Not Your Savior

Death Eaters poured into the room, one after the other, each with his or her wand pointed at the quartet of Order members. Shea took a deep breath as Malfoy came closer, mentally cursing himself for endangering the lives of Harry, Ron, and Hermione with his own personal issues. He had to admit to himself that he honestly hadn't expected a rescue, but the fact remained that if he didn't feel so guilty about using his powers, he would have saved himself several days ago. And they wouldn't be in this mess right now.

His personal ban against hurting people did not extend to using his abilities to protect others, however. It looked like he was going to have to fight anyway.

"Well?" Malfoy asked, his voice quiet and deadly. "Give me a good reason why we shouldn't simply kill all of you right now? My master will be so pleased."

"Because your master won't be pleased, Malfoy," Hermione said defiantly. Her hand was shaking, and she gripped her wand tightly.

"The brat is right," another Death Eater, possibly Nott, said. "Potter and the necromancer are supposed to be for the Dark Lord to deal with alone."

They were surrounded now. Shea knew of a spell his could perform to deal with this, but he didn't want to do it...oh, how he didn't want to do it...

"What of Granger and Weasley, the golden couple of the Order?" Malfoy sneered. "Any reason to keep them alive?"

"Just get it over with, you great coward!" Hermione snapped. "All you can do is make idle threats, wondering how you can please your master best, you sick--"

"Language, Mudblood brat. Language," Malfoy said. Shea felt a surge of anger come from Malfoy, the same one necessary to work the Killing Curse. "Very well, then, there's not much of a reason to keep you around. Avada--"

"Stupefy!" Hermione shouted before Malfoy could finish. The older wizard conjured a shield and the spell bounced harmlessly away. The first spells exchanged, the room turned into a chaotic mess of light.

Shea hesitated for a moment, wandless and unsure. He watched as Harry, his private student for three years, missed his target of Malfoy. Harry missed. Harry's aim was perfect, there was something horribly wrong going on. If Harry had been himself, Shea would not have acted, but since that was not the case....

"Circino accendo," Shea thought to himself, roughly pushing Ron and Hermione to the ground and thrusting Harry on top of them with his tail. A blast of blue and white flame tore away from his body, over the forms of his rescuers, and into the surrounding Death Eaters. There was no defense against this spell; Shea was simply too quick and too powerful.

Some of the Death Eaters caught on fire, others were just knocked down. Malfoy's robes were alight in the magical flame, and the Dark wizard could not extinguish it with water from his wand. A few others shrieked and ran about aimlessly, rolling on the floor to try and put the unusually hot flames out. The scene would have been comical if the enemies were not literally burning alive.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron took the opportunity to Stun them all, one by one. Shea waved a hand around the room, and the blue flames went away. Then he started shaking.

"Good job, Shea," Hermione said tightly, standing up and gripping his arm. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Shea stared at what he had just done. The bodies around the torture chamber. All the bodies. "I just...I just..." he stuttered.

"You just saved us all, now come on," Ron said forcefully, leading the way out of the chamber and back to the winding staircase.

The odd quartet descended the stairs, wands at the ready. Ron took the lead while Hermione watched their backs, and Harry tended to Shea in the middle. The necromancer couldn't stop shivering, and the fact that Harry was holding onto his arm wasn't helping the issue. Ever since Bellatrix Lestrange had managed to break him last year through weeks of torture, Harry had loathed physical contact of any sort. He hadn't told anyone exactly what had happened, but it wasn't necessary. What mattered was how Harry had changed.

They made their way down, past the dungeons, and Shea nodded toward the little door in the wall. Hermione tapped the lock with a quick "Alohamora," followed by another spell when this didn't work. Voices started to echo down the stairs, no doubt belonging to angry Death Eaters, so Shea stepped forward. He waved a hand over the locked door, and there was a click from inside.

The group rushed inside the passage, closing the door as gently as possible. Once they were all in, Shea locked the door again with a similar wave of the hand. Then they ran.

"Why aren't you eating your meatballs, dear?"

Harry looked up to find Mrs. Weasley directly in his face, sauce-covered spoon in hand. He blinked. He knew from long experience that eating meat only led to problems for him, but in this timeline the others had known about his condition for only a day now. He certainly couldn't act like he knew all of the quirks of being part necromancer in so short of a time.

"I had some," Harry lied quickly.

Mrs. Weasley shook the spoon at him warningly, sending spatters of red sauce onto his cheek, which she cleaned off with her thumb. "Eat another one, Harry dear. You've been looking thin lately."

Harry sighed, knowing the only way she would leave him alone was to appease her. He stabbed a meatball with his fork, knowing what would happen once it entered his mouth. He would feel slightly nauseous for an hour or so, and then he would experience sharp pains all over his body, starting from his stomach. After throwing up for a few minutes, he would be able to function properly until he was laying in his bed for the night. There, the pains would return, sharper than before, leaving his body vulnerable to accidental magic on his part.

Oh well, he thought to himself as he chewed, allowing himself to savor the taste. They have to find out eventually.

The next day, when Harry had recovered, was the first day of lessons with Shea.

"I don't know what to teach you," the little necromancer said nervously, his tail flicking back and forth behind him. "I didn't know where to start before, and now you've been learning with me for three years, apparently..."

"Why don't we have a practice duel?" Harry suggested.

The two were in the drawing room, which was mostly clear of furniture and clutter. Shafts of morning light from the tall window fell across Shea's face, giving his eyes an eerie glow.

Shea nodded. "That's a good plan, I guess. All right. Well, let's bow..."

Harry bowed slightly, then fired the first curse. "Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!" Shea said quickly. Harry's curse flew in a different direction.

"Reducto!" Harry returned. Shea dodged easily, and Harry tried another curse. And another. Then a few more. Shea didn't cast a single spell until the end.

"Circino accendo," Shea said, not raising his wand.

A blast of flame rushed from the necromancer's body. Harry conjured a shield just in time, but this moment of distraction cost him as Shea said in a calm tone, "Petrificus totalus."

A moment later, Harry found himself staring at the water-stained ceiling, unable to move. He tried to cast the countercurse wandlessly and non-verbally, but Shea was stopping him somehow. He would have sighed if he wasn't cursed. Even rusty from being out of touch with wizards for twenty years, Shea was still unbeatable.

Shea's concerned, elfin face appeared in Harry's field of vision, blocking his view of the yellowed ceiling. "I'm sorry," he said apologetically as he waved his wand to undo the curse. "Did I hurt you? I figured you would block the fire okay and you did, but I didn't think you would fall so heavily, it sounded like you were hurt, I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head, bringing a hand to his forehead as the headache began. "I'm fine."

"Okay. I'm so sorry," Shea said again, wringing his hands awkwardly.

"Forget it," Harry said shortly. "I suggested the practice duel, remember?"

Shea seemed to ponder this for a moment, then shrug it off. "You're really good," he said, bending down to offer Harry a hand up. Harry eyed the proffered hand apprehensively and ignored it, pushing himself off the ground without help.

"Thanks," Harry said. He could sense that Shea was feeling slightly awkward about the moment, and he decided to explain.

"I'm sorry, but I don't like to be touched," Harry said as he brushed himself off.

"Oh," Shea said quietly. He blinked. "Why not?"

Harry's expression and mood must have darkened considerably, because Shea winced and looked away. Harry took a deep breath to calm his emotions, then said, "It's a long story. I guess you might as well know, it's important regarding my abilities."

"Okay," Shea said, sitting down on a dusty chair and looking expectantly at Harry, like a child about to be told a bedtime story.

Harry had forgotten just how childlike Shea was when he had first met the tiny necromancer. He had been molded by years of abuse and neglect when he really was a child, followed by years of loneliness and exile as an adult. He had next to no social skills, and fully expected people to hate him. He was too shy, too scared of the world. He didn't seem like the type to be able to fight twenty Death Eaters and Voldemort himself at once, but he was. All he had to do was read about a spell, and it was committed to memory and perfected. Shea was Hermione, only more powerful and even smarter. He was just too broken to realize it most of the time.

Harry shook himself from his musings and focused on his own story. "In the future, I'm not just targeted by Voldemort for the prophecy. I'm a pretty good Auror, and I've killed quite a few Death Eaters, and I've almost killed him once or twice. I'm dangerous to him, and he needs me to be dead."

"Well, that makes sense," Shea said absentmindedly.

Harry's face twitched in what was almost a smile. "I suppose it does. But last year he tried to turn me to his side again--"

"Wait, you joined him?" Shea interrupted, jumping in his seat.

"No," Harry said slowly. "I meant, he tried again to turn me. Not to turn me again."

"Oh," Shea said smally. "Sorry. Keep going."

Copy editor, Harry thought with a shake of his head before continuing. "He thought that I was becoming something like a Dark Wizard, just like him. And so he thought that I would be willing to join him to expand my powers, if I wasn't so keen on killing him."

"And he thought wrong?"

"Very wrong," Harry agreed. "He managed to capture me and make the offer, and when I refused, he didn't kill me. He..."

A few seconds ticked by while Harry struggled to come up with any words. "He what?" Shea asked softly.

"He tried to force me to join him," Harry said, recalling his worst nightmares. "Rather, Bellatrix did. I escaped eventually using a necromancy curse like the one you just used on me, only more powerful. Shea-I mean," Harry said, fumbling with the time difference, "You said it was because I was so near death, and I produced the blast almost unconsciously. And I cast the spell when she was about to touch me again."

Shea was a perfect audience, his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide by the end of the story. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," Harry said. He could have said whose fault it really was, but he didn't want to incriminate anyone two years before they did anything wrong.

Silence hung thick in the musty air for a moment more before Shea jumped up and said, "So I guess I should probably teach you something."

"Right," Harry said, glad to get back to business.

"You have all the basics down, and a lot of more advanced things too," Shea mused, walking around and letting his tail drag on the floor. "And you fought me with a mix of wizardry and necromancy, that was interesting. Which one do you think is more useful in a duel?"

"Usually wizardry," Harry said instantly. "It takes longer to focus energy for necromancy. It depends on if you want a spell to have a more powerful and lasting effect in a few seconds, or if you want a less powerful and shorter-term spell immediately."

Shea paused. "Did I tell you that?"

Harry smiled. "Actually, yes."

"This is too weird."

"I know."