A/N: Well, here you have it, my friends! The rewrite of Kingdom Come! I know it's later than promised, but I needed time to sort all my ideas and get my canon right and stuff. I came up with a plot for this while listening to Kingdom Come by The Civil Wars, beleive it or not! Before I was just going to almost completely follow the plot J.K. came up with. But now I have an original one! Yay!
Disclaimer: All the characters (except Rebekah, Oliver, Ryan and Celeste, and maybe a few others later on used) belong to J.K. Rowling, as well as the plot... well, the main plot... er... the... you get what I mean.
Teaser: Rebekah has a love and talent for music, especially her guitar. To no one's surprise, she auditions for the Hogwarts choir.
In late September, Professor Flitwick notifies the choir members of a competition that will occur between all of the members in the following year. An event that only happens once every fifty years. The winner(s) of this will go on to the second round: competing against all the Witchcraft and Wizardry schools in Europe. Will Rebekah win the first round?
Most of all: will she find out more about her parents that she never knew? Or about the siblings she remembers she had?
Well over twenty people were gathered at a large table. Quite an odd-looking group it was - a skinny old wizard with silvery hair cascading in a long, flowing curtain down his back, a very long beard, and blazing blue eyes peeking out from thick half-moon glasses sat there at the head of the table. To his right was someone who looked close enough to be is twin, though he was admittedly older. To his right was a balding man who, through his many scars and maimings, gave off a very frightening aura. Everyone at the table was wearing a grim expression as though they were mourning someone.
A small boy not much older than a year waddled unsteadily around, leading a little girl that looked around the same age in the yard, finding interest in the flowers spread at the plants around the garden.
"Look, 'Ecca!" He said, pointing to a pale blue flower growing out of a bush. The little girl behind him giggled, reaching out to stroke the silky petals of the flower. "No! You hut it!" he shouted, reaching for her arm, nearly falling over as he did this. "You hut it!"
A little girl, only perhaps eleven months old, was sitting on a blanket on the grass, not too far from the table, playing with a few cloth dolls. One might not believe it, but she was actually making the dolls have a conversation, in her head.
"Let's go play tag!" She thought, standing up one of the dolls with a chubby fist.
"Okay! You're it!" said the other doll, also being controlled with an unsteady hand.
"I would be more than happy to take his twin, Augusta," said a quite tall young man with slightly greying hair and a scarred face. His robes were obviously second-hand; he had not wanted to take advantage of his friend, James Potter's wealth when he was alive. He had been killed by You-Know-Who a little over two weeks ago. "that is, if someone could fill in for me when I'm... busy."
At this, the wizard second to the right stood up rather quickly, causing the chair he was sitting in to topple over with a thump on the grass "No!" he barked, making them all jump. Where had this sudden anger come from? "No, that's the very last thing they would've wanted!" he stopped; his yelling had scared the baby, who was now screaming her lungs out. Augusta sighed, getting up to calm them. "I'm getting too old for this…" she muttered.
He continued, speaking in hardly more than a whisper. "These are dark times, Remus, dark times. They would have wanted the three of them spread out, each on different continents..."
When Augusta had come back to sit, he repeated this plan. She pondered over this for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yes, they would've wanted to be as far spread out in the world as possible, so You-Know-Who's followers would have a harder time tracking them down. Oh but Alastor!" she cried, rising up from her chair again, slapping a hand to her forehead. "They've all got the Trace on them!"
"Augusta," one of the men with the beards attempted to calm her. "Augusta, Voldemort is gone for the time being. He cannot take over the Min-"
"His followers, Albus!"
Albus Dumbledore realized he could not argue this.
"Well, are we going to split them or not?" asked a man near the other end of the table quietly. He looked about the same age as Remus, wearing black robes and having shoulder-length, greasy black hair, pale skin, and cold black eyes.
"It won't protect them much more if they get a hold of the Ministry! So what's the point!"
"The point, my dear Augusta," Albus began. "is that, until the Death Eaters take over the Ministry of Magic, the children will be safe! And if it comforts you, I have heard of a few wizard orphanages; they will be safe." he repeated.
"Orphanages?!" Remus nearly shouted. "Dumbledore, you can't send the children of-"
"They will be safest there, Remus."
"Excuse me," Remus said quietly before leaving the table and disappearing behind the hedge.
"Poor Remus," muttered Alastor. Turning back to face the table, he said, "if I'm not mistaken, he has grown fond of the children."
"That is a likely cause for his short temper today," said Albus philosophically. "Their father was -is- one of his good friends, after all, after misters Sirius, James and Peter," There was a rare, unmistakable bitterness to his voice as he said the last name. "Well, where are we sending the children?" Albus asked cheerfully after a moment of silence as though his anger had never been there. He smiled, taking sudden interest in a moth flitting around a candle as the sky grew darker.
"Far away from here," Alastor said. "The boy should be kept with you, Augusta."
She nodded curtly. "I'll keep the boy. Maybe one of the girls could go to the U.S-"
"That was exactly where the Guaires were killed not too long ago! It isn't safe for an infant!"
Murmurs of agreement spread along the table.
"May I suggest Ottawa? It is home to one of the most well-known wizarding orphanages." Albus intervened.
"And asylum," said the man with the greasy, curtain like hair. "If that is any better than having two murderers on the loose."
"I heard they removed the asylum section." said a strict looking witch.
This was the beginning of a long debate as to whether the orphanage in Ottawa, Canada would be safe for a small child. In the end, it was concluded that the youngest would be sent to an orphanage in Wellington, New Zealand, while the other would be sent to Saint Patrick's Orphanage and Asylum in Ottawa, Canada. A letter would be sent to two individuals that Augusta trusted to take care of the children until they were the age of 14, or in the case of the youngest, 13. The two guardians -or families- would bring them back to Britain to live at the age of eight…
