A/N

So, this is my little bit of fun. If you notice a few new names in the story, please be aware that they will be properly introduced in their own seperate story, explaining how they came to be at Hogwarts. Anywho, I hope you enjoy it. Please read and review! I love hearing from you guys, good, bad, or indifferent!
Love, love, love,

Scarlette

Chapter 1: It's Bitter at First...

You're going to murder him; you're going to bring him home to me. We're going to have dinner by candlelight, and enjoy a piece of dark chocolate for dessert.

The murderer opened her eyes to the dimly lit bathroom. The candle light was romantic, and it soothed her nerves before heavy favors were to be fulfilled. She brought a wet hand to her face and wiped away the water that blurred her vision. Scarlette shut off the steaming water and lifted her arms above her head. The thick, warm terry cloth towel had slithered around her slender body, and she climber out of the tub, loving the feel of the thick, warm rug beneath her feet. The mass of curls had been weighed down by the water, and she could feel thousands of droplets running over her back and shoulders like tiny fingertips.

She stepped in front of her mirror, wiping away the fog. One hand held a thick votive candle, and its vanilla scent filled her with a sense of serenity. She looked at the figure in the mirror; the woman was very aware of herself. Her face was round, but tapered near her chin. Her nose was somewhat pointed, but was small and cute like a kitten's. Her skin was a golden brown, almost red, and it was tight, firm and youthful. A full set of pink lips curved into a wide smile and lit up her face as she looked into familiar set of sea-green eyes. Tight, auburn ringlets dripping water framed her face and cascaded down her back. She glanced at the tiny red mark she'd been stamped with when she came of age, and the smile fled as quickly as it had come.

It was an archaic thing, this family. Covens were now a long lost part of the lore, but hers was still thriving, though very few had heard of and remembered them. They were known for doing favors no other would, and they never failed at what they set out to do. The price was exceptionally high, and those who paid often gave, of themselves, something that could never be given back. A life was nothing that could be reinstated, and so the price was final, much the same as death.

Scarlette let a heavy sigh push past her lips as she sauntered into her bedroom. The insulated deep berry curtains shifted and slid to the sides of the windows. The glass had frosted over the night before, and though the sun offered some sort of heat, the wind defeated its purpose. The ruffling of feathers and a loud screech drew her attention then, and she groaned inwardly at the realization that she would have to let the owl in. Her supple skin was still warm and damp from her shower, and the mere thought of cold running its hands along her body raised goose bumps along her arms and legs. "Damnit," she swore beneath her breath, unlatching her window, "get in here, Millstone."

The burly gray owl crooned as he flew over to the hollowed out tree trunk Scarlette had brought in for him. He sat atop its splintered surface and spread his wings, holding his left foot up for her to take the letter attached. Scarlette reached into a draw, watching carefully for any gray mice that would try to scurry out. Several tiny, shaking balls of fur scraped the bottom of the drawer as they parted ways to escape her spidery digits, but as she would have it, one met its fate in her hand, and those tapered fingers constricted around its tiny body to crush its bones and render it helpless. Their squeaks always left a tiny dent in her heart, for she was not without one, but her courier had to eat.

"Thank you, Mills. Eat." The owl snatched the dying vermin from her hand, and she released the message, eager to see who had sent word to her. She broke the wax seal that held the envelope shut. The seal was none other than her family's, and immediately, the solemn nature of Scarlette rose to the surface as she recited the beginning of the poem.

"She who is without doubt; she who is with courage;

"She who is not a stranger is she who is essence of danger."

Scarlette paused, wondering what the last two lines of the poem held for her. They always started the same, but they always ended differently.

"A death be owed by all. When death be given by none,

"She is: that which collects the bones who dare defy the sun."

She turned the letter over: "Daughter and Mother, sisters alike; come together where dark ones unite."

"I don't know why she doesn't just say Knockturn Alley. All the dark ones tarry there." She reached up to run her fingertips over Millstone's feathers, expelling yet another sigh as she turned to dress herself. The black turtleneck was perfect. It clung to her curves, and its insulated lining worked well enough that she had begun to perspire. She slid into a pair of insulated black corduroys, followed by the high heel boots. Scarlette was a glamour queen, but every pair of heels she wore had its purpose. She turned to her full length mirror, and grasped the heavy burgundy cloak that hung there. She stared at herself in the mirror as she enveloped herself and secured the cloak. The mass of curls gave her an air of innocence, but those sinister sea-green eyes that pierced the world often made people step back and wonder. She pulled the heavy hood over her head. Glad her face would be shrouded in darkness, off she went, with the courier owl hovering over her in the afternoon sky.

The sun was setting, turning everything red as its last rays danced across the evening sky. The people were few and many, depending on the place of residence, and the doors whose pubs welcomed night life had opened. Diagon Alley was shutting down. The witches and wizards travelled by Floo or skittered on home by the quickest means possible. The Knight Bus dodged here and there, picking up passengers and letting them go.

"Next stop: Knockturn Alley!" Stan Shunpike shouted. By now, the sun had completely gone beneath the horizon, and night had come across the whole of Britain. The bus came to a sudden halt, and as two passengers graced the windows with a hard kiss, Scarlette found she was grateful for having learned the Manus Charm at such an early age. Strange to see such young wizards out so late, she thought. There had been one that struck her curiosity, and as she lay in her bed, it was all she could do not burst into a fit of giggles. He was most certainly young, and he had been living with Muggles. He had to have been, because he didn't know who Sirius Black was. In fact, he didn't know a lot of things—and the Manus Charm was most definitely one of them.

Pushing the memory from her mind, she pulled her hood further down over her eyes and nodded in silence to Stan. Her shoes crunched the salt and the ice it left behind. Her steps were slow and deliberate. Puffs of steam left her nostrils with every breath she took. She pulled the burgundy cloak closer around her figure as she passed a few trolls sitting outside of a pub. A wizard brushed past her, nudging her shoulder hard enough to make her wince.

"Watch where you're going," a curt voice said. Scarlette turned to face the owner, the cloak fanning about her ankles, the hood shifting just enough that the lantern caught the glimmer of one eye. The figure was tall, pale, and broad, and his expression was every bit as snide as his remark. One heavily jeweled hand straightened out a platinum blond mane as he looked down his beaked nose at her. "Oh? Is there something you have to say? I wouldn't go spouting off at the mouth if I were but a little woman walking… alone… at night in Knockturn Alley."

"I have no time for you," she said. Her voice was like satin, and the accent curling the ends of every word she spoke made the wizard smirk.

"You are certainly not from these parts... An Island witch, which makes one wonder... what business do you have… here..?"

"I say… I have no time for you," she repeated, taking a step back. Scarlette could feel her hands begin to tingle, and the strange need to spill his blood would soon become evident. She didn't like talking to strangers, especially in a place like England where she was clearly out of place. The lanterns had begun to flicker, and she lowered her head as she stared at him warily.

"…I somehow doubt that," he sneered, icy glare seeking out her eyes to stare her down. Lucius Malfoy's pleased arrogance seemed to light up his face when he felt the sudden sensations in the air, and the soft hiss of the lantern flames when they flickered. "So..! A Caster..! The Dark Lord will be most delighted to make your acquaintance when I am done with you..." He was reaching into his robes to grasp his wand.

"And what are you going to do," she asked, plush lips pulling themselves into a sneer, "rape me..?"

"Lucius!" a voice called out.

"Leave it, Malfoy, we have no time for this!" Two cloaked figures approached him from either side, and the wizard narrowed his eyes as he pulled his hands from his robes.

"I hope to see you again. We'll see how much time you have, or haven't got.Island Witch." The cloaked figures spun around to face her, and Scarlette turned away and continued her pace until she reached Borgin & Burkes. She was joined by two others wrapped in heavy scarlet, one towering over her, broad shouldered, the other being a little taller, and obviously the more feminine of the two. The door swung open, and all three entered in silence, coming to face with another cloaked figure. The shop owner led them to the back of the store, and out into an alleyway where many agreements were known to be settled.

"Reveal yourself, whichever one of you is negotiator," the black-shrouded figure demanded. The female stepped forward, pulling the hood of her cloak from her head. Her hair rested in dreads along her shoulders, going down her back. The dim lanterns of the alleyway glinted off of the many beads and baubles in her hair, as well as the nose and lip piercing she wore. Her mahogany skin seemed to glow, and the yellow of the flame made her turquoise eyes seem to disappear, leaving only an intense pupil to stare at the client. Her black lips spread into a smile when she saw her client's sunken in face. "Ahh, Hazel, my old friend… Thank you for coming," he rasped, coughing into a handkerchief. He was met with a deep bow.

"I know how much it mean t'you, Ol' Man Richart… Wha' ya want done by us, dis' time?" The island witch canted her head, jewels clinking together as her dreads spilled aside.

"Lucius Malfoy… has been a thorn in my side… for a very, very long time, Hazel."

"Hazel never forget. Dat man right d'ere have a rock for him heart, if he e'er had one," she mused.

"Yes. He has taken the last of my family fortune, and this time, I cannot take it back. I require… a service of your most malicious… A life for a life, I say."

Like a cat, the witch's eyes became narrow slits, and the client could tell she was very much intrigued. "Go on…"

"My daughter… is gone from me. I want Draco Malfoy to join her, hand in hand, in death. She always had a fascination with him, though he was merciless to her for reasons unknown to me."

"And you know what d'ey say 'bout d'puppy love… But I 'spect dat y'wan' de boy dead cause him father kill your daughter..?"

"Yes, of course. Bring him home to me. As you know, we both serve He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"

The witch looked up, her yellowed teeth glimmering in the light, "We declare no side in dis silly war, wha'ya go' going on 'ere wit' Voldermort, but I tell you what… I throw dis one in for free if you make d'offer hard to resist."

"I am already prepared to make you an offer you cannot refuse, Hazel."

"And what d'you have?"

"I am willing to remove my charm and give it to you."

The witch began to toy with one of her dreads as she considered his offer, "And y' realize y' will be exposin' yerself to de' whiles of e'ry magic you can t'ink of..? Thou shalt surely die. E'ry one in de' wizarding worl' consider you highly favored by Merlin, 'imself, because him give it to you all t'em years ago… Arthur Pendragon. Say y' die when y' live, but dem Muggles not be allowed to know just 'ow well y'be."

"Hazel… The Dark Lord will have no mercy on him."

"No, he won't… but it depend on wha' y'want."

"I want Potter... Alive, but I want him with me. If he is captured by my means, Lord Voldemort will take favor with me. Malfoy will fall from grace, especially if you kill that boy of his, his heir. You bring me Potter and kill Draco, you kill the Malfoy's… and it will have a trickling effect."

"I see… well, y'know I require payment before I do anything!" Hazel spat, her hands on her tapered waist. Arthur's raspy breathing caught Scarlette's attention. It sounded as if he was already on his way out of this realm. He removed a brooch from the breast pocket of the suit he wore beneath the cloak and laid it upon a wooden board that lay between them. Hazel's spidery digits curled around the brooch and turned it over. The back had a very tiny vial nestled safely into a groove. Red platelets floated in a tiny sea of amber fluid, and Hazel smiled wide, knowing she'd gotten the last drops of Merlin's blood and protection.

"I realize this… I realize the dangers… But I am not long for this world, and I would rest happily knowing my Annabella is not lonely, and that the true traitors were punished beyond their wildest nightmares."

"Scarlette will handle the deed, Arthur… And if she fail, we bring back d'brooch of Merlin's essence."

"If I am already dead, destroy it so that no one may have it. Hazel, your family and I have been working together for as long as I can remember. This is the last time I'll ask you to take an innocent life for me. I want it done immediately."

"He d'at kill y' daughter will lose him only son…"

Hogwarts

Four children stood on the steps to Gryffindor tower before an impatient portrait of a fat lady. An angry professor had gone after them, escorting them to their house with his wand pointed in case one needed hexing. The Boy Who Lived argued openly with him, and his two companions teamed in. All three defended the youngest Weasley who wept at the top of the stairs. Growing weary of the mixture of pleas and rage, the professor pointed vehemently at Harry.

"I am not going to repeat myself again, Mr. Potter," a seething Snape spat as he quietly made his way over to Harry, "return to your quarters, immediately—" He was already in a sour mood, and the prank pulled at dinner was all he needed to top off his evening.

"Professor, please—" Hermione started, but the Potions teacher would hear none of it as he stood firm at the foot of the stairs.

"Good night, Miss Granger." As if her begging hadn't been enough, Ron was turning red in the face, and his younger sibling had tears in her eyes. "Have I said something… wrong, Mr. Weasley..?"

"I don't—"

"A simple nod or shake of your head will do, not that it will change… my mind—stop sniveling, Miss Weasley. Crying will not solve your problem, nor will it get you out of detention. An owl will be sent to your parents in the morning explaining why you will not be attending the trip to Hogsmeade."

"Professor Snape, she's innocent!" Harry had surged forth, but Severus stood firm, his face still, cold and illegible.

"…one more outburst, Potter… Try me." He could feel his brow beginning to furrow.

"She didn't do anything!" Ron yelled.

"Four days detention and 60 points from Gryffindor—15 apiece. Would you like to join the ranks, Miss Granger? Potter? Be aware that your words are no longer free; every word removes 2 points from your house. Any takers..?" Snape asked, his temper short, and his sneer evident.

The portrait swung open; Ginny turned quickly, tears soaking her face as she ran into their common room. Ron followed close behind her, and Hermione hesitated, on the brink of tears herself. Harry stood, quaking with fury as Lily's green eyes pierced his professor's already moth-eaten soul. At the silence, Snape turned on his heel. "Didn't think so," he said, pausing to stand and listen for the portrait to close, "Take a lesson from your repugnant little friend and learn when to give up. Good night, Potter." He heard several hesitant steps, a sigh in frustration, and a swinging portrait.

"Severus, you don't think you're being a little harsh..?" He recognized that voice, that tingle his presence just seemed to cause around everyone he knew. The professor closed his eyes and leaned his head back for a moment. He languidly turned to face Albus Dumbledore who tugged thoughtfully at his beard. Snape could feel the pain throbbing in his temples. His eyes watered and swelled slightly, and his nose was red with irritation. He wanted to get through the essays as quickly as he could and throw himself onto his bed, resting his head on the downy feather pillow that carried him off to sleep.

"No, Albus… I don't. In fact, I stand firm by my convictions and find my punishments to be just."

"Are you sure Miss Weasley was the one who did it?"

"Quite…" Snape enveloped himself in his robe to shield himself against a draft. "The deed has been done. I no longer wish to play this senseless game of Who-done-it. If I was being particularly callous, I would've sent her to Hagrid's to assist him with Merlin knows what." His hand came up to apply slight pressure to his reddened eyes. He wanted to hex those brats so for flying that origami swan full of sneezing powder over to his table. It had been Ginny Weasley's failed essay parchment to explode in his face, and the powders had been mixed with cat dander—the one thing Snape was actually allergic to! Cats made him feverish when their traces were allowed to build up.

"You don't look so well, Severus. Perhaps you should see Poppy before the night is through."

"I am fine, Headmaster." He sounded stuffy this time. "I simply wish to retire to my chambers. I have desperately been trying to do so, but thus far, I have been unsuccessful, since the Dream Coven felt they were quite a team of debaters."

"Well go and get some rest, Severus. I think you'll find that a good night's rest will do you well since you feel that way. If you say the punishment is just, I stand by your decision," Dumbledore stated, his hands behind his back. His face was calm and quizzical.

"Indeed."

"I will talk to the children just after breakfast, tomorrow," the Headmaster sighed, turning from Snape, "I believe Ginerva has a part in it, but we haven't quite seen the bigger picture. Good night."

"Good night, Headmaster." Robes flowing about his ankles, Snape made his way to his dungeon. He wished Potter had gotten himself detention a couple of nights ago. Potter was always so astute when it came to organizing papers, potions and their ingredients, and he got them done fairly quickly. On a harsh day, The-Pest-Who-Lived-to-Grind-His-Nerves got the heaviest loads done in record time of two nights' detention. Waving his wand, Snape conjured a cup of tea and made himself as comfortable as he could manage. He began to read through Malfoy's writing, narrowing his eyes at the beautiful cursive—but the wording was familiar, with properties most like… No. Not Granger's? He sifted through the parchment for the bushy-haired girl's report on Draught of Living Peace. As suspected, he saw a line that Granger had forgotten to paraphrase.

"10 points from your house," he whispered, a contemptuous smile forming upon his pale lips as he continued reading, "and a week's detention, five parchments worth of why we don't cheat, or help others cheat… Mr. Malfoy, most disappointing." He didn't know why Malfoy would ever go to someone he considered beneath him in the worst way possible. How could he go to Granger, the one person he loved to hate and harass simply because of her heritage and genetic makeup? For once, Snape knew just how she felt when Malfoy showed his unrelentingly cruel antics, and somewhat shared her passion for wanting to hex him. He would carry this secret of his to the grave, though. He would never let his students know he shared any sort of similarities with them. "One week's detention and—what is this..?" He mused, dark eyes narrowing as he watched the enchanted drawing that stuck to Malfoy's parchment. "Two… agonizing weeks…"

A horrible sound resounding in the halls drew his attention, and the subsequent thump on his door caused Snape to leave his desk, wand drawn. A bright light from the tip of his wand illuminated the halls, and he stepped out to see Mrs. Norris laid out in front of his doorway. He knelt by the twitching feline and pointed his wand at the wounds inflicted upon her, whispering his incantations as the wounds slowly closed. Something was terribly amiss. Mrs. Norris was never far from Filch, but where was Filch?

To be continued!

A/N 2

I hope you all enjoyed. If you feel so inclined to submit a review (I know you want to ^_~), it will be greatly appreciated! I haven't written in forever, so I need some feedback to fuel my drive! Chapter 2, coming soon!