I realize that this is short as hell, however I wanted to put this up before I went to sleep. I finally have the itch back after a long and hard fought semester. My first full length documentary is coming out in December and I am truly excited. This has been something that I have been working on so heavily, that I haven't had the time for any else. In the next two weeks we are finishing up the last bits of film, and then finishing the editing. I'm truly hoping for the best with this work! I think that this chapter, though short will really hold some surprising things in it for you.


Harry rolled to the side, barely dodging the sickly green light that was meant for him. He was right in the thick of a raid in a Neo-Death Eater camp. The situation was worse than he could have ever imagined, and further he could only blame himself. After the war he spent so much time running away that he never bothered to look back. Despite the very best efforts of those closest to him, the death eater scourge and those who could buy into their beliefs had grown to an alarming proportion.

Glancing over at another table that shielded a fellow comrade, Harry was surprised to see Ron hiding behind it. His friend raised a cheeky thumb at him. "So difficult to come back and find all of your hard work as been reversed?"

Harry sighed, there was something about Ron that he didn't like now. Nigh, that he couldn't stand. Taking a moment's breath in the onslaught of spells Harry dove out from behind his cover shot a few well-placed stunners and bone-breaking hexes before taking cover behind what must have once been a marble statue. The camp had the gall to form at one of the old war memorials- a slap to the face of the light if Harry had ever seen one.

"Quite right, Ron." Harry called out, trying to maintain the shaky peace that he seemed to be maintaining with Hermione's ex. How had it come to this? How had Ron gone from being his best mate, to this? Hermione's ex? That was the best of what Harry could do, and didn't Ron deserve more. If they both got out of this, Harry vowed to be a better friend. Maybe he could help Ron find the lip and rim of that liquor bottle life.

They dove again and Harry noticed with pride that even though their friendship may have been in tatters, their bodies still knew how to fight and respond to one another. Their section of the camp had been sufficiently subdued and the pair set to binding those that they were capturing. Harry took out a few pins- a hippogryph grasping a broadsword in its talons, and placed them on the chest of a person in each seating of captives. When they were all connected, Harry said the command word and the misfits disappeared into places unknown. Harry hadn't been told, and he didn't venture to ask where. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

The clearing of this section allowed Harry a brief moment of relief and he took the moment to wipe sweat from his brow. Years of living in mounds of books with only the bare exercise of lifting on occasion and distance running had left his body without the large and raw muscle that he had at the end of the war. Now he was back to being the scrawny lithe kid, only that he wasn't a kid anymore. He was an adult who was fighting the same war he had been fighting and running from all of his life. Some things just weren't fair.

Taking the locket from around his neck, Harry pushed the relief and the trinket clicked open to reveal a small portrait of his beloved Penelope sitting with a large selection of sunflowers. He only risked wearing it because he had spelled it with so many secretive defenses that only someone who was close to his power would even know it was there-let alone be able to break it.

By the end of the war Harry had been in a class of his own. There was, however, one thing that he hated above all other things. His magic was good for battle magic. He had little when it came to the gift of healing, and it seemed all he was ever good for was to reap the seeds of destruction. That was what drew him to art. The chance and the ability to finally create something beautiful, rather than having nothing but destruction come from his hands.

He looked at a piece of the statue that still remained and was sickened at the thought that this anaglyph was supposed to represent the freedom that he and others were able to obtain from the terror of hatred and bigotry. And yes, here he was again fighting the same age-old battle of preconceived notions and hatred versus life and living. That statue was supposed to imbue a promise onto these people, and onto the world that the travesties of that time would not happen again.

In a rare fit of anger, Harry blasted the marble with raw power. All that was left of the statue was a darkened hole in the ground, and he found that rather fitting.

The break over, Harry turned back towards the battle and slipped the locket back under his collar. With any luck, he would see his love again. It was likely that something might happen here, and it was also likely that someone might go after her. He hoped against hopes with all the seeded impossibilities of love that the two would be connected again. He hoped, he hoped.

Something burned in his back and Harry dropped. Another flash burned in his heart. Something was happening to his love.

Hermione's sensors for Penelope's apartment were going off shrilly in her room. Without a moment's hesitation, Hermione put alarm charms on the house and sped off into the night. The first alarm would alert her if Rose woke up. The second would activate and bring Rose to her grandmother's house should anything happen to Hermione. It was all a very simple system, though it did nothing to stem the rapid and unwavering thrum of her heartbeat. Something was wrong with Penelope. If died, then Hermione would never forgive herself.

With one last thought towards disguising herself, Hermione shortened her hair length and changed it to be platinum blonde. Her eyes got changed to blue and Hermione vaguely changed the overlying shape of her nose. It was just enough for witnesses to remember extreme features, and Hermione didn't have to change everything.

She had apparate several times due to the various anti-apparation wards that existed around D.C. (national security and all, you couldn't even apparate without 500 meters of the White House). Showing up outside of Penelope's apartment building, Hermione wasted no time before racing in the main door and up to her door. The front door itself was hanging off one hinge and something sunk in the pit of Hermione's stomach.

It wasn't too late and that meant the apartment should have been filled with noise and laughter. Taking out her wand, Hermione held it in a guard position and entered as quietly as possible. On the floor she saw Morgan and Prentiss. Both of them were quiet and unmoving with their eyes shut. She began to move towards them before a scream caught her attention. Her heart clenched and Hermione took a breath before getting low to the ground and glancing around the corner into Penelope's room. There, on the bed. Penelope was strapped down and someone in Death Eater robes was carving down a line in her flesh using a version of the knife spell. The garment wasn't the new version of the robes, but rather the older ones from the first war. She glanced around and noted that the new dark mark had not been cast on any of the walls.

A small sliver of hope bloomed in her chest. This might not be an attack that was known about by the rest of the group. In her wildest dreams, she could hope that this man was a rogue on a mission. Death Eaters by nature were power hungry individuals who did not like to share glory or information with anyone- even their own. There was a tiny sheen of something around the man, and the witch knew exactly what that meant. Hermione shot off three stunners rapidly.

The first and second stunners were used to first crack and then shatter the lazy shield; the third stunner took out the man. As quickly as she could, Hermione prevented the now unconscious Penelope from bleeding out, and duplicated a knife for the wounds. Morbidly and not without some stomach quenching, Hermione coated it in blood and pressed it to the Death Eater's fingers. A glance under the mask revealed someone that she didn't know, but that didn't change anything. She took his wand and pocketed the offending tool of their craft. The feeling of dark magic seeped and steamed off the wood in a way that made her stomach roll. Sirens were beginning to sound from down the street, and the Brit knew that she needed to get out of there. She did one final check of Penelope before checking on Morgan, he was fine and Hermione enerviated him, relying on the length of time it took for magic to wear off muggles to cover her escape.

Hermione then went over to Prentiss and checked her out. She had been blown back from the door, much like Morgan had. A pulse check. The woman had only recently come back for a visit due to the holiday season. She was dead. A gasped breath and a stilled heart was all that Hermione allowed herself before she escaped from the premises. Morgan's eyes followed her with hunger and anger. While he could tell that she wasn't the attacker- he could remember that much, he still wanted to know what was going on. Penelope! With a start he sat up and felt every point in his body yell at at once in protest. A quick check of Prentiss showed the unfortunate truth. He was only hoping that he didn't need to do that with the other.

Groggily, the FBI agent reached for his gun, upholstered it and approached Penelope's room. There was a man down on the floor. A check of the man showed the weapon in hand, a knife, and a large bump on his head that seemed to be source of his unconsciousness. With care, Morgan kicked the knife away before taking a moment and checking baby girl's pulse. She was still alive, allowing Morgan time to secure the perpetrator. After that was situated, he set to taking care of his beloved friend. He could hear sirens, and knew that he didn't have to phone in the police. His regret was that the evening had been so normal until the door had basically, all but blown off its hinges. Now he had a very wounded one, and a dead one.

His life would never again be the same.

Emily Prentiss was dead.


Dun dun dun! Bet you didn't see that coming. I am sorry that I had to kill her off, however something inside of me demanded it to be so, it might have been the internal ghost of Virginia Wolf. I am playing with a slightly different style of writing these days and I hope that you like/appreciate the change. Let me know and as always, please review!

Cheers,

iBless!