A/N: Hey everyone, thanks for giving this story a go - I'm not very good at summaries/descriptions. This idea just came to me a couple of days ago, and I imagined it in such detail that I felt I should put it down on paper, and this is what happened. I'm thinking this story takes place after the Marauders and co have graduated from Hogwarts, during the time they were all in the Order of the Phoenix. Obviously there's a few key events that take place, but it gives me a lot of leeway to use my imagination! So if that isn't your thing, or you don't like fics involving a muggle, then this is probably not for you :) But to those of you who are willing to give it a go - thank you so much and I'll try to keep my writing as neat as possible.

A diversion in the smoker's area

The bar that we're in on Camden High Street is so full of people I'm finding it hard to breathe. Ahead of me I can just about make out the alarmingly blond head of Tom above the crowd, slowly pushing his way towards the drinks counter. I try to follow him as closely as I can, but even despite my height advantage over a lot of people (I'm pretty tall) I don't have a weight advantage, so it's all rather pointless. Tom looks back and, seeing that I'm struggling, yells over the din, "Just go wait out in the smoker's area, I'll get the drinks".

I grin at him gratefully as he turns around to continue his struggle, and begin to make my way towards the open doors at the other end of the bar. I stumble slightly (we had a couple of beers earlier, and I'm kind of a lightweight) but it's easier-going this way and I make it there quickly, unable to stop a slight gasp of relief as I step out to the gated part of the street reserved for smokers. It's not much of a temperature difference – it's late-June and London is sweltering, but at least I'm not crammed up against a bunch of sweaty after-work people anymore.

I feel a push behind me and realise that I'm blocking the entrance, so I go to lean by the metal barrier at the end of the area, feeling a bit awkward as the people around me are all in groups chattering. I also feel a bit under-dressed – Tom and I had been sunbathing most of the day in Regent's Park and just decided to stop for a drink on our way back to central, so I'm still in my white sundress and wedge-heeled sandals. But I guess I look pretty (despite some sunburn that I strongly suspect is blooming on my cheekbones and shoulders) so I don't worry about it too much. A guy well into his 40s stumbles over drunkenly and asks if I want to share his cigarette – I say "No thank you" because I don't smoke and always mind my manners, and edge further down the barrier away from the door.

"A lady without etiquette is not a lady at all," is what my mother always says. She's from Charleston, South Carolina, and did her best to raise me as a nice southern girl, despite living in England for most of my life. That would be because of my father – born and raised in London, he's a member of the Prime Minister's cabinet, a real city animal. My mother often says she misses the open spaces and sweltering heat of the South. I can't say I blame her – every summer we go to our beach house on Folly beach, and I fall in love all over again with the beauty of it. But my mother doesn't complain. "Your father's a good man", she says, "we all make sacrifices in relationships". I used to resent that, but it makes sense to me now.

Once that thought crosses my mind, I can't help but think of Tom. We're just friends (technically), we've never even kissed, but from the moment we met each other in our first year of university in London, we had this spark – chemistry is an understatement. But nothing ever came about, though we flirted outrageously with each other, especially when drunk. It's one of those things where he's really just looking for a friends-with-benefits arrangement, and I'm an all-or-nothing kind of girl. So for a while it was a battle of wills, each of us trying to get the other to bend to our expectations. Now, having just finished our second year of university, he's going away to study abroad for his third year, and I'm left here wondering what could've been. A lot of the time I wish he'd hurry up and leave already, it'd be easier to forget him if he was gone. But standing here trying to imagine what next year will be like without him, I realise that despite everything, there's a part of me that wants something to happen before he leaves. I wonder if maybe the sun has addled my brains.

As I'm musing, I'm standing with my back to the bar, staring off into the shadows of the alleyway that extends behind the smoker's area before curving around and out of sight. My train of thought is somewhat interrupted when out of the corner of my eye I see a flicker of movement in the shadows. My body tenses, and there's a tremble of apprehension that makes the downy hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, even through my somewhat drunken haze. That's when two men emerge from the alleyway, seeming to melt from the darkness itself. The situation isn't outwardly that alarming – they're dressed in long black robe-things, but this is Camden – there are a lot of strange people around even during the day. But some tiny voice in the back of my head is screaming, and as instinct tells me to run but reason locks me in place, the smaller of the two men raises his arm, and they're close enough that I can hear him mumble something.

I try to turn around, to see if anyone else has noticed the strange spectacle in front of me, but I can't move – not just frozen in fright, I literally cannot move. There's a faint buzzing noise in my head now, and all I can do is stare wide-eyed at the two men approaching. They have sticks in their hand. What the hell. The larger of the men grabs my arm and I feel whatever was keeping me in place is removed. Whirling round as fast as I can despite his hold on me, I open my mouth to scream to anyone HELP but my mouth is open and there's no words coming out. I can feel the air skimming my vocal cords but there's no vibration, and certainly no sound. I face the men again in horror and realise the large one is already dragging me round the side of the barrier towards the alleyway, while the smaller one keeps his stick pointed interchangeably at me and the crowd. And I suddenly know, through no reasoning at all, that whatever strange behaviour has just occurred (including the loss of my voice) is due to that stick.

The shock of this makes me still for a moment as they continue to drag me limply from the smoker's area, but then the buzzing in my head crescendos to a roar and I start thrashing. It's not lady-like, but I use my wedge heels lash out at the feet of the man with the hold on my arm, trying to slap him, kick him, bite him, anything to stop the approaching darkness of the alleyway.

It's not enough though, and as we round the corner out of sight of the club he throws me against the brick wall in frustration. I think my head must have smacked off the wall pretty hard - for a moment my whole vision swims and I crumple to the ground, dazed. I can hear them talking above me.

"Fuck Dolohov, she bit me! Look!" the larger one is saying.

"Then get a better grip on her you idiot," the smaller one replies, glaring down at me like something he'd wipe off his shoe.

"Why don't you try then? I didn't see you helping!"

"Someone had to keep the muggles from noticing something"

Muggles? My brain is slowly coming back into gear, and I attempt to stand up. If this is a mugging then it's best if I just give them what they want. I try to open my purse but the short one pushes me back down to the ground with such force that I hit my head against the wall again. When my vision clears, I see him squatting in front of me. The back of my head feels like an anvil, and I vaguely wonder how many brain cells I've lost in the process of being slammed twice into a wall.

"How can we be sure she's the right one?" the large one asks, obviously not talking to me.

"We cut her" replies the short man, Dolohov, smiling.

I stare at him in horror. Then remembering the use of my limbs I lash out, trying to land a kick or a punch or anything anywhere it counts. Dolohov leaps away but raises his stick, muttering, and suddenly my limbs snap together, as if bound by invisible ropes. I'm crying now, and a little of my voice seems to have returned so I try to say "Please…please don't, just take the money I promise I won't tell anyone please…don't kill me" but it comes out little more than a whimper.

There's nothing I can do when Dolohov bends down again and places the baton-thing on the inside of my forearm and mutters "Sectumsempra", and I cry harder in pain and shock when the skin there is ripped open, as if by some invisible knife. There's blood running down me, and I look up at the sliver of sky above the alleyway while my thoughts keep up a constant stream of why why why why why?.

The men are talking together again as my white dress begins to dampen from my own blood and I start to feel light-headed, wishing for a moment that this could all be over. But nothing prepares me for the shock when, having appeared to have reached some sort of agreement, the large man bends down and runs a single finger through the blood on the length of my forearm – and puts it to his mouth and licks it.

After that my brain goes quiet. Deadly quiet. I can't think. I'm watching him through saucer-eyes, as his own eyes widen and he turns to Dolohov saying, "Yes it's definitely her…it's like – "

But I don't get to find out what my blood is like, as from out of nowhere a VW Polo flies through the narrow of the alleyway and smashes into the two men. As I'm crumpled against the wall, the small car doesn't touch me. Dolohov goes down instantly on impact and doesn't move; but the large man is hit and, seemingly to his own surprise as well as mine, gets up again on rather shaky legs. I also try to scramble to my feet, my thoughts beginning to flow again and edge along the side of the Polo so that I am on the opposite side of it to the man. It is then that I see two more men, younger I think than the first ones, walking towards us. I can't make out their faces in the darkness but there is a certain intensity to them – crackling with danger – and I can't help but back away slightly as they make their way over to me. I can see now that one of them has glasses, and he opens his mouth to say something –

But I never hear it because unbeknownst to them the large man has fully regained his wits and is pointing his baton at us.

"Sirius!" I hear the glasses-man yell, and his companion waves his baton, putting up some sort of shield between us and the jet of red light that was zooming our way. It bounces harmlessly away, flying back towards the man, who is forced to duck behind the car between us.

I stagger backwards and into the glasses-man, who grabs my arm and slings me towards Sirius, shouting, "Take her and go!"

"I'm not leaving you to deal with a Death Eater by yourself James!"

"If you don't go now you'll miss the portkey and the whole plan will be shot! I'll distract Mulciber and just apparate on ahead of you."

"Fuck" says Sirius, noticing that Mulciber is getting to his feet again.

"Just go! I can handle it!"

For a moment it looks like Sirius is going to refuse, but then his grip on my arm tightens painfully and I squirm and then I'm being dragged behind him as he runs away. There are sounds of a fight going on behind us but I'm too busy trying not to fall over as he hurtles round sharp bends and dark corners, into the unknown.

A/N 23/07/14: Ok so I wrote this first chapter in such a rush - going over it I found a million typos and bad-phrasings, and seriously couldn't stop obsessing over it haha so I went back and cleaned it up a little. Sorry to anyone who thought this was an update!

BFxx