the corner and apparating away.

The ground was hard and compact beneath her feet when she landed, and the temperature difference was staggering. The hot air pressed down on her as she straightened, turning to see the wall of what she assumed to be a hotel going by the grungy sign-lit parking lot peering at her from the end of the alley. She turned, walking into the lot to see the endings of a strip mall surrounding the small motel.

Harry waved her hand, transfiguring her features into those of someone old enough to rent a room. She moved carefully, off balance due to the several added inches from her spell, and managed to reach the counter with a disarming smile. Five minutes later she was climbing the stairs outside to get to the second story and unlock room 213. Harry threw her stuff down on the couch before reaching into her bag and drawing out the papers, sending them to stick against the wall with a flick of her wrist. She grabbed the rickety black desk chair from the corner of the room and swiveled it to rest in front of the murder-wall, sitting down and staring contemplatively at the facts of the case.

Jennifer Foster, a ten-year-old girl from Arkansas City, Kansas, was found dead in a house in the suburbs with locked doors and windows. The police currently had no suspects, and information on the case was pretty limited to within the precinct and the family of the victim.

Harry sighed, staring at the wall for a few more minutes before waving her hand again. Three illustrations of a ghost, a vampire, and a wizard flew out of her bag under her 'Suspects' tab. She didn't have much to go on, so she settled for those three suspects for now. She hopped out of the uncomfy chair and into the slightly-less-uncomfy bed, closing her eyes and waiting for sleep to come.

The witch got up at six the next morning, going through her routine quickly before she transfigured herself again and pulled on a pantsuit she'd purchased at a thrift shop a while back. Harry examined herself in the mirror, the wavy brown hair she now bore contrasting wildly with her actual black curls, her face more oval-shaped than pointy, and her eyes a faded blue rather than a sharp bottle-green. She also looked closer to twenty-five than the fifteen years she really was.

After a quick check of a town map, Harry apparated to an alley next to the police precinct. She straightened up, walking around the corner and through the doors. She headed to the front desk, lightly confounding the secretary into giving her a visitor press pass, before she cast a notice-me-not on herself and walked confidently to the back of the station where she assumed the records were. Harry glanced at a particularly cluttered desk and stopped, moving closer to see the open file of the case she was looking for. The witch duplicated the file discreetly, hiding a shrunken version in her inside jacket pocket, and turned to leave, having accomplished her task. Unfortunately, there was a group of policemen walking straight towards her, and her charm made her neither invisible nor intangible, so she walked across their path into the safety of what appeared to be a break room to avoid their notice. Harry leaned on the doorframe, her right shoulder peeking out from the opening, as she caught a scrap of conversation geared towards her case.

"-telling you, it has to be a ghost!" Harry's eyebrows furrowed.

"Scott, that's ridiculous! And unless you have any concrete theories, you can leave."

"No, but listen! Look at the facts. All the windows and doors were locked, there was no interruption of the arterial blood spatter, and it happened at the Allen House! Which, everyone knows, is haunted." He finished smugly.

"So who am I supposed to arrest for that little girl's murder? Casper?!" The other one scoffed. "There is a normal explanation for this." The detective raised her hand, rubbing her temples.

"Okay, Kelley, Jones, go interview the family again, try and see if there was anything in Jennifer's schedule that we missed."

"On it."

"Scott, we're going to go check out the house again. There has to be an entrance that we missed."

"We're going back to the haunted house?"

"Yep"

"Well, at least it's daylight." Harry watched as the detectives grabbed their coats and left the station. She stepped out of the break room and followed after them, thinking maybe she could sit in on that interview with the family.

.

.

Harry watched through the window of the house as the police interviewed the Fosters again. The witch had gone over her notes on the family and the situation while waiting for the police to arrive, and all the facts were fresh in her mind. Jenny had a mother and father who clearly loved their children, a sister in middle school, and an aunt and uncle that lived in the next neighborhood over. She'd also had a cousin, but Michael Morales had been a victim of a hit-and-run last year. Harry didn't know whether to be suspicious of the multiple deaths or just more sympathetic for the families. She charmed the window open an inch so she could hear their voices freely, and what she heard didn't give her much to go on.

"Was there any reason why she would be near the house, Mrs. Foster?" The woman from the station took point in the interview. A lost looking woman who must have been Jennifer's mother sniffed softly before responding, her hands clutching her throw pillow.

"No. Jenny had a set routine on the way to and from school. She walked the couple blocks to the elementary school with her sister, Maria." The girl next to her stiffened slightly. "Then, the two would separate. Maria is in the middle school up the street. Then, when the elementary school lets out, Jenny would wait in the library until Maria picked her up when her middle school was over, and they would walk home together. Their route took them nowhere near the Allen House, and Jennifer was supposed to be at home when she was… Well, she was asleep the last time I checked on her, and then in the morning I got a call from your department, and-" Mrs. Foster cut off, choked by a sob. "I just don't understand how this happened!"

"And you said they follow this exact routine?"

"Yes! Well, sometimes they'll stop by James' office if I'm not home, and they'll do their homework there." The man sitting on the couch next to her acknowledged the detectives. "Or they'll walk to the Silks Aerobics gym. My brother owns it, he watches them sometimes. But they hadn't visited either place in a few weeks."

"Alright. According to our timeline, she was kill- she passed sometime between 2 am and 4 am, and she was found in the Allen House around six in the morning by a jogger, who's dog acted funny when they passed the building." It was the other detective this time. "Are you sure she didn't sneak out or that someone couldn't have taken her from here?"

"Yes! We have a security system, it would let us know if someone had broken in," Mr. Foster responded.

"Is there anything else that you can think of that might help our investigation? Any enemies of the two of you, or anyone who might be capable of this sort of thing?"

"No."

"Okay. Is there anyone I can call for you two? I understand going over this must be difficult."

"There's my brother, Antonio." Harry snuck away from the window as the two detectives attempted to comfort the family, sure that the interview had ended, and with little to show for it. Although…

Harry glanced back through the window, watching as the other daughter sat tense, her jaw clenched and her knuckles white. Harry wasn't entirely desensitized to the way people processed grief, so she suspected the girl's reaction wasn't quite standard for a situation like this one. As the witch passed the grey minivan sitting in the driveway, she saw the sticker advertising the "Prairie Star Panthers". After a little research back at her hotel, she had an address and a new lead.

.

.

Maria Foster had taken a day off of school to aid in the processing of the death of her sister, but public schooling wasn't quite as generous to help her in catching up in schoolwork much more beyond that, so she found herself sitting in sixth period english class, watching the board numbly as the teacher tried to explain why Charles Dickens put a period in that specific sentence, and why the door to his house was grey and not purple, and how it all tied back to his inner trauma as a child. At this, she regained focus long enough to give a bitter snort, before drifting off into dreamland again.

Twenty minutes later and she was rushing out the door so that Ms. Jerrs wouldn't stop her and offer her "most sincere condolences" on her sister's death. The first teacher was enough, not to mention all the pitying looks she'd been getting all morning.

She lagged behind her peers, stopping by the water fountain, holding the junky tab down to release a stream of water. She watched as it splashed clumsily into her bottle, only for the clear liquid to turn red and thick. Maria stumbled back, watching the blood pour into the fountain. It looked just like Jenny's. She tripped as a student shoved her on his way to meet the late bell, and when she looked back, the bubbling had stopped, and there was no trace of anything but water trickling down the drain. She glanced down at her hands, finding no spot of scarlet. It must have just been a trick of the light, she justified. Her stomach roiled.

"Hello." Maria jumped, turning quickly to meet the sharp green eyes of the girl leaning against a set of lockers behind her. The hallway had emptied while she'd stared at her hands, and it was just her and the girl left.

"Hi." She hurried to screw her water bottle lid back on, walking away towards third period. Maybe they'd let her in later without a tardy.

"Are you alright?" The girl had caught up, and was keeping in step with Maria.

"Yes. Fine. Why?"

"Well, you just seemed very interested in the water fountain. Just checking." Maria stopped.

"Who are you?"

"My name's Harry."

"Ok, Harry, why exactly are you following me? Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Oh, I don't go here." Maria fumbled over her next words.

"What?"

"Yep. I'm just here for some business. Tell me, do you know anyone named Jennifer?" It was as if Maria had been doused in a bucket of icy water and sprayed by a flame at the same time.

"What?"

"Jennifer Foster? Yay high, sometimes goes by Jenny? Was murdered last night while her sister was standing next to her." Harry looked deathly serious now, and the glint in her eyes promised something dangerous if Maria didn't start talking.

"You-You need to leave! What the hell is your problem!?" Maria was backing away now, hand held out in warning while the other arm clutched her water bottle to herself as a potential weapon.

"Come on Maria, surely you know something. You were there that night, right?" You watched as she died. And yet, I don't think the police has heard anything about that." Harry advanced, and Maria raised her bottle to swing, the heavy metal veering downwards to hit the chilling girl. Maria's eyes widened as Harry caught the water bottle mid-swing, pulling it downwards and out of the Foster girl's hands, sending it clattering onto the ground.

"So, Maria, what was it like to murder your sister? This was it. Maria was standing, frightened under Harry's stare. And that harsh accusation unlocked everything she'd been bottling up.

Harry watched in confusion as the girl she'd been questioning collapsed onto the ground, sobbing.

"I didn't mean to! I do-don't even know how I did it! I just wanted t-to scare her, she wasn't supposed to get hurt."

"She wasn't supposed to get hurt? You cut her throat!" Harry accused, looming over the other girl.

"N-No! I didn't mean to! I just turned off the house alarm, and we snuck out, and I t-took her to the h-house and I told her a ghost story, but she got all whiny, 'cause she knew I was making it up, and I got mad that it wasn't working. And then the lights, they shut off, and I heard a thump, and they came back on and she was dead!" Maria sobbed on the ground, holding her arms tight around each other.

Harry, on the other hand, was confused.

"What?"

"I killed her! I must have powers or something, b-because I just got so mad and then she was d-dead." She sniffled, rubbing at her nose. Harry looked at her for a second. The witch didn't think the girl in front of her was magical, she was old enough to have received her Ilvermorny letter if that was the case. And if she was from a squib family and they had residual magic, it wouldn't be anything strong enough to accomplish what Maria was describing. There was always the chance that she was lying, but a quick check of the girl's memory proved that was what she'd seen.

Harry pulled out of the girl's mind before she could realise what she'd done. "Maria, you said you brought your sister to the house?"

"Y-yes."

"Was there anyone else there?"

"No. She was fine one minute then the next she was on the ground. No one else was in the room."

"The police said there wasn't anyone close to her when she died. There wasn't an interruption of the blood sp- um the blood."

"We were a couple yards from each other." Maria looked up. "Why are you asking me all this? Just turn me in," She muttered miserably.

"I'm not sure how to tell you this, but I'm pretty confident that you don't have any magical powers."

"But-"

"You didn't do it, there's another explanation." Harry paused for a second, glancing around to make sure her silencing and notice-me-not charms hadn't expired. The hall was still clear, so she looked back to begin her second round of questioning. "Was it really cold right before it happened?"

"I mean, it was a little chilly?"

"Ok, well did it smell like anything?"

"What?"

"Did it smell like rotten eggs? Sulfur?"

"No! What does this have to do with Jenny?"

"Just routine questions."

"Who even are you? How did you know that I was with her?"

"Just luck. And I said my name was Harry." The witch was sensing that Maria's knowledge was coming to an end. She watched as the girl crawled forwards, bracing her arms on her knees so she could stand up, and Harry took her chance.

Maria straightened, her mouth opening to ask another question of the stranger, but the hallway was empty. She turned, head tilting in confusion. Just then, a door opened down the hall.

"Hey! Get back to class!" She startled, squinting to make out the teacher.

"Sorry Mr. Harrison." Maria walked to class, and the teacher let her in without asking for a pass, a sympathetic smile in tow. She sat in her seat at the back of the room, opening her textbook to a random page and letting her eyes trace mindlessly over the words as she thought about the girl in the hallway. One thing kept her occupied. If she hadn't killed Jenny, who had?

.

.

Harry had come to the conclusion that nothing supernatural could've killed Jenny. After another visit to the Allen house, and not a single sign of anything unnatural, she was stumped. Harry kicked at the fireplace dejectedly, and found a new clue. She looked down to see a break in the dust settled on the ground, and straightened quickly, her eyes traveling along the mantle. There! She crept closer to examine what looked like half a footprint, and some more disturbances in the dust layer. Harry looked up, biting her lip as the gears in her head turned.

The witch grabbed the few trinkets scatter along the mantle, placing them on the ground, then braced herself on the wood frame, pushing up as she jumped. Harry twisted herself so that she was sitting on the fixture. She climbed carefully, ending up in a kneeling position on the mantle, allowing her to stand slowly. She pushed at the wood boards making up the ceiling, her fingers trailing along the curved grains. She reached the third outline, and something clicked. She smirked as the ceiling lifted up as if on a lever, shifting into place until it was held steady with about a two foot gap, perfect for someone to lift themselves into.

"Well, once more unto the breach." Harry grabbed the edges of the ceiling, glad for the pullups routine Bobby had driven her to do every morning, and easily pulled herself into the ceiling space.

Once inside the space, she stood, surprised she was able to remain upright and still have space. She was in what looked like a medium sized attic, with some light drifting in through the rafters. Harry waved her hand, conjuring some light to brighten up the dark room. With the floor illuminated, she was able to find more disturbances in the dust, and found herself staring at what looked like one of many hatches that would lead to the room below her. She crouched down, picking up a knotted rope that was looped to a bar next to one of the hatches. Another minute of looking around showed her the fusebox set into the wall in front of her. She could imagine it now.

The culprit would wait upstairs, holding onto or tied into the rope. The lights would be triggered by a simple flip of the switch, and they could swoop down and stab or cut anyone within the vicinity of the hatch, then pull themselves back up all within a minute. It was complicated, and a difficult way to kill someone, but she could see how it could've been possible. The killer would have to be strong, maybe with some gymnastics or cirque background.

Or maybe they were an instructor at a silk aerobics studio.

Harry hurried to leave the room, trying to replace the rope just so. She vanished the light and hopped out of the hatch, waving her hand to replace the trinkets as she exited the house. She left the hatch somewhat ajar.

The witch turned as she exited the house, apparating to the Foster's house. She sped up running as she saw the new car in the driveway. She didn't think the uncle would come back to finish the job, as he'd done his best not to get caught, but Harry also didn't want to risk the Foster's lives on an analysis of a clearly off-balance mind.

A quick look in the front window showed that she was right to take the precaution.

Harry burst in through the front door, running to the immediate right and tackling Maria Foster's uncle. She was on the ground, cowering under the knife that Antonio was forced to release as Harry barreled into his side. He didn't hit the ground, only stumbling, and Harry rolled and stood quickly. He glared, his mouth twisting awfully as he lunged past her to get the knife. Harry jumped back, only to come forwards again and slam her left elbow onto his back, while her knee came up to catch his stomach at the same time. He let out a groan, and she turned to kick him in the soft part of his side. Antonio fell, and Harry took the opportunity to pick up the vase on the coffee table and slam it into his forehead. He passed out, in a haze of pain. Maria screamed as he slumped onto his back.

"Harry! What?!" Harry pulled a long zip-tie out of her pocket as Maria tried to make sense of the situation. "What just happened! My uncle, he tried to– Omigod did he kill Jenny?"

"Yes." Harry finished securing the ties around Antonio's wrists. "Maria, call 911. Tell them that your uncle is here, and dangerous."

"What you're not leaving are you?!"

"No, I can stay, but it's probably best that the police don't talk to me. I was crowding in on their investigation."

"Well what am I supposed to tell them?"

"The truth. Now, listen closely-" Harry spent the next ten minutes before the police got there filling in Maria on the mechanics of the hidden room in the allen house. She made sure that Maria would be able to explain to the police. In turn, Maria explained that her uncle hadn't been the same since her cousin died. He'd been colder to them, and Harry guessed that he'd tried to make his sister suffer like he was.

Harry stood to leave right as she heard the sirens close in.

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Probably not." Maria nodded, biting her lip.

"Well, thanks." Harry nodded. She took a deep breath and turned to leave, slipping through the back door as the cops pulled up to the front. She groaned as she took a misstep and her foot landed in a soggy compost pile starting to creep onto the sidewalk.

Sighing, she took one last look at the house before twisting away and appearing back

.

.

Harry trudged up the stairs, her boots leaving mud stains on the concrete. She pushed open the heavy door of the stairwell, relief flooding through her when she saw that she only had a dozen feet or so to go until she reached her door. She pushed her key into the lock, turning it. A slight squeak sounded from behind her, and she froze. Harry lifted her head, turning to see what might have made the noise. There was nothing unusual about her floor, the rich blue carpeting the same as always. The squeak sounded again, only maybe it was more of a cry. She focused in on the door across from her, suspecting it to be the sound's origins. Harry reached down to her side, one hand palming the gun in her hidden thigh holster, the other posed, ready to flick and summon her dagger. She pushed open Mrs. Baverstock's door, Her unsettled feeling growing stronger at it's allowance. Once the door gave way, Harry's heart sank.

In the middle of the room was Mrs. Baverstock, tied to a chair, looking scared and a bit battered. Behind her was a younger woman, perhaps mid-twenties, with long blonde hair and a chilling smile. There was blood spattered across the front of her shirt.

"Well hello, Harry. Finally decided to make an appearance, did you?"

"Who are you?"

"Ooh, cutting right to the chase are we? That's fine, I understand. I'm more of a small talk person myself, but we all have our preferences."

"Who. Are. You?" The woman sighed, bending her entire body as she did.

"Fine, you're no fun are you." She breathed in, standing straight as if to deliver a speech. "I'm a message from an old friend of yours. The Dark Lord says high, by the way." What. "Technically he wanted me to bring you to him, with a little torture first, of course. See, he and I have similar motivations. I hate you, he hates you, really it's a win-win all around. Well, except for you of course." She gave a fake frown, quickly breaking character to giggle again.

"I was going to grab you from your apartment, but see, you wouldn't answer the door. So when Mrs. Baverstock here walked in and asked if I was friends with you, I had to play along. She's such a nice hostess, don't you think?"

"Don't touch her," Harry threatened.

"Oh, I already have. Besides, your grandma friend here is already dying." Mrs. B's eyes widened, and she shook in her chair. "Oops, she didn't know that." The demon rolled her eyes and gave a 'what can you do' look to Harry.

"What do you want?" Harry's eyes flickered in between the demon's face and the knife it had placed on Mrs. B's throat.

"You, silly. Now."

"That might be a bit of a problem. You've already said you've killed your hostage, so I have no motivation to do what you want, do I?"

"Oh, Harriet. I've given you plenty of motivation. See, she could die a fast, almost painless death." The demon raised her knife as if showing one side of the scale. "Or, she could go slowly." It's knife moved quickly, slicing across the woman's shoulder. Harry moved forward as the old woman gave a cry of pain, but was held up by the warning of the demon.

"Ah, ah, ah! Can't have you jumping into any heroics here, can I, Harry? No. So here's what you're going to do. You're going to put down your wand, then that special knife you always seem to carry around. Then, you're going to put on those handcuffs to your left." Harry glanced in the direction the demon was pointing, seeing a pair of silver handcuffs with runes carved into them. She had a bad feeling about them, recalling similar carvings into the amulet that locked her magic at the graveyard.

Harry slowly placed her wand on the table, the knife clinking as it dropped onto the counter next to it. Gently, she reached for the cuffs in front of her, only to shoot her hand up and push the demon back with a 'Bombarda!'. Mrs. B jumped up as quickly as her old-lady self allowed her too, and she hobbled out the door as the demon stood again, growling.

"Now you've done it!" The demon stomped forwards throwing out an arm and sending two wicker chairs from the kitchen flying through the air. Harry ducked, the legs barely grazing her head as they crashed by into a wall.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus–"

"Shut UP!" Harry tripped to the left as the demon surged forwards.

"Satanica potestas," Harry mumbled quickly, the demon was coming on as strong as ever, only hindered by the occasional glitches it made as the exorcism began to reject it. Harry upended the couch with another wave of her hand, watching as the demon was shoved backwards. "Omnis legio, omnis con potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii–"

"When I get my hands on you, I'm gonna beat you until you turn all the colors of the rainbow!" The demon suddenly had a burst of energy, jumping forwards with her hands like claws. Harry granted as her nails cut into the younger woman's arms. Harry shoved her off, breathing heavily. They stared at each other, a dead man's land between them and only two words left to finish the battle. The demon harrumphed, and aimed hate-filled eyes towards Harry.

"You may have won this round, I can admit that. But don't worry, I sent friends to Bobby's too." She smirked wickedly, and lunged forwards just as the witch finished the chant.

"Audi nos!" Harry let out a grunt of discomfort as the smoke gushed out of the woman's mouth, blowing straight into her face in one last act of defiance. Then it was over, and the woman's body made a thump as it hit the ground, dead and likely that way for weeks. Harry revelled in the silence. And then she remembered–

"Mrs B!" Harry rushed out of the apartment, picking out the dark stain of blood against the blood carpet. It was heavy, and led down the hall to the door that led to the stairs. Harry opened it, pulling it back quickly as she realised the woman she was looking for was sitting right on the other side. "Mrs. B! Are you alright?" She crouched down, hands hovering uselessly as she tried to find what was wrong.

"Mrs. B?" She let out weakly. The old woman's eyes fluttered, and Harry felt the faint sting of hope.

"Harriet." She coughed. "I don't think I like your friends so much." Harry let out a strangled laugh.

"You're okay, aren't you. You're a tough one."

"That I am. However, I do believe I need blood, like the rest of us, and that woman seems to have relieved me of much of it."

"Nonono you'll be fine! Here, I have some medicine–" She turned to go grab the blood replenisher from her apartment, but a frail hand caught her arm and turned her back.

"It's too late Harry."

"No."

"Yes. Trust an old woman, she knows better than you." Her eyes sparkled slightly, looking quite similar to Dumbledore's for a moment. Maybe it was just an old person thing. "I'm not long for this world." She pulled an arm up to her forehead, sighing, and Harry laughed wetly.

"So dramatic."

"I'm dying, I'm allowed to be," She scorned jokingly. Then, she sighed once more, her arm falling back to her side. "I don't know what you've been messing around in Harry, just, be more careful, please. She almost got you."

"She did get you!"

"Well, yes, but I let her right in. Foolish of me."

"This is all my fault."

"Whether or not that may be, don't blame yourself. Evil things find a way of messing up nice things." She coughed again, and Harry grabbed her hand. "Don't blame yourself." Her eyes began fluttering shut.

"No! Mrs. B, come on, wake up!"

"I'm tired, Harry."

"Please!"

"I'm sorry Harry, I really am quite tired." She took another deep breath, and let it go. "Goodbye, honey."

"No!" But it was too late, she'd gone. Harry stood in shock, staring at her neighbor. She shouldn't have been a part of this. She was supposed to be safer here.

Harry sniffed, swiping at her nose as she tried to pull herself together. She reached down to slide Mrs. B's eyes close, before turning and heading back to her own apartment. She dashed through her rooms, throwing everything she would need into a rucksack from under her bed. Harry darted back out into the kitchen, sending out cleaning spells as she went to get rid of any evidence that she'd lived in the apartment. Harry grabbed the phone from off the wall, dialing Crowley's number quickly. He didn't pick up, and she groaned before leaving a message.

"Crowley, something's happened. I don't need the apartment anymore, turns out it's not so great when your next door neighbor…gets killed. Anyways, Voldemort knows where I am, he sent a demon– Wait, shit! He sent a demon! Crowley, Voldemort knows about demons, and who knows what else!" She started paced, sweeping her unoccupied hand through her tangled hair. "Okay, this is bad, but I have to deal with it later. Somehow he found Bobby's address, and they're heading that way too. I have to go, I can't be late again. Actually, you might want to watch your back too, if he's coming after my allies." Harry paused for a moment longer, looking around her home of a month and a half. "Be safe." She hung up with a fervor, snatching her bag off the counter before turning to apparate to Bobby's.

She only hoped she could save someone this time.

.

.

Ok, I think I went back enough pages to get all the comments I haven't addressed in some other chapter or whenever. If not, yell at me or something. It was just sort of confusing because I postponed the chapter quite a lot so my brain is all confused.

N.A. Wennerholm: I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do about custody for Harry yet. I have an idea in mind, and it sort of goes along with your preference of Gabriel's custody, but I'll have to see how it pans out in writing. As for the rest of your comments, I'm a little confused as to whether you are just going off on the original series or providing your view on how you might react within the situation? Either way they were interesting thoughts.

kittyranma: Harry goes back and forth between England and the US quite a lot, although the scene I believe you are referring to happens in the US, and the the Diagon Alley one happens in England, she's just been in the US for quite a while at that point.

smartisha101: I know it is, but I wrote that when I was much younger and then kind of ran with it. There will eventually be reasons as to why she's so capable, but I know it's a little unbelievable.