SEPTEMBER 8th, 1997

It had been six days. Six days since the last semblance of normality in Kathleen's life had been ripped away. Six days since she and her parents had been forced into hiding by Death Eaters. Six days since Kathleen had learned she was descended from the Mulciber family.

It had been six days of absolutely nothing.

Kathleen sat on the front porch step, her head in her hands. There wasn't much room inside the spells' various barriers to walk around outside, but she couldn't stay inside any longer. Listening to Mum's rattling breathing was slowly driving her insane. It felt like that was all she did— sit by her mother's side and wait for what sickeningly felt like the inevitable.

Dad handled the wound care, saying he wanted to feel like he was at least useful at something, but they both knew the truth— the curse was spreading. The skin around the wound had turned black and rotten, and emitted a horrible smell that made Kathleen want to plug her nose constantly. She didn't, of course, out of fear of upsetting Mum, who was already struggling immensely with allowing herself to be taken care of, but being trapped in that room with the stench 24/7 was more than Kathleen could take.

It had seemed like it was getting better at first. Two days after they had arrived here, they had even gotten Mum up walking, sort of— more clinging to them and stumbling than anything, but at least she was upright. That was no longer possible. It was like the curse had redoubled its efforts, slowly but surely rotting Cordelia's insides away.

Food was a problem, both going in and coming out. Mum wasn't hungry, or so she said, and while Kathleen believed her, she knew her refusal was also out of embarrassment for the fact that she couldn't get up to use the bathroom, and Kathleen had to Vanish away the mess afterwards. Cordelia Barrows had always been a deeply proud woman, but the first time she had had to shit the bed had damn near broken her spirit. Kathleen swore she didn't mind cleaning it up— and she didn't— but the heartbreaking part had been holding her mother while she cried afterwards, apologizing over and over again.

How long would this go on for? They needed help. They needed a Healer. But Mum couldn't Apparate, and they were in the middle of absolute nowhere, and Kathleen couldn't Apparate either, because she didn't know how. There were no brooms to fly here— not that Kathleen was a particularly good flier anyway— and the only Portkey they had had already been used. Not to mention the small problem of St. Mungo's more than likely being controlled by the Death Eaters at this point.

They needed a Healer, badly, but they couldn't get one. And without one… there was no way her mother would survive. Kathleen had hoped, those first couple of days, that she was getting better, but one look at the wound this morning had told her that they were very close to the point of no return, if they hadn't already passed it.

What were they even doing here at this point? Surviving? Kathleen supposed so… what else were they really supposed to do, after all? She had no idea where Harry was, even if she wanted to join up with him, and she didn't know the first thing about the Order of the Phoenix, other than that Ginny's parents and Lupin were all members. She knew Ginny lived in Ottery St. Catchpole, but she had no idea how far that was from here, and, more to the point, she had no way to get there— not by herself and certainly not with Mum. Mum couldn't even get out of bed at this point, she wasn't going anywhere—

Voices, muffled and indistinct, sounded near her, and Kathleen's head shot up. The barrier created by the protective enchantments had grown wavy like it was under immense heat, and on the other side of it stood a group of Death Eaters, Eamon Mulciber among them.

Kathleen clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle the yelp that came unbidden to her lips. How had they possibly found them?

"Protective enchantments, it must be," said a man standing next to Eamon. "The spell's pointing at nothing, but all that means is that behind this nothing, there's something."

"Start breaking it down," Eamon commanded, motioning for the others to fan out. "And remember— don'tkill any of them or we'll be in the worst trouble of our lives with the Dark Lord. Remember our target."

They couldn't see the cabin, at least not yet. Kathleen silently counted them— ten men. So many… but why? She silently rose to her feet and backed up the step toward the front door, afraid to take her eyes off of them. She gripped her wand tightly in her hand, prepared to start casting curses as soon as the barrier came down. Should she reinforce it somehow, or would that alert them prematurely?

She felt her age strongly in this moment. She had been an adult for not even a week, and she was no soldier— no Dumbledore's Army member, no Order of the Phoenix revolutionary. She didn't know how to fight. She hadn't spent two years training in dueling, like her mother had. But Mum was in no position to be dueling…

She had to alert Dad, quickly and quietly. Keeping her eyes on the men, she reached behind her and fumbled with the door handle for a second before getting it open. She stumbled into the room, panting, before pulling the door closed firmly behind her.

"Dad," she said, fighting to keep the panic out of her voice. "We have a problem."

Dad turned around from the kitchen sink, a sponge in one hand and a dish in the other. "What's wrong?"

Kathleen glanced at Mum, who was dozing fitfully on the bed, and then hurried over to Dad.

"Death Eaters," Kathleen whispered. "Ten of them. Outside. Trying to break down the enchantments."

Dad dropped the dish, and tried to catch it, but couldn't stop it in time from hitting the ground and shattering. Mum jerked awake and immediately started coughing. Loudly. Could the men hear through the barrier? Kathleen had no idea.

Dad hurried toward the gun rack, and Kathleen's heart began to race. They were going to have to fight them, but how? There were so many… Eamon said not to kill them, which was good, but with ten of them versus basically her and Dad… She didn't like those odds.

"What's wrong, John?" Mum wheezed. She tried and failed to push herself up to a seated position.

"Death Eaters," Dad said in a controlled, calm voice. "Outside. I'm going to take care of it."

Mum made herself sit up, though she couldn't stop herself from crying out in pain. "How many?"

Dad took a deep breath as he checked that the gun was loaded.

"How many, John?"

"Ten."

He clicked the gun back into its normal position and started for the door.

"Wait," Mum demanded. Dad stopped, and Kathleen could tell by his posture that he was irritated.

"What, Delia?"

"You have to run."

"I'm not doing that."

"You can't shoot all ten of them, John, not before they—" She started coughing again. She covered her mouth with the edge of the blanket, and though she tried to hide it, there was blood on it when she pulled it away. She pushed against the bed as if to stand.

"Mum, you can't," Kathleen urged, hurrying over to her. "Stay in bed. Dad and I will take care of it—"

"What did you see outside?"

"Ten Death Eaters, like Dad said."

"What were they doing?"

"Talking about the enchantments. Trying to take them down. They said they're not supposed to kill us, so maybe we have an advantage—"

"Kathleen."

"What, Mum?" Kathleen said desperately.

"You know what ten Death Eaters can do."

"We're not just going to sit here! We have to fight back—"

"Kathleen, I have spent all of my life, since the day you were born, protecting you. I don't care what they say about not killing— they lie. If there were two or three of them out there, I would send your dad out, gun blazing… but he can't take ten of them, not before they Crucio him or worse."

"I can help—"

"No." Mum started coughing again, and Kathleen fought the urge to shake her. "You can't fight them."

"I have to try!"

"Kathleen, I need you to live." Mum grabbed Kathleen's wrist and pulled her forward, making eye contact with her. "And for that to happen, I need you to run."

"But where are we going to go?" Kathleen murmured, tears coming to her eyes. "I can pack up the herbs for the poultice, but—"

"There's no time. We're wasting it already, arguing like this. You're going to have to leave me behind."

"What?" Dad exclaimed, storming away from the window he had been peering out of and over to Mum's bed. "Delia, that was neverin the plan—"

"Of course it was. You get our daughter to safety and keep her there. That was and has always been the plan. Even if you kill half of them, John, there's the other half who will have you cursed five times over before you can say Quidditch."

Dad shook his head. "I'm not leaving you."

"You have to. You can't carry me through the woods and run and hold your gun. They likely have most of the enchantments down by now. They'll be inside soon. Shoot them if they come after you, but you at least need to try to run. Around the back. Take Kathleen and go— somewhere Muggle, probably. You'll have to just try to blend in."

A deep, thunder-like boom sounded outside.

"Delia—"

"John, go, now!"

Dad let out a strangled sound that might have been a sob as he grabbed Kathleen's forearm and pulled her toward the door.

"Mum!"

"Get ready to hit them with everything you've got, Kath. We're going to run, but when they come after us— don't hold back."

"We can't leave—"

"I know," Dad said, a definite sob in his voice as he pulled open the door, his grip firm on Kathleen's arm. "I know."

The enchantment barriers were very wavy now, almost like they were looking through water at the Death Eaters beyond.

"Dad, we have to fight—"

"And we're going to. But we're going to lead them away from your mother first."

Understanding dawned in Kathleen's mind as Dad let go of her arm, adjusted his grip on his gun, and started to move around the back of the cabin. There were Death Eaters back here too, though there were less of them— only two. Kathleen didn't recognize either of them from the reports in the *Daily Prophet* and they were rather more shabbily dressed than Eamon or the man he had been speaking to out front.

"Don't break the barrier until they do," Kathleen whispered. "It seems close, but for all we know, it'll hold."

"Lotta fuckin' trouble for a bleedin' blood traitor," one of them muttered, his voice oddly distorted through the barrier.

"Yeah, but it's worth the gold, innit?" said the other. "Half up front, half after— Mulciber's good for it. Who knows, maybe the Dark Lord will reward us—"

The last magic of the barrier fell at that moment, and the men's mouths fell open as they beheld Kathleen and her father, Kathleen's wand arm extended and Dad's shotgun aimed right for them.

"What the fuck—" one of them started, but he didn't get to say anything else before the air exploded in gunfire. Dad shot once, twice, three times— two on the first man and one on the second. They screamed and started waving their wands wildly, jets of light flying, but Dad was already moving, ducking down and running right past them.

"Bombarda!" Kathleen yelled as she followed, and the ground underneath the less injured of the two men exploded.

"Fucking Muggle tricks—"

"Confringo!"

That shut the other one up.

Kathleen ran as fast as she could behind Dad, looking over her shoulder every other second— some of the other Death Eaters had run to their friends, trying to help them out of their predicament, but they weren't chasing after Kathleen and Dad. Why?

"Dad, it's not working—"

"We have to keep going. I have to get you somewhere safe first."

"But where?"

"I don't know. I don't know."


SEPTEMBER 8th, 1997

Gunfire sounded outside, and Cordelia Barrows sat upright in bed, her wand gripped firmly in her hand. She couldn't think about what could be happening outside, because if she did that, if she imagined John or Kathleen or both subjected to a Death Eater's curse—

She gasped, fear bubbling up in her chest, and she clenched her teeth tightly together, fighting the feeling. She had spent so, so much of her life living in fear. It would not help her this time. All she could do was sit here and wait to become a murderer, wait to kill as many of them as she could. She was dying— she knew that. She could feel her insides wasting away, every movement sharp as a knife, every breath like fire in her chest… Her body would fail soon. It had already failed her, in the ways that mattered— she could not defend her child like this.

There was that fear again. A slick, persistent thing— refusing to be ignored. Telling them to run was the right call, but had they been able to? Had they even listened? John had always listened… he was dependable. Stable. Everything she could ever want. But she had seen the look on his face when she had told them to leave her behind.

She would have to trust in John, the same way she had at seventeen. Trust him to take care of things, to do what had to be done even when he didn't like it. Because Kathleen… oh, Kathleen wouldn't leave, Cordelia knew. Not unless John was dragging her away.

Perhaps it would be better to die this way. Maybe Eamon would make it quick. Better to die from the Killing Curse than to slowly waste away in this bed. And if she could keep them occupied long enough… maybe John and Kathleen could get away.

How many had John killed, when he shot them? Had he killed any? The Death Eaters wouldn't be expecting a shotgun, of that she was sure…

The front door opened, and Eamon walked in, and Cordelia cast her spell.

"Avada Ked—"

"Expelliarmus!"

Charles Avery, right behind her brother, burst into the room and disarmed Cordelia. Her wand flew out of her grasp and clattered to the ground several feet away, far beyond her reach. She kept her expression stony as Avery summoned her wand to him, refusing to show fear or despair as she gripped the edges of her blanket instead.

"Fucking hell, Delia," Eamon said. "Father got you good, huh?"

Cordelia said nothing, glancing around for any type of improvised weapon. A mug, maybe, but in her weakened state… could she even throw it with any force?

"I see you looking around, but let me go ahead and just clear the air— I'm not here to kill you, and I'm not sending any of my friends here after your little girl, even though that Muggle of yours is a bloody murderer. What the hell was that thing, anyway?"

"Muggles aren't as defenseless as we've been taught," Cordelia said with a sneer. "You would know that if you had ever bothered going outside of your little Death Eater circle—" A cough, thick and wet, interrupted her, and try as she might, she couldn't stifle it.

"They have their limits though, apparently, seeing as he ran off," Avery said, looking around at the small cabin. "She does look just like you, Delia. I'm amazed Severus never put it together."

"Doesn't matter now," Eamon said as Cordelia smothered another cough. He walked closer to her. "Don't fight now, I'm not going to hurt you—"

"Stay away from me!"

"Delia, you're dying."

"You think I don't know that?"

She and Eamon stared at each other for a long moment, and Cordelia picked up the mug.

"Acciomug."

The mug flew out of her hand and into Eamon's, and Cordelia let out a scream of frustration. Eamon laughed without humor.

"Either you've changed a lot, or I didn't know you at all when we were kids."

"The latter," Cordelia hissed, clutching her side in pain. All this exertion wasn't good… oh how her body wanted to rest…

"I know you won't believe me, but today's your lucky day. You've been given a reprieve."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"The Dark Lord has commanded your life be spared."

"And why is that?"

"Questions like those are above my pay grade."

"Of course they are," Cordelia said with a roll of her eyes. "Ever the obedient servant—"

"Right you are," Eamon said as he reached down and scooped Cordelia into his arms, ignoring her startled yelp. "The Dark Lord commands, and I obey."

Cordelia struggled in his arms, beating her hands against his chest, but she was rapidly reaching the end of her energy reserves.

"Calm down, Delia," Avery said. "Incarcerous."

Ropes bound her wrists and ankles— tight enough that she couldn't move but not tight enough to hurt.

"No!" she screamed, thrashing first in defiance and then in pain as her side pulsed in agony.

"You'll be happy to know that Father and I both took punishments for our last meeting," Eamon said as he started walking toward the door. "For letting you escape, and for Father hitting you with the curse he did. And of course Father wasn't invited on this little excursion— he has a rather hard time holding his temper, believe it or not. But I have a bit more restraint."

"Fuck off," she said faintly, fighting to stay conscious. The pain was almost beyond endurance…

He laughed as he stepped outside, and Cordelia made herself look up at the others. They weren't wearing Death Eater robes… that was strange.

"They ran off, Mulciber," one of them said. "Into the woods. You want we should hunt them down, or—"

"No, you idiot," Eamon sneered. "The Dark Lord specifically said to leave them alone. We got what we came for. Now let's go."

"What about the gold—"

"You think I'm just carrying bagfuls of Galleons around in my pocket?" Eamon snapped. "I will report to the Dark Lord right now— that is of the utmost importance. Come to my home tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, and you'll get your gold then. You can share the proceeds from the other two."

"But—"

Eamon did not wait to hear the man's further complaints. He tightened his grip on Cordelia and Disapparated. Air left Cordelia's lungs as everything tightened into nothing, nothing except the pain, she couldn't survive it—

And then it was over. They landed on the ground outside, somewhere Cordelia had never seen. The late afternoon sun shone faintly against the brick building they stood in front of, glinting against the exterior windows. It looked like they were on a hill— if she craned her neck, Cordelia could see what looked like a small village down below them.

Where were they?

Avery appeared next to Eamon, but none of the other men did. They had to be a different class of Death Eater, something Cordelia had never heard of before. Mercenaries, maybe, with the way they were talking about gold… But why would He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named have put a price on her head?

Eamon walked up to the front door, Avery hurrying along beside him, and before they ascended the steps to enter, Eamon said, "Don't speak until you're spoken to, if you value your life, or Kathleen's. She's not a target, but I could find her the same way I found you— we're related by blood, after all. Don't give the Dark Lord a reason to punish you."

Cordelia's blood turned to ice in her veins as Avery pushed open the door for Eamon to walk through. She was being brought before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But why? What on earth could he want with her? Of all the things she had ever prepared for, of all the nightmares she had had over the years since running away from home, this had never been one of them. It had always been her father, or Eamon, who stalked the darkest recesses of her thoughts. She had barely been important enough to merit her father's attention as a child— what could have changed so drastically? What could He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named want with her?

They walked inside the house, and Eamon headed through a vaulted entrance hall and down a small hallway. They arrived at a set of double doors, and they paused outside of it.

"Believe it or not, Delia, I don't want you to die," Eamon said quietly before Avery knocked on the door.

"Enter," came a high, cold voice from behind the door, and Cordelia stifled a gasp, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. That was his voice. This couldn't be happening—

"Relax," Eamon whispered as Avery opened the door and they walked inside. Avery bowed deeply, and Eamon awkwardly inclined his head, unable to bow further without dumping Cordelia out of his arms.

They were in a large ballroom— marble tile floor, long green curtains along one wall, a giant crystal chandelier dangling from the ceiling. And, at the far end of the room… a dais, with an ornate golden throne atop it, and sat atop the throne was the Dark Lord himself. Cordelia glanced at him for the briefest moment before looking away, her heartbeat horribly loud in her ears.

The Dark Lord wasn't alone though. Next to him, kneeling on a large pillow, was a little girl… A little girl with red hair…

Ginny Weasley! It had to be. Was this about her kidnapping, somehow? Kathleen had been put under Malfoy's Imperius Curse in order for him to kidnap Ginny Weasley… was Cordelia's capture about Kathleen? Was Kathleen still in danger?

"Come here, Eamon," the Dark Lord said softly, and, hating herself for it, Cordelia buried her face in Eamon's chest, unable to look at the face of her childhood nightmares.

"Give your report," he continued, and Eamon bow-nodded again.

"We successfully located them with the spell you provided, my lord— in the Forest of Dean, in some kind of cabin safe house. The Muggle and the girl ran away, though they killed two Snatchers on their way out. No other injuries, to them or to us."

"No great loss," the Dark Lord said in a bored tone. "You just might have redeemed yourself, Eamon."

"Thank you, my lord."

"And how is your sister doing?"

"… Badly, my lord. Her wounds are quite severe."

"As we anticipated."

There came a rustling sound in the distance, and Eamon grew tense. Cordelia dared to look up, and immediately looked down again as she realized that the Dark Lord had approached them.

"I was expecting more bravery out of you, Cordelia," he said, and a thrill of terror ran down her spine. "With everything I've heard about you. The first couple of times I came face to face with Ginny Weasley, she tried to murder me immediately, and you can't even look me in the eye."

"Forgive her, my lord, she—"

"I did not ask you to speak."

Eamon fell silent.

"There is nothing to forgive— I'm just surprised, that's all. But perhaps you're not in the best condition for fighting back."

Then the worst thing happened. The Dark Lord grabbed her shoulder and tilted her in Eamon's arms so that she was facing the ceiling.

"A nasty wound," he murmured, reaching out to touch her side and making her cry out as his fingers pressed against the wound through her clothes. "A curse of your father's own invention, as I understand it. Tell me, Cordelia, do you pray?"

What the hell kind of question was that?

"Answer him," Eamon demanded.

"N-no," she stuttered.

"Then perhaps you should start, seeing as you've just been saved by the mercy of a saint. I'll take it from here, Eamon— you've done well."

"She'll… she'll be alright, my lord?" Avery asked— the first thing he had said since they had arrived.

"Yes, though it will take a few days. You can both visit her tomorrow, if you wish, though I think Everard is not yet invited back. He needs to learn the price of disobedience. Come, Ginny, if you want to watch."

Him grabbing her arm wasn't the worst thing. No, that couldn't be the worst thing because now Eamon was loosening his grip on her and now she was floating in the air and Eamon was stepping back and bowing and he couldn't just leave her here—

"Be still," the Dark Lord said drily. "If you haven't put it together yet, I'm saving your life."

"Why?" she blurted, unable to stop herself.

"Because my saint asked me to."

His saint? What the hell did that mean?

"Come, Ginny."

Cordelia started floating toward the door, the Dark Lord walking behind her, and Ginny Weasley quickly following in his wake. She struggled feebly in the air, but it was worse than impossible— she was so, so tired. So weak. Maybe she would die just like this—

"Don't you want to stay alive to see your daughter again?" the Dark Lord asked, making Cordelia jolt. "You seem so eager to die."

"Leave my daughter alone," she snarled.

"Again, I would think today's events would make it clear that that is exactly my intention. Your daughter is in no danger from me, nor your Muggle… husband, if we want to call him that. You have nothing to fear."

"What are you going to do with me?" Cordelia made herself ask as they ascended a flight of stairs.

"Again. Heal you, so that you don't die."

"And after that?"

"Let you go, of course."

"I don't believe you."

He laughed. "Your father taught you precious little of mercy, Cordelia Mulciber, but that does not mean it does not exist."

Cordelia Mulciber. That hadn't been her name in a long, long time. Not in eighteen years. Cordelia Mulciber died long ago.

"Forgive me for not acknowledging your filthy Muggle copulation," the Dark Lord said with a sneer, making Cordelia shudder. "Avery will be very disappointed when he realizes I'm not keeping you here. We'll have to see what the future holds, though— who knows what will happen in a year or two?"

"You promised—" Ginny started.

"Do not interrupt me," the Dark Lord snapped, and Ginny fell silent. "I indulge you. Over and over, I indulge you, but do not test my patience, little saint, or you will end the day very unhappy."

"Yes, my lord."

They were walking down a long, narrow hallway, and they finally came to a stop outside a closed door. With a wave of his hand, the Dark Lord opened it, revealing a small bedroom. He levitated Cordelia over to the bed and slowly lowered her onto it. Cordelia gasped as she hit the bed and the door closed behind them.

With a wave of his hand, the Dark Lord Vanished the bottom half of Cordelia's shirt, revealing the curse wound. Ginny covered her mouth with her hands and Cordelia gritted her teeth, fighting terror and embarrassment.

"It's too bad the blood tracking spell took so long to find you," the Dark Lord said, his eyes on the wound. "This would have been much easier to heal a couple of days ago."

"But… but you'll be able to do it, my lord?" Ginny asked, glancing between him and Cordelia.

He smirked at her. "I would think you would know by now that there is nothing I cannot do."

He pulled out his wand and waved it over Cordelia, who suddenly felt like she had been submerged in warm water. Little bubbles of black rot rose to the surface of her skin all across her abdomen, and she held her breath in an effort to stave off panic.

"I'll take care of the worst of it, but this will take several days," the Dark Lord said. "And I have other matters to attend to. Once she's past the risk of dying, I'll have Severus take over. Are you content with that, little saint?"

"Yes, my lord," Ginny said a little breathlessly, her wide eyes never leaving Cordelia. "Thank you."


SEPTEMBER 8th, 1997

Harry's stomach grumbled, and he did his best to ignore it. It was late in the day, close to dinner time, and Hermione was doing her best with some mushrooms she had scavenged in the woods, but they all knew this would not be a Hogwarts feast, nor a Mrs. Weasley supper.

Ron, who was still on the tail end of recovering from his Splinched arm, was taking the relative lack of food the worst. Harry had grown up hungry, often being sent to the cupboard without supper, and Hermione… well, Hermione was deeply practical at her core. She knew there was little food to be had, so she wasn't going to complain about it. But Ron was in pain, deeply worried about Ginny (as they all were, but he seemed to have a harder time managing it), and above all was used to three square, home-cooked meals a day, or else a Hogwarts smorgasbord. They had already eaten through the reserves in Hermione's bag, so now they were left to scrounge up whatever they could find while they tried to come up with a plan for the Horcrux hunt.

They had gotten too comfortable in Grimmauld Place, Harry thought— assuming it would always be there as their home base. Hermione, who had been so prepared when they had left the Burrow, hadn't left anything important behind, but she also hadn't kept her bag stocked with things like food and medical supplies, not in the same way she had right at the beginning. No, the bulk of their food stores had been left behind, as had Hermione's Muggle first aid kit— two things they were sorely missing now.

He glanced down at his chest, where the locket Horcrux glinted in the dying sunlight. Just as Kreacher had explained to them, they were unable to open it, no matter what they tried, and no amount of spell-damage seemed to affect it at all. They had decided to take turns wearing it, as they were reluctant to be parted from it in case of unexpected disaster, but they had quickly realized that the Horcrux had a markedly negative effect on their moods.

This too affected Ron the most, which Harry did his best not to feel resentment over, but it was a struggle. Ron was under a lot of stress. He knew that. And, maybe more importantly, Ron wasn't used to being under this amount of stress— not like Harry was. Ron had been there since the beginning, and he had been an immeasurable help countless times, but when push came to shove, it had always been Harry who had had to finish the job. Harry had had to face off against Quirrell, alone. Harry had had to face off against Tom Riddle to save Ginny, alone. Harry had had to fight a newly resurrected Lord Voldemort, alone. The Department of Mysteries had been a group effort, that was true, but Harry was the one seeing into Voldemort's mind— again, alone. Harry was the one Dumbledore taught about Voldemort's past, and the Horcruxes— once again, alone. He was always alone—

Explosions sounded in the distance, startling the three of them.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron said.

"It sounded like—" Hermione started.

"Gunfire," Harry finished. He had never held a gun before, but he had been dragged along once on a hunting trip with Uncle Vernon and Dudley— he knew the sound of a shotgun.

They all looked at each other for a long moment.

"What should we do? Muggles just passing through, do you think?" Hermione asked.

"Maybe," Harry said. "Or someone could be in trouble."

Hermione bounced from one foot to the other, biting her lip. "I don't want to take down our protective enchantments and move everything, but if someone's in danger—"

"Or it could be a trap," Ron said. "Trying to trick us into coming out of our hiding place."

"You think they could have tracked us here?" Hermione squeaked. It had been several days since the Ministry battle— was it possible the Death Eaters could have found them?

"It didn't just sound like gunfire," Harry said flatly. "There were explosions afterward, like spells going off. What if there's Muggles being terrorized by Death Eaters out here?"

"Why would they just be terrorizing random Muggles?" Ron asked.

"You remember what your dad said. It's their idea of fun." Disgust ran through Harry as he remembered the World Quidditch Cup, the Muggle family floating in the air above him as they struggled to get free.

"Okay, if one of us stays here, then the enchantments should hold," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. "Ron and I will go—"

"And just leave me here?" Harry demanded, immediately annoyed. The locket seemed to pulse against his chest. "You two run off into danger together and I just sit here and make tea?"

"You're the one they want," Ron said, rising to his feet. "Sending you out is stupid. You stay here, and I'll go—"

"I'm coming too—" Hermione said.

"No, only one of us should go—"

"I'm not staying behind," Harry insisted, and Ron opened his mouth again to argue, but the muffled sounds of people running outside made them pause.

"People can't see through the enchantments, right?" Harry asked, keeping his tone deliberately calm.

"Right," Hermione agreed.

That settled it. Wand in hand, Harry stepped out of the tent, and his jaw fell open as he saw Kathleen sprinting through the woods, an older man who had to be her father running beside her, a shotgun clutched in his hands.

"It's Kathleen!" he called, and, ignoring Ron and Hermione's shocked exclamations, walked through the barrier.

"Stay back!" the man called as he skidded to a stop and immediately raised his gun.

Harry put his hands up, but apparently not quickly enough, for the man fired, just as a shocked Kathleen cried, "No!" and knocked the gun off-course. The shotgun shell went barreling off to Harry's left, and bounced harmlessly off of the enchantments around the tent before falling to the ground. Harry was breathing hard, his eyes wide.

"Dad, you almost just shot Harry Potter!" Kathleen exclaimed, and the man— her father— widened his eyes.

"I did?"

"Hello," Harry said breathlessly, just as a panicked Ron and Hermione ran out of the barrier, wands at the ready, revealing the tent to Kathleen and Mr. Barrows.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" Kathleen demanded, panting hard from running.

"What are youdoing here?" Harry replied, gesturing around them. "We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Exactly!"

No one seemed to know how to make sense of the situation. Everyone looked at each other for a long moment, baffled.

"We heard gunfire a few moments ago," Hermione said, glancing at Mr. Barrows. "What were you shooting at?"

"Death Eaters," Mr. Barrows said, making the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand up. "Ten of them. Eight, now— we killed two."

"I told you they were tracking us," Ron said, grimacing as he grabbed his still-healing arm.

"No, they had no idea you were here," Kathleen said. "It was my… uncle. Looking for us. It's a long story. But listen, Harry— my mum is hurt, badly, and she told us to run because we couldn't carry her out, and we couldn't kill all ten Death Eaters, so we had to leave her behind, but if you three help—"

"Where is she?" Harry said, the world around him sharpening as it always did when his adrenaline kicked in.

"Back that way a bit," Kathleen nodded over her shoulder. "In a safe house— again, long story. Please, I need your help—"

"Lead the way."

"Harry, are you sure—"

"We have to help!"

"Then at least give me the—" Hermione paused. "The you know what.I'll tuck it under my shirt."

"Fine." Harry ripped the locket off, glad to be rid of it, and slammed it into Hermione's hand as he started after Kathleen and Mr. Barrows, who were both already running back the way they had came.

"What about all of our things—"

"There's no time, Ron!"

"They'll have heard that gunfire," Hermione said, already panting. "From Mr. Barrows shooting at you. They'll know they're not alone."

Harry tightened his grip on his wand. Truth be told, he was itching for a fight. They had sat around for almost a week, feeling absolutely useless. Going after Umbridge and the locket had at least given them a mission, a purpose. But now that they had it… they were no closer to destroying it than Kreacher had been, and Kreacher had had it for decades. Doing something, anything, felt good. Saving someone felt good.

The five of them ran as fast as they could through the woods, Harry still marveling at the sheer chance of running into Kathleen this way, and stopped when they approached a small wooden cabin, like a rickety old vacation house.

"They're not outside anymore," Kathleen said in a shrill voice. "Mum! Mum!"

Not waiting to consult with the rest of the group, Kathleen ran forward, which meant Mr. Barrows ran forward, which meant the rest of them ran forward, Hermione cursing under her breath. Kathleen ran up the small set of steps onto the front porch, where the front door hung open. She let out a loud sob, and Harry raced to her side.

"Is she—"

"She's not here," Kathleen sobbed, dropping down to her knees. "She's gone."

"Oh, Kath," Mr. Barrows said as he came up the stairs, squatting down next to her and pulling her into a hug.

"They took her, they took her," Kathleen yelled, her sorrow turning to rage as she slammed her fist against her dad's back again and again. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stayed silent, looking at each other with wide eyes. It felt like they were intruding on something private, to see Kathleen this way.

"Shh, Kath, I'm here."

"She told me it would be better to die than to let them take me!" she cried, pulling back to look at her dad. Her eyes were wild, her cheeks flushed from exertion. "And they took her. They took her."

"You… you said it was your uncle, Kathleen?" Hermione asked hesitantly. "A Death Eater?"

Kathleen took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to come back to herself. "My uncle," she said in an unnaturally calm voice, "is Eamon Mulciber. He and my grandfather found my parents and I six days ago, at home, and tried to capture us. But Mum was ready for them. She got us all to safety, but not before she got terribly hurt, and I tried to take care of her, I tried, but I'm not a Healer, I don't know how—" She started crying again, and Mr. Barrows pulled her more tightly into his embrace.

"This isn't your fault," he whispered, trying to soothe her, but Kathleen would not be soothed.

"No, it's Eamon's fault!" she said, pulling away from her dad and pushing to her feet. "I'm going to find him, and when I do, I'm going to kill him."

"Kathleen, you can't even Apparate out of here," Mr. Barrows said, losing a bit of his patience— perhaps in his own anguish at finding his wife kidnapped. "You're not finding or killing anyone. Your mother's last wish was to protect you—"

"Don't say that! Don't talk about her like she's dead."

Mr. Barrows remained silent as he got to his feet, gun still in hand.

Kathleen turned to Harry. "I don't know how to fight either, not really, but you could teach me. I didn't join Dumbledore's Army when I had the chance, and that was a mistake. But you're here now. You could teach me. Teach me to Apparate too, probably. I'm seventeen now— no Trace on me."

Harry looked back at Ron and Hermione. This was certainly not in their plan.

"I—"

"Please, Harry," Kathleen said, taking a step closer to him. "Teach me to fight. My mum needsme. Help me save my mum."

A flash of green light, followed by a woman's cry of, "Not Harry! Not Harry!" raced through his mind. A mother in trouble. No one to save her.

"Alright," he said with a deep breath, and he could feel Ron and Hermione stiffen behind him. "But let's make a trade. You look like you have more food than us. A lot more." He glanced over Kathleen's shoulder and into the cabin. "Let us stay here, share your supplies with us, and I'll teach you to fight."

Kathleen flung her arms around him and Harry jumped, startled, before returning her embrace.

"Thank you Harry," she whispered, gripping the back of his shirt in her fists. "Thank you."

He held her for a long, somewhat awkward minute, until she finally pulled away.

"Okay, we need to go get our stuff," Harry said, "but we'll be back in a bit, yeah?"

Kathleen nodded, and Harry hurried down the front steps, sure he was about to get an earful.

"Harry, are you mad?" Hermione hissed, storming after him as they walked off into the woods. "We can't stay there!"

"Sure we can," he said coolly. "At least for a little while."

"The Death Eaters already know where this place is! Who's to say they won't come back?"

"They have no idea we're around, and they think Kathleen and Mr. Barrows ran off into the woods. If they had wanted to chase them down, they would have— ten Death Eaters is major overkill for two witches, don't you think? They were targeting Mrs. Barrows for some reason. And apparently they got what they came for."

"We can set up enchantments around the place," Ron reasoned. "Same as we've been doing with the tent. Post watches, maybe, so we don't get surprised. Five people makes that a lot easier than three."

"One of whom is a Muggle," Hermione pointed out.

"Yeah, a Muggle with a big, scary…"

"Gun," Harry said. "A big, scary gun."

"What about the Horcrux?" Hermione demanded. "Are we going to tell them about that? Tell Kathleen, but not Lupin?"

"Of course not," Harry said quickly. "We won't tell them. And we're not staying long— just a couple of days, to gather our strength. Maybe they'll let us take some of their supplies in exchange for teaching Kathleen how to fight, and how to Apparate."

"Harry, Kathleen cannot learn how to Apparate in a couple of days. It takes students months,in ideal conditions, to learn. And what if she Splinches herself? You saw what it did to Ron—"

"Okay, okay, fine, no Apparition," Harry snapped. "But she can fight. She has to."

"What would they want with Mrs. Barrows anyway?"

"Some family issue, sounds like," Ron said sagely. "If it was her brother. You remember what Lupin said about Kathleen's mum running away from the family. Malfoy was going on and on about how the Ministry is going to treat blood traitors— Mrs. Barrows falls in that camp, yeah?"

Harry's stomach twisted. Was Mrs. Barrows about to be subjected to the same modified Imperius Curse that Ginny was under?

"Hey, that's a good point," Harry said, coming to an abrupt stop a few yards away from the tent. "If you're right, Ron… maybe they're taking Mrs. Barrows to the same place where Ginny is."

"Which, I will remind you, we cannot go to, because that is also where You-Know-Who is!" Hermione said with barely constrained impatience.

Harry fought the urge to yell at Hermione. He was beginning to feel like Ron had a point. They couldn't do this, they couldn't go there… what the bloody hell couldthey do?

He could teach Kathleen to fight. To defend herself, if nothing else. And… it had been over a month since they had last spoken. It was possible she remembered more about Ginny, something that might give them a clue as to how to proceed. That felt infinitely more useful than sitting around and trying to blast the locket open.

"We'll stay with them for a couple of days, make sure Kathleen can defend herself, get some more food, and then move on," Harry said, coming to a decision. He knelt down to start packing up the tent. "If nothing else, I want to learn more about what, exactly, Malfoy told Kathleen all those times they were together. I was so fixated on listening for information on Ginny that I feel like I might have missed something."

The painting of the Antipodean Opaleye swimming in his mind's eye, Harry resolutely ignored the shared glance he could feel between Ron and Hermione behind him. After a long moment, Hermione sighed dramatically and began summoning items to her and putting them in her beaded bag.

"I think it's the right call, mate," Ron said quietly. "She's upset because she's trying to protect us, and wearing the Horcrux doesn't help. But we can't just sit out here forever."

No, they couldn't. The three of them packed up their things in silence and traipsed back toward the cabin, their stomachs definitely grumbling now.

Hermione wasted no time in setting up the slew of protective enchantments that had become second-nature to them all, like locking the door behind you when you got home. Once she was done, they entered the cabin, where Kathleen and her dad were sitting on a worn couch, looking completely defeated.

The cabin smelled— like something sickly, like something rotten. Ron surreptitiously moved to open the windows, but Kathleen noticed.

"It was my mother's wound," she said flatly, staring straight ahead. "What you're smelling. Smells like death, doesn't it?"

Mr. Barrows stiffened beside her. He looked small somehow without his shotgun in his hands, his shoulders slumped forward, his prematurely grey hair disheveled from all the chaos of the afternoon.

Hermione waved her wand and conjured seats for the three of them, across from the couch.

"We're… sorry to intrude," Hermione said awkwardly as they sat down. "And sorry we couldn't help in time. How did you find this place?"

"Cordelia— Kathleen's mum— and I built it," Mr. Barrows said. "She was prepared, in case something like this happened."

"Sorry, something like what?"

"In case You-Know-Who took over the Ministry of Magic."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced at each other.

"We… met Cordelia a while back," Harry said slowly, "after someone close to us went missing."

"Ginny," Kathleen said. "They're talking about Ginny."

"Yes," Harry said, his heart twisting painfully. "When Ginny went missing. And… forgive me for saying this, but she didn't strike me as someone who would be building log cabins in the middle of the woods."

Kathleen started laughing, loudly enough that she had to put her hands over her mouth.

"Cordelia is… a complicated person," Mr. Barrows said once it became apparent that Kathleen wasn't going to say anything. "But her goal has always been to protect Kathleen from these people, through whatever means necessary."

"Except for teaching me to fight," Kathleen said, all laughter gone in an instant.

"You were never supposed to have to fight."

"And look how that turned out."

"It wouldn't have changed anything, Kath. You couldn't—"

"How do you know?" Kathleen demanded, sitting upright and turning to look at her father. "Maybe, if I had been better prepared, you and I could have—"

He couldn't listen to this, couldn't stand to see Mr. Barrows shrink in on himself.

"I know exactly how you're feeling," Harry interrupted, making her pause and look at him. "You're angry, and hurt, and scared, and you're looking for someone to blame. The unimaginable happened to you, more than once, and now you might have lost a parent forever. But it's not your dad's fault, Kathleen. Or your mum's. Or even yours. It's theirs— the Death Eaters. It's their fault. Don't turn your anger at them onto the people closest to you— it's not fair to them."

Kathleen bowed her head, and Hermione looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"Well-spoken," she said.

"He can only say that because he's bitten our heads off about a thousand times," Ron added, making Kathleen give a watery chuckle.

"If I have something in common with Harry Potter, I'll take that as a good thing," she mumbled, and Harry felt… something. Hmm. He felt something with that. A warmth in his stomach. Care, maybe? Affection?

"Okay," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. "Now that we're out of crisis mode— I'm Hermione Granger." She extended her hand to Mr. Barrows to shake, and he did. "And this is Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter, as you've figured out by now."

"John Barrows," Mr. Barrows said. "Thank you for helping us— we need it."

"Thank you for sharing your space with us," Hermione said with a nod. "Okay. I think we need to… discuss things. What we're all doing here, and what we're going to do now."

"I thought we said—" Ron started, and quickly stopped under Hermione's withering glare.

"I'll get ours out of the way first," Harry interrupted. "Before he died, Dumbledore left us a mission— something to take down You-Know-Who for good. We're sworn to secrecy on it, it's too dangerous for anyone else to know about, but that's why we're out here. Hermione used to camp out here, and we picked it as a hideout spot since we lost our old one after breaking into the Ministry."

"You broke into the Ministry?" Kathleen said, her jaw dropping. "What on earth for?"

"Can't say," Harry said awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry. But it was worth it— we accomplished our goal, but lost our hideout spot in the process."

"And luckily, one of the only things we have to offer is a hideout spot," Mr. Barrows said.

"We appreciate that, but we won't be staying long," Hermione said in a tightly controlled voice. "The Death Eaters unfortunately know where this place is, and it would be disastrousif they found Harry. We can help you for a few days, and we'll rest here for a bit, but we'll be moving on sooner rather than later."

"That's fine," Mr. Barrows said before Kathleen could reply. "We understand. We'll take anything you can offer."

"What are you two going to do, after we leave?" Ron asked.

"Look for my mum," Kathleen said right as her father answered, "Go to a Muggle town."

"What?" Kathleen demanded as she turned to look at her dad once again. "How can you say that?"

"How are we going to look for her, Kath? Even aside from the transportation issue. Do you know where the Mulcibers live?"

"No."

"Neither do I. Do you know where Death Eater hideouts are, besides the Ministry itself?"

"No."

"Neither do I. Do you know how to get into the Ministry, even if we wanted to start there?"

"No," Kathleen mumbled, sinking lower in her seat.

"Exactly. It's good for you to learn how to defend yourself— defend us— but we wouldn't even know where to begin with looking for Eamon Mulciber. We're going to stay here as long as we can, in case—" his voice broke for a moment, but he mastered himself quickly. "In case Cordelia comes back. But when we have to move on, we're going to a Muggle town, and… I don't know what we'll do from there. I can't exactly go back to work, and I spent most of our savings getting this place supplied…"

Hermione glanced at Harry and Ron before looking back at Mr. Barrows.

"What if we could put you in touch with the Order of the Phoenix?" she asked. "Get you to one of their safe houses. Would that be something you would accept?"

Kathleen and her dad looked at each other, then back at Hermione.

"Of course," Mr. Barrows said after a moment. "That would be most helpful."

"Where?" Harry asked, surprised at Hermione's sudden change of heart about helping Kathleen.

"Lupin," Hermione said, and Kathleen's eyes widened. "We told him to go back to Tonks, remember? And Tonks is at her parents' house. We know exactly where that is."

They did know exactly where that was. It had been their stopover before going to the Burrow, just a little over a month ago.

"It's probably got Death Eaters stationed outside though," Ron said. "Remember what Lupin said about having to lose the one that was tailing him? Bellatrix Lestrange did everything she could to kill Tonks when we were fighting last time. They've gotta have people around her parents' place."

"We can figure that part out over the next few days," Hermione said, undeterred. "This lets everyone get what they want— Kathleen gets defense training, we get more supplies, we all get to rest, and you both have a safe place to go, withadult wizards who can potentially help you find Cordelia."

Kathleen had no intention of sitting in a safe house, Harry could tell. But she agreed with Hermione anyway, and stood up to go get the group something to eat from their cans of preserves.

Harry followed after her, leaving Ron and Hermione with Mr. Barrows.

"Hey," he whispered, coming to stand next to her as she looked through the shelves of cans. "We'll figure it out, okay? I'll teach you everything I know, as quick as I can. Not sure about the Apparition part, because of the risk of Splinching, but maybe Lupin can teach you once we get there. Everything else though, I'll teach you."

"You said you're on a mission to take down You-Know-Who," Kathleen said, not looking at him. "Are you also looking for Ginny?"

"Yes. As much as we can, anyway. We've learned some new things, but I'm not sure that we're any closer to actually rescuing her."

"When Eamon found us the first time, he said that my mum, my dad, and I were all on what he called a 'no-kill list.' That You-Know-Who was focused on blood purity, and they would give my mother to a Death Eater to make nice, proper pureblood children— not a half-blood like me. And you know what he said about me?" She looked up at him. "He said he was going to take me to You-Know-Who himself. That his 'little saint' might like a friend back. I don't know what that phrase means, but he has to be talking about—"

"Ginny," Harry said, sucking in a breath. "He's talking about Ginny."

Kathleen nodded. "She's alive. And somehow has enough influence to be giving no-kill orders."

He and Kathleen had a lot to talk about, apparently.