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Please consider this a replacement of the sixth book, since it was begun well before the release of the Half Blood Prince. I will not be changing this to accommodate the HBP plotline, since I feel that the Order of the Phoenix leaves a greater degree of flexibility for fan-fiction writers.

Thank you to all of the readers who have supported me throughout the writing of this piece.
I cannot express my gratitude enough to all of you who have made me the Number 1 Favorite Author, and this story the Number 2 Favorite Story, the 7th Most Read Story, the Most Reviewed Story Ever in the site's history, and for several months between August and early November of 2005 the Number 1 Favorite Story.

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"Energy. It permeates every living and non-living thing. Without it, the world would cease to exist."
~ Vincent VonStolburg ~

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Chapter 1 ~ Lightning Strikes


Remus' eyes narrowed, peering through the thick onslaught as rain pelted the Earth. He continued walking, not breaking formation even as water sloshed about his mud-soaked ankles, chilling him to the bone.

Moving was becoming increasingly difficult and the thick wool of his cloak clung awkwardly to his icy skin. He wished he had possessed the foresight to don a lighter one, for moving certainly would have been easier.

But there had been little time to think on such details.

His eyes burned, the stinging sensation growing until painful tears streamed down his face, his salty tears mixing with the rain before they reached his lips, leaving the taste of salt water upon his tongue.

The stinging sensation grew worse. It happened whenever his rod cells multiplied, and right now the frenzy going on just behind his retinas was aiding him, bringing into stark focus the destruction of the night.

Cloaked images came to life, the moonless night no longer a factor as gray images danced before him with unearthly clarity. It was the one small gift his monthly burden afforded him.

Night vision.

His eyes turned from the world around him, flicking towards the blackened sky, noting the new moon. He had a couple weeks before the pain in his bones returned.

Tonks fell into step besides him, giving an involuntary shudder, and he caught her arm, helping her over another of the dead before she could trip. Her eyes were still bloodshot from the last time it had happened.

She nodded thanks and they continued their stealthy search. They dared not light their paths for fear of giving away their positions. Lingering Death Eaters could be anywhere.

She, unlike so many of the others, had volunteered for this. The others had been afraid, but he did not fault them.

A Reach had not been found in England for centuries. And the foul and loathsome Death Eaters would go to any lengths to find one. The evidence lay at their feet, and he was thankful that the deep darkness spared Tonks from seeing the full extent of tonight's destruction. Only he could bear witness to its full horror.

Five Muggles had been slain this night. Their torn and mangled bodies long since passed. There was nothing even the best of healers could do. All that was left was to pick through the carnage, hoping against hope that a soul had survived.

He picked up the pace. They had to complete their search before the ministry officials arrived. By then they were to be gone, mere ghosts to have passed through, unseen and unheard.

The past weeks had brought a slew of murders. No... Butcherings...

This was his seventh such search that month alone, and still the stench of charred cloth and burnt flesh reeled him.

Muggle families were being polluted with the foulness of Voldemort. And despite the Order's best efforts, they had been powerless to stop it.

"Six..." Tonks whispered, barely audible. Her slender form was bent down, her shaking hands checking for a pulse on a young man, his once golden-blond hair matted thickly with coagulated blood.

Remus bent down, grasping her around the waist as he helped her rise. In the heat of battle she was fiery, unaffected by the horrors of fallen comrades. He had seen her ability to block such things out firsthand in the Department of Mysteries. But now, in the aftermath of something she had no control over, the steely glint was gone from her eyes, her purposeful stride lost.

He pulled her forward, feeling her eyes linger upon the crushed skull of a man barely younger than herself. He could feel its effect on her as she quivered in his arms. He wished to spare her further torment, but they had to continue.

"Do you think when he is at the gates of Hell he will still believe it was worth it?" She whispered shakily.

He wound his arm tighter around her shoulders, squeezing her arm gently. No words of reassurance were forthcoming, but he felt her still, calming under his touch.

The sick bastard would pay. God did not let someone get away with such atrocities without retribution. And he would see to that.

The Dark Lord had a new strategy. Snape had informed the Order weeks ago, but even now he still found it unfathomable, for the vile being was no longer content to experiment with magic.

No... Now he was experimenting with magical creatures.

And people…

His plan was to harness the powers of every magical being for himself. So he could channel them into his one acrid being.

If the thought of an even stronger Dark Lord wasn't enough to frighten someone, Remus didn't know what was. But that fear did nothing to quell his barely contained fury.

It was common knowledge that when emotions ran high, witches and wizards often lost control. Hell, he had lost count of how many times Harry had done exactly that.

Only now the Death Eaters were using a Reach's emotions against them. The hooded figures had crept in the shade of night from home to home over the past weeks, killing each candidate's family right in front of them. Their aim was to elicit an emotional reaction, one strong enough to reveal the Reach's true potential.

It sickened him, how the Dark Lord could kill so many innocents, just to flush the Reach out of hiding.

But what was even more sickening was the Dark Lord's plans for the poor soul once they were found.

He was planning on utilizing their blood, granting him their power to kill. And the means through which this would be accomplished…

He could only hope that if there were a Reach, that they would find them first. Because while magical ability was now understood, a Reach was not.

Most witches and wizards developed magical ability at a young age. Though there were always the few destined to become Squibs, and there were always a few who developed it later on in life, in their teens. It had turned out that magical ability stemmed from a dominant gene, linked to the genes specifying blood type. And the genetic code Muggles possessed only differed by a few nucleotides, so it was easy for the mutation to arise randomly in Muggles, thus Muggleborns.

But a Reach was not a witch or wizard, they were not a Squib or a late blooming magician.

They were something different entirely.

When their magical prowess came to fruition, the same system that alerted the Headmaster to the presence of a new witch or wizard would go off.

Tonight that system had gone haywire. It had been slowly registering readings for the past five months.

Now it was going off again.

There was a person out there holding more power than they could properly wield.

And if Dumbledore was right, that meant there was a Reach out there who had finally struck out.

The poor bastard.

Instinctively his arm shot out, halting Tonks roughly in place, his dilated eyes roamed, scanning the ground of what had once been an ordinary home set far away from the major roads. Now broken floorboards littered the muddied ground, while smoke from the doused fires curled up in snake like tendrils, shrouding the world from view. Yet his eyes penetrated its veil, searching for the flicker of movement that had frozen him in place.

He clenched his fingers tighter around the familiar worn oak of his wand, bracing himself for whatever attack would come.

None came.

It was then that he heard it. A soft choking amidst the storm's howling winds.

He withdrew his arm, placing a finger carefully over Tonks' icy lips, signaling her to be silent. The only sign of her confusion was the light crease of her brow. She would, of course, have no idea what he was looking for. Her hearing was not as refined as his.

But werewolf bites did things like that to a person.

It came again, a low, strangled moan, and he took off, rushing towards the source. No attacker could feign that kind of pain.

He skidded, flinging rocks in the air as he bent down beside her. The puddle she was feebly pushing herself out of was a deep black, filled with the blood of her and the lifeless man besides her. Her body spasmed with each choking hack as she coughed up inhaled water, her eyes glazed over from what he recognized as shock.

He pulled her up, speaking in low, reassuring tones as she flailed against him. She was too weak to do much damage, even of the other sort...

Tonks reached them, murmuring soothing words as she smoothed the girls mud caked hair away from her face, brown water emerging from her lips as another round of spasms racked her body violently.

He took her appearance in, another involuntary spasm shaking her. Torn shards of what had once been clothing hung lightly from her, and the debris and dust sticking to her wet face made her features impossible to discern.

He didn't know whether to praise the heavens or curse them as he and Tonks exchanged a meaningful glance. They had to get her back to headquarters before something worse happened. Her shoulder was in desperate need of suturing, and God only knew what else the bastards had done to her before leaving her for dead.

He let her cough up the rest of the water before stunning her. He hated doing it as he lifted her limp form from the ground, but only one thing could have survived this.

And as weak as she was, he wasn't eager to get on that thing's bad side. There was no sense in taking chances.
* * * * *


The rain poured down in cold torrents as Harry shouldered his broom, sprinting after Kingsley through the fast forming puddles of London's city streets. It was coming down in buckets now, and if he had thought flying through the torrential downpour had been bad it was nothing compared to the pounding of his feet on the slick pavement.

Moody's guttural growl sounded off to his right, not that he could see him, the rain was too thick to see much of anything. Thunder clapped, shaking him to the core, and the lightning flashed shockingly, illuminating the area to reveal Order members running in rank around him, splashing water as they went.

Five of them had shown up at the Dursleys barely an hour ago, reminding him of that night, barely a year ago, when an escort squad had shown up in the Dursley's kitchen to whisk him away to Grimmauld Place.

Only this night was different.

Promises of meeting with Tonks and Lupin in London were hissed quickly as Kingsley and Moody levitated his things, cramming them hastily into his trunk, and he had not missed how McGonagall's eyes had roamed the room guardedly. Even stern, steadfast McGonagall was frightened.

Tonight truly was different.

He blinked rapidly, trying vainly to extract the water cascading into his eyes, but it was to no avail. His glasses were too thickly coated with rain droplets, and he desperately racked his mind for the spell Hermione used to repel water. For his wand was out, and he could use it. The Ministry had removed the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry that summer. Dumbledore had headed up the motion, arguing that the return of Voldemort endangered witches and wizards of all ages, and that in the event of an attack, students should be free to defend themselves without the fear of repercussions.

The empty lot materialized between two run down houses, and he looked quickly at the small slip of sopping wet paper dripping from his hand, hesitant to ignore his surroundings for even a second when the foreboding fear of attack hung so thickly about him.

He read it silently before looking up. The run down magical home, in the midst of Muggle London, now stood revealed to him.

Grimmauld Place.

Lupin materialized at the top of the creaky wooden stairs looking worse for the wear. His normally threadbare clothing was now ragged and blood stained, his eyes hollow and sunken, holding the look of prey that knew its predator to be near.

Harry stepped through the doorway, stomping his feet on the shaggy carpet, slinging mud everywhere as the others piled in. He swallowed the lump in the base of his throat, pulling his eyes from the muddy floor, forcing himself to take in his surroundings. A man named Dorbert Cheeks could be heard triggering the complicated locking spell on the front door.

A loud boom reverberated through the house, shaking the walls as indistinct voices argued in the distance. Yet this did not bother him. Even his curiosity as to why he had been pulled so untimely from his bed could not best the despair that had hit him like a bludger. In the heat of the race they had ran he had forgotten one thing.

That they were taking him to Sirius's…

This house had never been joyful, but now it seemed a hollow shell of what could have been. It stood as a painful reminder of the scrapings of a life that he and his godfather could have salvaged. But that life was gone now.

War brought casualties, casualties brought pain, and pain brought emptiness.

That was how he had felt since that night. Empty. There was nothing that could fill the void. Not even the impending terror of facing Voldemort in years to come could make him feel anything but despair again.

Mundungus cleared his throat, turning all heads towards him as he beckoned for everyone to quietly make their way to an adjoining room. He followed, his sopping wet clothes weighing him down with every step he took. But nothing could weigh him down as much as the memories... As much as the burden haunting him... The one they should have told him...

Realization hit him hard, like sudden submersion into the icy waters of the northern artic, as he wondered what they were not telling him tonight.

He glanced towards Lupin who stood protectively next to him, opening his mouth to speak, to ask, but he let it flap shut. He remembered all too well that Dumbledore would not allow them to tell him anyway. They never told him anything when it could actually make a difference...

But even if they had told him, right then, it wouldn't have mattered. There was no way any of them could have known what would happen from that night's events. At least not yet... None of them were seeing past their need to get him to a safe location, so they could not have known that the night marked a turning point in his life, as well as in the life of the only survivor of Voldemort's first wave of attacks.

The war had begun.
* * * * *


Throbbing pain...Blood...Cries of pain....

"It's a miracle she survived...." "Ah...but was 'hat really a good thing Professor?"

Dim voices filtered into her thoughts, her sleep befuddled mind protesting strongly as it failed to comprehend a single word.

"...has a chance."

Flashes of light....flame... Coughing smoke...squeal of tires....Sean....

She awoke jarringly, her painful moan drowned out by the voices.

Voices that were oblivious to her awakening. Voices oblivious to the way her body recoiled in pain. Voices oblivious to how her eyes teared from the bright sunlight pouring in from the windows of the doomed room. Voices oblivious to how she clawed like a frightened animal at the thick comforter wrapped around her battered and bruised body.

Everything she loved was now gone. No explanation would be needed for her to understand what they had done.

What she had done...

A new despair hit her like a thousand hot knives, slicing her skin in a way the worst of the fired spells could not have.

She had done the unthinkable....

New waves of pain poured forth, her vision swimming dangerously with each pulsating pain her body dealt. She would have cried out, but the effort would have been too much for her frail form. Instead she drew in ragged breaths until her body gave out, the sound of a door creaking and a large, dark form standing over her vaguely registered before she once again slipped into merciful oblivion.
* * * * *


The dreams were always the same....

For nearly a month she had refused to succumb to the nightly torments. She was stronger than that. She would not lose herself to the world of nightmares, even if the books she had read on such things deemed that a more merciful fate than the one the wizarding world would bestow upon her.

But they did not yet know. Dumbledore had assured her of that. It had been nearly a month since she had come there. Nearly a month since Dumbledore had explained everything to her. Nearly a month since she had vowed to regain some semblance of a normal life. She wanted that more then anything, so bad she could taste it. But she would never be normal.

No...since the day she had regained consciousness she had discovered that she had been, and always would be, a freak. Hagrid had jokingly told her that she was a freak amongst freaks.

Thanks Hagrid... She thought bitterly, rolling in bed. She was in a hut not unlike Hagrid's own, just outside of the school. It was safer this way... At least for now.

She drew in a shallow breath, letting her sobs subside slowly before Hagrid could hear. She had dreamt about it again. About that night. Visions of blood and shrill screams had filled her mind's eye each night since as she dreamt about their deeds...

Her deeds...

She wiped the lingering tears that clung to her eyelashes, swallowing her own self-loathing. She would not fight it, for she deserved every bit of pain bestowed upon her. She would stew in it until it had permeated every fiber of her being. That much was the least of what she deserved.

But the others...They had not deserved it. They had been innocents caught up in something bigger than all of them.

And the ones who had started it all...

They deserved so much worse.

Everything good and pure in her life had been gone for weeks. It was with a cold clarity that she realized this. For now she lived for one purpose, and one purpose alone.

Revenge.
* * * * *


Harry lay on the top bunk staring at the ceiling, watching the way shadows played across it as light from passing car headlights shone in through the window. Ron's loud snores drifted up, breaking the silence like a bullhorn with every breath, and it was taking every inch of the willpower he possessed, to not lean over and smack his friend senseless with his pillow.

He sighed loudly, wondering when it was all going to end. Each day the Daily Prophet brought news of more killings, more unexplained disappearances, and of more war. For several weeks he and Ron had been catching tidbits of information, slip ups by the adults in Grimmauld Place, and right now it sounded like the Ministry was in absolute mayhem. Not that he minded that fact. Anything that made Fudge's job harder amused him immensely. What he did mind was the reason for the mayhem, and that was Voldemort.

Voldemort. It was odd really, how one person could be the cause of so much death and destruction. No one should have that much power, he thought bitterly, thinking of the toll that the Muggle deaths were taking on Mr. Weasley, Ron's father.

Mr. Weasley was the soul employee in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department, and recently, with the strain on resources in the Ministry, it had come to double as the Department of Muggle Relations. Now Mr. Weasley spent half his time performing memory charms on Muggle law enforcement, to cover up the deaths of Muggles who had been murdered by Death Eaters. Now every time Harry saw Mr. Weasley, all the man could talk about were different possible strategies for protecting the Muggle population.

Now if only a good strategy actually existed.

He rolled restlessly, spying Hedwig's gleaming eyes in the darkness. She hooted softly in acknowledgment, and he smiled in the dark despite his dark thoughts.

Memories plagued him every time he closed his eyes now. The Department of Mysteries... It was why he now lay awake.

He had willingly, foolishly, led them all into danger. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Neville...

Hermione had nearly been killed.

Sirius had.....

He shoved the thought aside, re-vowing that it would never happen again.

The trick was in figuring out how.

To protect them, he had tried to blatantly push them away, but they had seen right through that. He had refused to write, and his self-induced isolation ended when both of them showed up at the Dursleys while his relatives were on holiday. The two of them set up residence there the entire week, Order members circling the premises like hawks for security, while his friends had infuriated him to no end. However, he had finally realized that they weren't going to go away. If he was going to distance himself he'd have to do it slowly.

Yes. A gradual drifting would be best.

It was with these thoughts in mind, that he drifted off into another night of fitful sleep. If only he could have known then what the next few years would bring.
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Disclaimer: The characters, places, names, and events mentioned in this story, that coincide with the characters, places, names, and events mentioned in J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, do not belong to me, but to that literary genuis, JKR. Thank you so much for allowing so many of us to pursue writing through fanfiction JKR, we really appreciate it.

The fabulous banner is by SticksN'Stones.

Artwork of Kalliandra by agirlnamedbob87.
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"One may never know how long their candle of life's wick is. What they can know, is how well it burns."
~ A.K. Lovell

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Chapter 2 - First Impressions


Her eyes flickered over the lake's glassy surface, taking in the shimmering reflections of the early morning dawn. The sun was barely risen and the birds still slumbered, but this had become the norm for her over the past weeks. She simply no longer saw the use in sleeping when guilt plagued her even there.

A light breeze ruffled the water, tousling her hair gently in its wake. She casually brushed her whispy strands back, tucking them carelessly behind her ears.

Her hair had always been a source of frustration, always in the way, hanging in front of her eyes, driving her instructors crazy. No ponytail ever held for long, for her thick, glossy hair had a way of worming its way out. It was as if it preferred to be free and untethered.

Kind of like me...

She swore silently, the rippling waves now running across the lake the only witness to her frustration as she stood. If she was not back soon Hagrid would awake and find her gone. Of course here would be the first place he looked, but with as late as he always ran he would not be pleased with her absence, particularly when they had places to go that afternoon.

Diagon Alley. The very name evoked so many emotions. It was hard for even her to choke them down.

Not that she was allowed to show sadness. Emotions were no longer a privilege she had.

She had been warned of the dangers of such things.

Her bare feet crunched upon the dewy grass, but the early morning chill did not trouble her. She reached into her pocket, fingering the cherry wooden surface of her wand before pulling it out, studying it appraisingly as she traversed her way across the grounds.

They were odd looking things really. Long and thin, and from the looks of it, easily breakable. She suppressed the sudden urge to do just that, knowing full well that nothing could be gleaned from such destructive measures.

It would not change anything, except her mood, but even that could not be improved measurably by the snapping of her symbolic hell.

Of course, seeing Hagrid's face when he found the snapped remains might be rather amusing. Especially with the huge deal he had made over how lucky she was, getting a specially made wand from Ollivander. It wasn't like she had wanted one, and the only reason the quirky man had fabricated it thus was because none of the real wands that he had brought to the school had so much as sparked.

So in what the odd man had called a stroke of inspiration, he had custom designed the one she now bore, forming the core with a lock of her own hair and a pinprick of her own blood. She couldn't even recall how many spells had to be woven into it.

It was funny, for her wand was the only thing she could cajole into working at least somewhat decently, and still she hated it.

Probably because it shares the same fate as you, she thought bitterly, glancing at the ever rising sun.

Jacob's ladders now streamed down from the clouds, forming pools of light on the vibrant grass, giving evidence to the warmth the day would bring.

It was a warmth that would never reach her.

A slightly stronger breeze bore the sound of approaching hooves, and she turned towards the Forbidden Forest, the outline of wings folding into a horse's skeletal body signaled Silverthorne's arrival.

Silverthorne would be pleased. Now he would not have to wait for her to change out of her nightly garments before getting his ferret fix for the day.

She stopped and waited, his gallop growing louder with his rapid approach, and a small smile graced her passive lips. Hagrid and Dumbledore had been as wonderful as they could be, but there was much they kept hidden from her. Intuition informed her of this with every fleeting look they exchanged around her.

Perhaps that knowledge could explain her hostility as of late. Hagrid was a good man and had not deserved the brunt of her anger the previous day. They had been arguing as of late. But then again, she deserved to be informed of everything regarding herself. Keeping her in the dark could only cause further harm. This she was convinced of.

Silverthorne let out a low, guttural grunt as he slowed to a canter, stopping to nuzzle her with his nose.

A creature of the dead. It was one of the more unseemly names Thestrals were referred to by, but it explained why she had felt an instant draw to them while the other animals screeched and howled in her presence.

His teeth glinted in the red hues of the morning and she smiled, pleased with the sight. It should have concerned her, but instinct again told her there was nothing to fear with him.

At least so long as he gets his morning snack, she reminded herself with some amusement, picturing how he would tear through the small creature's bones so eagerly.

She smiled again, letting the concerns of yesterday pass. She would apologize to Hagrid later before they reached Diagon Alley to get her 'school' supplies. She used the word fleetingly for while she was to attend Hogwarts, she was too far behind to be expected to actually turn in assignments with the rest of the sixth years. Instead she was to put up a worthy façade until she gained the knowledge that could help her.

Then there was the small factor of her being completely unable to incant in the first place.

No one would be the wiser to why she was really there. Dumbledore's concocted stories would not only check out, but they were even believable to an extent. He would back her if anyone questioned them. That was her only relief in this entire hell.

The hell that had become her life.

Kalliandra pulled herself onto Silverthorne and squeezed her bare heels around him, his bony ribs protruding into her skin in the process. He took off quickly, carrying them both towards Hagrid's hut at a pace unfathomable to any human, but not to them.

* * * * *



"I can't believe Fred and George, I mean they already got me one set of dress robes, they didn't need to do it again."

Harry laughed as he watched Ron squirm uncomfortably, the magical tape measure flying vertically around his friend's no longer gangly torso, magically recording the length of his arms, legs, height, and for some odd reason, the distance between his ears.

He knew exactly why Ron's brothers were getting him dress robes, but he wasn't about to share that piece of information. Not when he was actually enjoying himself for the first time in weeks.

"Well we didn't need them last year," He pointed out truthfully. "And we do this year. So maybe they just felt bad since your growth spurt rendered your other ones unwearable."

"Thank God for that," Ron grunted, slouching as the measure flew past his nose, only to be smacked atop the head since it no longer seemed to care about doing it's job peacefully. In fact, if Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought it was offended.

"Blimey! Watch it!" Ron exclaimed, ducking another near hit, his feet entangling in the long dress robes trailing past his feet.

"Ron…" Harry warned, but it was too late. Ron had already tumbled over backwards, arms flailing as he took a rack of robes with him, plummeting tumultuously to the ground.

"Oww...bloody... irritable..."

Harry very nearly choked on thin air, quite a feat, had it not been for the loud peals of laughter he was trying to miserably suppress as he caught the rest of Ron's muttered profanities.

Of course, he thought lightly, his best mate might not be muttering the colorful metaphors if he could see the look on the sales clerk's face... Or the fact that she was storming over from where she had been attempting to size a first year for his Hogwarts robes, face alit, hands on hips, eyes narrowed vindictively at the mess Ron lay in.

Right then, with the impeccably bad timing that only Ron could master, his friend's red head emerged from the fray, a bright pink sheet wrapped around it like a shawl, and a sheepish expression on his face as he stammered apologies. The sight must have been too much for the clerk, because her mouth twitched, her serious expression faltered, and all pretense of anger vanished as she failed to be discreet about her own amusement.

"Oh heavens child!" She exclaimed in exasperation, clutching her side hard. "I dare say you might want to take that off before anyone else sees you in it!"

Ron stood up, disentangling himself from the various fabrics while Harry laughed.

"You know mate, I think Madam Maulkin's got it all wrong. I think that's an excellent look for you. Imagine what Hermione would think..."

Suddenly he was finding it impossible to discern Ron's ears from the rest of his tangled matt of hair.

"Oh shut it Harry!"

Harry grinned, enjoying his friends momentary discomfort. "Speaking of Hermione..." He said, calming down slightly. "She should be here any minute so perhaps you could ask her for her educated opinion..."

A bright pink satin blur flew across the room, and he caught it deftly, holding it out in front of him as he looked at it in mock appraisal. "Ron, I'm touched. But it's really not my color. You however looked absolutely spiffing in it."

"You sure bout that Harry? I'd be thinkin' that it'd be clashing with his red hair more than yers."

Now there's another welcome voice! He thought happily. Leaving the Durselys had been great, but he had sourly missed Hagrid.

It was possibly due to this, that he whorled around in his seat so fast that he nearly slid off, earning several loud snickers from a certain chuckling redhead tangled in fabric.

"Hagrid! When did you get here?" He asked, ignoring Ron's attempted reenactment. He took in his large friend standing awkwardly near the chairs.

They really should make stores more accessible for people his size... He thought, making a mental note to mention the idea to Hermione as Hagrid opened his large mouth.

"About five minutes ago Harry. And I stand by what I said." A mischievous grin formed under Hagrid's scruffy brown beard as his eyes landed on Ron. "Hot pink would be clashin' horribly with Ron's hair."

A loud tearing sound tore his attention back to Ron, and he stifled yet another laugh at the horrified expression on Ron's face. By all appearances, Ron had attempted to walk from the fitting platform to where he and Hagrid sat by the windows, only now Ron was staring down at the ripped fabric hanging raggedly from the hem of his new dress robes.

"Now that’s why you're supposed to stay put!" Madam Maulkin snipped, spying the new destruction and waving her wand. The fabric flipped up like a snake, a large needle zooming to mend it. Ron attempted to jump back away from it.

"It won't bite you know!" Madam Maulkin yelled, huffily storming over. "Prick maybe..."

Ron did not look relieved at the thought. Of course, the agonized expression might have been from how Madam Maulkin grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and yanked him back to the fitting platform, where she immediately began to fuss over the dire state of his robes.

"Better finish you first since you can't stand still." She quipped in her high pitched voice. "And to think that this morning I would have sworn it was the younger students who gave me the most problems..."

Ron shot him a pleading look to which he grinned bemusedly, chuckling at how Ron reacted to being fussed over. The guy could hardly tolerate his mother's own tending, let alone that of the seamstress!

Probably why he's still squirming come to think of it…

He turned back to Hagrid, leaving Ron to fend for himself. "So did one of your creatures get a hold of your teaching robes or did Fang do it?" He asked, grinning knowingly. Hagrid's creatures were always tearing his clothes, which would explain why half his garments were covered in mismatched patching.

Hagrid grinned and shook his head. "Nah Harry, for once me robes are fine. Right now I'm 'ere with Kalliandra gettin' her some robes of 'er own. Speakin' of 'er, can't wait for yer two to meet 'er. She's an absolute doll she is."

He nodded, curiosity driving him as he wondered who this Kalliandra character was. Must be a first year or really young. He was sure he would have remembered that name at least.

But in the back of his mind he felt a twinge of pity.

Generally there was only one reason for why Hagrid took anyone to get school supplies, and he was all too familiar with such things.

At least Hagrid will show them a good time, he mused, remembering his first trip to Diagon Alley. He opened his mouth to ask if they were from a wizarding or Muggle family, concluding that it must be a first year from the way Hagrid was still babbling on about them.

"Ah there ya are," Hagrid boomed, cutting him off at the pass.

He followed Hagrid's gaze towards the fitting rooms, taking in the relatively busy store when a not unfamiliar sensation hit him like a bludger, his stomach twisting oddly as his eyes landed on a slim figure, glancing around the store hesitantly.

And I thought Hermione looked good in dress robes, he thought, swallowing hard, berating himself for being distracted. But this girl was stunning, in an offbeat sort of way. While her features were rather plain, her long, golden dress robes clung loosely to her slender legs, with her delicate hands lifting the hem, revealing tanned ankles as she moved towards them.

The hell of it was, she wasn't stopping. Ron's grunt was the only thing that kept him from outright gaping as she came to stand right by him, biting her lip nervously, eyes directed at Hagrid.

"So you found some eh?" Hagrid asked, shooting Harry a wide grin, failing to notice that he had become a mute.

The girl nodded slowly, her eyes glancing at him appraisingly for a second before flickering away. "If you could call it finding..." She said, a hint of sarcasm mixed into her otherwise pleasant speaking voice. "It was more like being attacked with this..." She lifted the hem of the robe for emphasis.

"And my assistant did a fine job young lady. That color suits you," Madam Maulkin chimed out, shocking him back to his senses. He silently thanked her, and glanced over to see that she was still indeed, judging by his friend's pained expression, torturing Ron.

He shook his head whimsically at the sight, glancing back at the girl in front of him, thinking that Madam Maulkin had a point about the color suiting her. Her dark golden hair cascaded loosely past her shoulders, several shorter strands framing her face, lightly brushing her collar bone. All of it was barely discernable from the silky robe material clinging to her willowy figure.

Briefly he wondered if it were a blessing or a crime to allow girls out like that.

He pulled his gaze back to Hagrid, loath to be caught staring.

Fortunately Hagrid had not noticed, and the girl was too busy bickering with him.

Spying that his attention was again re-focused, Hagrid shot him a strained grin. "Ah well... Harry, Ron, this 'ere be Kalliandra. She'll be goin' to Hogwarts this fall to."

"Youffa meanuh uh transforra?" Ron's muffled voice called out from under the cotton sheath Maulkin was vigorously forcing over his head. "Weff neffa haf uh transsfuh befuh."

"What?" Hagrid and him immediately shot out, not understanding one word.

"You have a very...large...head..." Maulkin muttered with each subsequent yank, and Hagrid's guffaw of laughter drowned out Ron's indignant retort. Harry glanced back at Kalliandra to see her watching the spectacle, a hint of a smile tracing its way across her lips.

"I asked..." Ron's slightly aggravated voice called out clearly, "If she was a transfer, because we've never had one before."

Harry turned back to Kalliandra, to see the slight smile that had seconds ago graced her features vanish.

The look she now bore stirred something within him... But what? He could not put his finger on it, but he now found himself staring at the top of her head, for she had begun pointedly looking down at the floor.

Maybe she had found Ron' question offensive, though he couldn't imagine why. He shot Hagrid a quizzical look, hoping he'd clarify things since Kalliandra didn't seem about to do so.

"Yev're had transfers, jerst fer other Houses."

Harry frowned, "Then why did we never see them sorted?"

"Yeamph, wuff weff neevah seen 'em..." Ron grumbled, his robe once again muffling his words.

Hagrid eyed Ron with no small amount of amusement. "Well that'd be cause they came in the middle of the yer. Can't have erm sorted at the sortin' when they've missed it already."

"Oof!" Ron grunted, extricating himself from the excess fabric. "So why the transfer? Did her parents move or something?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Hagrid said suspiciously, sounding rather similar to the way he had whenever he was keeping something from them.

Like a full grown giant in the woods...

Or a three headed dog....

Or a pet dragon...

Seeing a half giant squirm beneath one's gaze would normally be quite a funny occurrence, but it simply made Harry nervous as Hagrid continued shuffling his feet, mumbling about proper introductions, while the girl remained extremely quiet.

Harry feigned a polite smile, extending his hand to the girl at Hagrid's insistence. "Nice to meet you."

She hesistated for the briefest of seconds, before finally extending her hand as well.

"A pleasure..." She said quietly, her eyes flickering up to meet his.

It was a shock he had been ill prepared for, for her eyes held a trace of the familiar… So closely akin to the haunted look of Sirius' that he felt himself shaken to the core at the familiarity.

"Y-yes," He got out, releasing her warm hand quickly, chills shooting through him.

The polite smile she had shot him flickered and disappeared abruptly.

"Oh blimey!" Hagrid gasped hurriedly, startling him from his thoughts. "Kalliandra do ye mind if I leave ye 'ere with them for a minute? I won't be a tick. Just forgot to do somethin' but won't be long."

It was a wonder Hagrid had even asked, because he was already waving goodbye to all three of them, not waiting for a response. And from the malevolent glare that Kalliandra shot him, he really couldn't blame him.

"Like he gave me a choice?" She muttered, deflating, her eyes no longer holding the haunted quality of before. Maybe it had never been there. He really ought to have slept longer... With all his turbulent thought as of late running through his mind he simply wasn't thinking straight.

"It may have been important," He pointed out awkwardly.

"Yes, you're probably right..." She said faintly, her voice so soft he scarcely heard her. Though her surprisingly gentle intonations did nothing to stop the harsh quality of her glare as her narrowed eyes followed Hagrid's retreating form. In fact, she was still shooting daggers out the door as the assistant yanked her over to the open fitting platform besides Ron seconds later.

Harry decided not to dwell on the look he had seen, the one so painfully familiar to Sirius. It had probably been his imagination, so he contented himself with trying to decide which of the two looked more disgruntled. Kalliandra kept shutting her eyes, as if frightened by the enchanted tape measure flicking around her head, while Ron kept shooting scowls at Madam Maulkin.

"You know we've never had a transfer before. At least not one that I can remember, right Harry?" Ron stated, glaring down at Maulkin as she marked his cuffs with chalk, determining the length of his sleeves.

He was about to agree when Kalliandra cut him off.

"Well you've obviously had one now."

The assistant flicked her wand, shortening Kalliandra's robes slightly. It was all Harry could do to avoid cursing the assistant. Girl's robes should get no shorter...

"You know that won't bite?"

Harry found that oddly comical, considering that Ron had been ducking the very thing himself, but at least his friend had not been standing chalk still like a deer in headlights.

Kalliandra had though.

She opened her eyes, arching an inquisitive eyebrow at Ron rather than answering him, and Harry noticed her visibly flinch as the flying tape measure zoomed close again.

Ron's brow furrowed slightly at her lack of responsiveness. "The tape measure...That's what I meant." He stated awkwardly, looking at her as if waiting for confirmation that she had indeed, heard him.

She just nodded, turning her head to look out the door. Ron shot him an annoyed, 'Can you believe this?' look.

He had to admit Ron had a point, she did not seem very personable, and did not seem too excited about talking, so he wasn't about to force her. Yet something about her aroused his curiosity. If only he could put his finger upon it...

Several minutes passed, the awkward silence broken only be Ron's random outbursts of displeasure, and Kalliandra's quiet responses to the assistant's questions. Unsurprisingly she was the first one done, and he found himself having a hard time not staring at her now that the dress robes were completely fitted around her form. The thing was classy, elegant, and practically form fitting...

"Hey how come she got done so quick?" Ron asked indignantly, as Kalliandra made her way back to the changing rooms, the bottom of her dress robe gathered in her hands as she walked carefully. She seemed unused to walking in something of the sort.

"Because she, unlike some of my customers, actually held still while we measured her," Madam Maulkin quipped from where she knelt on the floor, using her wand to make minor adjustments to the hem of Ron's robe.

She flashed Harry an inconspicuous wink, and he barely caught it, smiling slightly at her before glancing back to see Kalliandra disappear behind a changing room curtain. He couldn't help but feel slightly relieved. Between his curiosity about this girl and Ron's glares, he did not want to be caught staring at her. And he knew he'd be a lot less prone to doing that once she was out of that damnable robe.

Of course he was wrong, because when she re-emerged he found the short sleeved top she wore to be no better than the low cut lines the robe had bore.

"Ahem."

He tore his eyes away from where she stood by the counter, to see a disapproving Ron shaking his head firmly. He appeared to be mouthing, 'No' at him.

Come to think of it, Ron seemed to be making disgusted faces as well.

Harry failed to have the chance to so much as shrug in response to Ron's repulsive like gestures in the girl's direction, before a quiet clatter broke the relative silence of the room. He turned to see Kalliandra squatting down on the floor, picking up tiny pins in her hands.

The bemused assistant stood behind the counter, bearing a slight smile. "Oh honey, thank you, but don't worry about that. I'm as clumsy as can be..." The assistant flicked her wand and the little pins scattered all over the place disappeared, reappearing into the pin cushion held in Kalliandra's hand.

"See, I'm knocking stuff over all the time," The assistant continued, while the girl stared at the now filled pin cushion, biting her lower lip, confusion etched into each of her features.

He didn't fail to notice it.

It's like she's never seen magic before...

There was no time to follow that absurd train of thought, for Kalliandra had already stood, thanked the woman, and disappeared out the front entrance with her bag.

"Wasn't she supposed to wait for Hagrid?" Ron asked after a moment's pause, brow wrinkled confusedly.

Ron was right, she was supposed to wait for Hagrid. Harry hesitated a moment, an internal debate waging until curiosity got the better of him. Wasting no more time he jumped from his seat and went after her.

He wanted to see where she was going.
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"And after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but a the truth in masquerade."
~ George Gordon Noel Byron, Lord Byron~



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Chapter 3 ~ Entangled Webs



Traversing her way through the swarming, cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, she let out an unsteady breath.

To the core she had been undeniably, inexplicably, shaken. And all because of a scattered pile of pins upon the flooring of a garment shop, and her own miserable attempts to rectify a clerk's clumsiness.

Magic.

Yet again it had been unceremoniously thrown in her face, for wizards and witches had it at their disposal.

The sooner she became accustomed the better.

She could not afford to be seen or discovered for what she really was, for in all her incompetence in the craft that made this veiled world of sorcery flourish, she would be left naked and exposed, the consequences of what had lain both within and far flung from her grasps unthinkable.

Butchered for who she was… The possibility was nothing less than she deserved, for one such as herself should not be allowed to walk upon the bustling streets, the feel of the most luminescent of the heavens' orbs warming her skin, the light clatter of pebbles being kicked askew and the laughter of children ringing within the recesses of her auditory senses.

No. There were others who deserved such privilege far more than she, though they now lay where the sun could no longer reach their frigid souls. And with them, lay the semblance of who she had once been.

She had died the same day they had succumbed, despite the rhythmic pounding within her chest.

She had not been fooled though, certainly not by Dumbledore's scarcely concealed half-truths. She knew the pulsating rhythm within her to be fleeting, it was simply the reasons for this that she was unaware.

She was going to find out.

It was why she had left, fleeing in hopes of traversing her way through the densely packed streets, making her way towards the looming marble building, the golden words Gringotts Bank emblazoned across its ivory surface.

After barely a hundred paces the pillar of the wizarding commercial society emerged over the heads of the crowd. Its supporting columns leaning in various directions, their haphazard support for the upper levels of the edifice strengthened with the sorcery filling the streets.

Though it was not there that she wished to go.

It was there, directly across from the goblin filled depository. That was where she desired to go to seek out her answers. Turning down the dark alley she noted a rickety sign suspended above it's entryway bearing the jaggedly carved words Knockturn Alley.

Yes, she had been forewarned of its shady characteristics. She had carefully listened to Hagrid's babbling about it, about how he hated to venture down it each time he found himself in need of Flesh Eating Slug Repellant, and about how objects of the illicit variety could be procured.

She was an object of the illicit variety, and if there was anywhere to find acceptance within the society that demanded swift execution for those of her nature, it would be here.

Hagrid had been none the wiser, content to answer her every question about the dingy alleyway. He had even inadvertently supplied her with the name of the man to whom she wished to speak, Mr. Borgin.

Kalliandra had a plan, and it would soon be set in motion.
* * * * *



"You know Kinglsey loosening up could do you wonders. I mean really, when was the last time you took an honest vacation?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt let out an incensed huff, raucously shoving his way through the thick crowd grunting about insubordination. Tonks only recourse was to roll her eyes, further darkening the reddened hue that her boss' face was beginning to take on.

"Nymp-ha-dora," Kingsley grunted, sounding strained. "If you ever…"

"Kingsley, Harry is perfectly capable of taking care of himself for more than five minutes," She said amicably. "And besides, how was I supposed to pick up Remus' birthday gift for hi.."

"Tonks…

Casting a sidelong glance at the senior Order member she came to a halt in the center of traffic, ignoring the protestations of the witches and wizards around them, who were now being forced to walk a full two feet to the side to avoid them. For all their complaining one would think she was inciting a riot, not stopping for a chat with her slightly formidable boss.

Speaking of Kingsley, he looked like he was either suppressing the desire to throttle her, or in the beginning stages of cardiac arrest.

Frowning she regarded him concernedly. "Are you familiar with hypertension Kingsley?"

A large vein was beginning to pulse in the man's forehead, and he leaned low. "Damn't Tonks!" He hissed. "This is not a game!"

She nodded, squinting up at the taller figure in the bright sunlight. "A fact I'm well aware of," She said pointedly, her previous pretenses of humor vanishing. "But the Order is constantly hovering over Harry, convinced that he is an incompetent 16 year old. Yet I have never heard of a 16 year old who has survived as mu…"

A rather large hand clamped over her mouth, and she found herself being roughly drug away from the cobblestone streets into a back alley, away from the ears of passersby.

"Tonks you should know better than to…"

"Than to what?" She shot back in frustration. "Than to discuss what Harry has been through in the open?"

She did not even wait for his nod of affirmation before continuing on her tirade. "Why should we be silent Kingsley? Lord knows these ignorant people need a wake up call, not that the Ministry is giving them one with their censorship of the papers and…"

With an audible crinkling Kingsley shoved a copy of the Daily Prophet into her hands, watching her closely as she unfolded it, discovering it to be the latest issue that she had not yet read.

Twenty Seven Muggles Die Mysteriously in the Spanse of a Fortnight. Is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named responsible?

Her mouth fell open, forming a small 'O' of understanding.

"That's right," Kingsley stated for her. "They are finally reporting the facts. Fudge can't censor them any longer, not with all the eyewitness accounts of the Ministry employees from…"

"That night," She whispered, knowing full well to what he referred. The scar tissue across her chest would forever serve as a striking reminder to her carelessness in dueling with her aunt. It had taken half of the summer, laid up in St. Mungos, for her to make a full recovery from the blows she had been dealt.

Remus had been her only source of sanity during that time, as he had been on the night they had combed through the grotesquely charred yard of an isolated Muggle home, searching for survivors.

The month old picture of that terrible scene was now burned beneath the front page's blinking headlines, the water pooling upon the pavement darkened with what she knew to be blood.

The poor souls had never had a chance.

Clenching the tabloid between her hands she met her boss' gaze. "Look," She whispered, forcing her voice calm. "I know the Order is concerned about Harry. But he has proven more than competent in situations that most Aurors have yet to face, and he's come out alive an…"

"And in the process put half the Order in grievous danger!" Kingsley boomed angrily. "All due to his impulsive, brash, ill-thought…

"Actions," She supplied, ignoring how his eye twitched. "But how does the Order expect him to learn to make decisions if we are always hovering over him?"

His eyes widened considerably, "In war there is no room for mistakes."

"Who said he was making them?"

Kingsley began pacing up and down the Apothecary's side alley. "No one, but you have to admit the child is…"

"Teenager," She corrected. "And after what he has experienced one can hardly call him even that."

"Is it possible," He said through gritted teeth. "For you to not interrupt me?"

"I'll take it under consideration," She replied, leaning against the dirty brick wall, content to bask in its shade for a moment of respite from the August heat.

Kingsley's next tirade was unintelligible, though she did catch the words 'irresponsibility', 'insubordinate', and 'damn't girl'.

Slowly she began banging her head against the brick siding.

"…and it was your job to watch over them today. But when I come to check on things what do I find? You! Alone! In the Quidditch shop purchasing some ridiculously pointless Snitch…"

"It is not just a Snitch!" She interjected, halting the assault on her skull. "It's a collector's edition! And Remus ordered it a month ago for Harry, special order! They had to make it to Remus' exact specifications, and we thought it would be a nice surprise to pick it up while out toda…"

"Oh grand!" Kingsley burst out, throwing his hands up. "Perhaps you explain your reasoning to the Order when Death Eaters attack and take them away!"

She groaned, resuming the thumping of her head. "Kingsley the Order would do well to realize that Harry is nearly of age. He's nearly an adult and nothing is going to happen while he and Ron are being fitted for robes."

Kingsley stopped pacing abruptly, "And what of the girl?"

"You mean Ginny?"

The man let out a sound oddly reminiscent of a hippogriff in heat, stomping the ground and sending a slew of dust scattering into the air. "Who do you think I mean!? What other girl were you to chaperone today?! Focus for just a second would you Nympha…"

"We ran into her boyfriend," Tonks hastened to inform, unwilling to hear that cursed name again. "So she is spending the rest of the afternoon with the Finnigans."

"And the boys?"

She smirked, "Being fawned over by Madame Maulkin."

Despite his fury Kingsley gave an involuntary shudder. It was a well known fact in his department that he hated all things related to formal attire, with a particular aversion to those who made such things their profession.

Tonks smile only widened further, her pupils narrowing into small ovular slits, eyes yellowing like a cats. "See Kingsley? They're perfectly safe. No self-respecting Death Eater would venture into there."

Kingsley just groaned, "Tonks because of you I am considering early retirement. Only I can't because as much as I hate to admit it, after me you have seen the most 'action' in the department and would be my successor."

Tonks jaw dropped at the admission, a bellowing laugh resonating from Shacklebolt's large form.

"Speechless are we? Well hell has indeed frozen over, either that or your nose of the day prevents proper breathing."

Her hand flew to her crooked nose, pondering what was wrong with it. She had spied a copy of Witch Weekly earlier that day, and while she was not one for fashion she had seen this weeks headline: Crooked Nose Curses, In or Out of Season?

Naturally she had spent the morning wandering around, telling anyone within earshot that Rita Skeeter had cursed her, just to see the mingled reactions.

The boys had at least found it entertaining.

Kingsley's loud cough drew her attention back, where he had adopted a rather exasperated glare.

"You do see my dilemma don't you?"

Eyeing his nose she nodded. "Yup, you've got a crooked nose too. I hear those Muggle nutters have some great techniques for remedying tho…"

Kingsley stomped his foot again. "See? This is exactly what I mean! Your attention span is bordering on the non-existent and you're always usurping authority in favor of whatever your whim of the moment is! In this case it's the, 'the kids can take care of themselves' whim! That's precisely why I can't retire early! You're nowhere near ready for such a position and there is no one else with enough combat experience to recommend!"

She grimaced as his tones went unusually high for a man of his girth.

"Are you even listening?"

"Yes Boss."

"Don't call me that."

"Your Supremacy?"

Kingsley's eye twitched. "Don't…"

"I'm just taking your advice. I thought authority figures liked to be addressed…"

"One more word and a 'Nympadora' sign is going to wind up with a permanent sticking charm on your front door."

She sobered immediately.

"And stop banging your head."

She stopped that to.

"And don't squirm."

Suppressing a groan she resisted the temptation, her discomfort level rising exponentially. Movement was the only thing sufficient for quelling her often frazzled nerves in Shaklebolt's presence. He knew this, and was intentionally depriving her of it.

Good God, if he was this bad with her she would hate to be a suspect for some abhorrent crime. No wonder they normally came out of questioning twitching.

Contenting herself with incrementally elongating and shortening her nails, the process concealed by the woven bag her fingers were curled around, she arched a questioning eyebrow to which Kingsley immediately responded.

"I'm going with you."

With an indrawn groan she turned, carefully stepping over the trash that had been carelessly tossed, missing the alley's garbage bin, and stopped dead.

Passing the opening where the side alley converged with Diagon Alley's bustling main avenue was a familiar head of dark hair, and Harry was sprinting along at a healthy gait.

"He can watch out for himself can he?"

Without a word she ignored the sarcastic jibe, taking off after Harry with murderous intent. Of all the ill fated timing that one could have, she had the worst. Harry just had to pick now to run off, and she had every intention of strangling him once she got a hold of him.

Of course she may have to stun him first, considering he had grown considerably to tower several inches above her, making him significantly faster.

Aw hell, she'd always been good at stunning.

As they shoved their way through the street, Kingley's golden loop earring