Disclaimer: I own Nothing in the Harry Potter universe. I wish I did, but I don't. No copyright or infringement intended. I simply write these for fun and I'm not recieving any money in return for writing these.

Author's Note: I'm Back! I'm so excited. I tool a few months away from writing anything, AT ALL. I'm on a roll now, though. This is my new story and it is obviously HARRY POTTER! I thought I was down for the count with these. Thank GOD I was wrong. I hope you enjoy and please review. Thanks so much! Enjoy!

I had never understood what was out there. Not really. Don't misunderstand. I had always known that there were things that couldn't be explain in the world, I caused a few of them myself, but I was a very happy resident in the land of denial. I didn't want to have the abilities that I had, I didn't want magic to run in my blood, and I definitely didn't want to go to a school with other children like me. I wanted to be normal. So, against my parents will and judgment, I was sent to a non-magical school. My father really didn't like this idea. He was British by birth and blood, you see, and even though he moved to the states for my mother he hated it. I loved it.

On top of being a proud Brit, he was also a proud pureblood wizard who came from an exceptionally long line of pureblood witches and wizards. My mother was also a pureblood, which isn't surprising seeing as how most of them across the pond refused to marry anything but. Luckily for me, they married for love not obligation. My brother was a recent graduate of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry and, like my father, was a proud pureblood. Sadly, Declan and my father had very different views about the definition of proud pureblood.

There was a war raging around all of us in both the magical and non-magical worlds. It wasn't exactly well hidden. Magical anomalies were making muggles question things in their lives that they didn't use to question. For example, was magic real? My friends had also started to question things that they had seen or heard of happening around me in times of strong emotion. Like things moving, me disappearing with a crack when I wanted to get away, or my eighth grade teachers hair miraculously turning blue three years ago. In other words, it was causing me problems.

Which leads me to my biggest one. I'm being removed from my home in denial and relocated to reality. That's right people. My parents are sending me, Karrigan Donovan, to Hogwarts. They are sending a girl who has only been trained in the magical arts during the summer into a school with other people who have been taking lessons and learning everything they could about it for years. They are sending me to my own personal hell.

Chapter 1: How to save a life….

I was currently vomiting in the bathroom of the Donovan ancestral home thanks to my parents and their definition of travel. I had been through apparation more times than I could count and I hated it. It felt like you were being forced through a too small tube that sucked the breath from your lungs until in deposited you, rather roughly might I add, at your destination. Portkey, however, had now taken the top spot of things I hate. I had no idea how people could find it normal to feel something hook around your navel, slosh you around violently, and then leave you heaving up everything you had eaten in the last decade on the floor. Or, in my case, the very elaborate bathroom on the first floor of a large mansion.

I rinsed my mouth until I cold no longer taste bile on my tongue, washed my hands, and left the bathroom with a frustrated sigh. My parents and grandparents were expecting me in the dining and I couldn't put it off any longer. My stomach had nothing left to give. The marble that made up the flooring in most of the home, which was more like a small hotel, made even my ballet flats seem to clink against it. My jeans, which drug the floor swished with ever step and the eerie sound sent chills up my spin.

I took a deep breath at the oak French doors leading into the dining area before pushing them open, plastering a generic smile on my face. Then, for a split second, I was blinded by a sea of orange-red surrounding the long cherry table. I had never seen so many people in on family and wasn't surprised a bit that my grandparents would invite them over. They filled almost all the empty chairs. The family was many, boisterous, and warm. Surprisingly, I instantly felt comfortable around them. Then there were the two people, a boy and a girl, sat in the midst of them that I had just noticed. The girl was rather pretty and looked smart. I didn't realize you could look like the intelligence you carried but she did. Her hair was brown with hints of caramel and copper, her heart-shaped face was flawless and slightly tanned, and her eyes were a warm, kind brown. The boy, however, is what caught my eye. He had uncontrollable, thick black locks, stunning emerald eyes, rounded glasses, and a lightening bolt scar on his forehead. I stood in stunned silence as I stared.

Now, I may have lived in denial for sixteen years but even I knew who he was. The scar told the story better than any book ever could and I felt bad for him. I felt ashamed of myself for fighting against my parents, for wishing they would disappear sometimes, and for not cherishing them like I should. His eyes met my slate grey iris' and he smiled nervously, trying to force his bangs over the tell-tale scar. I redirected my eyes out of respect and smiled to my mother, a genuine smile, when she gestured for me to take the seat between her and my father.

"Karrigan," my mother said, smiling kindly at the matriarch of the red heads, "I would like you to meet some old friends of your fathers. This is Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

"Arthur and Molly, dear." Molly corrected my mother with a kind, motherly smile of her own.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley." I said. I knew better than to call them anything else where my parents could her. Her smile widened and she tutted good-naturedly.

"This," she said, placing her hand on the shoulder of the man to her right, "is Bill, our oldest, and that's Fred, George, Ron and Ginny."

"Hello."

"And these two are close friends of theirs, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger."

"Nice to meet you."

"And you." Hermione said. Harry just gave me another smile.

"Well, now that the introductions are made, what do you say that we eat, hmm?"

I chuckled at my grandfather. He was always worried about food and when it would be served. I think that it was one of his great passions in life, food. Every family vacation we ever went on he found a whole two pages of places that served different types of food. We had to visit them all before we could leave. When we visited them on holidays, you never knew what you were going to eat or what country inspired the meal. It was like an adventure in your own home. He saw it that way and we did too. Only there were different reasons for our views.

This meal looked safe and familiar. I knew it was Asian based, one of his favorite types of food and countries, but what area was responsible for the delectable smell I didn't know. The conversations flowed naturally from person to person. The youngest four with the Weasleys spoke to me quite animatedly about different odd and end things. Quidditch from the boys, Ginny contributed as well, and even some gossip and information about the classes from the girls. They were all very nice and seemed like a good group to stick with. They reminded me of my friends back home, actually.

When dinner was over and we had all spent time together, adults with adults and children with children, they left with various cracks and whooshing sounds from the fireplace. As I retired to my bed, with my plans to visit the Weasleys tomorrow at the forefront of my mind, I said a little prayer to whoever was listening for sending me a group of four teens that saved my life in, what was to me, a dire situation.