Keogh

~***~
Cedric sighed and shoved another useless tome out of the way. Of course, the fact that he couldn’t keep his mind focused on his work because of distraction could mean that it wasn’t entirely useless. He just couldn’t seem to keep these thoughts from running back to the meeting at the Hog’s Head.

Hermione’s ‘few people’ had turned into a sizeable number. Far more than she had anticipated and so many that they clearly drew notice. Otherwise Umbridge’s new move to disband all student organizations until review probably would not have come about. Then again, it might have come about anyway as evil as that woman was. The part of him that preferred to follow the rules as much as possible, barring the occasional sparring session involving wickedly sharp blades and trying to pin his girlfriend to the floor, wanted to balk at going behind her back. The bolder part of him, the one that had grown stronger since his return from death and now laughed in the face of danger, was all for it.

Perhaps Gryffindor bravery was contagious?

Hermione had suggested they use the Room of Requirement. It was the logical move, of course. It didn’t even show up on Harry’s map, which his girlfriend had strictly forbidden him from confiscating or telling a teacher about (as if he would), and thus was likely undetectable by the teachers. Well, except for Dumbledore probably.

A stack of books was set down at his table as Hermione flopped into the chair across from him. “What’s got you frowning so?”

He gave her a lop-sided smile as she reached across the table to straighten his hair. He did have a bad habit of mussing it up when he was frustrated. “I’m trying to work on my NEWT Level Potions Project. Your biological father has apparently decided to drive me to suicide from frustration rather than killing me outright.”

“That sounds rather Slytherin of him.” She gave him a cheeky grin and studied the titles of the books he’d pulled from the shelves. “These are all about moon cycles and werewolves.”

“Yeah, he’s assigned me an in-depth study on the Wolfsbane Potion. I’m to take it apart and try to think of ways to possibly refine it and make it better.”

She frowned. “That’s not NEWT level! That’s Potions Master work! It shouldn’t be attempted until after a full apprenticeship and at least ten years of dedicate work.”

He held his hands wide. “Thus my theory that he’s trying to drive me to suicide.” He propped his chin onto the palm of his hand and gave her a slight smile. “So how’s my best girl doing?”

“Your only girl, I hope.”

“My one and only from now until eternity.”

She blushed and straightened her books out of habit. “Enjoying my classes, of course, though the ones with the Slytherin students are still a trial. And preparing for my OWLs.” She rolled her eyes. “Ron and Harry seem to think it’s scandalous that I’m starting before the Christmas holidays.”

“Well, it is Ron and Harry.” He tilted his head to one side, noting a little creasing in the center of her forehead which usually meant she was worried about something by trying to hide it. “What’s wrong?”

She looked around before leaning forward so she could speak without being overheard. “It’s Harry. I’m afraid he might be under too much pressure.”

“Well, of course he is. He always has been and likely will be until we get rid of his personal demon.”

She shook her head. “It’s worse than that. Most of the time he’s all right, but then he’ll get extremely grumpy and snappish. And I know his scar’s hurting him again, but he won’t go talk to Sirius about it. And Professor Dumbledore… well… he’s not helping matters much.”

Cedric frowned. “How so?”

“Well… he seems to be avoiding Harry. Haven’t you noticed? He never talks to him directly and he avoids even looking at him. It’s like he’s pushing him away.”

To his guilt, Cedric hadn’t noticed. Not the part about the Headmaster, but hadn’t noticed Harry’s mood swings. What kind of a Head Boy was he if he wasn’t going to look out for the other students? “Any clue as to why?”

She shook her head. “Not one, but I’m certain it has something to do with the Dark Lord being back and Harry’s scar hurting him. But, well, it’s really upsetting Harry.”

And it would, of course. Potter’s own family treated him like dirt. The boy was clearly starved for the slightest bit of affection he could get. It was the most likely reason why he clung so fiercely to the Weasleys and their imposing matriarch. It was also why his connection with his godfather was so strong. Albus Dumbledore was someone with whom he had formed another tight connection, and if that was now being chipped away it would unbalance him.

Cedric reached across the table and took one of her hands into his. “Hey, it’ll be all right. Likely the Headmaster just has so much on his mind at the moment that he can’t allow himself to be distracted. The Ministry’s not helping any with getting ready for what’s coming after all.”

She gave another side, sinking into her chair. “You’re right about that. And with Umbridge breathing down all the teachers’ necks it’s only going to get harder.” Cedric watched as she summoned a brave smile for him. “So, Severus’ plot to drive you batty, want some help?”

“You want to help me kill him first?”

She giggled. “Not today. I’m on a ‘kind of like him’ day. But I might be able to help with research.” She paused, looking a bit nervous. “Do… do you want me to try and talk to Mr. Hallifax for you?”

Cedric blinked. “Mr. Hallifax?”

Hermione nodded. “I did some reading on the potion when Professor Lupin was teaching here. I found it when I was researching that essay Severus set us the day he substituted. The potion was developed by Ignatius Hallifax. It was surprising because he wasn’t a potions master, but his youngest son was bitten by a werewolf and he was desperate to find a cure. In the end the best he could come up with was a way to keep his son calm and non-violent during the change.”

He blinked again, gaping at her. “I didn’t find anything that said that. Where did you find that?”

“It’s not in a potions book. I found it in A Guide to Who’s Who in Magical History. No one hardly ever visits the history section outside of homework for Professor Binns. The potions books only listed the name of the creator of the potion and I had to dig further to find out who Hallifax was.”

The level of dedication she put into her studies was astounding. “Thanks for the offer, Hermione, but I have to be able to show where I got my information from. I can’t very well put down that you chatted up a wizard who’s likely been dead for a few hundred years. What would the professor think?”

She smiled. “He’d likely down a bottle of whiskey and then yell at me for a week. But I was thinking more along the lines of asking him how he went about his research. What steps he took when trying to develop the potion. That way you could have an idea of how it progressed and it might give you a clue as to how to proceed.”

Now there was an idea. Still, he hesitated a moment before nodding. It couldn’t hurt to have a little help, could it?
~***~
Dennis’ eyes had rolled white as he walked through the empty halls of the structure. Michael walked behind him, weapon drawn and heart hammering in his chest. They were fairly certain that no one was here, but it never hurt to be cautious. As they rounded another corner he swallowed. He could well understand why Eric Schultz had come to him to erase his memories.

The bodies were in varying states of decomposition. Some looked as though they had been gone from this plane for decades if not longer, little more than dried sinew holding bones and a few lingering scraps of petrified flesh together. Others had probably only been here for the past three years.

All were blissfully still.

He touched the link on his com unit. ”Hector, what’s your status?”

There was a crackle followed by an answer. “We’re on the third floor, moving towards what should be the control room.” There was a pause. “No activity from our friends. I thought Schultz said they started moving whenever anyone tried to get in.”

Michael looked down at the body of what might have been a man at one time. It was hard to tell now. “They started moving whenever Trout’s people tried to get back in. I doubt he’s on their list of favorite people.” No, he probably wasn’t. And if Eric was right about the surveillance cameras and the footage of what had happened here, then the Great Majority would not have wanted the bastard to have a chance to destroy the evidence. “Proceed as planned. See if you can locate the computer system.”

“Copy that.” The link cut out and Michael watched as a blind Dennis nearly stumbled over a body lying width-wise across the hall. “You okay?”

It took a moment before the Cog answered. When he did it was with a raspy, not-quite-there voice. “They got through the doors, pouring in by the dozens.” His hands moved over the walls as his vision looked into the past, painting the man a picture of what had transpired. “Some had likely traveled miles to get here, some dragging themselves along. Their legs had decayed beyond use long ago.”

Michael understood what Dennis meant as his eyes drifted over a legless corpse with the tattered remains of what had once been a nice suit still clinging to it. And still the Cog went on. “Trout ordered them to evacuate, but the dead pulled them down as they ran. Only a few escaped.”

Turner’s eyes snapped up. “What about Trout? Did Trout fall or escape.”

Dennis’ head turned, his eyes seeing nothing currently there as he craned his neck around, staring up at the ceiling. “Escaped. Helicopter on the roof. Just barely made it.” The man shuddered. “He was screeching that it wasn’t possible. They shouldn’t still be advancing.”

Michael frowned. “Can you tell why?”

“She was already dead. He thought they would stop when she was dead.”

Michael would have thought that, too, but apparently not. A chill ran through him. Could the dead move on their own without a Keogh to urge them to it? Had the dead continued to advance out of loyalty?

His gut told him that it had been out of revenge.

He swallowed. “Dennis, where was he keeping her?”

The other man looked around again, his shoulders starting to shake from the effort of holding the vision. Finally he lifted a hand and pointed to a metal door at the far end of the hallway. “There. She’s in there.” He lost the vision at last and sagged against a wall, his eyes closed. “That’s all I’ve got. I can’t keep it up any longer.”

Michael patted the man’s shoulder. “That’s all I need. Thanks, Dennis.” He walked past the Cog, stepping over the dead bodies as he made his way to the door. Once standing before it he tried the knob and found it locked. Stepping back he took aim and shot out the locking mechanism. The door swung open on its hinges, banging against the wall behind it. His gun fell limply at his side.

She had been the greatest of them all. Unique and seemingly unstoppable. A force of nature that never seemed to be satisfied with the status quo, but always wanting to push the boundaries. He remembered how she moved in life; her body taught and trained to move like a weapon in her attempt to make up for her gift not being exactly physical. That and her general distaste for asking the dead to disturb their own slumber to do her fighting unless it was absolutely necessary. And the things she had known!

Geoffrey Trout had said it best once, before his disgrace and when he had tried to convince the higher ups that she should be hunted down; if knowledge was power, then the Keoghs could be likened unto gods.

Michael stepped in slowly, ducking under one of the chains extending from the walls while taking great care not to disturb the body. He came around and turned so he could look at her. In spite of the lack of protection here, she appeared unmolested by insects or maggots. Her body had mummified on its own in the dry heat of Trout’s abandoned Arizona stronghold. Dark hair that had once been lush and shone like silk was now brittle and dull, still up in a pony tail that would likely come apart if the aged band was disturbed. Her black t-shirt was torn and had a faded AC/DC logo on the front and her jeans were stained from blood and from where her body had let go upon death. She even still had her biker boots on. He didn’t dare lift her head up from where it hung down. He doubted that it would budge now anyway, permanently stuck in that almost prayer-like position.

He stepped back and looked at the arms still stretched out, manacles holding the desiccated wrists and connecting to thick chains that were fastened into the walls. That was how he had kept her still. She could not jump into the Continuum if she was physically anchored to the tangible world. The massive outer doors had kept out the dead for weeks, according to what Eric had described, and the chains kept her from being able to flee. She had been at Geoffrey’s mercy.

Michael felt the wet heat of tears starting to slither down his cheeks. She had been here, suspended and forgotten, for over three years. Ever since Trout had killed her. He didn’t doubt that she went into death unafraid, knowing she would be welcomed amongst those with whom she had been friends since birth, but it did not make the way she had died any easier to swallow.

He swallowed and wetted his lips. “Hello, Kathryn.”

The com link crackled to life. Hector’s voice came over the earpiece. “Michael, we found the control room. Looks like everything’s still here.”

He swallowed again and touched the link. “Pack everything up. We’ll take it with us. And send a retrieval team down to the basement level. I’ve found St. James.”

There was silence for a long moment before Hector answers. “Understood. And the rest of them?”

“We’ll tell the Yanks where to look, but we’re not leaving her here. She’s one of us. We’re taking her home.”
~***~