The Arch Angels in the temple were not doing well. Michael had thrown up twice, and Gabriel had tears streaming down his face. On the next floor, even Gaia was making a soft twinkling sound, like raindrops on tiny bells.

Gabriel was proud to see that Harry scooped Mal up into his arms and held her close after she broke down. He would have slapped the shit out of Harry otherwise, then held Mal himself when he finally met her. He'd held the lad when Harry came back from his earlier deaths.

Gabriel cast a glance at the very green-looking Michael. "Are you alright, brother?"

Michael was silent for a long time, just watching the woman on the screen break down.

"I knew they were capable of horrible things, but I would never have thought them capable of that." Michael finally whispered.

"But you at least suspected the potential, somewhere. Why else would your specific plan then be to shut down that community?"

"I honestly never thought about that, I assure you." Michael said firmly. "I wanted them to shut down because they are a threat to souls here and the way we do things. They needed to be dismantled in the mortal plain to begin the process of learning that the world doesn't, and shouldn't, run like the way they are running things."

"I see." Gabriel said slowly. It’s personal for Michael.

They looked back at the screen. As much as Michael wanted to hurry things along, he knew this was something that the souls within the office needed to do. It was a long time coming, but they were finally beginning to purge.

~==(oIo)==~

"I'm sorry," Mal sobbed against Harry's chest, "I'm trying to stop, but I can't!"

Harry shushed her as he gently rocked her and rubbed small circles on her back. "Don't rush this; just let it out. As I said before, this place is where we're meant to purge, and we've both said that we never this did before. Myself by choice, you because you were never given a chance. Don't hold it in now."

So she sobbed, hiccupped, blubbered, and cried harder than she had since the night Andrew died. Since the night she lost Christie. At least this time, there was someone there to hold her, to protect her as she broke into pieces. She would be the one to put them back together, she was sure of that, but at least someone was standing vigilant over the pieces.

Harry was patient, never saying a word. Rocking her gently the entire time, crushed tightly against his chest, never showing any signs of letting go. Occasionally, he would press gentle kisses to her head.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed since she started crying; it felt like hours, days even. Eventually, she'd cried all she had in her to cry, and she couldn't help but wonder if there were more tears yet to come.

She yawned as the flow of her tears began to cease. "How can I be this tired if I'm a soul?"

"Because of all you've been through and never being allowed to rest properly, even in Death." Harry had a thought, so he looked at Mal, "Did Rida let you sleep? At all?"

"You mean you can sleep here!?" Mal asked incredulously. Then she thought about for a moment and rested against his chest again. "Now that I think about it, I do believe I did sleep a little when I came back all cracked."

Harry nodded, "Obviously, you didn't sleep enough, what with Rida rushing you into life afterlife." He then hugged her tighter as he shook his in annoyance. "A soul needs to rest. Heaven allows souls that are too tired to carry on to sleep all they need, sometimes eternally, sometimes they wake up with no memory, as I said before. Souls are supposed to be resting between lives for however long they need. Gabriel always made sure I slept before going to another life. Even if it was only a little because of my stubbornness."

"Maybe, when we're done, we can take a nap, that is, if Gabriel doesn't show up?" Mal asked softly as she pulled back a little from Harry.

Harry smiled as he brushed a tear-soaked lock of her hair from her face. "I'd like that."

Despite the grim topic that lay before them, Harry couldn't remember a time when he'd been happier. From the moment he saw her, Harry was lost to her; now, she was in his arms. Nestled against his chest, curled up in his lap. He was relieved to find that she was comfortable there, and she was just as unwilling to leave as he was in letting her go. It felt right, and if it was one thing that Purgatory taught him if it felt right, then it was supposed to happen.

"Well, allow me to tell you about life at the Dursley's." He sighed as he sat back against the couch.

As he had been a baby for his first death, he didn't remember it or remember coming here. However, Gabriel allowed him to read the file later when he was mentally old enough to understand this place and about life and death. Due to the circumstances, James and Lily were allowed to sit and hold baby Harry for a while. They would never have been able to let go of him easily, but it allowed them comfort and enabled them to say their final goodbyes even if Harry would never remember.

Rather than reset the whole world's life all over again, as some angels did, Gabriel put Harry back into that world two minutes before Riddle's attack. This time, Riddle only managed the killing curse and the cutting curse before he was taken out. The killing curse rebounded and struck Riddle, causing the cutting curse to go above Harry's head as the rebound blew Riddle's top half backward.

Riddle attempted to beat back the killing curse due to his many rituals having augmented his body and magical core, but it still managed to claim him. It resulted in the body disintegrating and a magical backlash that destroyed the roof behind Riddle. The walls of the house on that side began crumbling and falling apart as well. The house was a total wreck, but thankfully, baby Harry was alright.

The rest was as Mal would have expected. Sirius showed up, but Hagrid had gotten their first and was carrying baby Harry out of the wreckage of the house. Sirius had tried to stake his claim as Harry's godfather and take him off Hagrid, but the half-giant had his orders from Dumbledore. Hagrid was known to get hostile towards people who tried to fight against Dumbledore's orders or beliefs. So Sirius was forced to step back and gave Hagrid the flying motorcycle to escape that place better.

What happened during the twenty-four hours between being brought to Dumbledore and arriving at the Dursley's Harry didn't know, as he'd said before, there were some things that he had to learn as a mortal.

Mal raised her hand to pause him, and he nodded, giving her the go-ahead to speak.

"Dumbledore is very much an enemy, yes?"

Harry nodded in answer.

"Like, secret Dark Lord, planning to take over the world, but you got in the way, kind of enemy?"

Again, Harry nodded.

"It's possible, now this is only speculation, that it was at this time that Dumbledore came up with his plan." Mal said softly. "From the way it looks, Dumbledore set up the Potter's as sacrifices to Riddle. At least that's with the fanfictions and fan theories. He trussed them up as turkeys for Thanksgiving."

Harry then held up his hand to pause her, "We don't celebrate that in Britain."

"Right." Mal blushed, "Well, then for Christmas dinner. My point is, you were supposed to die that night with your parents, and Neville was supposed to perish along with his, not too long afterward. It was all set up by Dumbledore. The leaking of the prophecy, the easy access to the families, or at least the Potters, was all manipulated by Dumbledore to have the prophecy become null in void so he could take down Riddle himself then take over the world."

He didn't like it, but he had to agree with what she was saying. "That delay in appearing at the Dursley’s would also explain the many blocks on my core. According to my file, my parents already had an infant block on me because I started having accidental magic at a month old. They would have removed it when I turned two. Dumbledore's only opportunity to add to it would have been during that time."

"I'm sure there were others, as you spent the next decade at the Dursley’s, but that's the start of it all, I'm sure." Mal sighed. "As you were never supposed to survive, he likely did all kinds of tests and plotted out the following years based on what he found. The Horcrux, for example. That's probably when he first learned about them."

"But he left them until the last minute for him to destroy so he could take out Riddle himself."

"I'm sure there are worse things that he did over time, but I think we should leave that unsaid for now."

Harry couldn't agree more, so he continued with his tale.

Dumbledore had indeed left Harry on the Dursley's doorstep that night of November first. No warming charms, nothing to protect the child. Just left there, with a note that Harry barely managed to protect against the howling wind of that night.

As expected, he was found the next morning by a rather hysterical Petunia. He didn't know what the letter said, he didn't know what happened to make them think they had to keep Harry, but they did.

The next six years were everything Mal read, suspected, and worse. He was starved for days, sometimes weeks, at a time, particularly around birthdays and holidays. When he was old enough, he worked as a slave, and despite his age, he was beaten if he got anything wrong. If he was caught stealing food, he was beaten. He was beaten when Dudley and Vernon were bored, angry, or for special occasions. So, pretty much every day, he was dragged around by the two of them and beaten.

"Now that I think about it," Harry mused. "I screamed a lot at first. The neighbors should have heard, but they didn't. No one ever heard. There had to have magic around the house to prevent the outside world from hearing what was happening inside."

The beatings weren't limited to hands and feet, as the canon books may have implied. The Dursleys, even Petunia, used whatever was closest or whatever came to mind. The worst Petunia ever used was a hot cast-iron skillet filled with food and cooking oil. The tamest thing she'd ever used was an ugly vase that Marge gave her for her birthday that she broke over his head and later blamed him for its destruction when Vernon came home. Of course, she left out the part that she'd used it as a weapon deliberately.

As for Vernon and Dudley, the worse mark it could leave, the better. Fists, feet, belts, iron fire pokers, you name it, it had been used at least once.

After each beating, Harry was thrown into the cupboard again, barely breathing. Somehow, he'd always wake up mostly healed.

Mal had listened, horrified, but when he started his confusion over waking up healed, she had an answer for him. "Dumbledore firmly believed you couldn't die because of the prophecy in place; only Riddle would be able to. However, he couldn't very well let you arrive at Hogwarts completely mangled; people would ask questions he didn't want to answer. He had monitoring charms on you, so when your health dipped below a certain point, he'd show up, likely with Pomfrey, and heal you. It served a dual purpose; one, it would make the Dursleys hate you even more because each time you healed, they would come back harder than before in their attempts to kill you. Two, You would be so starved for affection you would latch onto anyone who showed you kindness."

As Harry listened, he realized she was one hundred percent right. He wondered if she was ever wrong.

"May I ask a question?" She asked softly.

He nodded.

"Marge, she was pretty horrible in the books. Was she as bad as I suspected?"

Harry thought about how to answer; in the end, he decided on the unvarnished truth.

Marge was perhaps the worst Dursley there was. Thankfully, he didn't have to deal with her all that often. But when she came around, she intentionally spoke her harsh words to have him lose control, which would then see him getting punished. Deliberately bringing a dog she trained to be vicious and attack him. Ripper would tear small chunks out of his legs, and he would do it right in front of everyone.

He would stand there, bleeding from a new bite mark or a missing piece of his leg, and was forced to clean up whatever bloody mess was made, dress his wound as best he could, before carrying on with his chores as if nothing happened. Ripper was trained only to attack when Harry was in the kitchen, as there were no carpets in the kitchen. The first time Ripper bit into him had been in the living room, and while Vernon wasn't upset about the attack, he was upset that Ripper made a mess out of the carpet with Harry's blood. Not even Petunia's homemade stain removers could vanish the blood. Marge was forced to pay for dry cleaners, and when that didn't work, a new carpet.

Hence the training to only attack Harry in the kitchen.

Marge would baby the dog after each attack, praising the thing and threatening Harry that if his blood poisoned her dog, she'd kill him.

Mal's heart completely and utterly broke for him. Sure, she was emotionally neglected as well, but she wasn't as starved for affection as he had been. As small children, her younger siblings all loved her a great deal. Due to the community's beliefs, her brother's affection for her diminished a great deal after a certain age, but they always held her in high esteem. As Mal was already correctly trained in the duties of a housewife and mother.

At least according to their standards.

For the most part, her sisters loved her, but they were jealous of her assets and the attention she got from other men. Only Christie, only her baby sister, stuck in the middle, truly cared for her. Mal was lucky she even had that.

Then, there was Harry, who his parents so dearly loved, his godfather, and his honorary uncle but had no memory of it. His parents lost in death—his godfather, taken away by the manipulations of an old man. The same could likely be said for Remus, but Mal remained unsure if Remus was forced to stay away or if he was just that blind of a follower to Dumbledore that he didn't question what he was ordered.

A tear rolled down her cheek, and her lower lip quivered.

Harry, unable to resist the urge, leaned in and kissed the tear that fell on her cheek—licking it from his lips before he rested his head on hers. In life, it might have tasted salty, but in Purgatory, it tasted sweet. In it, he could feel the growing affection she had for him, the desire to protect him from all that. To hurt those who had harmed him.

Had anyone ever truly cared about him in the way she was now? He knew his wives had, at some point, both taken revenge on the Dursley's, as they all went missing sometime after the second war. But had anyone ever wished to take him away before the Dursley's had the chance to hurt him more like Mal was now?

He closed his eyes and rested his head against hers. Basking in the feeling of warmth that Mal was providing for him. There was no pity, not like what Harry had seen before. The kind that called him pathetic over the fact that he wasn't strong enough to stop what had happened to him. This was understanding, and perhaps a little pity, in the capacity that she knew this was never supposed to happen to him.

How odd that in a total stranger, Harry found the one person it would kill him to lose.

~==(oIo)==~

Gabriel wondered if the couple in his office knew that they were encompassed by glow each time they stopped and rested before continuing. At first, it was bronze in color; then it turned to gold the closer they got; now, it was almost opalescence in color.

He knew what that light meant—soul bonding. The bronze coloration was an indication of its beginning, and what it meant was the two would always be the most trusted of friends. The golden color was the indication that the two were now romantically connected and would be very happy as spouses. Opalescence was rare; it meant that for as long as the two lived, there would never be another for them.

Stolen story; please report.

The golden glow meant that they could marry, as they would the happiest together; however, they could still split and find happiness with other people. Perhaps not to the extent they would have with each other, but They could have found contentment. However, opalescence meant that they could search and search and search, but they would never find another person who meant to them what their partner in the opal glow meant.

And the two hadn't even kissed yet.

Oh, it was no longer a matter of if but a matter of when.

The longer those two were together, the more Gabriel began to understand what it was that Gaia was doing with this couple and why she had put them together behind Michael's back—going so far as to lock him in the temple to prevent him from separating them.

He chanced a glance at his brother now and knew that Michael had seen the glow. For he sat there, with a look of defeat on his face.

"You alright there, brother?" Gabriel asked softly. Safe in the knowledge that he wasn't missing anything from what he now considered their star couple.

"Why didn't you ever tell me that his lives were that bad?" Michael's voice was hoarse, and to help him, Gabriel conjured a pitcher of ice water for them.

Pouring Michael and then himself a glass, Gabriel tried to word his response carefully. "Michael, I've been in here numerous times. Each time, you've read through the file. All of the information is there. Either you skimmed all of it and were unable to retain what was said, or you never bothered to read the beginning years and just focused on when Harry reentered the Wizarding World. Regardless, that means you haven't been giving this your fullest attention."

Gabriel then glared at Michael. "I cannot be held responsible when you don't make an effort. We were just handed suspicions from Mal that the guardians are being lazy and not doing their full jobs, and here you are asking me why I never said anything! For fucks sake Michael at the very least, you should have been aware of it back when Harry had that trial!"

The soft twinkling of bells echoed strongly throughout the citadel, and Michael hung his head. Gabriel recognized a berating when he saw it.

Michael said nothing and merely watched the screen, and Gabriel was forced to do the same. His charges, because at the end of Rida's evaluation, Mal was officially his charge, and he'd be damned if he was going to let Michael take control of her now.

~==(oIo)==~

"Did," Mal stopped and thought about how to ask this, "Was any aspect of your childhood normal?"

Harry laid his head back and thought about his childhood. "Well, I never had toys, at least not in the conventional sense. The things that I had, all of them, were broken and ruined things from Dudley or the other Dursley's. Thankfully, I never anything from Marge. All of my clothes were Dudley's or Vernon's cast off, but the belt I used was a broken purse strap I got from Petunia after my pants kept falling. She beat me for stealing it, but I was allowed to keep it."

"You said "never" in the conventional sense," Mal said softly. "in the movie, you had something like little tin soldiers. But the way you say it, there was more, something that wasn't in the books or movies."

Harry grinned a little, "As I said, I got Dudley's broken things. I learned at an early age to splice things together to make something for myself. So there might have been some old broken tin soldiers, but my favorite one, and the one I consider my only true toy before Aunt Petunia found it while raiding my cupboard."

Mal smiled, "You sound very pleased with that favorite. What was it?"

"It was pieces of stuffed animals that Dudley had ripped apart. Luke: The Spider. It had a raptor's head, a turtle's body, four legs and a tail from a tiger, and three legs from a dog. I took the pieces and some things from Petunia's sewing kit that was only there for show. I had Luke from when I was four until I was eight. I played with him, talked to him, and cuddled with him as I slept. He was my best friend in that dark cupboard, but I was happy with him."

"Luke sound so ugly he was cute!" Mal gushed, smiling brightly.

"He was." Harry agreed.

But as all things seemed to go in their lives, the good things never lasted for long. Dudley had run off with an ice cream container one afternoon, and when Petunia realized it was missing, she immediately began raiding Harry's cupboard for the evidence. Because, of course, she'd never suspect her whale of a son. Harry hadn't been able to hide Luke right, and she found him under his bed. She shrieked at the "ugly monster" she found there.

Harry looked away spacey and mused, "There was a time when I thought that was my name or Freak. Never could figure out which one it was supposed to be."

Petunia was horrified by what she saw, so much so she forgot the missing ice cream. It would have been too easy to throw the Frankenstein stuffed animal away. So Vernon and Petunia held Harry back as Dudley ripped the thing apart anew, then Dudley and Petunia kept Harry in place as he was forced to watch Vernon burn Luke piece by piece in front of him.

"I stopped caring about objects after that; I stopped making toys for myself. What was the point if it was going to be taken away or killed?" Harry looked down at her with a shrug. "Course, all of that happened after my second death, but it paints the picture of life with Dursley's for you."

It was during one of those special beatings that Harry met his second death. Dudley had just turned seven; they celebrated with a special dinner and a massive cake at home. It was a four-tier cake, and Dudley's fourth piece was three-fourths of the last layer. Petunia already had her tiny amount, and Vernon was working on his second piece. It was, after all, a special occasion.

Mal shook her head. "No wonder he was the weight of a whale in one of the books."

Harry had to chuckle at her comment.

They already beat him earlier in the day, as it was the part that Dudley was looking forward to the most. This resulted in his wrist breaking. By the time dessert had rolled around, magic had already healed it to a fracture, but he was still in a lot of pain, and his wrist was weak. Not that he knew that at the time.

Because of that, the large piece, and his injury, he'd dropped the plate just shy of the table. He just couldn't carry it. Of course, the whole Dursley trio saw it, and of course, they immediately blamed him for doing it on purpose. Petunia screamed at him for ruining Dudley's special day. Vernon roared about the waste of money. Dudley screamed and wailed about his ruined birthday cake. How he barely got any at all, and how there was now so little left for him.

Vernon's belt was off with the ease of a well-practiced motion, and he began to whip Harry with it. Being small for his age, made worse by the starvation he suffered at his relatives' hands, he wasn't much of a target. His natural defense was to curl up into a small ball, but Vernon's accuracy, oddly enough, was spot on and hit its mark every time.

Mal's nose twitched, sensing that something magical about that, but she kept silent about it for now.

When Vernon got winded, which happened very quickly as the man was drastically out of shape, Dudley took over gleefully. He whipped Harry with that belt as fast and as hard as he could. While it didn't match the damage that Vernon could do, it was still a lot of pain and significant damage added to the already weak and broken boy. And just like his father, Dudley's whips never missed their target.

When Dudley couldn't swing anymore, the beating was at last over, and as Harry slowly uncurled his tensed, bruised, and broken body Vernon began yelling. He yelled about the waste of space, time, and money the boy, the Freak, was. Because that's what Harry was, a Freak who should have done the right and proper thing and died with his Freak parents. If Harry didn't shape up, Vernon would do what he should have done the morning they found the Freak on their doorstep and kill the boy himself.

Dudley, who had heard all this before, had gotten in his head the thought, why? Why hadn't they killed the Freak that morning when they found him? Why didn't they just kill him now? It's not like it would be all that hard.

To prove that point, perhaps thinking he'd get rewarded, Dudley picked up one of the kitchen carving knives and rushed forward with it. Course the big oaf tripped, and with the weight of his fall, and the angle in which he was holding the knife, saw it plunging into Harry's neck.

Mal was horrified and found herself instinctively reaching up to his neck. Whether it was to stop the bleeding, check for a scar, or offer comfort, she wasn't entirely sure. She stopped just before her hand reached his neck. That happened so long ago; it wouldn't show up now. She mumbled an apology for her foolishness.

He chuckled as her reaction amused him; it also helped cover up just how touched he was by her response. He gently took hold of her hand that reached for his neck and kissed its palm—letting her know without words what her reaction meant to him.

"Anyway," He sighed, not letting go of her hand, "you'd think they would be cheering and positively thrilled as I fell to the floor bleeding and drowning in my blood. But they weren't."

Petunia was screaming about the blood on the carpet, furious and disgusted by the mess. She immediately looked for the source to make her fury known, but when she saw that it was her nephew, she began to scream all over again, this time in horror. She started crying out, "James! Not Again! James!"

Vernon was yelling, for the first time, at Dudley. He looked positively horrified; he was being yelled at and didn't know what to make of it.

Then everything went black and heavy, and Harry felt like he was falling into a very deep sleep. When he slowly became aware of his surroundings, he realized he was here, in Gabriel's office. He appeared that time, in Gabriel's arms. As Mal would remember, souls usually appeared in the same manner in which they died. Be it on the ground, floor, bed, chair, or something else.

He leaned in close and dropped his voice, "A guy once died in a hot tub, and he appeared here, hot tub and all."

Mal's eyes went wide. "Yeah, that did look like it would be painful."

Harry looked at her, confused. "He took too much LSD, smacked his head on the edge, knocking himself unconscious. He drowned before he could feel his body being cooked."

"Oh." Mal said, her cheeks flushed. "Wrong death then."

"Okay," Harry said slowly, "What death were you thinking of?"

"Well, the one I saw on a show once was of a guy who got his colon sucked out through the filtration system, I think."

Harry's rectum clenched in horror. The more he thought about it, the worse his phantom pains were.

"Back to my story," he said hastily and with a touch more volume than necessary. "Gabriel felt that no child should wake from that kind of death alone or being stood over by an impartial third party."

Mal, knowing from personal experience, could only nod in agreement. "I hope more angels have that policy."

Harry shrugged. He had no idea, but he hoped so too. The books on the matter never gave specific instructions on dealing with child deaths and the soul's reaction to it.

Gabriel held a young Harry close like he would his son. He was offering him comfort and comforting words when needed. When Harry had, at last, calmed down, Gabriel allowed him time to rest.

But, Destiney/Fate being a bitch and all, Harry had to go back. No matter how much he begged to stay or even be allowed a chance to talk to his parents, Harry was denied. Gabriel told him that he had to go back. There was still so much to live for, and so much was just waiting for him.

"A fat lot of good that does when all you've experienced so far is shit!" Mal scoffed rather heatedly.

There wasn't much Harry could say as an argument.

"So back I went, right as I had picked up Dudley's enormous piece of cake. Instead of a fractured wrist healing from a break, I had a sprain wrist healing from a fracture. The only thing that the situation created was some pain on my end. I managed to deliver the piece of cake without incident. Though I swear my fat uncle and his blob of a spawn looked disappointed that they didn't have a "legitimate" reason to beat on me more."

"After that, I was thrown back into my cupboard and locked away from the world at large again."

Mal shook her head. "The reality of the abuse you've suffered is horrifying."

"And yours wasn't?" Harry countered.

"Touché." Mal sighed. "I still can't believe that no one noticed. There had to have been copious amounts of magic and manipulation to keep people from saying something. All that yelling, you being hidden all the time, the clothes you wore, all of it were indications of abuse, yet nothing. The yelling alone should have warranted a call to the police to shut the Dursley's up at the very least."

"People are stupid."

"Yes, they are." Mal agreed. "But not to that extent. In close-quarter suburbs like that, neighbors can often be gossiping enemies, and we've already established that the Dursley's aren't the nicest of people. There's no possible way that someone didn't notice something."

Harry shrugged. "Gabriel might now, but as I said before, there is only so much I'm allowed to learn here."

And isn't that a bitter tone. Mal thought.

"Well then, to get back on topic," Mal said after clearing her throat, "my second death followed shortly after my first."

Unlike Harry, who had some details manipulated and was put back mere minutes or hours before his horrific deaths, Rida had Mal start all over from the very beginning. So in each mortal life, she lived through the abuse, the humiliation, and the molestation.

And all of those later lives without Andrew.

In the second life, Mal survived the drowning thanks to her sister Christie catching her before falling into the water. With no adult in sight, and Lauren not coming out of her room to help, Christie tried all of the adults she had been taught to call. Arnold; no answer. Grandparents; scolded her for interrupting their prayers. The church; scolded her for pranking them. All out of options, Christie called 911.

They arrived rather quickly, much to the scandal of their neighbor's. Mal was rushed to the hospital while the police investigated the house. Finding semen on Mal's bed and what was still on her, they arrested Arnold when he came home, who had admitted to being the only male home at the time of the events.

Mal was interviewed at the hospital before someone from the community could appear and tell her to keep her mouth shut and not speak with the police. As Christie had also spoken with the police upon their arrival, there was no way that the community could shut the two of them up quickly and make it look natural. At least not until the police presence had been removed.

A week later, Mal was released from the hospital. No one had wanted to send her home, and they had spent an entire week trying to find any medical and legal reason not to send her back. She had developed pneumonia, for God's sake. In the end, they had treated all of her ailments enough to be released and found nothing else that would allow them to keep her there. Her grandparents picked her up at the hospital, appearing all caring and nurturing, which they never were, and it very unnerving for Mal.

Harry's hands folded together as he rested his forehead against them. Doing his best to remain calm but knowing he was going to hate what came next.

Sure enough, her grandparents hadn't taken her home but rather to the community's convent. Mal had mistakenly believed she was there for her protection, and she was soon to reunite with her siblings. She was rather anxious to see Christie again and hug that girl for all she was worth.

Instead of going to the dorms, or the receiving rooms, Mal was escorted to the basement. There, hidden away in a secret room, a Priest and a handful of nuns stood waiting.

She had tried to run, she really did, but she was still weak from being sick. She had special inhalers with breathing treatments to breathe normally as her lungs were still wrecked from the pneumonia.

Before she could understand anything, other than something was very wrong, Mal was tied to the bed. The priest and the nuns began chanting prayers and spraying her with holy water. The door was soon closed, and the air became very thick with incense. She was being put through an exorcism.

A "good man" like Arnold had been arrested. Perhaps he had sinned, but he needed God's absolution, not to be detained by outside forces. Unable to return to them, and they had failed to help him. The authorities wouldn't allow the community or the church to speak on his behalf. Not when the police had found DNA evidence. It wasn't right, something was seriously wrong with the whole situation, and they had a full week to agonize over the matter.

The ending consensus was that a demon had possessed Mal. She was seriously ill, according to the doctors. That proved it. The girl was a part of the holy community, and she was faithfully fighting her demonic intruder. The doctors and other outside forces were too blinded by their own sins, surrounded by wicked filth to see, or even understand, the dire situation before them.

But the community was not; they could see clearly and understood perfectly what was really happening.

They made their preparations and, upon her arrival, worked to free her from the demon's vile grip. They were going to purge her one way or another. They had already suitably punished "the other one," Christie; Mal was the final component.

With her lungs already compromised, it didn't take long for Mal to start suffocating. She began to panic, which made the whole thing worse. Within a few hours into the exorcism, Mal was dead. Not that the Priest or the Nuns noticed.

As Mal finished, all she could do was stare at Harry, concerned. He'd long since gone rigid, and now he looked positively livid.

For his part, Harry saw red. Mal's assessment of his emotional reaction was in the right area, but she seriously underestimated the level of his fury.

Carefully, he stood and walked to the empty wall where the door was concealed once more. He moved with an eerie calmness that set Mal's nerves on edge. Then, with more power and a look of utter rage that Mal had never seen before, Harry threw his arm right arm back before swinging it forward, his arm now engulfed in a golden light, and punched a massive hole in the wall.

It was large enough both could have walked through comfortably into the next room. Which thankfully had no occupants to complain about the sudden assault on their privacy.

Just as suddenly as the hole appeared, Mal blinked, and it was gone. Once again, it was a solid wall without a blemish on it.

When Harry looked back her way, she saw that eerie calm again and knew the storm had not passed.

He needed a distraction quickly, so Mal asked the first question that came to mind. Deciding she'd feel embarrassed about it later. "When did you start taking your adult form here?"

"My third." Came his immediate answer, knowing full well what she was doing. "You?"

"My fifth. As you can imagine, Rida wasn't keen on me taking a form that could fight back or potentially overpower her. She preferred small, easier to manage me. She fought hard to keep my adult form at bay."

From what little Harry knew about Rida, it seemed like something she would do.

Realizing he was still on edge and not at all distracted, Mal decided to go for humor.

"So is it normal to kick open doors and punch holes into walls in this place, or are you just trying to impress me?"

Inspite of himself, Harry cracked a smile but wisely decided not to answer or make any sore of comment on that statement.

He didn't like her lessening or cheapening her deaths like that. So far, they had two of their deaths spoken, and all were unjust, unnecessary, and murder. Plain and simple. Perhaps hers could be argued as accidental, but he didn't see it that way. But it's not like he could reprimand her about it. He was guilty of the same thing and might relapse into that later on.

He didn't like her doing it, but he wasn't one who could judge her about it.

Instead, he went back to the couch. He got comfortable before pulling her back into his arms, resting his head on hers and allowing her presence to wash over him and give him comfort.

Mal was surprised by his actions initially, but she soon found herself relaxing in his arms and resting against him.

It seemed that he wanted to hold her, which was not out of any sense of obligation. His steady progress in calming was genuine.

Canon Harry Potter's temper was well documented. Many fanfictions expanded upon that, getting Harry into a lot of trouble. It didn't help that certain redheads, a pathetic poncey blonde, and a bushy-haired know-it-all set him off without much difficulty. Not to mention a goat fucking white-whiskered wanker. It was well known among the fandom to avoid Harry's bad side.

Mal wondered if anyone had calmed him so quickly, but she lacked the courage to ask him.

"You know," Mal said softly, "if this is your reaction to my second death, we're not going to have an easy time of this."

"It's not supposed to be easy." Harry grumbled as he resurfaced from her hair. "But you have a point. If it helps, I have a feeling you'll be right where I was, reacting in much the same way soon enough."

"Not really, no." Mal pouted.

Seeing that things were still grim, she tried for humor one more time.

"It would seem," Mal smiled a bit, "that for all your hatred of the subject, your skills at Divination are rather astounding."

Harry froze for a moment before taking Mal gently by the chin, so she looked into his eyes and nowhere else as he glared at her. "Bite. Your. Tongue."

She wasn't sure where it came from, but Mal couldn't help the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Then proceed to bite it where he could see her teeth clamping down on the appendage.

While shocked, Harry was caught between two reactions; the first was to attack her mouth with his own and take her tongue into his mouth. The second was laugh.

Flushed the color of a ripe tomato, Harry began laughing hysterically, and Mal-soon joined him.