As a reminder, you can find MORE of this on my SubStar (dot adult slash KajaWilder), it's posted up past chapter 110 there... And if you guys haven't seen an update in at least a week, please let me know! I have a busy life, and I get distracted and forget things. This story(as well as ZpoW and PTaL) are supposed to be updated WEEKLY!

And if you're just interested in discussing things with other readers, of course, you can go to my DISCORD here: h- t_ t_ p-s -: -/ -/ -discord . g-g / N9yDA8t6Cw (taking out hyphens, underscores, and spaces of course).

Trigger Warnings: Proof she's mortal still. That's all I'll say about this for now. Not even Harry has Plot Armor here. ;) (Though someone else sort of does...)

Chap. 82: Essence Awry

Ron Weasley had grown up the youngest of six boys in a busy, boisterous house. Even as a young wizard surrounded by his brothers, while he was no stranger to physical violence, it was not his forte, or area of expertise. He was no great martial artist or trained fighter. But he was, however, a young man who had been taught to defend himself against opponents much larger than himself, stronger than himself, with greater leverage and reach, as only the youngest boy of six (even if one had never done more than push him aside) could be.

Theodore Nott, or the monster he had become, definitely fit the definition of 'bigger, stronger, and with greater reach'. Fit it in spades in fact, as he towered over Ron's staunch form. Taller even than Hagrid by at least a foot, three wider, and with at least twice as much muscle mass on the strange, lizard-like but completely misproportioned body. He should have hammered Ron Weasley into the ground with the first blow.

The second, double-fisted hammer that came down against Ron's crossed arms should have turned the wizard into a paste.

They would have, Ron knew, if it wasn't for the chitinous armor that had sprung up around his body as he ran forward, and threw himself in to protect his best friend.

Ron Weasley knew he had not always been Harry Potter's best friend, though Harry had always been Ron's. Even when they were fighting (almost always Ron's fault, he could admit now), the tall boy had valued the life, friendship, and health of his mate, the one, or at least first, person to view him as a person in his own right, not just 'one of the Weasleys'. The first person who had congratulated him, Ron, on passing his first-term exams (something none of his brothers had yet to do, in fact, even five years on).

The person who knew what Ron saw in the Mirror of Erised earlier that year, knew Ron's jealousy and envy... but did not judge him for them.

Harry felt the same, after all, about Ron. Ron, and his family, who loved him even if sometimes it seemed he was overlooked. Harry, who had been beside him through thick and thin, who had stood up for and defended Ron, even against Hermione once or twice.

Ron did not understand himself, in their first year, why he had sacrificed himself to win that chess game. Aside from a few dreams about it years later, mostly replaying the game in his head again and again to analyze where he had made mistakes to get to that point, he did not dwell much on it. It was simply something that, to his eleven year old mind, had needed to be done. So he had done it. Like Harry, Ronald Bilius Weasley was a practical young man.

Now, he understood better.

He loved Harry. Not romantically, of course. If anything, this last year had highlighted that their friendship was anything but that, for all that he had enjoyed shagging Iris. He believed that Iris was a different person, for all that she shared a body with Harry.

No, he loved Harry like a brother. Closer, even, than his actual brothers. Hermione had used a phrase once that, as he had dashed forward to take a blow meant to destroy his best friend, which Ron found highly apt now: Found Family.

Family chosen during a life, not the one a person was born into. He loved the Weasleys, of course, but Ron knew Harry was a part of his family now, and forever. Not just an honorary Weasley, but part of Ron's family. They had fought, bled, and even fucked together.

He would not, could not, let him die.

So once more, as he had taken the last few steps and thrown his arms up, he had thought of a chess game distant in time, from years before. Knight to C3... deflect the queen. Only this time, the big guy's the queen.

He was still protecting Harry. Ginny too, of course, instead of Hermione, who should still be safely in Gryffindor Tower, protecting it along with the other Prefects. He hoped she was, he was already worried enough just about the people here. Behind Nott, Sirius was struggling to his feet again, shouting at the straggling Ravenclaws to run back the way they had come, to find another way to their Common Rooms. They mostly listened, leaving the corridor thankfully clear. Mostly, anyway.

It was a good thing, because Nott seemed to be finished pulling punches.

Ron had been just as surprised as Harry to see the red shell appear around his body, but he was grateful for it. Each blow he had blocked or absorbed by the monstrosity in gray scales had jarred him to the bone, and sent ringing, hot sensations of vibration through his body, but the shell itself had stayed strong.

He could take the pain, if it meant he wasn't actually being injured. So he still stood threatening Nott, standing between the beast and his best friend, between the monster and his sister. He would do everything he could to keep its attention. Even as Nott raised both hands, one curled into a fist and the other pointing with the finger that held shards of his old wand, Ron simply took a breath and shifted his stance into a more firm position, "Come on, then. Bitch."

It may not have been quite the insult he hoped to the young man, who likely hadn't kept up on slang from across the pond as much as Ron had, but Nott's familiar yellow eyes narrowed in the huge, frog-like face. He didn't say anything, even though now Ron knew he could speak perfectly clearly. Instead, he only snarled as a jet of red light flew from his fingertip.

Stunner, Ron thought, and at lightning speed, calculated the risk and angle.

He couldn't move, if he did either Harry or Ginny would likely be struck. He could take the hit to the chest, hope the armor would save him. Or he could try and bat it aside with his own wand, which felt, for the first time, as if the long shaft actually fit his red-gauntleted hand. He spun, whirling...

And missed.

The light shot out by Nott did not touch Ron's wand-tip, or the unformed magic he had tried to use to deflect it. Instead, it touched the back of Ron's hand.

Stunners, the slang word to describe a narrow class of spells that remove consciousness from a target by disrupting their nervous system, were universally a bright red jet of light. The particular spell most Hogwarts Students learned in their Defense Against the Dark Arts class required the incantation, Stupefy. Nott did not say the words, which did not particularly surprise Ron. Most of them had started nonverbal casting early in the year, and even the slower students (like himself) had begun to master at least some spells that way. Largely, the class of spells, Stupefy in particular, did not particularly care where they struck a target. Hair might be safe, but if the spell touched skin, the target was likely hitting the ground unconscious. At least, without a Giant's skin to toughen them up, or something similar. Ron did not know if his armor would protect him. He didn't want to count on it, either way. But, where a person was impacted did have some effect. The center of mass, or the head, being struck by the spell had a greater effect than if it clipped the tip of one finger as less magic was absorbed in the latter case, and it had to travel through more nerves to reach the key spots it affected.

As the spell smashed into and through his chitinous glove, Ron Weasley learned two key facts about his new ability. It was, in fact, a part of him. He felt the magic enter his body just as it would when it touched skin. The magic did affect him.

But it only affected part of him. His right arm, his wand arm, went numb and the bit of wood clattered from his suddenly slack grip.

Yet he still stood. Ron grinned, and if Nott had been human, he might have even been intimidated by the almost malicious glee on the young wizard's face as it was framed by the massive, umber horns that accompanied the rest of his new shell.

A moment later, Ron's left hand, curled into a fist with the spiked edges of his knuckle-guards pointed forward, crashed into the bottom of Nott's jaw, and sent the monster staggering back three paces. Ron suppressed a shudder as the beast's dick, still rock-solid, flopped past his face as he moved away. Was the creature actually turned on despite the violence around them?

Or was it the violence itself doing that?

Either way, he didn't have time to care. His hand was still numb, but Ron found he could move it clumsily, as if he'd been out in the cold for too long without gloves or warming charms, so he bent and scrambled for his wand until he watched the wood enter his grip again.

He stood up just in time to catch one of Nott's knees in his face. For a moment, Ron saw nothing but white with black stars flashing through his vision. Not quite quickly enough, those stars, strange, unknowable shapes, soon resolved themselves into the ceiling of the corridor, flecked with snow that still blew strangely out of the bathroom's open, broken doorway. The timing mattered because even though Ron's mind had entered the too-familiar, sharpened, hyper-aware state he had come to associate with life-or-death situations, he was too slow to stop the long-toed, reptilian foot from crashing down across his torso with tremendous force.

He felt and heard the flagstones shatter and pulverize beneath him, and the great, thick plate across his ribcage cracked too, but it did not give way as his body lurched to absorb some of the momentum, "Fool," Nott hissed from just over his head. Acid-like saliva dripped from the toothy maw, and it sizzled as the heat of it touched the growing drifts of white flakes, while multi-colored spellfire bounced against the beast from both sides as Harry and Ginny joined Sirius in their assault once again, "You die first, then. Avada Ked-argh!"

Someone had changed tactics, Ron noticed idly, as most of a statue depicting a man on a rearing horse, sword raised high, smashed through the space Nott occupied. They were roughly similar in size, he guessed, but the statue of marble must have out-weighed the monster by two or three times, and the action of Hermione's muggle fissicks came into play quite violently as the two careened down the hall, narrowly avoiding Sirius, who dove out of the way just in time.

Somehow, Ron lurched to his feet, the extra height and pointed ends of his extremities made things a bit awkward compared to how he normally went, but he soon discovered that if he simply moved on instinct, rather than try to control things deliberately, he could get around just fine. It would still be something he had to keep in the back of his mind though, he found as the tip of his left horn scraped into a torch sconce, then sheared a painting (its inhabitant long since fled) nearly in half.

He was a bit dazed, sore, and his chest-plate was bleeding slightly from a crack far too close to his last chest wound to be comfortable, but Ron stood tall, his stance wide and arms forward to protect himself and keep Nott from coming after his friends again. He would protect them. It was a knight's duty to protect their lord, after all. Even if Harry Potter was not given such a title, it was one that Ron felt he had earned a dozen, a hundred times over.

He would protect his sister, and his best friend. It was just the way things were. The only way they could be.

Yet, as Ginny stepped up on his left, her face set in a firm rictus of fury, her brilliant, coppery hair flashing in the same magic-stirred breeze that mixed the snow through the air, Ron felt calm. His beautiful sister, his almost-lover, was there beside him, protecting him, too.

And on his right, Harry Potter, one hand holding a violet-red fireball, and the other his familiar wand. His best friend's expression did not hold the same fury Ginny's did, but it nearly mirrored Ron's own determination, as if Nott's attack was merely a precursor to the student-turned-monster's inevitable defeat.

Ron supposed, in a way, it was. The statue, now in six large pieces and untold numbers of smaller ones, fell in a torrent from the wall down the T-intersection where it had impacted, and Nott stepped free, snarling once more and apparently completely unhurt, "That's not great," he observed as casually as he could make himself speak.

"At least it did something, unlike the rest of our spells," Harry shot back, "We need to do something fast, Lilith won't be able to hold that vampire off much longer."

Ron nodded, that was painfully obvious. As furiously as the Succubus had been fighting for the last minute or two, she was bleeding profusely in several places, and had only narrowly avoided having the fiend clamp her long teeth down on tender flesh. He did not want to speculate what would happen if the Vampiress ever ingested the blood of a creature from another plane, but he didn't think it would be good in any case. Still, they had more pressing matters to think about as Nott picked up the larger, back half of the horse statue and hurled it down the hall toward them.

He stepped forward, one hand raising to punch the statue out of the air if he had to, while the other flicked in a familiar pattern he had learned more from Harry than even the fake Moody in their fourth year. Alongside his own, two more Shield Charms rippled into existence moments before the statue reached them.

Luna Lovegood, proud Ravenclaw, magical creature lover (in several ways), witch, and even more proud new member of Harry's widening circle of lovers, heard the Patronus, a goat, deliver the message to the Headmaster as clearly as everyone else in the Great Hall. A deep voice, gravely, one Luna had only rarely heard. In fact, just twice, both on the same day. The very day, in fact, where Hermione and Harry had organized Dumbledore's Army. It was not a complicated message, but it was weighty with import, "Albus, there's Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. Lots of them. Send support."

There was a hurried, rushed quality in Aberforth Dumbledore's voice, but he did not truly sound panicked. That was something, at least.

Luna looked up from the silvery-white goat as it vanished into mist, its mission concluded. The Headmaster sighed and looked to McGonagall, who was frowning herself, "There was supposed to be additional security in the Village. If they are being that hard-pressed, I'm afraid we've little choice, Albus. Some of us will have to go."

"But our priority must be the school," Flitwick squeaked.

The other Professors all nodded quickly. McGonagall hesitated, sending another questioning look at Dumbledore, but the old wizard only gestured for her to continue, "Very well, then. I suggest we split our forces evenly. Half of us will remain here, half will go to Hogsmeade. Do I have volunteers for the latter?"

Slughorn, to several people's surprise, was the first to raise his hand. But he was shot down by the Headmaster almost as quickly, "Horace, I'm afraid I must ask you in particular to stay. If you are caught out in the open..."

"Ah... I admit, I hadn't considered that," the heavy-set wizard said with a chuckle as he wiped sweat from his brow, "I... I will stay."

"I'll go," Flitwick followed quickly. After him, the volunteers kept coming faster. Professor Aurora Sinistra was next, then Madame Hooch, Hagrid, and the Centaur, Firenze.

Which meant, Luna quickly realized, that Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Professors Vector, Trelawney, Sprout and Babbling would remain alongside the Healer, Librarian Madame Pince, and Argus Filch. It was hardly an even split, but she was well aware that the assistance Hogwarts would be sending was hardly without consequence. Even if they were, for the most part, less well known than some, each of them was a powerful spellcaster in their own right aside from the Centaur, whose marksmanship was known to be among the best in his former herd.

"I'll go too," Pansy interrupted the teachers as they organized their groups, "I want to help."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Miss Parkinson," Pomona Sprout replied quickly.

"I want to help, too," Daphne shot back, louder, "Try and stop me."

Luna stepped forward next, beaming happily. A moment later, Tracey Davis and Astoria Greengrass had joined them, all of the girls Harry had escorted to the Great Hall. The younger girl was immediately enveloped in a hissed argument with her older sister, but Luna was not surprised when the sixth-year witch was forced to relent. If Daphne went, after all, there would be no one to stop Astoria from following the rest.

Logic was so useful!

"They should be allowed to go, Pomona," McGonagall acquiesced shortly after the girls had stopped hissing at each other and resolved to settle their squabble with glares instead, "Hogsmeade can probably use the wands, and even the younger Miss Greengrass has performed adequately at Defense. However, you will act only as support. Is that clear? That goes for all of you. You will be there to assist the teachers and townsfolk, not to directly engage the Death Eaters."

"Yes, Professor," the girls chimed almost as one.

McGonagall nodded severely, "Filius, I'll put them in your charge. Please keep them safe, too."

"Of course!" the diminutive Professor chirped, "Very well, then, you lot. After me! And try to keep up!"

Luna giggled. Didn't he realize he was the shortest one there? Oh... he had summoned a Broom! That was quite smart! She was very glad he was her Head of House. Thankfully, she was rather talented with a Summoning Charm as well, "Accio Harry's Firebolt!"

Moments later, she, with Astoria riding behind her, whooping, shot off after her Head of House with the other girls a little slower to act and trailing behind.

This was going to be fun! Perhaps even more fun than the battle at the Department of Mysteries!

Harry gaped, his mouth fell open in horror at what he saw. Even the monstrosity that Theodore Nott had transformed into was, in many ways, a pale imitation when compared to the source of this new, more personal, fear. In fact, Ron and Sirius seemed to be doing an admirable job between them of keeping Nott busy, which was what had allowed Harry to divert enough attention to even notice the development in question.

It had been obvious from the start that the female vampire was a superior fighter to Lilith, battle-form or not.

The action had happened so fast, even mid-battle with his senses firing on overdrive, Harry could barely see it. A Passion-Fireball had been created and Lilith was mid-swing, about to release, when the Vampire suddenly blurred into motion faster than ever before. Her bare fist backhanded the fireball away, where it splashed harmlessly against the marble floor, leaving only a faint scorch mark. The heat and magic of it blackened the beast's skin, but the gray-skinned woman did not even seem to notice. Lilith's flaming whip was already in motion too, moving with grace and speed that would have left Harry in awe if he could spare the energy to feel that particular emotion.

The Vampiress cartwheeled over it with the same blinding speed, as if it was a slow rope swung by a toddler against an experienced acrobat in a routine practiced thousands of times. She landed on the burned hand, used that to spring up and over the Succubus, and then it was too late.

From behind, the Vampire lunged forward between Lilith's dragon-like wings, both arms snaking over those joints and under her arms, pinning all four limbs in place as her hands clasped together. The combined weight was enough to drive Lilith to her knees, and that momentary distraction, just as Harry's too-slow, far too slow, wand was rising to protect his lover, friend, and Pet, the creature gave him a red-eyed stare filled with malicious glee. In his mind, as her fangs extended even further, he heard an unfamiliar voice, "Your pet will be delicious! The Master will reward me for capturing her essence!"

His spell left his wand, a Cutting Curse intended to sever the Vampire's head from her shoulders even though he knew it was risking Lilith, too. At the exact same moment, fangs pierced tender, lavender-tinted flesh at Lilith's neck.

She would be alright, Harry thought. She could use Body Morphology, her best-ranked ability, very quickly. She would shift the major vein, and-

And Lilith went limp, her body trembling in what looked to Harry like a forced orgasm.

The Vampiress drank for only a split second, but her lips were bright red when his curse hit her. The force of his spell tore half her neck away and sent a fountain of dark red, almost purple, blood into the air where it sprayed across the hall. A miss. He'd missed, and not done serious injury.

A human would have died from blood loss in moments, but a Vampire? Especially one that seemed this powerful? Already, he could see the wound closing as she fed her dark arcana, fueled by the very essence of life, into the wound.

Again, she bit down on Lilith's still bleeding neck. Another spell, and she moved, pulling Lilith with her.

Three solid swallows, Harry counted, as his feet moved in slow-motion, even the light that flew from his wand as fast as he could make himself cast was too slow to catch her.

Ginny's conjured icicles flew a little more accurately somehow, and one of the four speared through the Vampire's arm as she dodged the rest into the important one. The Vampire hissed as the ice turned red-purple around the entry and exit wounds, but she let Lilith go.

The Succubus crumpled to the floor, bleeding from dozens of wounds, still trembling in orgasm...

And the Vampire stood tall, the wound on her neck already almost closed, ignoring the burn on her hand and spike of ice in the opposite upper arm, "We win," she hissed, and then turned to run, her black hair streaming behind her as she streaked away up the corridor with impossible speed.

There was no way to catch her, though he saw Ginny start to run after.

She was too fast. Nott, Harry realized, was nothing more than a large, imposing distraction.

The Vampiress was the real threat.

But she was gone, somewhere in the castle, and there was nothing Harry could do about it for now. They had been out-played. The only thing for it, Ron would tell him, would be to deal with the distraction as quickly as possible so they could focus their efforts on the chess piece sneaking toward their King.

... Whatever that King actually was.

While he turned back toward Nott, his body seeming to move faster as time resumed its normal pace, he felt something strange. Through his bond with Lilith, he felt weaker, diminished somehow. He knew it was not himself, but her that was feeling it, but it was still disconcerting. But Lilith was still alive, and while wounded, she would recover with copious amounts of his semen.

Nott, Theodore Nott, had to die. They could- they would deal with the Vampire afterward.

He just hoped that, whatever her target was, they would be safe long enough for help to arrive, "Ginny, we have to take care of Nott before we go after her!"

The girl's head whipped around, her expression fierce behind whirling, fiery hair. She nodded, and he watched her skid to a halt mid-turn, her wand coming to bear.

Nott's huge, squat neck flexed as his toad-like head cocked to the side after another blow from the now shattered statue. It had been flung at him repeatedly by Sirius and Ron while Harry had been distracted, and now he thought the pieces were too small to have much effect. Still, the beast flexed almost like it was cracking its neck from side to side, then gave a soundless roar, its mouth opened wide.

At least, he thought it was a soundless roar, until the shining, viscous gob of black goo, the size of his torso, flew out of the orifice, sizzling in the air as it moved.