A/N: This story, as fledgling as it was, is being revamped. I've been bit by the creative bug and planned out several chapters, which hopefully will make things run smoothly and quickly. Enjoy!
Prologue: Should the Circle Be Unbroken
She runs through the woods on all fours, panting heavily. The strain of 2 weeks without substantial food is evident in her young body. Was she still in England? Borders mean nothing as she tramples through forest, dodging hunters and predators as she goes. Her shape belies her age as gangly limbs break her pacing. The trees seem to bend away from her, flowers and underbrush shirk from her thick pads before springing jubilantly to life behind her. Her destination is mere yards before her: not an address, not an invitation, simply a pull that felt peaceful. She collapses against the cool stones of the front steps of an old cottage and falls into blissful unconscious. The silent lady of the cottage opens the door to find a young girl, maybe nine years old at most, surrounded by a blanket of grass and flowers that peek through the grey stones.
The summer heat brings sweat to her back as she weeds the gardens surrounding the house. The gardens are not even of her own making, at yet she is forced to weed them once a week. Salty droplets run down her neck, trace her teenage spine to disappear under her waistband and pool at her knees. The sun beats down upon her blue-black hair as the thick strands stick to her face, to be brushed away by dirt-smudged hands. She sits back on her heels before lying down in the long grass, proud and strong against the non-existent breeze. She runs a hand across her face, wishing it were as cool as the ice chips that clinked in her aunt's lemonade glass. A blissful chill runs across her face and rests behind her neck, cooling her reddened face. Perplexed, she pulls back her hand to find it covered in frost.
Her blonde hair swings behind her merrily as she dances in the meadow behind her house. It is the first day of freedom from school, to search out interesting things and read to her heart's content. She has all day long to contemplate the world and everything in it, from the imaginary to the concrete. The breeze billows around her, pulling gently at her hair and swirling her breezy skirt. She falls into the grass and hums a tune while the trees sway in time. She hears her father's voice across the yard and sits up abruptly. The wind stops. It doesn't escape her notice.
She slams the door closed behind her, letting its resounding crack speak more volumes than she ever could. She steps gently through the mess of the attic, her movements a direct contradiction to her mood. She was, yet again, left behind, perpetually one step behind. As it had always been, and would always be. Tears slowly slid down her face as she made her way to the rose-glass window. Their salty heat licked at her face, burning her cheeks in shame and misery. She glanced into the window, out to the night and her own reflection. Tears of fire spilled from her eyes, as gentle waves of flame curved down her back, her fiery mane of hair transformed.
Tucked away in the highlands of Scotland, Albus Dumbledore nursed his blackened hand with a side of remorse. A majestic bird with scarlet plumage appeared with a flash to hover briefly over his desk. A long golden feather wafted down to his desk as she vanished into the night once again. Stretching out his aged but working hand, his thin fingers grasped the point of the feather. As he raised it into the air, he begin to smile in quiet triumph.
"And so the circle remains unbroken."