harry_03_(1)

* * * * *


Releasing the wand for what he promised would be only moments, he continued sawing at his bindings, slowly, rhythmically, trying to gain precious centimeters of mobility…

He was armed, and the realization had numbed him, his next move horribly elusive.

With the rhythmic sawing of the shard, his mind fell curiously blank for the first time in what felt millennia.

His gaze fell upon her as she moved, shoving herself up from where she lay on the floor, arms shaking fiercely, be it from shock or the pain he knew she daily bore, he did not know.

“Kaylens.” He whispered softly, grasping for something, anything familiar in the horror that was his life.

She fell into place besides him, so close, her bloodied sleeve nearly brushing against his skin. She was blocking Dolohov’s view of what he was doing, he knew it without even asking, for her eyes swept the room as those of the hunted would.

She was being as cautious as him, despite the slight sway to her stature.

Snap.

Another thread of the rope broke free, it’s release masked by her sudden, purposeful coughing.

Her head fell forward, her coughs lingering long enough to seem genuine, and her golden, tangled locks came cascading down, falling over her eyes, veiling her expression from all but him. To his eyes each shimmering strand, glinting in the dull afternoon glow, as well as her watery orbs, remained visible, as well as her bound wrists, white and torn from where she had frantically pulled, struggling for release in Dolohov’s arms.

The bastard would never again lay a finger upon her.

He would never again lay a finger upon anyone.

Harry Potter had a few dark spells he was quite eager to try out.

Snap.

“How much longer do you think it’ll be till he finishes questioning the village Antonin?”

Dolohov sneered. “Ludovic you are trying my patience as much as the half-blood and these…” The dark gaze of the man scanned the room, taking in the few conscious students and the two patrons bound and lined against the walls. “These spares.”

“But what if the ministry….”

Dolohov kicked the floor, sending shattered glass skittering across Dean’s fallen form. “We will be here and gone before those fools catch wind of this. Besides, these things are delicate matters…”

Questioning? His ears listened, silently taking it all in. Besides him Kalliandra appeared to be doing the same, while Luna shifted the glass shards on the floor around with her feet.

Bagman seemed besides himself with questions. Harry mentally egged him on to be loose lipped.

“Perhaps we could stun them all and take them back ourselves?”

Dolohov scowled in his direction. “He will not be needing all of them. And you would do well to keep your mouth shut from now on or I will shut it for you.”

The discussion ended.

It was then that he heard it.

“You…”

Only he had heard her whispered accusation, for it could be nothing else. The sheer revulsion in that one, whispered word left nothing to question.

Her eyes had moved from Dolohov, drifting into the background beyond, liquid fire boiling beyond their depths. Lifting his own he followed her gaze to where Ludo Bagman stood, pouring himself another fidgety drink.

He turned his confusion upon her, noticing her chest’s rhythmic rising as her breaths came quicker, deeper, faster…

Golden eyes flickered shut, a pained expression falling across her.

“How sorry were you?” She breathed to herself, only barely, for the hatred saturating her soft tones was not lost upon him.

It was chilling.

His own boiling blood froze as he studied her, taking advantage of the lull in activities.

“Kaylens.” He whispered, almost pleadingly.

Her hateful gaze burned right through him, straight to Bagman.

“Kaylens please…”

Her eyes fell shut, her fists opening and closing on thin air. “You’re bleeding Potter, are you alright?” She whispered shakily.

Gently brushing his arm against her own, he waited for some sign that she was alright.

Minutes passed, before delicate eyelids flickered open, her eyes alight with an aberrant glow.

“Good.” She murmured. “Because I can only give you a moment.”

His mouth flapped wordlessly, shocked at the transformation before him.

Where his skin lightly touched her own, an unnatural tingling had begun.
* * * * *


The energy reverberating from him drew her nearer, an eternity passing before she was able to forcibly draw away.

His confusion radiated in startling quantities, but he would understand soon enough.

They would all understand…

She would not stray near him again, for her world was moving unnaturally slow, as if the events occurring around her were illusory, fleeting images from horrible dreams that would surely vanish with a waft of merciful consciousness.

Only no such merciful breeze came.

Her bound hands rose from her lap, tracing the tender line of her jaw, feeling her cooling skin. Somewhere, amidst the fighting, she had fallen, shoved away by Dean. The dried smear of blood along her cheek gave evidence to that.

She could feel the heat radiating from Dean’s limp form.

He was alive…

Hermione…

The small girl’s fingers had curled around fallen chunks of her bloodied, uprooted hair, as if the resolute Gryffindor had wanted something to hold onto, something solid and tangible to prove the afflictions had been real.

They had…

Her eyes fell willfully shut once more, immersing herself in the peaceful oblivion of darkness, where no demons save her own reigned.

The memories of a resurrected night, long due revenge, beckoned.

A limp hand lay splayed across the front corridor…Blood trickling onto the wooden porch boards…

“God forgive me…” She breathed, the palpable chill filling her lungs.

She had made her decision.

The chilling rain pelted down, something dark mixing with the muddy water licking at her nose…

The tingling began softly, like a light feather playing across her skin, traversing it’s way upwards, inwards…

It was their blood swirling within the puddle….Sean’s blank eyes staring back…

It was rolling in discrete waves, operating by it’s own indiscernible rules, pulsating from the living, evaporating from the dead.

A boyish face appeared above her, sympathy in his oceanic eyes. “I’m awfully sorry about this kid…”

His voice had echoed through that night, and again this day.

He had stood idly by once, and was again.

She squeezed her eyes shut ever tighter, involuntarily shudders traveling through her, the heady pressure in the very air building, pulsating in uncontrolled waves outwards.

The world was taking on a hotter quality, every nerve burning with fiery intensity as she began reaching, feeling…

The acrid presence of Ludovic Bagman filled her, and she began drawing.

Her intent was to kill.
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A/N: Please forgive the author’s note, but I believe a proper thank you is in order.

Thank you for making this story the Number One Favorite Story on the site, for making me the Number One Favorite Author on the site, for making this the 7th most read story in the site’s history when it has been out for less than a year, and for making this the story with the Most Reviews Ever.

I honestly can’t express how shocked I was to see that. I truly feel that I do not deserve such an honor, because having read many of the other stories on this site, I feel that my writing pales in comparison to the wealth of talent displayed by others such as njill22, Edward Ollivander, The Dark Lord Nedved, KawaiiAce2003, IchigoPan, Violet Gryfindor, Timeturner, BitterEpiphany, Ginny Weasely, Arios, Cocoapuffshooter, Winky, and too many others to name.

I have the best readers in the world. I truly do.


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Chronicles of Life by BitterEpiphany Rated: Mature
Follow the trials and tribulations of a young witch who has exiled herself to the Muggle world, only to be pulled back into the realm of magic in the darkest of times. Only the man who rescued her, never expected her to get involved in the fight against the darkness rising to power. The lifespan of an Auror is short, the only question is, how long can Lexi survive?

The Girl Who Lived by Masami Rated: 15+
This is the story of Elizabeth Barkovsky, a non-magical child who nearly died in horrific accident, only to be saved, through a twist of fate, by a man once known as ‘The boy who lived’. The story is set in 2011, and if you are a fan of stories following original characters through their Hogwarts’ Years, this is a great one.

Photograph couresty of the previously mentioned public domain website. Accreditations can be found via my personal website.
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“Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, merely changed and transformed from one form to another.”
~ First Law of Thermodynamics ~

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Chapter 21 ~ Amongst Us ~ Part 1


It was as it was before, the feeling.

She did not fear, could not, for it was her very nature.

Her cells were multiplying with frightening measure. She could almost feel them, enticing her breath to come in sharp, pained gasps. The gentle tickling of prior, the feel of static lightly traversing across her skin, had been long since vanquished, replaced by fiery tendrils of unchecked energy weaving steadily through her, searing across her very skin like fiery, unkempt tendrils of hell.

The very atoms of her cells were moving in unnatural ways.

Pained eyes flickered open upon the world, reflecting the light as only she could see it. For the golden mist swirled throughout the room in thick, stifling electron clouds, sending fiery chills searing through the hollow shell of what she had once been.

The particles danced, shining from all that was alive, emitting softly from all that was dead, as energy must do. The human eye had always been blind to the subtler forms of it’s majestic ballet, but it was a dance to which she was privy.

It was her curse.

She did not fear it, nor did she embrace it as she so ought. She simply breathed, allowing the palpable chill to fill her lungs, cooling her lips as it passed.

His presence filled her.

The hot particles upon the once barely discernerable breeze vibrated, the golden mists forming tightly from her to him, flowing in a closed circuit between them, her will unconsciously directing the charged particles to dance within the rhythm of her domain.

Fiery cold, soothing pain… Such were the sensations of electrocution, and all it’s conflicting ambiance.

An ambiance that beckoned, heeding her call as she pulled, drawing it from him, taking it upon herself without heed for consequence.

Besides her, drawing her concerted concentration from the impenetrable world of her mind, she noticed Potter stirring, taking advantage of the small distraction her spent energy afforded them.

Ludovic…

She could have chosen to attack the other Death Eater, but it had to be him.

Ludovic, as the other had called him, had stood idly by, watching them butcher her family with barely a grimace.

He had not lifted a finger.

“I’m awfully sorry about this kid…”

He would regret it. They all would. She would see to it.

But Ludovic first.

Potter’s arms were moving now. She could feel it despite her closed eyes, as surely as she felt Ludovic’s own sapping strength.

She pulled Ludovic’s strength of life into herself, as she had done twice before, robbing him. The energy driving his heart pounded frantically, pulling from her, recoiling like a frightened child until she finally had him in her grasp.

Smothering that fire of resisting life for as long as she could, she silently cried in pain, feeling Ludovic do the same.

The soft sound of a body falling lifelessly upon the debris strewn floor met her even before the backlash did.

Everything that had occurred, had taken place within a poorly closed circuit. Now the white hot thread of energy, the one that had vibrated so thickly between them, finally snapped.

The electricity flew from his fallen form to her own kneeling one, leaving her no choice save to absorb it’s sudden release with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Her eyes flicked open as the force of it hit her, revealing sparkling, cloudy hues of golden light dancing around her, fading away as the shroud of unconsciousness fell ever closer.

Besides her Potter was moving… Standing… Shouting… All of this registered instinctively within, as she finally succumbed to the alluring darkness, beckoning with rest.
* * * * *


“Stick with the pack, go astray and we will kill you ourselves. Brethren or not.”

The pack leader’s words reverberated inside the wolf’s pounding skull, distracting it from the pungent scents tempting it’s olfactory senses, the townsmen’s cruor teasing the pack, stimulating their bloodlust’s desire.

Yet the pack controlled it, tramping as one across the periphery of what had once been the epitome of quaintness, before spreading out, fringing across the outskirts of the forest, taking cover in the forest’s shadows. Here the pack would fight back the stragglers, catching any who sought to flee Hogsmeade before their task was complete.

The wolf pawed the ground with overt savagery, the animal’s furor at being deprived it’s quarry apparent to the elder accompanying it. A menacing growl calmed it, forcing the words of the pack into it’s aching mind, for the tempting allure of the townsmen’s blood, located just within the walls of Hogsmeade, was causing the canine to lose itself.

It needed to feed.

The accompanied wolf, driven nearly mad with desire, sniffed deeply, huffing the coarse bristles of it’s snout away angrily. The hirsuteness of the beast’s hide was coated in the fleshy cruor that had coursed freely from it’s torn pelt, the fresh tears of it’s transformation still apparent, for a werewolf was quick to transform, yet slow to heal.

Voldemort would fix that.

The knowledge drifted through the animalistic savagery plaguing the wolf’s mind, forcing it to remember who it was, why it was here, what it’s job truly was beyond the desire brought about by the feigned hunt.

He was Remus Lupin, friend of those within the town’s walls, the walls sheltering beneath the very tree boughs he and the other werewolves hid below.

He was there to discover Voldemort’s intent, his plans, his faults.

The creature Riddle was intelligent in a way he could only dream of, for where generations of healers had failed in discerning the mechanisms of lyncanthropy, Voldemort had succeeded, and harnessed it’s cruel power into something he could fully exploit.

When they had stood poised on the brink of Hogsmeade, seemingly ready to attack, he had been surprised. For their orders were not to kill, maim, or injure the town’s inhabitants in any way. They were merely to form a guard around the town’s circumference, ensuring that all wizarding occupants remained within it’s walls for a time.

And when that time was over, they were to be gone, fleeing into the forest where a portkey would await their return to the Parisian catacombs.

The reason for this peculiar Death Eater activity was unbeknownst to him. He could not fathom why.

But all his suppositions vanished as the scent of blood wafted upon a stale breeze.

His bloodlust was wholly returned, the teeth of the other creature of the night, the elder, digging into his pelt, the only thing preventing him from running into town to hunt his quarry.
* * * * *


The thick cloud was barely discernable, yet it pulsated around him, bearing down, stifling him as if an electric shock were coursing threw him.

He felt numb, unable to move, let alone think, properly. His head spun in a not unfamiliar way, and despite this, Harry knew where he had felt the same sensation.

Grimmauld Place.

“I can only give you a moment”

It was her. She had whispered those words only seconds before. She had done it before, and she was doing it again, and though he did not know how, every fiber of him knew it to be true.

Kalliandra was doing this.

She could only give him a moment… A moment of distraction. A single chance to take them out.

He knew what he had to do.

The heady pressure increasing around him, over-powering any sure sense of equilibrium, he forced his arms to obey, grasping his wand in a barely concealed move as Dolohov’s drugged eyes fixed upon Ludo Bagman’s form, as the former Ministry Official disappeared behind the bar, clutching his chest.

Harry spared the man no pity, all his energy fixated on the soul task of catapulting to his feet, then twisting until the wand so precariously gripped within his bound hands was pointed towards the remaining Death Eater.

“Delirium Modente!” He gasped, his last shreds of energy spent as he set the curse free.

The dark curse.

A Death Eater deserved nothing less.

He never did see Dolohov’s eyes as the last fledglings of sanity were stolen, but the curse left Dolohov’s large frame withering upon the ground, hands clutching desperately, tearing thick, bloodied chunks of hair from his scalp.

The heady pressure lifted as suddenly as it had come, the cloudy form vanishing with a breath, and Harry fell to his knees, breathing deeply, watching in grim satisfaction as one by one, memory after memory, fled from Dolohov’s twisted, scarred mind.

The Death Eater would be unable to recall even his own name once the curse had run it’s course.

Harry had finally learnt the joys of cruelty upon one’s enemy.

It was several moments before he realized that while the others were stirring, Kaylens was not.
* * * * *


“Mr. President… Your wife and daughter are amongst the missing…

The car door slammed behind him, his daughter’s small form curled up on the passenger side’s floor, whimpering, begging for Mum…

Marie…

Fumbling for the key’s with his frozen hands, his mind was assaulted. Every ungodly memory of the past weeks, of his life, slammed into his consciousness one, by one, by one.

Only the whimpering of his little girl kept him sane. He needed to stay strong for her.

The hospital doors slid open, the glass paneling revealing his haggard reflection. At the end of the guarded hall, lined with security, awaited the morgue.

Identification of the body was necessary.

“Tonksie…Tonksie…Daddy where’s Tonksie?!”

Emily’s hysterical crying drew his eyes through the rain coated windshield to where Tonks stood, a look of pure consternation on her normally warm face. She darted, arm out, presumably clutching the wand he could not see.

What affected him, what jolted him, what sent his foot pressing upon the gas peddle, the wheels spinning, skidding in the watery gravel, was the sense of pure, unadulterated despair that overcame him as he watched her slip in the mud, falling….

She landed in the grass, her back to the Earth, arms stretched upwards in front of her soaked body, shaking so violently that he could see it through the rain’s thick onslaught. It seemed as if she were supporting a burden of incredible weight, one that would bear down upon her if she faltered, one that would crush her and then come for them if she failed.

The mortician gestured to the nearest gurney, his heart lurching as he approached.

He already knew. He had seen their revival attempts at the home they had taken him to. He had seen the bluish tint to her once lively lips…

Yet having seen her… Knowing what was to come…

The tires spun in the gravel, screeching forward as he neared her. She had to get in. They were not leaving without her.

Without warning, without a single sign, the car lurched violently, halting as a resonating thud reverberated throughout the hood of the vehicle.

The thunderous sound startled him more than his daughter’s cries, more than the sound of his cartilage breaking as his nose collided with the steering wheel, for a large dent had formed in the hood, the glass of the windshield cracking, splintering out until a network of spider webs formed across it…

As the sterile sheet was pulled back, he knew none of it could prepare one for seeing the lifeless body of the love of their life for a second time.

The first time had nearly killed him…

A lock of her auburn hair fell loose, his hand smoothing it back…

Something invisible had collided with their car….

The feel of blood trickling down his face, falling upon his white knuckled hands, which remained firmly clutched around the cold, black steering wheel, had drawn him back.

As did Tonks’ weak cries from where she lay, scrambling in the mud like a terrified animal seeking escape.

“Emily stay here!” He commanded, tossing the door open, bracing himself for the rain and despair he somehow knew to be coming.

The pelting rain was the blessing, for it kept him conscious, re-vitalizing him with it’s icy furor as the despair attempted to drown him. He staggered, reaching for her, for Tonks.

She was scrambling to her feet, slipping in the mud, crawling backwards towards him, fending he and Emily from whatever it was only she could see.

Her other arm was flailing, her whole face changing, moving in ways a face should not move…

He reached her, grasping her firmly to steady both he and her. “Kenneth….” She screamed angrily, choking on the thick downpour. “Kenneth get away…”

“Not without you!” He shouted into the wind, the rain slapping against him. His arms looped beneath her, hauling her with him, sliding her across the grass as her wand arm remained steadfastly out, preventing him from completely lifting her suddenly limp as a doll form.

Only her arms remained rigid, for she was refusing to move them, not even for an instant to stand…

Bent over her pulled her with him, scrambling backwards, finally falling onto the side of the car, it’s headlights blazing a brilliant path of light into the darkening, storm-shrouded day.

As he weakly tried to stand, yanking on the rear door of the vehicle, shoving Tonks’ protesting form inside while she held her wand out, he finally saw it.

There, in the beam of light from the car’s headlights…

A huge, looming shadow, flanked by many, many more, were surrounding them.

Yet the source of the shadows, he could not see.

The palpable chill in the air only grew until the frost upon the window’s splintering turned to ice.

It was only then that it dawned upon him why Tonks would not lower her wand.
* * * * *


He froze.

Harry Potter, a true Gryffindor, completely, undeniably, froze. The shock of everything sinking in, preventing him from taking anything into account, save for what lay right before him.

“Kaylens…” He mouthed soundlessly, frightened by the pale pallor caressing her damp skin.

There were other patrons scattered, unconscious or worse across the pub, yet she was the closest.

Hastily he murmured the spell to loosen the remaining bindings, wiggling his blood encrusted hands until the ropes slid to the glass strewn floor. He dropped to his knees, reaching to brush her blood stained locks aside, when a shaken, yet commanding voice, halted him.

Kneeling besides her, Harry stared slack jawed as Ronald Weasley spoke, clambering to his feet, a dark bruise encircling the side of his face.

“Harry. Move. Away. From. That. Thing.” He repeated, a threatening air creeping into the barely uttered command. “Move away, before it wakes.”

Harry blinked stupidly, not fully processing Ron’s words. All he knew was that Ron was not dead. Ginny’s curse had not worked. And now a pair of icy blue eyes were fixated upon Kaylens as if she were Voldemort himself.

Fortunately for Harry, Luna was not nearly as thrown by Ron’s sudden return to the realm of the living.

“Why hello Ronald. I was wondering when you’d stop pretending.”

Ron’s eyes flickered to Luna’s for the briefest of seconds, before his wand shot out, fixated upon his quarry.

“So how long have you been awake Ronald?” She continued airily, rising to her feet in one fluid motion. Her bound hands began fiddling with her soil strewn hair, brushing it back curiously, as if it were a mere pest to be dealt with.

Ron’s bruised face contorted into a scowl at this. “Long enough.” He responded warily.

Luna was moving to where Ron still stood, staring at Kaylens as if she were Lucifer incarnate. “Well Ronald, would you mind undoing these for me?” She articulated, extending her wrists to him expectantly. “Harry’s the only other one with a wand and he seems a bit preoccupied.”

Ron’s gaze never left his target, his wand flicking to Luna’s outstretched arms without a glance, sending her tight ropes coiling free.

Luna smiled happily, flexing her wrists testingly at eye level, as Ron took a step forward.

“I’ll ask you one more time Harry.” He muttered menacingly. “Get. Away. From. The. Grim.”

Harry’s confusion regarding Ron’s sudden appearance was routed by the serious expression across the redhead’s freckled face. At a loss for explanations, he turned back to the girl before him, laying his hand upon her brow, feeling her cool skin beneath his own as Ron’s poisonous stare burrowed into him.

“Harry she’s a Grim. A Living Grim. Get the hell away from….”

He scarcely heard Ron’s baritones, for a gentle tingling was radiating onto him, running across his open palm where his skin fell onto her own, as if small bits of static electricity were passing between them.

His fingers trailed down her face, a soft moan escaping her lips, drawing her shallow breaths into stark contrastation with his own.

Forgetting Ron’s words, his eye’s drifted from her to where Dean lay, sprawled beneath an overturned table that Luna was up-righting. “We need to get help…” Along the walls the scant others present were watching with bated breaths. “We need to get out of here before…”

“First you need to get away from the Grim Harry!” Ron nearly bellowed, wand arm shaking violently. “You might not know what she is, but you saw what she did!”

Hermione let out a muffled protest, and Ron’s eyes flickered for a moment to where she sat, propped up, wide-eyed and staring.

It was the chance Harry needed. He did not know what had happened to Ron, but certainly his friend meant Kaylens harm. He was deluded. Grim’s were omens of death. A living, breathing, sentient being could not be one.

He quickly placed himself between them, his own blood stained wand out, directly in Ron’s furious face.

“Ron look, we don’t have time for this. There are other Death Eaters in town and we don’t have time…”

“We can’t leave that thing lying around.” Ron challenged, raising his own wand until it was eye level, directed at his scar. “I wouldn’t have believed it myself had I not seen it. But leave a Living Grim lying around and it will kill you later.”

“Ron stop it!” Hermione shouted, slightly hysterical as Luna knelt, freeing her and Neville’s bindings.

Behind him another unhappy murmur rose from Kaylens unconscious form.

Luna now hovered over a quietly muttering Dolohov, sending thick ropes coiling around his arms and legs. And as Harry watched her, he noticed one of the non-student patrons inching away from where they stood, her frightened face fixated on Kaylens as well.

His eyes narrowed. “Would someone kindly tell me what’s going on here?”

“But she can’t be… He thinks she a Reach but she can’t be….” Hermione stated weakly, her small form barely supported by Neville.

Harry’s eyes did not leave Ron’s for a second. “A Reach? And to me that means….”

“An energy shifter.” Neville supplied. “That… That t-thing that just happened….” The Gryffindor attempted to wave, nearly dropping Hermione in the process. “That thing with the air… It was e-energy… They can draw on it when they need to…”

“When the need to kill people.” Ron finished angrily. “I’d bet my broom Bagman is dead, Harry. That thing…” He indicated, gesturing violently with his wand. “Did it!”

“And she also quite possibly saved our lives.” Neville sighed frustratedly. “She gave Harry the distraction he needed to take Dolohov out.”

“She could have killed us all Neville!” Ron shouted, mercifully unheard upon the street as Luna’s silencing charms were cast upon the windows and doors.

“But, she, didn’t!” Neville shot back, setting Hermione down in one of the few chairs that had escaped unscathed.

Ron’s resolve only grew. “Harry, she’s not human.” He declared. “She’s not even a witch! All she is, is an energy draining leech that would kill her own mother if she had the chance! That’s why they call them Living Grims! Whoever comes in contact with one dies! Meeting one is like seeing your own…”

“Death?” Harry supplied angrily, finally losing it. His head hurt. Ron being alive, Kaylens whatever it was they thought she was… It was simply too much to process. “Ron if she had wanted to kill us, don’t you think she already would have?”

Ron’s expression faltered, long enough for Harry to know that the truth of his words had sunk in.

“But she can’t be a Reach…” Hermione was continuing on, sounding pained at the lack of certainty. “Remember History of Magic, the unusual species unit? You know with Veelas and Vampires? Things like that? We covered Reaches, and a Reach can’t do Magic! They simply can’t…. And I’ve seen her do magic in class…”

Ron snorted, a smug expression crossing his face. “A pre-magicked wand. Don’t you see? We’ve never seen her do anything beyond basic, first year spells now have we?”

Harry’s mind churned, searching for something to refute the statement, but when it came down to it, he had only seen her levitate Professor Gai and stun someone….

In Dumbledore’s office she hadn’t even reached for her wand…. She hadn’t even tried to defend herself….

My God…

“Look…” He said shakily. “Just don’t touch her. Leave her be, at least until we figure a way out of this mess.”

Ron’s hardened expression did not soften, but his wand arm fell “Fine. But remember who’s idea this was Harry. Grim’s are supposed to be killed on sight. So you can deal with the Ministry. Not. Me.”

Killed on sight….

A sickening feeling rose within his chest at the words. They couldn’t… The Ministry wouldn’t….

Yet looking at Ron’s expressionless face, he knew it to be true. Mr. Weasley worked at the Ministry. Ron had grown up in the wizarding world. Ron knew all of it’s prejudices, even agreed with some. Hell, Ron had been afraid of Lupin upon first finding out hadn’t he?

“A Grim… A Living Grim… Amongst Us…. Amongst us again…”

The whimpering of the woman, who was still attempting to slide away, reached his ears.

The sound of her frightened ramblings made him realize just what he was dealing with.

Kaylens had killed someone… His eyes flew to where Bagman had fallen, only to watch Ron traverse his way there, as if in slow motion, bending down, taking a pulse…

Ron’s hate filled gaze, directed at the girl on the floor, was all the confirmation he needed.

Bagman was dead.

My God she really did…

He swallowed the cold truth, turning to look upon her.

Golden eyes were staring back, a frightened expression across her pale, tear stained face.
* * * * *


The car door slammed behind him, the rain having left the leather interior drenched with pooling rain droplets, and as his foot met the gas, he marveled at how the barely conscious Auror still held her wand high, aimed out the window, quietly muttering about a man named Lupie.

“Daddy… Dada….”

Something was boiling within him, something worse than fear as he shifted into reverse, slamming on the gas so hard the subsequent tire squeal left Emily screeching.

Tonks was leaning between the front seats, aiming her wand through the ever widening crack in the windshield, screaming as he stabbed violently at the defroster.

Somehow, amidst it all, his brain was still working logically.

Hydroplaning on the slick soil the car spun. Cranking the wheel into the turn the spin slowed until it was under his control, and they were on the road, driving, sobbing, shaking.

He wasn’t sure when he finally lost consciousness. He was only sure that they were far beyond the cemetery where his young wife lay.
* * * * *


“Kaylens…” He whispered disbelievingly. Never before had he seen even a trace of such blatant emotion upon her normally complacent features.

Seeing Kaylens torn expression he rounded on Ron.

“You were going to kill her?” He shouted furiously, putting the pieces together. The way Ron had pulled his wand on her, the uncharacteristic, hardened expression…

He stepped backwards, shielding Kaylens with his entire body. “Is that what you planned?” He hissed, voice quivering dangerously. “It’s not enough that the ministry indoctrinates their petty prejudices against everything and everyone through that ridiculous Daily Prophet and it’s ridiculous laws, but you were stupid enough to actually consider listening to them weren’t you?!”

The red head’s expression faltered, and it didn’t take long to see why, for Ron’s eyes had fallen on the now conscious Kaylens, a look of mingled fright and disgust upon him.

Harry was furious for reasons he could not begin to understand. “What’s the matter Ron?” He shot out. “You had no problem talking when you were proclaiming her inhuman a few seconds ago, yet now can’t answer a simple question. Why is that?”

Ron let out a stutter.

“Sorry, couldn’t quite catch that Ron.” He nearly growled, glancing to the floor where Kaylens sat, her frightened expression giving way to one of sheer astonishment as their eyes locked.

“It’s okay…” He mouthed, incapable of articulating anything else. All he knew was that if she was what they claimed her to be, then it wasn’t her fault. She surely had not asked for it, just like he had not asked to have a death sentence hanging over his own head.

Suddenly every hostile action, every cruel word that had passed between them made perfect sense.

The whispered conversation in the bookshop, her anger at having been overheard, her familiarity with Remus, a werewolf, another hated species with laws ruling their kinds lives…

His anger at Ron’s actions boiled over.

He leveled his wand once again. “Answer the question Ron.”

Ron’s eyes, glued to the floor, refused to look up. “I…I hadn’t thought that far ahead…”

“Doesn’t look like you were thinking at all actually.”

“Harry you don’t understand what those things are capa…”

“Ronald stop it!”

All eyes darted to the small brunette in the chair.

“Tell me you weren’t even considering that.” Hermione clipped. “I thought you were too smart to go by what the Ministry says! It’s just another petty law…”

“It’s not petty Mione! It’s for our protectio….”

“Protection from what?” Hermione queried. “Anyone with a wand is dangerous, just because she’s different doesn’t mean she should be singled out Rona…”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “Hermione! She killed Bagman! Did she show any mercy then? Did she?”

Hermione shook her head sadly. “He was a Death Eater. Do you really think he would have shown any to us?”

The red head scoffed. “This is Bagman were talking about…”

“He wouldn’t have.”

The verbal diatribe between the two teenagers ceased at Kaylens’ scarcely uttered words, and as Harry turned he was surprised to find her standing besides him, watery eyes fixated on Ron.

“Ludovic Bagman was his name yes?” It was more of a statement than a question, and he let it remain in the air as he quickly unbound her arms for her.

“Thanks.” She breathed, rubbing her arms where the skin had torn, flecks of dark cruor flaking off, floating to the debris strewn floor.

“How could you know that, murderer?” Ron snapped, though for once he scarcely acknowledged it.