Author's note: This is less an actual chapter and more a statement of intent. Yes, I am still writing this story; yes, eventually a full length chapter will be out; no, Lares isn't dead. Unfortunately I have six finals over the next two weeks and approximately zero time to write, which is why I'm publishing this instead of finishing the chapter first and then publishing it. It's been sort of a crazy year for writer's block, school work, and health problems among my family, but it's calmed down now, and I have every intention of finishing this story.

Please enjoy this snippet of a chapter, and I hope to be back with a full new chapter relatively soon. :)

Harry ran.

He was fast—he'd always been fast, had had plenty of practice at running starting from when he was a child running from Dudley and continuing through his entire adult life—but he was faster now than he'd had cause to be in some time. Harry had been quick when he was running after Shazza, but that had been with his hands bound and with far less motivation than he had now. Now, there could be a child involved, and Harry had lost too many children already.

Everything was chaos and smoke, fires of a million impossible shades shooting past Harry from every direction, meant to confuse and blind. Harry stayed low and moved fast, turning every now and again to make sure the family behind him was keeping up; even so, he knew they weren't moving fast enough. "Come on come on come on," he chanted breathlessly as he ran, hoping it would somehow propel them all to safety.

There was a shriek—one of the children had fallen over a root, and the mother had stopped to pick him up. Harry swung around and moved to her, moving her away and taking the child himself. "I've got him, you need to keep moving," he said.

"Please let me," the child's mother said—Harry couldn't place her name or recognize her, but he needed to get her out alive all the same. Her pupils were thrown huge from the darkness of the forest and from fear, and her hands reached out for her child.

Harry had to shake his head. "I'm stronger than you and faster," he said, urgently, "please keep going. I'll keep him safe." She stared a moment longer, the pause one they could not afford, and Harry felt his heart beat faster in his chest, felt every drag of air into his lungs.

Then Neville called out from behind, quietly enough to avoid detection but clearly enough to be audible over the din. "Harry, they're right behind us." Luna shot past Harry without acknowledging him, taking the lead he'd abandoned, her blonde hair visible against the dark as she urged the family on. They couldn't afford to wait, and the mother saw it—reluctantly, she nodded, and turned again to run.

Harry held the boy probably too tight for comfort and ran again, more slowly now with the added weight. He didn't have a hand free for his wand, but that was alright; he'd already pulled his magic to the surface of his skin, ready for wandless casting. "Nic, come on, please," he said, and felt the child he was holding shift in confusion—he clenched his fingers to keep the boy from wriggling and had to drop to the ground to avoid a bright red shot of magic that looked like a bonebreaker. He pushed himself upwards, somehow without dropping the child, and pushed on. "They're right behind us, Nicodemus, come on, hurry." It wasn't like Nic could hear him, but it made Harry feel better.

Then heat flared against his chest, his dog tags burning hot against his chest, and Harry felt relief despite the pain. "Everyone hold on!" he shouted, loudly enough to make himself a target, and grabbed blindly for the people closest him, seeing Neville and Luna do the same. "Crane," he said, and the portkey in the dog tags triggered, dragging him dizzily out of there—

He landed inelegantly on the floor of the main hall of Nicodemus' manor, feeling as usual as though he'd been pulled inside out, but also feeling proud. They'd gotten another family out, away from Reeducation—they were done. "Thank Merlin," Harry said, and collapsed against the stone floor, letting go of the child in his arms. He'd gotten a child out safe—this woman's son would be safe. They would all be safe. Harry felt like he could fly without a broomstick, adrenaline crashing through his body and making him giddy.

The feeling lasted only moments.

"Where is my daughter?" the mother asked, her voice level at first but growing shrill with panic when there wasn't an answer, and Harry's heart sank.

They hadn't gotten everyone—

Harry jerked back into his own mind from the recollection. He'd lost only a moment to it, but he couldn't afford even seconds now. He had to hold himself together, had to keep running.

HUNGRY, a hiss-shriek on the air reminded him, and Harry moved.

He found the source of the mechanical noise moments later—a large building in the industrial section with something solar powered squeaking on the roof. He didn't stop to listen to the sounds inside, but instead physically threw himself at the door of the building. It creaked under his weight but didn't open, still locked. Harry knew that someone had gotten inside somehow, but he didn't have time to look for another entrance. For all he knew there was a child-sized hole he wouldn't be able to use anyway, and he had to get inside now. He looked at the door—the hissing rose in pitch—a child screamed inside—he wasn't—

"—strong enough, Harry," Nicodemus said.

Harry looked up at the sound of his voice, lowering the point of his practice sword. Nic was leaning against one wall of the room, though Harry had no idea of how long he'd been there for. "Am I really doing that badly?" he asked, drawing circles in the air with the tip of his blade to illustrate his point. He'd first been taught how to use a sword almost three years ago now, when he'd first met Nic and joined the underground movement—it was a skill that had sometimes been useful, as Nic had insisted it would be. Harry hadn't thought there was much left for Nicodemus to complain about where his sword style was concerned.

Nic waved his hand vaguely through the air. "I wasn't talking about that," he said, and pushed off of the wall to come closer. "I mean in general. You aren't strong enough." Nic circled around Harry, a gesture with an almost predatory edge, and Harry sighed.

"Really not in the mood right now, Nic," he said, and Nicodemus laughed.

"I've got a new trick for you," Nicodemus said, as though Harry hadn't said anything, and despite himself Harry paid attention. Nic had been holed up in the basement for a few days now, consumed in another one of his experiments—apparently that experiment had been successful, if Nic's behavior was anything to go on. For all that Nicodemus could irritate the hell out of Harry at times, he knew better than to turn down help from Nic where magic was concerned. Completely without any apparent segue, Nic asked, "What do you know about Muggle physics, Harry?"

The correct answer to this was almost nothing, but Harry didn't even have to give it—Nic was in the sort of mood where Harry's answer wouldn't affect anything he said. Excitement, pride and a little arrogance all clear in his voice, Nic said, "To make a very simplified explanation of something very complicated, magic is a form of energy." He spread out one palm and wandlessly called up a ball of light in his hand, saying the incantation for the spell under his breath. It glowed white and did not flicker as fire would. "And, as Einstein so brilliantly proved, energy is mass." The ball of light condensed into itself and solidified, forming a sphere in Nic's hand that still seemed to glow faintly. "And," Nic said, sounding pleased with himself, "mass, under the right conditions, is an impetus for force." He flipped his palm, letting the ball drop—it landed with a loud resounding thud, hitting the floor hard enough to chip off thin fragments of stone. Nic beamed like a child in a candy store.

Harry knew he'd missed a point somewhere. "No offense, Nic, but wouldn't it be much less complicated to summon a rock if you needed to do that? Are we supposed to lob magic at the Enforcers and hope they go away?"

Nicodemus rolled his eyes. "That was just a physical demonstration of the underlying principle," Nic said, as though that had been obvious. "It's not meant to be used that way, obviously. I'm calling it force magic as an operative name—it's meant to increase physical strength." Harry just looked at him, knowing his silence would provoke further explanation. "You aren't strong enough," Nic said, again, "and this will change that. It's like transfiguring your own body to make it stronger, but it takes less magic—and the advantage is that the magic never has to physically leave your own body to work, so it can't be shielded against. It changes your physical strength from the inside out, unlike transfiguration."

"How, exactly?" Harry asked.

"Here," Nic said, "let me," and he grabbed Harry by the shoulders without waiting for permission. Harry thought to protest, but didn't actually bother, considering that he had actively encouraged Nic to touch him not so long ago, and trying to remind Nic that permission no longer existed would just be a waste of time right now. "Picture your magic like you do for wandless casting," Nic said, and Harry closed his eyes and did as he was told. The core of his magic glowed inside him, as it always did. "Magic is energy," Nic said, quietly. "Move that energy to your hands like you would if you were casting. Now turn that energy into mass." Harry pictured his magic solidifying, like it had in Nic's palm, and felt his hands and the muscles of his arms grow physically heavier. "And mass is force, Harry," Nicodemus said, and Harry felt his magic make it true, reach out his arms and pushed—

The door to the building broke open under the force of Harry's combined magic- and adrenaline-boosted strength, and Harry was through the door in an instant.

I realize this doesn't actually resolve the awful cliffhanger I left you poor folks with, but I'm hoping you'd prefer this to two or three more weeks of complete radio silence from me.

I don't have time to respond to every review I've gotten since I last wrote Lares, unfortunately, but I would like to say that I deeply appreciated every single one. Thank you so much to everyone who wished my grandfather well—fortunately he's doing alright now, though it was rough for a little while—and to everyone who asked whether this story would be updated and helped nudge me out of my writer's block. You all made my day, you awesome readers you. :)