Disclaimer: I do not own this I am poor.

/wat

Quirrell limped along through the underbrush, his leg twisted at an odd angle, shivering in the cold. His master was violently berating him on the back of his head.

"It's not my fault, master!" whimpered Quirrell, leaning against a tree, breathing heavily. "How was I supposed to know that the Diggory boy was a cannibal?" He glared at his arm, which had a rather large gnash in it, courtesy of Cedric Diggory's powerful jaw.

"You are a fool! You cannot even protect yourself against a child!" hissed Voldemort. "I ought to cut you, to curse you, to break you and cause you incomprehensible amounts of pain!"

"You might not have to go to the trouble, ol' Voldy boy." The crooning voice came from the branches above, and Quirrell started, scampered, and nearly screamed as Harry Potter jumped onto the ground. He gave Quirrell and Voldemort a pleasant smile, but it was tainted. It was the dirty smile of someone who simply existed to cause others pain. From the looks of his expression, he was about to start existing.

"Funny meeting you here, Professor," Harry said, stretching his arms and back. "You a fan of midnight strolls and the sound of slaughter? Goodness knows I am."

Quirrell sputtered. "Harry Potter!" he managed.

"It's Kid Cipher when I don't like you, Quirinus. Please, let me converse with Moldy-Shorts?"

Quirrell muttered something to the effect of "Don't call him 'Moldy-Shorts'," but removed his hood and turned around so that the two powers could speak face-to-face.

"What did I tell you?" Harry demanded shortly. "Wait on the back of his head – quietly – until I construct a decent body for you to inhabit. What's so complicated about that, really? Really?"

"You waste my time. It's been weeks since our deal – and what is there to show for it? I've been receiving letters from Bellatrix Lestrange, prattling on and on about our – our honeymoon. Explain that, Kid Cipher," Voldemort rambled, saying Harry's name with particular disgust. Weeks ago it was when Harry Potter busted Bellatrix Lestrange out of prison. Since then, she'd done nothing but fawn over Voldemort, send him love letters, chocolates, and hand-drawn pictures of snakes. Harry wasn't even sure if she'd practiced her gnarly new dementor powers yet.

Harry crossed his arms and huffed. "Patience is a virtue. And besides, you've interrupted the Great or Horrible Determining of the Pecking Order. Have you any idea how dangerous that is? Neville Longbottom could have had your head, you know."

Voldemort scoffed. "Neville Longbottom? A mere boy. A runt. Practically a Squib."

"He's only human, but human beings are capable of particularly horrifying feats," Harry said, with no small degree of wisdom. "Not anything near as horrifying as what I do on a daily basis, when no one's looking, but still quite horrifying."

Quirrell shifted uncomfortably, wishing this confrontation to be over and done with. His master, it seemed, shared the feeling. "This is a waste of time. My vessel is wounded and I would rather Quirrell not die of an easily-treated infection," Voldemort said irritably. "Get to your end of the bargain and get me a body, or the deal is off."

Harry's smile slipped off his face, replaced by an expression so vacant, yet so furious, that it could freeze fire and shatter steel. He spoke his next words slowly, dangerously, with the care of a trapeze artist and hostility of a wild animal.

"The contract is forever, Riddle. There is no calling it off."He spoke again with his usual tone of offhanded humor and general instability. "But yes, I do think we're done here. Just remember your place, Lord Voldemort – pecking order! Now scat, before I get sick of looking at your hideous face. Yech, you're like an inverted toilet bowl with eyes and anger management issues."

So Quirrell scat, pulling up his hood and whining a bit at the pain in his forearm, where Cedric had bit him.

Harry smiled as he watched him go, pleased by how easily he had sent the two-in-one buffoon away. Though in all seriousness, it was really time for him to fulfill his end of the bargain. He didn't really feel like doing that until after the First Human Sacrifice of Many, though. Which brought him back to Bellatrix...

Harry heard a human scream – a loud, shrill, delicious series of vibrations – and a barbaric war-cry. The scream was silenced, echoing through the forest, and Harry giggled. About time. Whomever was responsible for that one was definitely going up, up, up the pecking order.

The ability to heartlessly take the life of another human being, who until recently was one's brother, was an excellent skill.

-O-

Einar Lunaires was of Japanese heritage, an Auror, and sitting in Dumbledore's office. One of those things was not connected to the other two.

Also in the room was Severus Snape, who wore a severe expression with his jaw firmly clamped shut and his lips pursed, and a Hogwarts student in her final year who boasted the peculiar name "Nymphadora Tonks." The latter stood a few paces to the former's left, with her hands clasped behind her back, and her hair hued green to match the sickly color of her skin. Tonks – as she preferred to be called – was nervous.

And why should she not be? Albus Dumbledore had summoned her to his office to meet with himself, an esteemed professor, and an Auror. Tonks tried to control her appearance so as not to betray her anxiety, but she didn't quite manage it.

Lunaires drummed his fingers against his knee somewhat impatiently, while Dumbledore solemnly sipped his tea and they all watched the clock. He'd offered the beverage to everyone, but everyone had turned him down.

"Now, Mr. Lunaires," began Dumbledore at long last, "I am sure you're eager to begin your assignment-"

"I am," snapped Lunaires, his eyes flashing.

"-but there's some drudgery to get to first," finished the headmaster, as if Lunaires hadn't rudely cut in as he had. "First, there is the exact nature of this particular case: bear in mind, you are investigating the Boy-Who-Lived, who, according to Professor Snape, is heading a cult. This had lead to the loss of most wildlife in the Forbidden Forest, along with a few fellow students. First degree murder, Mr. Lunaires."

Lunaires didn't look impressed – in fact, he looked as if Dumbledore were talking about which washing machine he wanted to buy. Or whatever the wizard equivalent of that was. Tonks, despite being raised with magic and Muggle stuffs, still had yet to find the exact equivalent of washing machine banter in the wizard world. Sometimes it frustrated her.

Dumbledore almost looked miffed that Lunaires wasn't taken aback by his words. Almost. Dumbledore didn't do "miffed." He only knew "moderately condescending in a warm, grandfatherly manner." And he was going to town with it now.

Snape, in stark contrast, looked positively livid. Sounded like it, too. "Mr. Lunaires, you understand that this is children being brutally murdered by children on Harry Potter's whim?" seethed Snape, his eye twitching. Tonks marveled at Snape's intense eye-twitching abilities. He was the envy of every mentally-unstable housewife across time.

Lunaires made a loud "pff-shaw" noise and rolled his eyes. "Kids killing kids, whatever. All I smell is a cult, and cult-busting's my forte. Professor Dumbledore, you leave this to me. Your little cult problem will be solved in a fortnight, trust me."

Dumbledore smiled in a moderately condescending in a warm, grandfatherly manner sort of way. "You have my absolute confidence, Mr. Lunaires. However, before you get to work, there's someone I'd like you to meet. Ms. Nymphadora Tonks."

Here, Dumbledore gestured to Tonks. She started, having almost forgotten – except for a twisty sort of gut feeling – that she was involved in this meeting. "Sup," she said, masterfully coming off as relaxed and perhaps-stoned, as was the Hufflepuff way.

Lunaires jutted his chin at her. "Sup," he replied, in a similar manner, before turning back to Dumbledore. "What's with the sick kid with the bad dye-job?"

Dumbledore smiled un-condescendingly at Tonks and she got the hint. She furrowed her brow and expertly gave herself a multicolored afro, vibrant pink skin, and a duck bill. Lunaires only raised his eyebrows a bit, and Snape looked sick. Many a class of his had been disrupted by Tonks's little talent.

"Sweet, a metamorphmagus. I can have a neon version of Merlin to spy for me," drawled Lunaires. He stood abruptly and popped his back audibly, making Snape's eye twitch again. "Well, if that's it, then I'll go have a look-see around the Forbidden Forest with Nymph Forks there. C'mon, Forks."

"It's Tonks," sneered Tonks, glancing at Snape to see if she'd get a nod of approval. It wasn't a nod, but Snape looked like he wanted her to give Lunaires a hard time. Their eyes locked and they shared a moment of understanding. Neither liked Lunaires, but it was necessary to work with him. But just because they had to work with him, didn't mean they had to be all pleased about it.

Of course, Tonks had better things to worry about now. As she followed Lunaires out of Dumbledore's office, she tried to process this new information. Potter's cult was killing people? She'd heard about the New Religion, obviously – who hadn't? – but she'd figured it was more of a little kid type club that Professor Sprout was humoring.

Tonks sighed inwardly as she trailed a few paces behind Lunaires. As if her NEWTs weren't enough.

She kept the multicolored afro, pink skin, and duck bill.