Author's Note: As is the case with many stories, I have taken a few creative liberties with changes in minor details. I'm sure you'll catch them when they come up, but I did so only for the flow of this story. The pairing will change later on. This story is rated M as a whole for later chapters, violence, etc. Enjoy!

When the spinning world came back into focus, the young witch was greeted by the frigid night air against her exposed skin and a thin layer of snow that crunched beneath her feet. The cold wrapped itself all around her, enveloping her in its deadly grasp like a cloak worn tight. The night was ready to claim her, and she was nearly ready to let it.

Her rapid breath was heavy in her chest and each inhalation caused her ribs to bite into her lungs. She grit her teeth and willed herself to calm down, to slow her gasps and quickened heartbeat. Like a war drum before a battle it beat inside her, pumping her full of the adrenaline she needed to get herself to safety.
She lifted her eyes to survey her surroundings; both heaven and earth shined brilliantly, each the others perfect negative. They provided her with a much welcomed source of light to guide her forward.

It was just five days shy of Christmas and the frozen trees were dressed with tinsel and colorful orbs in celebration of the occasion. A long wooden fence was laced with red and white ribbon, making it look like a pair of large candy canes that had been laid onto their sides and hoisted off the ground. The two posts that housed the gateway to the other side were adorned with wreaths made of pine needles and large green velvet bows at their tops.

She had landed in an open field inside the fence and a significant amount of land separated her from a strange looking house. It jutted up from the ground like a misshapen log among newly grown Spring grass. The upper rooms were supported by rickety beams that looked as if they'd break with the lightest whisper of a breeze and the entire jumbled mess would come crashing down to the ground. Nonetheless, it was homey in its own way. An old home for a loving family. One that had needed to expand upon their small abode over the years, if she had to guess. Looking upon it was like gazing an an old painting or a hand-me-down quilt. It was a house that showed character above all else.

But what mattered most to her was that it was the right house. The one she'd imagined before she apparated. It was a place known to her only in her dreams. Dreams of pain, horror, fright, and then this house. The one that she knew was filled with kindness, compassion, and love.
She stared forward like a statue, blinking several times in succession. She'd done it. She wasn't sure if it would work, but it did! She was here! This was the right house! Her mouth fell open and a breathy laugh escaped from her lungs. It was cut off shortly as her ribs creaked further and her skin was set aflame with pain. Her surprise and wonderment were put out like a light.

She steeled herself and let out one long, shaking breath. She could see a single light perched by the front door. Her target. That was where she needed to go. She suddenly became aware of her dizziness. It nauseated her and she knew if she were to fall forward and be sick, she wouldn't be able to get back up.

She shut her eyes and swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat. Her body shook ferociously from the cold and it became evident that she was going into shock. She'd lost far too much blood for her system to handle the chill. She had the briefest though that she might try to heal herself, but she shook that away in an instant. She was no healer, and performing magic out here in the open was far too risky after her initial apparation.

Opening her eyes, she looked down to her right hand. In it was her own wand; a slender yet unyielding piece made of rosewood. Clenched beside it was another in a darker wood, nearly as long as her own. She'd stolen it with a disarming spell and now found it pointless to keep. She brought her wand slowly up to her mouth and placed it between her teeth. Her skin had grown numb from the temperature, slowing down the opening of her jaw. She balanced the other on her thumbs and bent her wrists, trying to snap it. She found it extremely difficult as she felt a burst of pain in her right wrist causing a strained yelp to sound through her clenched teeth. She knew she had to dispose of it, though, and didn't want it to remain in tact in case someone should find it. She tried again, shutting her eyes tight and bending several times until a cracking sound broke through the still night. It was accompanied by a grunt that formed deep in her throat. She then let both pieces fall onto the ground before grabbing onto her own. She tried to stifle the shiver that crept up her spine, but a strong gust of wind swept abruptly over. She stumbled from the force and a light gasp escaped her mouth as her legs wobbled like a newborn calf. She held her arms out to keep her balance and blinked her eyes roughly to stop the tears that formed as her hair whipped violently around her face.

It subsided, and she loosened her stance. It was hard to judge the distance she had to walk, but she willed herself to do it. With each step she left a crimson footprint behind that stained the pure white earth below. The blood came from a large gash that ran along her left calf, starting at her knee and winding down to her ankle like a snake's path in the sand.

Each step caused her pain. The thin fabric that rested on her hips was sticking to her open wounds and rubbing against her raw flesh, pulling at the underlying layers of skin. But all she had to do was get to the door. She didn't dare look anywhere else. She didn't dare think of the time, the cold, the pain. Just the shining light ahead.

Once she reached her destination, exhausted to the point of fainting, she allowed herself one regrettable luxury as her shaky knees buckled and she collapsed against the door with a loud 'thud.' She groaned as every bruise, every cut, every aching bone, every bit of throbbing skin mocked her all at once. The torn flesh on her leg stretched and threatened to rip open as easily as a sheet of paper. She used both hands to clutch tightly her calf and push, alleviating some of the stress as the blood pooled into the ridges her hands made like water over a broken dam. It poured over her wand, which she still held onto as a lifeline, and drip, drip, off it went onto the ground. The position caused the pain in her ribcage to intensify greatly, but she didn't relent until the awful burning stopped.

She relaxed and leaned fully against the polished oak with her right shoulder. Her head was soon to follow. Just a little longer...

With her free hand she rapped thrice against the door. But it made so little noise she was certain no one could've heard it. She tried again, but to no avail. She let her hand fall back against the ground and she hardly felt it crash against the pavement below, scraping the skin of her knuckles. If she could push aside the small amount of pride she had left, she had another option. One that required only her mouth. She rolled to the side as much as she could and lifted her wand, pointing it at the door's lock.

"Alo... hamora..."

She almost expected the door to fly open. But of course it didn't. She clenched her jaw and palmed the handle to try and open it. Nothing happened. A pathetic whimper escaped her lips and she looked up to the sky in disbelief. Not that her spell wouldn't work, but that she even thought it would. With the threat of hypothermia looming over her, she pushed every last semblance of her humility aside. She had only one thing left she could do. Her last way into the sanctuary she clung to. She filled her lungs with air and coughed at first, then let out a cry.

"Help!"

But suddenly, the wind rushed by; a titanic chariot made of ice and manned by a glinting silver god, grinning tauntingly down at her as it grasped the cry in its hand and carried it away in its stride. She bared her teeth into the darkness like an animal and practically growled into the nothingness. Full of rage, she shouted once more, drawing out the words as long as possible so that they too were not robbed of her, "Help! Help! Please! Help!"

And that was it. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her muscles loosened fully as she slipped into unconsciousness slumped awkwardly against her savior and support – a stranger's front door.

Inside all but one opened their eyes the moment the crash reverberated through the house. A mixture of curiosity and fear swirled through their minds, along with a certain childlike wonder. A moment later they heard the distressed cry from outside. This made them jump up and collectively toss on their robes and slippers – some cockeyed, backwards, or in the wrong spot – and each grabbed onto their wands.

They crowded in the upper halls and headed for the stairs, jogging over the wooden floors. Their feet sounded like an army battalion rushing to the front lines, a stampede of human bodies. A man laying beside his wife was the last out.

"Who do you think it is?" She asked, worried.

"Just stay here," was his reply.

He caught the children at the staircase and ceased their movements, heading towards the front of the line. He held his finger to his mouth, 'shush', and tipped carefully down the creaking stairs. "Stay behind me," he instructed.

The children followed behind in a well spaced line. A row of ducks headed by the father.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. Down they went to the home's first floor. The staircase let out conveniently in front of the door. The man stopped by it and the children surrounded him from behind, waiting anxiously. After undoing the lock, his hand rested on the knob a moment. He looked over his shoulder, nodding once at the crowd behind him. They each held up their wands, aiming at the source of the noise. He turned the handle and stepped back, tossing the door open wide and readying himself for whatever may reveal itself from behind.

The body of a young woman fell onto the floor – thud – and lolled limply to the side - bad-ump. Collectively their eyes widened in shock for just a moment before he sprung into action, kneeling down on one knee to examine the stranger. Recognition dawned on his face and his brow furrowed in confusion. There were so many questions racing through his mind that he couldn't seem to catch one and let it gallop out. 'How does she know where we live?' was the first to make itself apparent among the jumbled mess inside.

Next, panic struck him like a bolt of lightning. 'This is a trap.'

"You two, go outside and guard the front. Put up protective spells." He said to the two eldest. He'd barely finished when they rushed through the door and muttered one after another, silver light flowing from their wands like a river drifting into the sky and forming a barrier around their home.

The man brought his hand to his face and covered his eyes, then let it slide slowly down onto his mouth. He looked her over and found that her chest rose and fell weakly. She was alive, at least. He muttered an incantation to remove false appearances that could've been brought on by a potion. The bruises and dirt remained and he noticed that two lines of blood slithered over the wooden floor from different parts of her body. They rolled ominously towards him, as if taunting him to come closer. He sighed to himself. He was so overrun with doubt. If this were a trap, it was terribly elaborate. But could he put it past the Death Eaters to go so far? No, he couldn't. They would do this. They would use her as a beacon to light the night sky, a lighthouse for ocean wayfarers to find solace from a storm. They could have hurt her on purpose, and intend to heal her in one quick flash as they burst through the door and after everyone inside. She could be the eye of the tornado. Their lives could be at risk just from her presence there.

And yet when he looked down he saw a child in need of help. The spawn of a 'supposed' Death Eater that was true, but a child nonetheless. His eyes darted from one thing to another. From the soil covering her thighs to the purple skin around her neck. 'What do I do?' he wondered.

He decided to go with his heart and not his mind, and hoped fully that he wouldn't regret it. He slid his arms underneath her sleeping form and hefted her up to carry her over to the couch. Her exposed arm swayed lifelessly around with his steps, and he could feel his left sleeve growing wet with the warm liquid seeping from her.

"Go fetch your mother." He said to his daughter. She nodded and hurried upstairs obediently, taking the steps two at a time.

He turned his back to her and strode to the fireplace, resting one hand on it and using the other to rub the back of his neck. Could he alert someone fast enough if this were an attack? Was it a coincidence or something sinister? He hoped the answer would surface before it was too late. That they would know soon enough if they were in danger.

"Oh, good heavens!" cried the older woman when she first laid sights on the girl. Her hand went over her heart and she shut her eyes, exhaling a deep breath. Everyone was so terribly shocked but she was the one to express it most. She looked to her husband and he returned her gaze, nodding once. 'Go ahead', he said with his eyes. 'She needs help.'

Molly Weasley was never one to turn away a person in need. She would give her last galleon to a hungry man on the street. She didn't care that the girl's family was allied with the Dark Lord. She didn't care about the horrible things she'd heard about her cruel remarks to her family, although they'd pierced her heart as her children recalled them. She was in danger, and by the looks of it, it had been no accident.

"Ginny, Hermione, Harry, go and fetch warm water, towels, and anything you can find in the cabinets. Bring it all to the dining room. Quickly now." They did as they were instructed. Even Harry, who eyed her like a cancer.

While they retrieved the necessary items, Molly levitated the girl off of the couch, through the kitchen, and onto the dining room table. It was the sturdiest and closest work station she could think of in such short notice.

Arthur desperately wanted to seek help from Albus Dumbledore. However, he knew that he needed to stay and prepare in case of an attack. He wanted to send word to the Order immediately, but he wasn't sure if that was necessary for the time being. Exhaling deeply through his nose, he rushed outside to aid Fred and George. He stopped on his way out to pick her wand up off the floor and place it inside the pocket of his robe.

Mrs. Weasley lowered the girl onto the table so gently that nary a tap could be heard as she released the spell. She turned her head upon hearing the sound of the door from the kitchen creaking open as Ginny stepped through, holding a handful of towels and rags in various sizes. Molly pulled out a nearby chair for her daughter to place them on, and then she quickly left again to retrieve more.

Hermione was the next in, arms full with glass bottles and phials in various shapes and sizes. They appeared to once have labels on them, but those had long since been worn down. She placed them at the end of the table, a good distance away from where the bleeding girl lie. Harry trudged in behind her with a metal basin full of steaming water. He tried to walk carefully, but the liquid still swayed side to side and plopped out onto the floor. Molly instructed him to set it in the corner so that it wouldn't get in the way.

Ginny returned with a collection of wrappings and gauze, and Molly quickly took them and placed them near the potions. Although it didn't take them long to gather what they needed, time was precious and she could already see crimson pools here and there beneath the girl.
They worked in relative silence. Molly instructed the children what to do at each turn. First, "each of you bring a wet rag over to wipe her down." She needed to properly see the damage before she could work on fixing it, and that was hard to do when she was covered in dirt. They could hardly tell a patch of dried blood from a bruise, and that didn't help anything.

Molly pointed for each of them to take a different spot; Ginny, face and neck; Hermione, chest and arms; Harry, from the knees down. Molly herself took her thighs and stomach, afraid of what she might uncover there. They moved quickly and methodically to wipe away the grime, rinse their rag, and return. Underneath her smeared makeup, Ginny found a blackened right eye, swollen and cut open left cheek, and a busted lip. She set her rag down and opened the girl's mouth a touch, finding her teeth were lined with red toward her gums. She furrowed her brow and mentioned it to her mother, who said she might've coughed it up. "If it's hers," Ginny added, making Molly frown. She moved her rag down to the neck area, seeing it was heavily red. She wiped it as clean as she could and tossed her rag down near the basin. She grabbed a towel to dab the young witch's skin with, and left the room momentarily. She returned with a hair tie, and made quick work of gathering up the dark brown locks in her hands and lifting her head to tie it in a quick ponytail. Of course, she had to use her hair as leverage to hold her head up, but she moved fast so as not to agitate the skin.

Hermione found that her chest was largely untouched even when she dipped just below the fabric of her brasier to check for wounds without exposing the girl, except for what she thought might be a bite mark on the collar bone. She quickly pushed that thought aside and worked tight lipped to wipe off her arms. There, redness covered such a large amount of her skin that it seemed as if she'd been painted. She noticed the girl's right wrist felt... lumpy, so to speak. She guessed that it was broken, and worked delicately around it. On her left hand, Hermione found a ring on her fourth finger. Its intended purpose was for engagement, obviously, by the placement. It was rather small for what it was and the money she knew the one who'd given it to her had; a thin platinum band adorned with simple filigree that resembled a delicate vine wrapping around either side of of an opal-shaped tourmaline stone in a gorgeous shade of aquamarine. It was simple, yet elegant. She imagined it must look striking on her feminine hands when she were in a normal state. When she was finished, she followed the same process Ginny had and stood patiently at the table, waiting for the next steps Molly needed to take.

As of then, Mrs. Weasley had found the largest wounds of the three ladies; a set of lacerations on either side of her hips. They began at the inside of her pelvis and stretched up and around to her backside. There were ten in number; five on each side. There was no mistaking that these were caused by thick nails digging deep into her skin. Similar markings existed on her stomach in a sideways stretch just below her navel. She was careful not to drag the rag across them and agitate the skin further. She had to lift the girl's provocative undergarments to clean as well as she needed, and was careful with placing the sides down. Bruises were forming on the outside of her thighs, and a patch of blood between them made her stomach drop. She exhaled a quick but deep breath through her nose, and turned her body so that Harry couldn't see her wiping away the crimson stains there. She was glad to have the help as she needed to attend to the girl's back and get everything patched up quickly. She didn't have the strong potions they did at St. Mungo's, and an infection could easily take root.

Harry had to focus on his own hands to work quickly. In truth, he didn't care for the girl one bit. He didn't wish her dead, of course, but he didn't want to care for her as if she were a crying babe that scraped its elbow. Certainly the damage was severe and he ignored his inner conflict and reminded himself that any life lost at his hand would be something he couldn't live down. Although her calves and feet looked alright from the front, when he lifted her right leg, his hands became warm and wet instantly and he merely set it right back down. There was no point in him trying to wipe it down at this angle. He rinsed his hands and continued to her other leg and trying to wipe off the table. Finishing quickly, he looked up to the others. They had all worked fast paced and were now ready to flip her over.

Molly gestured for the children to step away so that she could once again levitate the girl and rotate her onto her stomach like she were on a rotisserie. Hermione and Ginny quickly wiped the table off and laid a set of towels down so that she would remain at least a little clean.

This was where Mrs. Weasley needed to focus. She noticed that right away when she saw the leg. She shuffled down and around until she was positioned beside it, taking a wet rag with her. She asked Harry to hand her a towel as well, and she placed it over the wound and squeezed tight. She released her hold for a moment and looked over the bottles, handing one to Ginny. "Place that over any small cut you see after you wipe her down. Put a towel over her back like I've got this one," she said, pointing to a rather nasty looking wound between her shoulder blades.

Ginny nodded and with the help of Hermione and Harry, cleaned off the girl's back. They did so quickly, and Hermione unhooked her bra so that Ginny could apply pressure to stop the bleeding. The older girl took the bottle Molly had handed to Ginny and opened it, finding a thick sort of cream inside. She held it out to Harry, who took a gob and began rubbing it over various spots in her skin. It dried almost immediately to both of their astonishment, and they wiped their hands when they were finished.

Molly removed the towel and quickly ran a rag around the skin again to try and get the cut as clean as possible before unstopping a phial and dripping a potion inside carefully so as not to spill and waste it. Once that was done, she used her wand to try and reconnect the tissue as much as she could. The spell was rudimentary and nothing that could heal it completely, but it did help. Setting her wand aside, she grabbed a squat looking bottle and patted it against her hand to place a chunk of a clear, jelly-like substance into her hand. She dabbed it up with her other hand and applied it liberally over the wound, mixing it in well so that it formed a light pink color when combined with her blood. Once she felt it was covered from the top to the bottom, from her knee to her ankle, she wiped her hands off and began applying gauze. Because it wasn't in a straight line, she had to use quite a bit to get the angles right before she could wrap it up with cloth all the way around her calf and pin it shut. She wrapped it tightly enough to hold the gauze in place, but loosely enough so that it wouldn't cause swelling and possibly more damage.

She repeated the process with the puncture-like wounds on the girl's back. It seemed as if nails had been driven into her skin and dragged backward. The skin around was loose as if it'd been pulled by something and Molly wasn't sure whether she needed to remove it or not. Surely it'd just die, but perhaps there were some other way to mend it that she didn't know. To be safe, she simply applied the gel over the entire area and taped the gauze down. She wanted to wrap it, but unfortunately didn't have enough cloth to go all the way around to her chest. She clasped the girl's bra back to where it was, but looser to accommodate the dressings, and flipped her back over.

She worked diligently with the help of the children to dress her hips and stomach while they continued applying cream to her smaller cuts. In no time, she was covered in bandages, wrappings, and antiseptic. Molly asked them not to spare a single mark to be certain she didn't develop a fever overnight. Once that was done, she grabbed two potions among the various carafes and shuffled to the end of the table where the girl's head lay. Hermione helped to lift her head and tilt it back so that Molly could open her mouth and poor them in one at a time. She eased a potion to help with any internal injuries down her throat, followed by an antibiotic to fight off any basic virus that might be inside.

They didn't bother cleaning up. "We can do that tomorrow," said Molly, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

"Harry, go and fetch the boys, will you?" He jumped, jerking his head upward. He'd started falling back asleep while leaning against the wall once his part was finished. He flushed slightly, embarrassed, before nodding and heading out.

While waiting for them to return, Molly went to the cabinet in the living room and fetched a piece of parchment and a quill, quickly writing a letter to Dumbledore. She was vague and brief, saying only that they needed his assistance. She wrote that Arthur would meet him in Hogsmeade and that it was urgent. She signed her named and rolled the paper up, handing it to Pigwidgeon and sending him on his way.

They came in through the kitchen, dragging their feet and going into the dining room to see the work done.

"That's brutal," said Fred.

"Yeah, must've been attacked," said George.

"And what about Bill?" asked Fred.

"And Fluer?" asked George.

"And Remus?" they asked together.

Molly shrugged and opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "We'll just have to owl them."

"No use trying Remus," said George.

"You barely got ahold of him the first time," added Fred.

"We'll do what we can," replied Molly.

"Where will she sleep?" asked Ginny.

"She can take my bed and we'll share." offered Hermione. Harry turned his head toward her quickly, slightly surprised at the suggestion. She looked back at him, jaw tight, then to Molly and Arthur.

Arthur scooped the girl up once more and one by one they trudged up the stairs, heavy footfalls and swaying torso's – tad-ump... tad-ump tad-ump... tad-ump.
Harry followed behind Arthur, but stayed outside while the older man went into the girl's room. He stared at the wall ahead, looking past the pictures there. 'My cheek is cold, I bet I've got blood on my face.'

Arthur took the girl to the now vacant bed. Hermione caught up with him and tossed the patchwork covers back, allowing him to set her in the space left behind. He covered her up and looked to Hermione with a smile. "Thank you. All of you." he said, loudly enough for Harry and the twins to hear. Hermione nodded and watched him leave.

"Go on to bed, Harry. We'll be safe tonight," said Arthur as he gave the boy a warm pat on the shoulder before moving on to his room.

"Goodnight, Mr. Weasley."

'….. That's definitely blood,' thought Harry as he returned to his own bed. He shivered in disgust and wiped it off with his sleeve before he placed his glasses on the end table and plopped down, hoping that this had all been nothing more than a dream.