Keogh

~***~



Pettigrew had clutched at her, pleading with her to intercede on his behalf. She’d pulled back from the despicable creature, revulsion roiling through her. She couldn’t believe that someone would betray his ‘best friends’ in such a fashion. Harry was an orphan because of this coward’s actions!



“You can never trust those with a pulse, Hermione. The living always look out for their own interests. Those closest to you are the most likely to slip a knife between your ribs.”



So cynical, her mother. Still, faced with this rodent-faced excuse for a wizard she had little to say to the contrary.



They secured Wormtail to Ron and Professor Lupin to lead him back through the tunnel. Harry was right; they should take him back to the castle. However, the suggestion to let the Dementors have him once there didn’t set well with Hermione. Nor, it seemed, with Kathryn.



“I can’t even believe that your lot has anything to do with those creatures!”



“They are unsettling, but why do you hate them so much?”



“Ask around in the grave, Hermione. All the dead hate them and creatures like them. They are abominations; not truly dead but not truly alive. No better than vampires and certainly having no place in the world.”



Though the venom in Kathryn’s ‘voice’ wasn’t entirely understandable to her, Hermione felt herself agreeing. It seemed instinctual, hating the Dementors. They felt unwholesome to her. Instead of feeling saddened in their presence, she felt revulsion and intense hatred towards them. To her surprise, they always seemed a bit nervous around her as well. Or at least they had started behaving that way after she’d figured out the combination to her mind. Was she imagining it, or did they edge away from her whenever she was forced to walk past them on her way down to Hogsmede now?



Hermione glanced back at where Sirius was magicking Severus along. She winced as his head struck the ceiling. “I don’t think he’s bothering to be very careful.”



“Let him. Maybe if he knocks him around a bit more the man will forget you attacked him.”



It was a warm and fuzzy thought at the moment, even if it was a futile one. He would remember her attacking him. He’ll fume and stew over Harry and Ron, but he’d see her attack as a betrayal. They had almost gotten to a point in their relationship where they had, if not actual affection, some understanding of one another. This was likely to set them back quite a bit.



They made their way out of the tunnel and back onto the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione could hear Sirius and Harry talking and knew it was something private between the two of them. She turned away politely, giving them their space. Part of her was pleased that Harry finally had someone he could consider family of his own. A connection he could hold on to apart from those hideous Dursleys.



Her eyes swept over the grounds. Night had fallen while they were in the shack and the landscape was inky black when it wasn’t illuminated by moonlight.



Hermione froze.



Moonlight!



Her eyes went up and she saw to her horror that the moon was full and bright. Just as quickly she turned to check Professor Lupin and found him rigid, rooted in place. “Harry!”



“Oh fuck!” Hermione couldn’t agree more. She watched in horror as Lupin began to shift. It looked painful beyond imagining. She dimly heard Sirius telling them to run, that he would handle this. Her legs hesitated to move until Kathryn screeched inside her head to snap out of it even as Sirius morphed into Padfoot, heading the werewolf off with a snarling leap.



“What part of ‘run’ do you not understand?!”



Hermione couldn’t. Harry was still there, watching in horror as Sirius and Remus vanished out of sight. They heard ‘Padfoot’ cry out in pain a little while later and Harry ran out after him. Hermione was torn between following Harry and staying with Ron who couldn’t very well run with his broken leg. Damn.



And to make matters worse, Severus chose that moment to wake up. What’s more, he was pissed beyond reason. The look he gave her before he’d gone off on the direction Harry had vanished made her cringe, but she had an odd feeling that he could handle whatever was going on. Shaking, she stayed by Ron’s side, mopping his brow, which was clammy with sweat in reaction to the pain from his leg.



Time seemed to stretch out, seconds becoming minutes and minutes feeling like hours. Something silvery white and massive ran past her too quickly for her to tell what it was, the light blinding her. It took her a moment to register that it had been a patronus and she turned around to watch the brightness of it head to the castle with impossible speed before everything was plunged into blackness again.



She waited longer, but not too much longer before she heard frantic voices. Professor McGonagall’s was among them as she, Hagrid, Hooch and Sprout came into view. “Miss Granger! Mr. Weasley! What the devil are you doing out here?” Hermione wondered if she knew her accent got thicker when she was upset.



“Severus, he went after Harry and Sirius.” Hooch was leaning over Ron, frowning at his injured leg still bound up in the makeshift splint before she cast a levitation charm on him to lift him from the ground. “Professor McGonagall, Black didn’t do it! He’s innocent!”



Her teacher blinked at her in confusion. She might have been speaking in gobbledygook for all the sense she seemed to be making. But Black was innocent! And Harry had gone to save him! “Miss Granger, we need to get you to the castle.”



“Professor Lupin’s out there, somewhere. And… and he didn’t take his potion tonight. He’s dangerous!” She called this out after Hagrid who was lumbering off towards the direction from which the patronus had come. She’d almost forgotten about the werewolf loose on the grounds. She felt McGonagall’s hands on her upper arms as the witch coaxed her to her feet.



“All will be fine, Miss Granger. Let’s get you up to the hospital wing and have Pomfrey look at those scratches.” She and Hooch got her and Ron back up to the castle and up to the infirmary. In no time at all she was being fussed over by the mediwitch who was insistent on her drinking a steaming potion that tasted like bathwater mixed with lemons. It chased away the sting of her many cuts and scratches but did little to nothing to ease her dread. She was in the middle of arguing against being forced into a pair of hospital pajamas when an unconscious Harry was brought in, Severus close behind.



“Oh, thank God.” Hermione held back until Madam Pomfrey was satisfied before moving to sit on the edge of Harry’s bed. He looked pale and his skin was clammy, but he was alive.



“You’re really close to these two brats, aren’t you.”



“They’re my best friends. And Harry…”



“Has too damn much piled on his shoulders. It’s inexcusable, what they expect of him. He’s just a boy.”



“He’s more than that. He’s a wizard.” Hermione remained by his side, hearing the adults in the room discussing what had happened. Dementors! Attacking an innocent boy! A shudder ran through her and she fully agreed with the disgusted growl coming from Kathryn in her mind. Dumbledore was right in distrusting those monsters. They could suck out a soul and they had apparently been intent on taking Harry’s as well as Sirius’.



Harry came to, disoriented and groggy. Hermione could almost feel his frustration as they tried to convince the grown ups that Sirius was innocent. That Pettigrew was alive. Still, Dumbledore was right in that the Ministry was hardly going to take the world of three thirteen-year-old wizards. Hermione was going to say something more, but Kathryn’s inpatient voice caught her off guard. “Tell the old coot to get on with it already! You’re almost back!”



“What?” Then it clicked as Dumbledore started hinting about needing more time, reminding her about the laws and suggesting three turns. “I’m almost back?”



“Did I stutter? I really hate that thing, by the way, but at least I’m not affected by it. There have been two of you running about for a bit now. So you and Harry run along and rescue your giant chicken and his godfather. You succeed, by the way.” Hermione thought she almost detected a note of pride in her mother’s voice. “You’re quite a chip off the old block, even if I must say so myself.”



~***~



September 19th, 1979.



“Why are we here?” Michael held up the torch as a stubborn Kathryn pried the lock off the door with a crowbar.



“Because Geoffrey has all the nearby hospitals under watch. I can’t risk it.” The lock broke and she opened the door. It was inky black inside, but they didn’t dare turn on the lights in case someone drove past and saw them from the road. Kathy took the torch from him, using it to light their way through the darkened building.



Michael noted the plush carpeting and the stoic, somber décor. Mortuaries and funeral homes were creepy enough in the daytime. On a storm-ridden night like this they were downright terrifying. He might have been able to ignore it better had it not been for the person he was here with. “You’re certain this is the right place?”



Kathryn gave a snort. “This is me you’re talking to… ah!” She stopped, dropping the torch as she reached out to a wall for support, her other hand going to her bulging stomach. Michael reached out to her out of reflex, supporting her as she took several ragged breaths, steadying herself. “The pains are getting closer.”



“There might still be time to find a midwife. You don’t have to do this here.”



He knew she was smiling though he couldn’t see her face. “Can you think of anyplace more fitting for someone like me?” She waited for him to fetch the torch before they continued on. The embalming room was downstairs, under the rooms where mourners and families could say goodbye to their loved ones and ignore the less-than-pleasant methods undertaken to prepare the bodies to go underground. They eased their way down a staircase that was wider than normal to make room for gurneys and coffins to be transported up and down should the lift ever be down.



Michael froze as the lights in the embalming room came on before they reached the bottom stair. “Someone’s here,” he whispered. Kathryn gave a weak but amused chuckle.



“Of course there is. It’s a funeral home.” She continued on to the set of double doors with their square windows. Michael saw someone lumber past. Even the brief glimpse told him that the person inside was too sickly pale to be considered normal.



He swallowed. Hard. He could work with Kathryn for another forty years and never feel at ease with the things that happened when she was around.



Kathryn pushed her way through the doors, taking the sight inside in stride. Michael came in after her, turning off the torch and trying to avoid looking at the figure now spreading white sheets onto a cold metal table. “Michael Turner, allow me to introduce Doctor Hyram Gold, former head of Obstetrics at Our Lady of Sorrows. Deceased as of three forty-seven this morning due to a massive coronary.”



The body that was once Dr. Gold turned about. Michael couldn’t stop himself from looking up and immediately wished that he hadn’t. The figure’s mouth hung open slightly and he was completely nude, having been relieved of his clothing when he’d been brought in. He had not yet been prepared, as evident by the lack of cuts or stitches, so he was likely the first one in line to be embalmed the following morning. The part Michael couldn’t stand, however, was the eerie, greenish glow from behind the body’s eyes. He’d seen bodies get up for Kathy before. They always had that same, sickly glow about the eyes.



“Pleasure.” His voice was barely audible. Michael swallowed and looked to Kathryn who seemed to be trying to find the strength to stay on her feet. “What… what do you need me to do?”



“Help me get my knickers off? I think it might be hard for the good doctor to help me out with them on.”



He nodded and moved over to help Kathryn in any way she needed him to. He knew this was costing her, having to ask someone for help who was still warm and alive. She hated it, thinking it made her weak. She’d hated the past several months, actually. The pregnancy, the hormones and mood swings that had come with it, it had made her feel more like a normal person and Kathryn St. James wasn’t like normal people. Sometimes Michael wondered if she didn’t resent the child she carried because she made her want something that was never possible, a normal life.



It took a great deal of effort on his part, but Michael was able to force himself to accept that Kathryn’s baby was about to be delivered by a dead man. His job was just to be there and to protect her if they were interrupted. Not entirely outside of the realm of possibility if Dr. Gold’s obituary had hit any of the papers already. Geoffrey Trout was a shrewd man and he would immediately see the possibility that Kathy might seek help from the dead if her chances of getting to a proper hospital unseen were taken away from her.



And Michael would hold her hand when she needed something to hold onto. It was likely the first and only time the embalming room would play host to such an event, with a weary and sweaty woman straining to bring new life into the world. He wondered if the girl would ever know just how much trouble her mother was going through to protect her? How much was being sacrificed to keep her safe? Had Kathryn’s lover been a normal man or even an ESPer like himself then these measures would not have been necessary.



But Trout ruled Britain’s E-Branch with an iron fist and had a strong distaste for their world mixing with the wizards. He’d been pissed enough when St. James had walked out on them to stalk the necromancer even after he’d forbidden all of them from getting involved in the ‘Wizards’ War’. Once he began to suspect that the baby Kathy carried might have been fathered by a wizard, Michael had known mother and child were in danger.



The storm raged outside at Kathryn strained. The girl had to be born soon. She had to come out in time to give them the time they needed to get out before the director of the funeral home came in to start the next day. Finally, after what felt like a monumental struggle, the baby was delivered into the cold, stiff fingers of the former Dr. Gold. Michael watched as dead hands moved with practiced skill to clear out her lungs of amniotic fluid. Bluish skin turned pink as she began to wail, oxygen filling her system.



And Kathryn cried. Michael, wisely, said nothing. He doubted the woman had ever shed a tear since her own childhood. He knew she would not appreciate his commenting on what she would see as a sign of weakness now. Instead, he did as she bade him, even when she asked that he leave her alone with the child a few moments so that she could say her good-byes. Standing outside the double doors, he busied himself with mentally going over the rest of the plan.



All was in place. The Grangers were ‘abroad’ and would return with their newly adopted daughter in a few days. All he had to do was get the baby to them. The paperwork was completed and the private adoption would be sealed. He knew that Kathy’s old school friends didn’t fully understand the need for all the secrecy, but they were grateful enough to be able to circumnavigate the long waiting lists for a healthy baby that they would go along with it.



Trout would suspect his involvement, of course, but Michael was unconcerned. His own primary ability was to reshape memories. He could keep deflecting the man as long as he needed to. It would be foolish to attempt to erase any memories of Kathy’s pregnancy as too many people knew, but he could keep him from learning what had happened tonight. As for Kathy, the moment she had her strength back she would simply slip through one of her ‘doors’ and go wherever it was she planned to live from now on.



Michael hoped that they were doing the right thing. He knew the reasoning behind it was willing to acknowledge the sense behind it. Still, he couldn’t think that somehow the infant girl on the other side of the doors was being wronged in some way.



~***~



May 13th, 1993



The thunderclap and lightening of the storm woke him. Michael gasped as he was torn from the memory in the form of a dream.



“Kathryn.”



A sleepy mumble came from his left side as his wife turned over and snuggled more deeply into her pillow. A moment later she was still again. Michael frowned into the darkness of their bedroom before sitting up, legs bending over the side of the bed.



Why was he dreaming about that night now, after all the time that had passed? Was something wrong? Had something changed?



Over time his secondary talent had gain some small amount of strength, but still only worked in dreams that were more often riddles. Not really a precog, but he could get a sense when something was… off.



Had something happened to Kathryn? Was something wrong with the girl?



Had Trout found her?



Geoffrey had fallen out of grace over Kathryn’s disappearance. E-Branch was still under government control, though it was a secret and shadowy part of the government. Having what was arguably their most talented member quit had not helped Trout’s career options. He’d been forced to resign in disgrace and Michael had been aware of a good deal of bitter feelings.



Running his fingers through his graying hair, he sighed. He knew his talent would not yield answers until it was good and ready, and he did not dare to seek out one of the stronger talents to help. After more than a decade, Kathryn St. James had been relegated to the status of a myth or legend inside their small and quirky circle. Alongside her grandfather, the Great Harry Keogh. The newer members had trouble believing in people who could coax secrets out of the dead and raise nearly unstoppable foot soldiers merely by asking for help. They didn’t have camcorders back in the old days, though Michael doubted many of them would have had the stomach to film some of the things Kathryn had pulled.



Lightening flashed again, accompanied by another clap of thunder. For a brief instant the room was illuminated in shades of gray, then all was dark again. With a sigh the man known as Michael Turner lay back down beside his wife and stared up at the ceiling. He was one of the few people who knew about the Grangers and the adoption. He would see about looking them up in the morning. Maybe it was time to check on Kathryn’s daughter. Just to make certain everything was all right.



~***~