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"The unwritten law of triage is knowing when nothing else can be done, and actually accepting that."
~ A.K. Lovell ~

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Chapter 24 ~ The Black Pool


Dublin, Ireland. Population in excess of 450,000 Muggles, 1,240 witches and wizards, and 451,240 innocents.

Since mediaeval times the locale had served as the capital of the free standing Republic. The Black Pool, or so the Anglicism had stated. Now the expanse of land it rested upon stood as one of the most populated pockets of isolation upon the earth.

An island.

5.8 million Muggles in the Republic of Ireland alone, another 1.7 million in Northern Ireland, and upon the entire United Kingdom land mass, 4,694 beings of magical descent.

The island contained the largest percentage of magical beings per capita of any place on earth.

It could soon contain the lowest.

At the mouth of the River Liffey, the bustling Black Pool of commerce lay in wait, as did a woman clad in the disgusting vise of Muggle apparel.

The rain had let up considerably in comparison to the early morning pelting, yet the harsh drizzle did nothing to mar the once striking beauty as she stood alone upon the Lucan bridge, dark hair flowing in the wind like a canvas born of the Renaissance.

In truth, had one possessing the skill sat to immortalize her countenance, it would have born striking similarity to a painting that had once hung centuries earlier upon the inlaid walls of Sarsfield castle.

The only dissimilarity between the canvases lay in the minute detail of the subjects' hands, her pale, elegant fingers gently uncorking a clear vial, tilting it's contents over the ancient brick viaduct until they churned upon the wind disturbed water below.

As the woman disappeared, seemingly without a trace to the eyes of Muggle passersby, the beginnings of the curse began filtering into the water system of downtown Dublin.

The Black Pool would soon reawaken a Black Plague.
* * * * *


Love.

Because of it cities have been erected, and fallen. Homes have been made, and broken. Mere mortals have been resurrected, and forgotten.

It holds the capability of silencing the strong, immortalizing the weak, dashing the dearest of dreams and destroying the darkest of fears. It's sheer power is unfathomable, and it is due to this overwhelming emotion that the human spirit is capable of being broken.

For one raven haired man, the pressure born of hate and preserved by his love was upon him as it had never before been. The blank, deadened eyes of Seamus Finnigan haunting him even as he breathed in the reassuring presence of the young girl clutched in his arms, his face turned from the world to bury against her skin, his only respite from the cruel reality that was his hell, and life.

It has been said that it is only strength of character that separates the weak from the strong, for their ability to cast feeling, attachment, and love aside… Therein rests their unfaltering ability to do what must be done, in the darkest of times.

Wordlessly the girl had taken him by the hand, silently leading him through the thick coppices and bramble, disregarding the way the coarse briers tore her skin, snaring her clothing. Her silhouette seemed incapable of feeling, and the young man's envy of her skill was thickening, for each thorny prick dragging across his skin sung the guilt he felt, crying for his intervention in what they had left behind in Hogsmeade with the tug of a portkey.

The man felt guilty of abandonment, and murder. Though in his heart, he knew which was worse.

The young man had been forced to leave his friends in the rapidly growing battle ground, for Voldemort's evil had reared again, and again he had come out upon the lesser side, trapped as he was in the darkened forest, incapable of helping anyone.

How was this pathetic wizard supposed to defeat the darkest of them?

It has also been said that strength of character is best not determined by one's indifference, by their ability to distance themselves from the situation at hand, but by their ability to feel the pleas of the weak as if they were their own burdens. For it is in these individuals that the rarest of souls are found, for the few who walk upon the earth with burdened and broken souls are often the most capable of loving, and saving the rest of us.

His footsteps were sinking into the damp earth, following in the girl's tracks as they pushed their way through the thickets, stumbling into a small moonlit clearing, a murky pool of water collecting near its edge.

It was perhaps the saddest, and cruelest of ironies, that the two brave souls standing torn and battered, bathed in the blue hues of moonlight filtering between the night sky's mottled clouds, were the perfect exemplifications of both sides of the spectrum.

Both had been through hell itself, and survived, yet only one had come out fully capable of loving, despite the world crashing around him.

The other was still learning, and it would perhaps be the breaking of the other besides her that would finally teach her how to again, care without restraint.
* * * * *


October 31st, Halloween, 1996.

It would forever stand as the day of infamy, as the night when Aurors had fallen upon the town in striking force, scattering Death Eaters to the far flung corners of the Earth, to wherever their alcoves of safety lay, leaving the scarcely varnished village under the jurisdiction of the Ministry.

There was much to sort out.

It had taken so long for them to reach it's inhabitants, for Hogsmeade had not been the only town to fall under attack this day. And being the only all wizarding village in England, the Aurors had came to it's aid last, for Muggle areas had few defenses, while the citizens of Hogsmeade had at least been armed.

Unlike the innocent Muggles who had been found, lifelessly sprawled upon city streets, magical beings had held the power to fight back.

And fight they had. As the Aurors had spilled forth from the forest the villagers had risen up, only for those drabbed in the visage of hell to disappear as quickly as they had come.

No others had been able to conquer the anti-apparation wards that had been erected, but the Death Eaters had found a way.

Throughout the UK, from Dundee to Belfast, from Diagon Alley to Dublin's Aingingein Marketplace, from the Orkney islands above Scotland to the towns bordering the English Channel, magical recesses of homes and beings, small pockets of isolated homes and wizards, and places of commerce had been taken over.

They had all been targeted, held captive until night had fallen, and each surviving being of magical descent present professed to have felt the same effect. A cold, worse than death quickening of the blood that had seeped into their very souls, raising the shackles of animals and hairs of humans, eliciting the screeches of owls and cries of children had fallen just at dusk, and for those present the time falling immediately after, as towns had risen up in defense, fighting back as the Death Eaters fled and Aurors arrived, it would be remembered as the time of silence.

Something had happened that day, for the Death Eaters had swarmed into the villages and private homes, avoiding only the Muggle populaces, and killing only those Muggles who strayed in their way, and the few wizards and witches who had persistently fought back before the arrival of the Aurors.

Thirty four dead, one hundred and sixty injured, and that was in England alone.

Most had been Muggles that had strayed in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Seamus Finnigan had been amongst the fallen, the only innocent to have died in Hogsmeade, killed by the killing curse erupting from the Imperioused wand of Ginerva Molly Weasley.

Ginny Weasley now lay, near catatonic with the grief of her actions, with the knowledge of her unwillingly dealt sins, in the hospital wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

She had been able to fight strongly enough to save her brother from the killing curse she had fired upon him, but she had not been strong enough to save her boyfriend.

It was a thought that would haunt her for the rest of her life, and while she remained silently mute under the care of Pomfrey, Dean Thomas sat upon the cold corridors of the hospital wing's hall.

The noise of the hall was deafening, reverberating with the frenzied footfalls and echoes of frantic parents unable to locate their children. Very few had taken credence to Dumbledore's assurances that there were only three children within the hospital wing, two of whom Dean treasured above life itself.

He hardly felt the pain as another large father trampled upon his foot, and he pulled his legs closer to his chest, wishing to sink into the wall for all he was worth.

Seamus was gone...

Ginny was no longer speaking...

Kalliandra, Harry, and Hermione were missing....

And no one was letting on what had happened to Ron....
Silently tears of shame poured from his eyes, the newly appointed Gryffindor beater finally succumbing to the overpowering emotions.

It was then that the sandy haired mother of Seamus stumbled into the hall, nearly knocking Luna Lovegood to the floor, her deadened eyes remarkably similar to how Ginny's had been when he had found her, crumbled and shaking besides Professor Tres' unconscious form in the kitchen of Madam Puddifoots.

Pressing his forehead to his bent up knees, shame dealt it's final blow, for he now knew the truth.

He was going to hell, if this was not already it.
* * * * *


Somewhere, deep in the forest, Harry calmly observed the sky. The autumn leaves struck a stark contrast to the night's dark backdrop, and deep gray clouds blotted out all semblance of starlight, save for the few persistent pinpoints and the sliver of moonlight fighting their way through the mottled mess.

It was exquisite.

Though no amount of beauty, nor staring, could drive the disturbing thoughts from his mind for long, and with a resigned sigh he knelt before the small pond, his knees sinking into the damp earth besides Kaylens.

"Are you okay?"

He heard her words, yet failed to respond. Instead his eyes remained glued to the wavering personage upon the water's surface. Staring back at him were the accusatory jade eyes of one whose loved ones were either gone, or in peril. The man in the reflection was one he did not recognize, for it was a man who had killed without regret, and who would do it again.

The inky black image was revealing how he had become all he had once abhorred, and it was a thought for which he was ill prepared.

Never looking up, he finally spoke.

"No."

His cupped hands plunged into the spring, scattering the damnable reflection from its surface, rippling the weeds extending near the other embankment.

A long time passed, the sound of light splashing besides him mingling with sounds of the night, as they both rubbed the blood from their hands in the icy water.

Upon its inky surface his reddened blood swirled, pooling from his reopening wounds. Though the pain was something that could not reach him, numbed as his senses were from the hypothermic waters.

It was the feeling of her hands carefully wrapping around his own, that finally pulled him from his near cataleptic state. His eyes rose from the water he had hoped to drown within, falling to rest upon her calm countenance.

Her crystalline eyes held his, concern flickering in the dull moonlight.

"We need to do something about this." She whispered, her breath crystallizing upon the cooling air.

There was no doubting what she meant, for his hands were pained at her mere touch, intertwined as they were with her cold ones, beneath the impenetrable spring's surface. He reveled in that silence, grimacing only as she forcibly withdrew his hands from the mercifully numbing waters. The harsh sting of the cool night air sent pinpricks of pain shooting through his wounds, burning his arms in a way contradictory to the evening's breeze.

The barest trace of disquiet lingered upon her concerted face, for she was studying the gashes along his calloused hands, the ones he had received as he fought to cut the bonds binding them within Rosmereta's small pub.

That small pub now held some of the most important people in his life, and he had never felt farther from it.

The sharp sound of cloth ripping catapulted him from the ill fated road his thoughts were traveling upon, and where his hands had just been, enclosed in her own, now lay a strip of shredded cloth. She had torn a shred of cloth, from his cloak, and was wrapping it tightly around his palm, winding it up and over his wrist where the deepest of wounds stretched.

Cringing he did not impede her concentrated progress, though his voice betrayed his skepticism. "Do you know what your doing?"

Sparing not a word, the last strip was tugged tightly in place. With a satisfied sigh she tilted her head to the side, a curious expression befalling her. "Well…" She replied faintly, her cold thumb tracing along his skin around the makeshift bandaging. "You'd better hope so."

He scowled at her, flexing his wrists testingly. The movements were stiff, but would suffice.

"Not bad…" He muttered, glancing at his torn sleeve. "Just had to destroy my cloak didn't you?"

"Hmph."

She offered no further reply, lazily trailing her hands within the cool waters once again, her eyes falling shut.

Unconsciously his eyes were drawn to her, following her hands effortless progress upon the glistening water, and for the first time he noticed the ambling play of magic before him, for her fingers were playing lithely across the water's dark surface, a dull glow radiating at the threshold where the static surface finally broke, allowing her fingers entry, rose up from its depths.

He regarded the interplay, a slow curiosity rising as flecks of magic trailed beneath her hands, coloring the light swellings she was creating. Ripples, swelling out in successive rings, bore the sparkling only a scant ways before the light tumbling within the waters faded away.

And it was not for the first time, nor for the last, that he again realized how little he still knew about the magical world.

He leaned towards her, curiosity crossing his features, for how could the girl who could not incant perform the display before him? His question rolled from his lips quietly, and though her face remained averted from his, her reflection upon the rippling water betrayed her faint smile.

"What are you doing?" Was what he had whispered, steadying himself with one hand upon the dew stained grass.

Her hair fell loose from behind her shoulder, tumbling to veil her face. "You know…" She replied softly, "I'm not entirely sure."

"Experimental magic? And you call me reckless?"

"Well…" She whispered, her reflection smiling, "Insane is probably a better term."

"A pity then." He quipped lowly, looking across the water, its very surface vibrating with life. "For we're trapped in the woods without a semblance of sanity between us."

She murmured in agreement, withdrawing her fingers from the water, flicking the clear droplets from them in his direction.

His grunt of protest was ignored, for her watchful eyes had flickered out across the rippling water, gazing searchingly into the shadowy forest. And for the thousandth time since their first meeting, he wondered if she could see things he could not.

As if in response to his thoughts, a light furrow creased her brow, barely discernable as the clouds moved to obscure the cool moonlight, throwing shadows across her countenance. And as a gentle breeze sent the reeds protruding from the embankment swaying, her demeanor stiffened, her shoulders relaxing only with the cessation of the plants' hypnotic motions.

"Jittery?"

His question was met not with the expected disdain, but with something else.

"Yes." She whispered darkly.

Her cold intonations were disturbing, and his eyes joined hers in sweeping the tree line for any sign of malevolence. Yet just as before, when he had checked upon their arrival, there was none to be found.

A thought occurred to him, and finally after the wind had risen in intensity, sending the reed tips tilting so as to dip into the pond's surface, he spoke it aloud.

"Are you familiar with port keys?"

She turned a questioning expression to him, her hair scattering like a feathery halo about her face in the blustery breeze. Such was the disturbance of her thick mane that he could not tell whether she nodded yes or no until it had died down.

Only then did it occur to him that the object of their very displacement could also be the object of their rescue. His hands scrambled in the deep folds of his thick cloak for the Kunnskap, and finally he dumped it upon the cold earthy mud, taking care to never allow it's dulled golden chain to touch his flesh.

Kaylens eyes filled with understanding, "It's how we got here."

He nodded, reaching for her hand with his bandaged one. Though when his fell atop hers, she did not take it.

His eyes caught hers, "Trust me." He whispered.

Steadily the hesitation within her eyes vanished, and slowly she turned her hand around, allowing his fingers to interlace with hers. Squeezing her hand as gently as his limited mobility allowed, he guided her to the Kunnskap with him.

"Take it with me."

His eyes having never left hers, he saw that she understood his meaning, for the Kunnskap had been their portkey there, and had it been somehow re-activated, they could take it back to Hogsmeade together with a simple touch of their fingers to its surface.

He absolved to never leave her alone, not anywhere, not ever again.

With baited breath they touched the chain.

Nothing.

Sharing a half disappointed, half relieved smile, they exhaled the breaths they had both been holding.

As he re-gathered the chain in his hands, she was the first to break the impenetrable silence.

"Your portkey doesn't seem to be working."

He cast her an irritable glance, examining the runes carved into the pensieve's vial. Unsurprisingly, not one depiction cast a shred of light onto the situation at hand. Maybe, just maybe, he would take Hermione up on her offer to teach him ancient runes when they returned.

"It must be conditional," He finally decided. "It's the only solution."

At this Kaylens' brow creased critically, and he explained further.

"You know how most port keys are touch sensitive, taking people back and forth between two places?"

Her head bobbed lightly, another cold gust sending her hair awry. This time she did not bother fighting with it, and let it lie as it fell.

He fought back a small smile as her nose wrinkled, her long strands clearly tickling it. "Well…" He continued, "A conditional port key only activates under certain circumstances. You can be touching it, but it won't take you anywhere because its 'condition' is not met." He glanced down at the vial, slipping it into his cloak once again. "Dumbledore made this for me, so I'm guessing it activates when the wearer is in mortal peri…"

Mortal peril…

He trailed off, not realizing the expression that had befallen his face until Kaylens concerned words drew him back to the present, away from the snarling teeth and growls of Hogsmeade's back alley.

He had not known until that day, until he had felt the telling tug behind his navel, that the Kunnskap doubled in purpose, and his oversight of Dumbledore's secretive method of ensuring his own protection could have very well cost Kaylens her life.

She was saying his name, yet he barely heard. For how could his life, his very existence, be worth the endangerment to others that it brought with it?

His mouth went dry, and a cold, unnerving feeling spread through him. Forcing his eyes to raise to hers, he saw the confusion swirling within them.

"Kaylens…I didn't…." He was suddenly avoiding her eyes, the shame of his oversight darkening his features. "I swear I didn't know…"

The inexplicable urge to drown himself within the unfeeling pond took precedence, but the urge was driven from his mind by her hand reaching for his.

He found himself staring at the back of her smooth hand lying atop his, and it was some time before his eyes darted to behold her.

She was smiling. In fact, she seemed to be laughing.

"It's okay," She whispered, voice tinged with amusement. "I know you weren't trying to leave me to fend off the wolves myself."

And despite her tone, he felt himself pale.

"But if I had… If it hadn't snapped and you had not been holding on I wou…"

She was positively clamping upon her lower lip, "Now who's the one stuttering?" She intoned, shaking with light laughter.

He merely stared, feeling her fingers slipping between his own, willingly interlocking, yet he was not daring enough to look.

"Kaylens…" He murmured, eyes closing in pain. "This has been a disaster."

"It could have been worse." She whispered, the irony of her words mocking the disaster they had lived through.

And then it happened. Everything he had been fighting back suddenly came swimming frighteningly close to the surface, and the brief thought of whether or not she truly meant it flashed through his mind.

"It could have been worse."

Hogsmeade had been taken, Dean could be dying, Hermione was injured, and the others like innocent Ginny Weasley, the sister he grew to have, were under the Imperious.

And then there was Seamus…

She knew about all of this, yet could sit there and say that.

Harry's icy green eyes flew open, narrowing onto her. "How…how can you possibly say that?"

Unapologetically she held his gaze, her expression falling. "Because it's the truth."

He swallowed, every fiber of his being disagreeing with each of her uttered syllables.

"Seamus is dead," He finally whispered, regaining control. "We abandoned the others. We failed them. Or did you forget tha…"

"No we didn't."

He stared, unable to reconcile the rising grief and guilt that had swept upon him as suddenly as a tidal wave, with her professions.

"We failed."

She shook her head slowly, jaw setting determinedly in acknowledgement of his repetition.

"No Potter," She countered. "Luna and Weasley needed a distraction, and that's exactly what we gave them. All we can do now is hope they took advantage of it. If we had not done that then we would have failed them."

Lifeless blue eyes…

"What if it wasn’t enough?"

Her eyes flickered searchingly across his face, her brow creasing concernedly. "Do you really have that little faith in them?"

Her voice was as serious as he had ever heard it, and as gentle, yet the bitterness could not be kept from his voice as he pulled his hand from hers.

"I don't know anymore." He whispered gruffly, not knowing which was worse: The hurt expression upon her face, or the knowledge that he actually believed his words, for he did not have faith in his friends.

At least not when it came to their avoidance of bodily harm. The Department of Mysteries had proven that much, for they had fought bravely, yet their ineptness… Both had fallen almost immediately, first Ron, and then Hermione.

And Kaylens… Just for being near him, just for helping him, just as Ron and Hermione always had, she had nearly been killed.

"I'm of no good to anyone." He realized somberly, vocalizing his thoughts. "Not to anyone. Not to Ron, not to Hermione, not to Seamus, not to…"

"What?"

Failing to catch this his insensible vocalizations of self-loathing continued, unheard to his own ears, yet perfectly clear to the girl besides him.

"How dare you."

This time he heard her, her voice vibrating dangerously, his eyes instantly flying to her furious expression.

Deep within her eyes something frightening was stirring.

"How dare you say that," She breathed quietly, her left hand shaking ever so slightly.

This shaking was her only sign of emotion, for her deadened tone was perhaps colder than her adopted expression.

"In case you didn't notice Potter, you are worth something," She whispered in continuation. "Because if it wasn't for you your friends would have never made it out of Hogsmeade, and not only that…"

She stood abruptly, brushing her hands on her jeans furiously, glowering down with chilling intensity.

"If it wasn't for you I would be dead right now Potter. But perhaps I don't count." Her fiery eyes burned a searching trail across him. "Not to you at least."

Her last words were the coldest of all, and the absence of her hand, no longer within the confines of his own, struck him in a way he was ill equipped to explain.

He had willfully pulled his hand from hers in anger.

Scrambling to his feet he closed the distance between them, catching her around the arm before she could make it any further. She struggled, her icy glare fixated furiously upon him, freezing him to the core, yet it did not stop him from pulling her to him and holding on.

He did not let go, wrapping his arms tightly around her form, stroking her hair until she stopped struggling.

"I'm sorry…" He whispered constrictedly, "I swear to God I'm sorry…"

She uttered not a sound, dropping her face against his shoulder, allowing his to bury within her hair. He only pulled her closer, warmth sinking through him as her hands burrowed beneath his robes, snaking around his midsection to hold him back.

"I never meant for you to think..." He swallowed, breathing deeply as he whispered into her hair. "To think I didn't care Kay…"

"Damn't Potter…" She interrupted harshly, her voice barely heard, muffled as it was against his robes. "Is there anything you don't blame yourself for?"

His throat vibrated oddly. "Not really," He ground out, a hand raising to tangle within her tresses. "Though with good reason…"

Her form stiffened, his forehead falling against hers as her face swiveled to regard him. Instinctively his arms encircled her shivering form ever tighter, prepared to do anything to prevent her from leaving.

Her glistening eyes turned up, both anger and assurance swimming contradictorily within them. "Potter…" She whispered, "No good reason exists here. You did all you could."

"Well…" He murmured gratingly, "It's a matter of opinion…"

A soft murmur of disapproval came from behind her closed lips, the changes upon her once impassive face startling. Unconsciously his eyes fell shut, his hands moving across her back comfortingly. Slowly he breathed her in, clutching her by her sweater, twisting it in the process as an exasperated sigh escaped her lips.

Against his skin he felt her eyelashes flickering shut, her warming palms sliding out from beneath his cloak, "Potter…" She whispered, rising her hands till they lay flat against his chest. "Sometimes I really hate you."

Nodding against her skin, he inhaled deeply, their unresolved conflicts fading from his mind. "You're in luck…" He replied, whispering despite their solitude. "Because the feeling's mutual."

"I'm sure…" She murmured back, face upturning as a blustery autumn wind sent her long tresses scattering haphazardly between them. His arms pulled her in closer, the loose sides of his robe billowing out and enveloping them both.

For the longest time they stood there, him shielding her from the darkness' icy claws, her shielding him from regression into the darkness of all he had been partly responsible for. And for the thousandth time since their paths had first crossed, he found himself listening to her admonishments.

Predominant amongst them was his newly bestowed title, a strained smile crossing his face at the thought.

"King of Idiocy…" He murmured, a solitary hand sliding from where he cupped the back of her head, falling to rest along her cheek. "I can't believe you called me that."

The delicate fingers lingering upon his chest curled, capturing the folds of his beer stained robes. "From my point of view it's fitting."

A sad chuckle caught in his throat. "So I've been told."

"Mrmm…" She murmured back. "And I'm sure it has sunk in as well as that froth you're covered in."

He shook his head, his nose tousling her hair further. "Just remember…" He growled quietly, "I owe you."

"Do you?" She asked, inclining her head to look questioningly upon him. "And I thought it was I who owed you."

Despite his lack of joy, he found himself smiling. "You do, I just owe you a drink, and I don't mean the kind in a glass."

Her eyes shone with understanding, "You mean the kind overturned upon my head."

"Just wait…" He whispered, his lips falling upon her exposed earlobe. "You'll sit down in the Great Hall, and when you least suspect it…"

"Does it count that you deserved it?"

His throat vibrated lowly. "And you don't?"

"Point taken."

"You know…" He mused aloud, "You're awfully agreeable tonight."

"Well I don't fancy being strangled by you," She replied truthfully, eyeing him with amusement. "Alone, at night, in the Forbidden Forest… It'd be quite easy for you to get rid of me."

His brow furrowed at her words, a shrewd expression befalling him as he pulled away to regard her. "We're in the Forbidden Forest?"

God he hoped he had misheard.
* * * * *


The doors of the entrance hall needed naught to be thrown open, for in the havoc of parents coming and going, claiming their children before fleeing, the looming entryway remained passable to all.

Regulus Black strode through it, robes billowing ominously in his wake, looking for all the world as if hell itself could not deter him from his mission.

Only those who looked him in the eye would see the uncertainty that lay beneath the surface.

It was upon the main staircase that Dumbledore intercepted them, Tonks ushering Emily and a fully recovered Kenneth in front of her, due to their slightly drugged state.

Muggle repellant charms be damned, she had force them through the wards, for here they would be safe.

The door to Dumbledore's office slammed shut on an indignant knocker, Regulus wasting not a moment.

"He's attacked everywhere has he not?"

Dumbledore crossed the room, quickly climbing a small ladder to retrieve a small paperback, leather-bound text. "Of course."

Neither of the two men appeared uneasy with the other's presence. The unflappable elder appearing entirely unsurprised by the younger's sudden return to the living.

"Then his plan remains the same as before."

"Indeed…" Dumbledore replied calmly, descending his perch. "It's a shame the Ministry did not listen to the warnings."

Tonks cast an askance glance the Headmaster's way, steadying Emily's swaying form with a hand. "You knew this was coming?"

"I had my suspicions," Replied the Headmaster, squatting in front of young Emily, extending the text to her. The auburn haired child took it without a thought.

"My child…" Dumbledore requested kindly, "Would you do an old man the favor of reading a bit to him?"

Emily's head bobbed gently, opening the leather bound book with robotic motions, and as she began to read, the clouded look disappeared from her and Kenneth's eyes, as did their drugged states.

Ignoring Regulus' annoyed growl, Dumbledore responded to Tonks questioning look. "The only way to allow Muggles to feel at ease within our grounds, short of removing the wards, is to read from this book."

Tonks merely nodded, while Kenneth blinked confusedly. Emily, however, had already spied a squishy looking arm chair and wasted no time in making a bee line for it.

"If you don't mind, there is the small matter of a Dark Lord to attend." The sneer Regulus used paled in comparison to his tone.

Dumbledore merely smiled and pointed Kenneth towards the same chair, where the President promptly passed out, his small daughter in his lap. It was only then that Dumbledore's smiling exterior faltered, something far more serious flashing behind his half-moon spectacles.

Tonks remained silent, knowing full well she would better serve everyone by listening, for she was in the dark about what was transpiring. She, an Auror, was out of her realm with the discovery of the multiple attacks throughout the U.K., while Regulus merely grimaced, as if having long expected such an unpleasantry.

The last remaining heir of the Black family gestured to the sleeping family. "He's come after the family before?"

Both Tonks and Dumbledore nodded, while Regulus paced.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may be a lot of things, but impulsive isn't one of them," Regulus said seriously. "If he's attacked them it's not coincidence, it's targeting. And I'm willing to bet it has something to do with his plan of eradication."

Her heart fluttered uneasily, "Eradication?"

Regulus paused mid-stride, "Surely your education was not that bereft of grammar to provide suitable excuse for your failure to understand such a short syllable word as eradication?"

Her dark eyes narrowed in annoyance, her tongue held in check only by the discipline born of years under the supervision of Kingsley and Mad-Eye's loose wand.

Regulus' equally dark eyes left hers duly, his pacing resumed, "At a time He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named desired merely the eradication of Muggleborns alone. The cleansing of our world would have sufficed, for then he would be free to rule it."

Reaching the wall he did an abrupt about-face, continuing undeterred upon his straight path. "His views eventually changed and he came to desire the deaths of both Muggles and Muggleborns, and if his plans remain similar to the plot of before, the plot I failed to assist in properly, than today marks the beginning of the plague."

Tonks breathed deeply, "There hasn't been a plague of precedence here since…"

"The Great Plague of London in the seventeenth century."

All eyes, including the drowsy Emily's, turned to regard the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. Though while Emily gently tugged at her dozing father's sleeve, mumbling about the picture man in awe, Regulus glared in annoyance.

"Salutations Grandfather," He greeted with considerable sarcasm. "As always I am fortunate to have never been forced to suffer your condemnable, condescending presence in life."

Phineas ignored the insult, choosing to correct Regulus by reminding him that he was his Great-Great-Grandfather, and as such demanded a greater degree of respect.

"That irritable stone doorknocker demands respect as well, but that does not mean we give it to him." Quipped Regulus, his long fingers creating a hollow melody along the shelving.

The Headmaster's eyes twinkled at the sound of Crusantheus' protestations from outside the door. "Your presence has charmed everyone within earshot Regulus, I can only hope to earn such praise by the end of our meeting as well. I'm beginning to feel left out."

Simultaneously all of the portraits, Tonks, the doorknocker, Fawkes, and a merman sculpture snorted.

Regulus and Phineas surveyed the room with identically critical expressions, glowering at those uncouth enough to snort in their civilized presences.

"I've wasted too many years abroad to idly stand around and be chortled at. There is again, the matter of a Dark Lord to attend to."

Tonks sobered immediately, her eyes fixating upon the child and man under her protection, the ones Regulus himself was responsible for saving when she had failed.

Her mouth formed the words, her emotionless clip telling of her seriousness.

"Tell me more of this plague, Regulus."

And that he did, revealing the true reason for his defection from the ranks of the Death Eaters.

"Do you remember the coordinated attacks in my youth Headmaster?"

"The ones just before your disappearance?"

Black nodded somberly, "Yes, only on a smaller scale than the ones of today I shall imagine. On that day I was to deliver a vial into the River Thames, spreading the plague throughout the entirety of Muggle London." The man's voice betrayed not a hint of emotion as he confessed his deeds, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.

"It was only natural," He continued, "For He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to coordinate attacks upon wizarding villages, entrapping the wizarding folk within. The orders were to not kill nor harm the inhabitants unless absolutely necessary, and while the magical folk were trapped he unleashed a spell, a counter curse if you will, one that would grant all those within the wards at the time of its casting immunity from the plague."

"Wait…wasn't there a risk of the counter curse failing?" Another portrait, one by the name of Dilys Derwent, inquired.

Her cousin's dark glare was answer enough.

"So why risk wiping out the wizarding population of Britain, his home, when there were other places where he may have tested it?" Tonks asked, directing her cousin's dark gaze from the defenseless portrait to herself.

Regulus thin lips went taunt, "Nymphadora, you again underestimate him, assuming he places value in abstract concepts such as love and home." His eyes narrowed considerably, "He does not, and what better place to test an experimental vaccine if you will, then upon a populated island."

Dilys Derwent's eyes widened, and Kenneth let out a jolting snore.

"If the counter curse proved ineffective than the only wizarding communities lost would be those of the U.K." Dumbledore said sadly, "A reasonable loss to one such as Tom, considering his strongest resistance has always been in Britain."

Regulus nodded somberly, "If it was ineffective, only a small portion of the world's wizarding population would be lost, yet millions of Muggles would be gone with them. And since it was on an island, isolated from the main continents, the chances of it spreading to the other continents would be very slim indeed."

Dilys shook her head, "Not with Muggle transportation. Now-a-days it could spread…"

"Quickly," Regulus supplied. "There were plans to prevent this as well, to shut down major Muggle transportation networks until the experiment had run it's course. However, what those plans were, I was not privy to. We were on a need to know basis."

Listening to the conversation Tonks stomach churned. The cold calculation that must have gone into an endeavor such as that… The realization that people, who harbored such little regard for human life, existed was chilling.

Her parents accounts of such dark times were what had driven her to join the ranks of the Aurors in the first place, even if she herself harbored no personal memory of those days.

She had been only seven upon the ides of June, when the towns had been held during the day lit hours for reasons never discovered.

Regulus Black was now revealing the undisclosed reasoning behind the 24 deaths that had occurred that day. For his job had been to unleash the Plague that night, once the wizarding communities had been safely and effectively immunized.

The Plague had never been unleashed, for Regulus Black, the trustworthy son of a noble pureblooded family, had never shown. And now that same son was setting the vial, the same vial that he had kept for years in his possession, upon the Headmaster's desk.

"Whatever it does, it was rumored to make the Bubonic Plague seem like the flu."

It would be the deadliest plague to befall the planet, and according to Regulus, the same plague would have been unleashed under similar circumstances.

Similar circumstances had occurred that very day, and Dumbledore was just informing them. Fawkes disappeared in a fiery puff of smoke, sent to summon Severus and the best of healers to began examining the deadly contents of the vial.

With an ashen face Tonks took it all in, only one thought resonating within her head.

God help us.
* * * * *


"Kaylens?" He questioned hesitantly, waiting for some response. Yet she only regarded him quizzically, nodding slowly in response to his question.

They were in the Forbidden Forest, and her with her foolish naivety had not thought once to mention it before now.

They were in the Forbidden Forest…

How in the hell could she have know that?

His expression instinctively hardened, as did his hands upon her, for temporary isolation within a woodland was one thing, but isolation within the Forbidden Forest was an entirely different matter.

Eyes sweeping the forest's menacing tree line defensively, he remained unresponsive to her questioning eyes. His only reaction was the slight loosening of his arms around her form as he silently prayed their safety would hold out.

Unsatisfied, yet helpless to improve matters, his arms fell to her waist, hands stiffening along her spine. "Kaylens…" He whispered lowly, "Why did you not think to mention this earlier?"

Her chest rose against his, her slow breath crystallizing on the cooling air.

"What good would it have done?" She whispered back. "It wasn't worth mentioning."

Swallowing hard he regarded her through narrowing slits. "Perhaps I'm wrong," He said lowly, "But when something concerns our safety I'd consider it worth mentioning."

"If I had told you before, what would you have done?" She whispered dryly. "We're in too deep to risk travel, especially in the darkness."

"I like the dark."

"So do arachnids."

His eyes narrowed further, "How could you possibly know about them?"

Lifting her chin defiantly she met his gaze, "Hagrid."

He nodded, voice heavily laced with sarcasm, "And I'm sure he's in the practice of telling all his students about Aragog."

Her expression defied his test, for her eyes told him she knew exactly of what he spoke as she shook her head. "No, but I was like him Potter. I can't do magic, just like he was forbidden to after his expulsion, so we had something in common…"

Grinding his teeth to prevent an interjection he listened warily.

"The only thing that saved him was being able to work with the creatures of this forest Potter, did you know that?"

He shook his head disbelievingly, "You can't work around them without a wand, it's too dangerous. And unlike you he at least had his…"

"Umbrella?" She whispered shrewdly. "No. Not at first."

"And what does this have to do with you not telling me where we were before now?"

"Everything, because when I first came here Hagrid showed me how the forest was divided into quadrants of each magical species' territory."

He inclined an eyebrow questioningly, encouraging her to continue.

"This quadrant is rather near their nest."

His blood grew cold in memory of his last experience, hands tightening along her back further. "You still should have told me," He whispered.

She smiled sadly, "Since when did I have to inform you of everything within my head?"

"Since now."

She shrugged impassively, "I'm surprised you didn't know. It was your port key that took us here, so I assumed you had known where it had taken us."

Exasperatedly his eyes fell shut, chest rising as he inhaled deeply, "Did I just imagine telling you Dumbledore made it? Or did I not already relay that I had no clue that the vial was a port ke…"

"You told me that recently," She interjected. "We were here in silence for hours. How was I to intuitively know that you were unaware of our location before then?"

"You should have said something the second I told you I had nothing to do with the port key Kayle..."

"Considering that you were in mid-apology I'm going to disagree," She whispered, leveling her gaze to his. "It's not often that one sees the great Potter apologize about anything and I wasn't about to interrupt that."

His hands dropped at her words, for the conversation had turned in a strikingly different direction. She merely took a step back, regarding him from a safe distance with masked eyes.

"It's the truth Potter. It didn't even occur to me that you were clueless about where we were until a second ago. Before I was busy being concerned that you were actually capable of showing some semblance of human emotion…." Her eyes narrowed, tones drowned in sarcasm. "Asides from anger or suspicion that is."

With that she dropped down to the ground, becoming utterly fascinated by the swaying reeds as he was left with naught but her back to regard.

This was not how it was supposed to be. She was the one who's emotions were constantly masked. She was the inhuman one, not him.

By the time he was done telling her that, in not quite succinct sentences, he was reasonably sure that her expression would betray hostile intent towards him.

Though as he moved to stand besides her kneeling form, suddenly the escalation of their argument seemed worthless as he glimpsed her torn expression. Turning away from him, the back of her wrists began wiping at her eyes.

It was a long time before either again spoke, the only sound the howling of the wind between the forest's trees.

"Kaylens I…"

"No…" She whispered, "Don't bother. Just realize that some us do not have the luxury to leave our feelings unmasked."

Only one word came to mind, and he spoke it, unable to articulate in any other way his question as to why she had until this very day refused to show any semblance of her true self to him.

"Why?"

Her head bowed low, the ends of her long tresses dangling loosely in the rippling water. Finally, a small stretch of eternity passing, she again spoke.

"If you had the choice between keeping people safe, or putting good people at risk, what would you do?"

Her words were chilling, and he found himself standing still, frozen in that moment, heart thudding louder than it ought. Never before had someone uttered the words, or given voice to the question that so oft haunted him.

Not in the way she just had.

She turned on the wet grass, her glossy orbs rising in a determined way, betraying all the pain she had until now kept so carefully hidden.

"How can you let yourself care for others, when it could destroy them?"
* * * * *


Dean felt empty as he numbly shoved past the Fat Lady's portrait. Whether the password had fallen from his lips or not was something he would never know, and something the Fat Lady would keep to herself.

"Neville."

He addressed his dorm mate in a monotone, unable to look the boy in the eye, even as Neville smiled sadly, hauling his trunk down the stairs.

It was well after midnight, the majority of the students already gone, taken away by their families. Those remaining till the next morning, or indefinitely, as Dean was planning, would already be in their dormitories.

Save for Neville, who's gram had just arrived to take him home.

Neville shook his head sadly, "It isn't right. I shouldn't leave like this."

Dean shrugged, walking past him up the flight. "Then don't."

The other boy paused in his tracks, turning and nearly losing his trunk in the process. "It's not that simple."

Dean sighed resignedly, "It is Neville. Just take a stand for once. Don't back down." Like I did…

Neville's face furrowed anxiously, "And what happens if she doesn't let me?"

"We are at war Mr. Thomas, and soon you will be forced to choose a side!"

A strong hand stretched out to rest against the cold stone wall of the tower, and Dean steadied himself from the onslaught of regretful memories.

"Dean what if she tries to make me?"

"Make your choice!"

His expression hardened, hand leaving the wall as he turned to regard his nervous looking dorm mate, whose neck was craned high to see where he stood higher up upon the stairs.

"Neville…" He said seriously, his deep voice echoing upon the empty walls of the tower. "No one can make you do anything. Not unless you are too weak to stand up for what you want," His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Or for what you think is right."

Swiftly he strode down, taking the stairs two at a time until he was again level with the nervous looking boy.

"No one can force you to do anything," Dean imparted, his dark eyes squaring off with Neville's. "Not McGonagall. Not Snape." His continued, his own internal anger growing. "Not even Voldemort himself."

Leaning in Dean let his dark stare drill into Neville's light one. "And especially not your Gran," He whispered fiercely. "No one can force you to do something you do not already want to do. So if you think staying here is the right thing, then you better do it, lest you regret it later on."

Neville Longbottom looked at him as if he had never before seen him, and gulped apprehensively, for in Dean's normally congenial eyes there was no pity.

"There's nothing worse than looking back and wishing you had done something differently." Dean imparted intensely, straightening as a tabby cat bounded down from the girl's dormitory. "And I would think that someone who could face down Death Eaters, defending himself the way you did back in Hogsmeade, would not be one for backing down."

With a last glance at the cat Dean trudged up the flight, hell bent on retrieving Ronald Weasley's things. How in the hell he was to get Ginny's was another matter entirely, but the only thing he really knew, or cared about at that moment, was the satisfactory sound of Neville's trunk dropping to become abandoned on the stairs.

Later, when Dean came out of the dormitory, he would be greeted with an empty common room, Neville's unrelenting shouts of being needed at Hogwarts filling the halls.
* * * * *


Inside Harry felt something breaking, for Kalliandra's words were hitting closer to home than she could ever realize, for what had haunted him had haunted her.

Deep in the forest, the impenetrable silence was again shattered by her cheerless voice.

"Once someone cares for you, and I mean truly cares Potter, no amount of resistance will be able to push them away." Her haunting words fell to the unfeeling ground, her face once again lowered. "Once you let someone in there really is no going back, and doing that…"

She paused, Harry's heart wrenching at the realizations befalling him.

"It's something I cannot do." She finally whispered, eyes again falling upon the dark waters.

In that moment, the wind stirring the grass around his feet, he realized how abysmally stupid he had been. Kalliandra's words had never rang truer. And though he felt as if he were missing some integral point, for how the words applied to her he knew not, he did know how they applied to him.

Ron and Hermione would never leave his side, not ever.

A long time ago they had said there had been a point where they could turn back, and they had not.

Harry Potter suddenly realized when that moment had been, for both of them.

"I think I can judge the wrong sort for myself thanks."

Ron's face had glowed with acceptance.

"It was my idea Professor. I went looking for the troll. I had read about them and thought I could handle it. If Harry and Ron had not come when they did, I'd probably be dead."

A sad smile tugged at his heart, for Hermione Granger, knowing them as nothing other than cruel taunting boys, had broken every moral she had that Halloween night.

And she had done it for them.

The point where he could protect his friends had long since passed. The time where they could have been kept safe was over, and if he truly wanted them to survive their best chance would be together, not apart.

He had been a fool to think otherwise.

Eyes blinking rapidly, he regarded the girl who had brought this to light, torn between whether to drown her or embrace her. Though all he could bring himself to do was quietly watch, paralyzed by the sheer thought of speaking when he was only just realizing how little he understood about her.

In that moment he was struck by the intense pain he had failed to before notice. Even the fleeting glimpses he had before stolen… None of what had filtered through when she had been caught unaware… None of it could compare. Not to the sorrow flitting through in every pained crease of her brow, in every shaky breath indrawn, and in every halting gesture.

The rather plain, disheveled girl before him, the one capable of holding so much in, was suddenly strikingly beautiful.

In a moment of indecision he crossed to her. Gone was the stumbling boy who had once been unable to articulate a coherent thought around saddened females. Now, in the face of necessity, drawn together by circumstance, he found that his concern suddenly lay with the only person he held the power to help.

Kaylens.

Laying a hand upon her shoulder, the realization that her cloak was gone struck him. Once he had removed it, accessing her chest in the alley, he had never re-fastened the clasp.

It had been left behind, and in the rapidly chilling air she had let slip not one complaint.

Despite the stiffening of her shoulders beneath his throbbing palm, he knelt down, one arm snaking it's way around her quivering form. Goosebumps were rising across her neck where her tresses had been swept aside, her skin far too cool for his liking.

Lowering his mouth to her ear his breath traced along her skin, his chin falling to rest on her shoulder as he spoke.

"You're stubborn, missing your cloak, and did not think to say a word," He whispered, pulling her against him, trapping her arms against her chest with his own. "And….you look like hell, and I do not fancy having you not only irritable but sick."

"Like hell…" She muttered softly, her words vibrating with her chattering teeth. Casting his eyes to the water he could see her reflection, and distracted expression. "You should see yourself."

"I'll let you revel in that torture alone," He responded softly, the chilling breeze sweeping the clouds aside once again, revealing the sliver of moon residing there that All Hallows Eve.

Her light strands tickled his face, his eyes falling shut as he reveled in the strange sensation, only opening as he felt her turn to regard him.

Before she could speak his hand rose, silencing her.

"Thank you," He whispered, watching the anger fade from her eyes. Now only confusion, mingled with mild surprise, swirled within her fiery orbs. The crease of her brow was question enough, and he shook his head, mumbling how it was hard to explain, for how could he impart the realizations her single sentence had brought.

Unable to do so, he tightened his arms around her, pulling her to her feet before releasing her. Shrugging out of his cloak he spread it before them upon the cold earth, earning a puzzled look from where she stood, her own arms now wrapped tightly around herself.

Her lips parted slightly, though her protestation fell silent, for a thick woolen blanket now lay where his cloak had been a moment before.

Pocketing his wand he nodded satisfactorily. "Transfiguration," He offered by way of explanation, wrapping it around her shoulders, his hands lingering there. "If we remain here, we'll be safe?"

Haltingly she nodded, a golden tress falling loose from behind her ear, swinging freely in the light breeze that cast it across her face, her nose crinkling ever so slightly as the tress tickled her nose.

His hand rising to brush it aside, he watched her eyes turn to the forest, studying it with a barely concealed longing.

"We're welcome here," She whispered softly, "For now at least."

And against every ingrained instinct, he trusted her unquestioningly.

"Then here we'll stay."

Sliding his hands down her arms, taking her hands in his, he led her away from the water and towards a large oak with a comfortable looking trunk.

Within minutes a soft, smoke-free fire burned before them, his back to the oak and her resting comfortably against his chest, his arms encircling her tightly as she pulled the woolen blanket to her chin, covering them both.

Beneath the woolen fabric, where no eyes save theirs could see, two hands intertwined around a golden chain, a small vial carefully clutched between their palms, just in case.
________________________________________


A/N: Happy Belated Holidays everyone! And thanks to IchigoPan for the lovely opening image. :)

Also, par reader request I shall post in the recommended section whether or not a story is complete, and the number of chapters present upon recommendation.

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"Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you."
~ Jean-Paul Sartre ~


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Chapter 25 ~ Condemnation by Choice


Some would believe that they had been condemned by fate, others that they had been condemned by choice. In the long run, those who believe that freedom can only be found by the choices one makes with what they have been given, are closer than either extreme.

Those who had cared for the dead and dying during the Bubonic Plague, risking exposure so that others could be spared, made the best choice they could with the dire circumstances life had dealt them. And though more than three centuries had passed since anything of similar proportion had struck civilized society, history would soon repeat itself.

Bathed in the inky hues of darkness, upon the shores of the River Liffey, a man with a fishing pole smiled into the moonlit sky. The rain had long since let up, and he basked in the early dawn's fragrant scent, enjoying the spray of the river splashing against the shoreline.

He would soon be the first to succumb to the world's greatest plague.

He did not know this, not that early morning as he sat upon the dewy grass, eagerly anticipating the morning sunrise he had awoken so early to see. He could not foresee this anymore than he could foresee that his wife and three children would be the next to succumb, leaving their once vibrant home devoid of laughter, love, and life.

They would all be dead within seventy-two hours.
* * * * *


Neville.... Dean....

Beneath a thick, dark veil of russet toned strands, two dark eyes fluttered blurrily. The visual centers of her brain were not ready to receive the signals traveling across her optic nerve. The pain signals were still far too overwhelming.

Despite this the girl's eyes fluttered open, peering into her new hell.

A fuzzy, rectangular outline, the color of a finely aged manuscript's pages...it rested besides where she lay, her body feeling unnaturally whole upon the smooth satin sheets. Somehow she was left with the lurking sensation that everything should not be quite right.....with what though....for certainly her skull was