"Lives In the Balance"

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own Harry Potter. Any characters I created are my own.

Somewhere In Wizarding Britain, September, 1999

It was in an undistinguished pub that they found their inquiry, a tiny run-down shack of a building that was called the Lucky Annie. Standing quietly in the shadows of the night across the street from the building, the two companions glanced at each other with raised eyebrows—really? Of all places, they were going to have to take the fugitive back in a bar? It was almost pathetic.

"I didn't know Davis drank," the taller of the two, the boy, remarked quietly, sounding almost surprised.

His companion, a girl his own age, and in fact a little older, rolled her eyes. "There's a lot about Davis we don't know," she replied, slightly impatiently. "Come on—we need to get this over with so we can get back home. We've been gone four days already."

"Wanting to finish that book by midnight tonight, huh?" he smirked, snaking an arm around her shoulders and giving her a quick one-armed hug before releasing her.

"It was a good book," she grumbled half-heartedly. "Besides, Quinn wanted us to have that potion made for her before the end of the week. We're running on limited time here."

Her response served to focus his attention immediately, and he was suddenly set upon their task entirely, their playful banter from even a moment before forgotten. "You're right," he agreed, and an excited grin spread across his face. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun. How often do you get to detain a fugitive?"

Davis could feel his hand shaking slightly as he ordered another firewhiskey, and he had to keep himself from looking over his shoulder at the door of the pub in case that showed his guilt. He didn't know if he would be able to lose his pursuers, but if he was correct in his assumptions of who he thought it was then he knew there would be little chance of him escaping.

He'd be damned, though, if he didn't make a stand before he was recaptured.

He shakily rose the glass to his lips, spilling some of the liquid down his chin as he did so, drinking it in one go. His throat burned with the whiskey but he found it a strangely welcoming sensation; it made him feel alive, calmed his frayed nerves. Noticing the bartender standing there looking at him curiously, Davis lowered his glass and managed a strained smile, hoping it would smooth the man's suspicions. He cursed himself—he looked exactly what he really was, a runaway, with dirty, rumpled clothing and four days' worth growth of beard. He hadn't had a proper bath in days and his long grey hair was tangled and dirty. He didn't know how much longer he could go on like this.

He was just beginning to stand from his seat to leave when the doors of the pub were opened and two familiar figures stepped in. Davis felt his stomach drop and his heart started to pound against his chest. He'd been found! He swallowed hard against his panic and dropped back into the chair, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as he heard the boy speak.

"We're not here to harm anyone," he said lazily, the faintest drawl accenting the utterly confidant tone: "We're only here to pick up a friend of ours." There was also a hidden, barely detectable threat in that voice that said none had better get in the way of the friend they were collecting. Davis did not dare turn around but he could easily picture the boy standing there, one hand resting comfortably on his waist, his easy-going posture masking the careful warrior he was. The girl would be standing behind him, ready to spring into action at a moment's action, the hidden weapon in this unbeatable duo.

"And who is it you're lookin' for, kid?" the bartender asked, eyeing the stranger carefully.

There was a low chuckle. "The man sitting right beside you," he answered. Davis stiffened. "Turn around, Davis. You can't run anymore."

The muscles of Davis' shoulders tightened and he felt his teeth clench together. His hands, gnarled and calloused, clenched on the surface of the bar, and he took a deep breath, desperately wishing for his wand. Then he sprang into action. He leapt off his seat as gracefully as he could, setting himself up in a defensive posture, and came face-to-face with the boy, who merely shook his head.

"Davis," he said quietly. "You know you've got to come with us."

"No!" he snarled, his teeth bared. The bar had fallen silent; the people there sat looking at the odd confrontation before them but did nothing to intervene. "I'm not going to let you lock me away again!"

The girl shook her head sadly. "You know we don't do that. Please, Davis," she pleaded, "please just come with us. It really is in your best interest."

Davis growled. "Never!" He leapt for the door, desperate to escape—

But then the boy was there, a smirk on his face. "You goin' somewhere?" he asked, and Davis swung a fist at him, but the boy blocked him. When he aimed a foot at his legs, the boy simply leaped over it and followed it with a kick of his own, knocking Davis off his feet and sprawling him on the floor. Quick as lightning he sprang back to his feet, aiming a fist again at the boy's cheek to stun him—

And the boy bent backwards, lithe as a cat, and grabbed his wrist in a tight, un-escapable grip. With a strength he didn't look like he had, the boy lifted a knee and hit Davis hard in the stomach, who doubled over from the pain. The boy followed it up with an elbow to the back of the head, and Davis slumped unconscious to the floor. The boy straightened and brushed his hair back; he wasn't even breathing heavily, and he looked down at the man he had just knocked out in a dispassionate way.

The girl, who had not moved a bit since the start of the fight, looked almost curiously at him. "You ready to leave, then, Harry?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry nodded. "Of course, 'Mione," he said with a wide grin. Trusting she would watch his back, he bent down and threw Davis' body over his shoulder, and then without a backwards glance calmly left the pub, which stood in stunned surprise from the quick fight that had just taken place. Hermione gave the bar one last sweeping glance, then turned and followed Harry out the doors. He had already slipped into the shadows of the night, utterly silent as Cleo and Natle had shown and practically beaten into them. She had no trouble catching up to him, though—his imprint of magic was very strong and she had only to follow it; when she finally did catch up to him, he looked over at her with the smile she had always known and loved.

"What kept you so long?" he asked lightly. She could see the humor in his eyes even in the moonlight.

She huffed. "Not everyone's as tall as you," she grumbled, crossing her arms. Although the same age as Harry, and in fact being a few months older, Hermione was almost a head shorter than he was.

His smile, a real one this time, widened but it was still soft. She needed only worry if it hardened. Oh, not for herself, of course. No, she knew that Harry would never hurt you, but to see him truly angry… She shuddered to herself and carefully shoved those thoughts away.

"Can't help height, 'Mione," he replied with a sympathetic look, but then it faded into a serious one. "You don't think that Cleo's going to be too concerned we've been gone so long, do you?"

She shrugged. "Only one way to find out, I guess."

He blinked to show his agreement and, shifting Davis onto a more secure position on his shoulder, reached out to grab Hermione's hand in his own. One turn on their heels and they were suddenly gone like a breath on the wind.

The building they Apparated to was in a heavily-wooded area of England, a great bleak-looking castle that seemed to melt into the night. They could feel the strength of the protective wards surrounding it even from where they were standing—to Muggles and even wizards not included in the Fidelius Charm, they would see nothing but wooded country and if they got too close they would seem to remember an important task and then would promptly leave.

But Harry and Hermione merely smiled at the familiar sight before them, glad to be back home. They gripped hands and quickly approached the ancient castle spread out so majestically. It was Aidan, a friend of theirs since childhood and Cleo's nephew, who met them at the doors, his black eyes softening when seeing them.

"We're very glad you could make it back so easily," he told them with a smile. "And I see you've brought back Davis to us. Well. At least Cleo will be pleased, though I don't see why we can't just kill the blasted half-breed and save ourselves a lot of trouble."

"Aidan!" Hermione gasped, looking shocked at his audacity. "You know we don't kill anyone without a very good reason!"

"And I think the creature has become a liability," Aidan replied calmly. "He has escaped three times in the past twenty years! Suppose he escapes again and this time seriously injures, even kills, an innocent person? I'm telling you, he has become a liability and a danger to our lives and the lives of others!"

"You have spent too much time undercover with Dark wizards, Aidan," Harry admonished him gently, shaking his head. "They have taught you too much useless violence." Hermione nodded in agreement. That was just the way they did things—Harry had never had any problem standing up to others, even superiors several decades older than himself, and Hermione would silently give him her support. That was just the system of Harry and Hermione, and no one ever tried to figure it out or stop it.

Aidan nodded reluctantly. "Perhaps you are right," he admitted softly as he took Davis from Harry's grasp and led the two teenagers into the castle. "But suppose he gives up the site of this place," he said. "All of these hundreds of lives compromised, just because this one werewolf got away."

"You know as well we that Davis has not been in his correct frame of mind for years," Harry answered. "He can't help it if he still believes that his family is alive. He's just trying to get back to them."

"And he'll find them six feet under," Aidan replied, his tone sharpening slightly, and this told the two teens that they should not fight this anymore. "I will discuss this matter with Cleo—you two will essentially forget all of this, correct?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she said softly. Neither of them looked very happy about it, but they would not go against a direct order from a superior. Not even over something like this.

Especially not with Cleo's blood nephew.

Aidan nodded. "Good. Now, I'll go tell Aunt you have arrived, and you will go get yourselves cleaned up. You can speak with her tomorrow."

With only a glance, the two teens shared an agreement and an assurance to each other before they both turned back to the older young man. "Yes, sir," they said in unison, and bowed their heads slightly in response to the order. Then, not even sparing him a glance, they turned from Aidan and swiftly strode away.

Author's Note: Confused? If so, the second chapter will explain everything, it'll be up in a few days, at least two weeks. This story is going at its own pace since I'm currently still working my butt off in my senior year in high school, and on top of that, I've got a part in our school play, so needless to say I haven't been this tired in years.

SPOILER: Saw Woman In Black in theaters… the ending made me laugh, and cry. Cry, because it's sad, laugh because all I could think of was the David Allen Coe song that went, "I was drunk my mom got outta prison, and I went to pick her up in the rain. But before I could get to the station in the pick-up truck, she got run over by a damned old train." Hilarious, but sad. Anywho, read and review, please!