Disclaimer: We don't own Harry Potter, but if we did, this would be rather
not here because we wouldn't write a fanfic about something we owned.
Anyway, please enjoy, and we sincerely hope you all like what we've come up
with!
1. Ambush
Harry Potter rested his head on his arm, gazing dully out the window. The evening was fairly bright, and he could clearly make out the figures of the children who were playing ball under the glow of the streetlight.
Earlier that day, Dudley had kicked and stepped on his new DVD player when the DVD movie kept freezing. Lucky Harry, who had unwillingly been dusting the shelves in the same room at the time, was blamed because he had looked at the player. And it had inexplicably been broken and squashed-looking because he had. If the Dursley's hadn't locked him in his room as punishment, Harry might have snuck out to the street to join the kids' game.
"Maybe next time," he sighed. Then he buried his head into his arm. "September better hurry up and get here already."
It was still June. He was in for a long wait.
*****
Meanwhile, something that would affect Harry in a most serious way was about to occur....
*****
The St. Martin house was like any other house on Thatcher Street. It was comfortable, moderately sized, with a green lawn and trimmed hedges. It had a wrap-around porch with a porch swing and a porch light that was always on after dark so the Muggles who lived around the St. Martins would not suspect the truth about their neighbors. While the St. Martins, Leonard, Emma, and their daughter, Angeleigh, dressed like Muggles and acted like Muggles, they were not Muggles. They were wizards.
Most wizards, however, did not live amongst Muggles the way the St. Martins did. Few wizards would be seen walking down Thatcher Street, a typical Muggle street in Salem, Massachusetts. What made the St. Martins rather unusual was that they were in hiding. Since the recent arising of Voldemort, the darkest of the dark wizards, the St. Martins, alongside other American Aurors, were working to bring down his circle of Death Eaters in their country.
The American Aurors' Society placed its hopes in the St. Martins and their safety. In addition to being Aurors, they were gifted with second sight, and most of the family had the ability to see minds. They were a formidable foe, and Cyrus Reaper, head of America's Death Eaters, knew it. They could communicate telepathically, and the bulk of the Aurors' communication traveled through the St. Martins. While hope rested in Emma and Leonard, the real burden of hope was on their sixteen-year-old daughter Angeleigh. Angeleigh, proud, stubborn, willful, was their Secret Keeper. If it involved Aurors' secrets, Angeleigh knew it. The fidelius charms upon her were strong, as was her promise never to break them by telling what she knew to anyone.
For most of the year Angeleigh went, safe and unnoticed, to the American Institute of Magic in nearby Boston. Few students outside of other Aurors' children knew who she was or what her importance was, and she liked it that way. So did her family, who worked tirelessly to guard Angeleigh and the secrets she kept from their enemies.
But it was now the summer, and Angeleigh had been home for the holiday for two weeks now. It was a perfect New England summer, not too humid yet, with a breeze off the ocean. This particular day, June 23, was very warm, even though the sun had long since set. Angeleigh had spent this day as she did most summer days, on the town common watching tourists and passers- by, and considering getting ahead in her work for the fall term. When it came to the getting ahead bit, she figured it was the intent that counted, so her school books and quill pen remained in her satchel as she watched the people, taking it in, and even taking the opportunity to practice her mind reading tactics. She couldn't really read minds so much as she picked up on emotions. It was all definitely more interesting than Selected Topics: the Puritans and their Views, or Wizard Literature 4: Where Hawthorn Had it Right. Her advisor seemed to think that since she lived in Salem her coursework for her third to last year should center around the city and its history.
Now, after dark, with no chance of getting any schoolwork done, Angeleigh gathered her things, stood, and stretched, then started back toward Thatcher Street. On occasion people in light summer cloaks would nod to her in acknowledgement. The St. Martins were not the only wizarding family in Salem. On even more rare occasions, a Muggle boy would look her up and down, or flash her a wink and a grin. She loved the attention, and sometimes wondered what her parents would say if she ever fell in love with a Muggle. Her family prided itself on its pure wizard lineage; always had, always would.
Her thoughts quickly turned to more serious matters as she neared her street. Muggle boys and flirting and eloping took second place to the sense of urgency that grew stronger the closer she got to Thatcher Street. Angeleigh was always cautious after dark; her senses heightened, and her powers became focused on sensing danger and ill portents. Normally, it was a precaution and little more than a test of her abilities. But tonight something was wrong. Something didn't feel right, and she couldn't put her finger on what it was.
As she turned down Thatcher Street she felt like she'd been socked in the stomach by a bludger; one had, in fact, socked her in the stomach only a month ago, during a recreational quidditch match at the end of term. She remembered the ache in her internal organs, and the way all the air in her lungs rushed out until she felt quite dizzy from lack of oxygen. That was kind of how she felt now. Cold sweat poured down her face and she became aware that her legs felt like jelly. It made it difficult to walk. The quiet street looked perfectly normal, except for one small detail out of place. The St. Martins' porch light was... off. It was never off after dark; they left it on all through the night and turned it off shortly after sunrise. Only, tonight, while all other houses on the street had on their porch lights, the St. Martins did not. Their entire house was darkened. The air along the street felt charged with a dark sort of energy that Angeleigh could not explain.
What she could now explain was the feeling that was overtaking her. It was fear, in its most primal, concentrated form. Something was terribly wrong, and it made her deepest human instincts tell her to run. It made her heightened wizarding instincts tell her to run fast. But she had not been chosen as the Secret Keeper because her will was weak. She was a strong- willed girl, always had been, really. And oh, was she ever stubborn. No one and nothing could force her to do anything she did not want to do, not even her instincts. As much as they told her to run far and fast, away from this place, she could not. Her shaking legs kept walking toward 16 Thatcher Street until she finally stepped up onto the porch.
Most disconcerting to her was that the door was slightly ajar. Her parents always kept the door closed, even in the stifling heat of summer. A cold breeze grazed her bare arms. She slid her wand from her belt loop and pointed it at the door. "Lumos," she whispered, and a faint pale golden light shone from the wand's tip. She thrust it into the dark house and pushed through the open door. Her wand hand shook.
The light of the wand gave a ghostly cast to the ransacked living room. Pictures were knocked off shelves, the glass from the frames in shards all over the floor. Throw pillows were slashed and cushions were everywhere. Frightened more than ever before, Angeleigh took one step inside, then another. Then she was over the threshold and in the house. Another step-- and the door slammed behind her. She gasped and wheeled around, bumping into something tall and cloaked. She uttered a strangled cry and turned to run into the house, but the figure grabbed her wrist. She flung her wand at it, prepared to hex it, but the figure, quicker than Angeleigh could have anticipated, said, "Expelliarmus."
She gasped as her wand fell from her hand and her arm went limp. She wrestled away from the figure, only to be grabbed by two more. "Let me go!" she shouted. "Help me!" her neighbors were bound to hear her. They'd come help her, they'd call the police and rescue her and arrest these people who were intruding......
The tall figure came forward and slapped her across the face, knocking her breath out of her. A shower of sparks lit up her field of vision and she felt blood spurt from her nose. "Shut up," it growled. "Bind her hands. Tight," it ordered. The hooded people flung Angeleigh to the ground and tied her hands behind her back. When she was satisfactorily restrained, the first figure knelt beside her and held its wand to her. She flinched. "Lumos," it whispered with a laugh.
All the lights in the house went on and Angeleigh blinked furiously, trying to adjust her eyes. She saw that a circle of hooded Death Eaters, all masked and sinister, surrounded her. Angeleigh steeled herself, knowing and accepting what they had come for. She would not, could not, fear them. Her fidelius charms were strong, as was her will. Besides, her family would come for her soon; they'd put a stop to this all......
The figure removed its hood, and a Death Eater muffled Angeleigh's horrified yell with his dark sleeve. The figure in front of her was a woman, only a few years older than Angeleigh herself was. Jezebel Reaper, daughter-in-law of Cyrus Reaper, her family's mortal enemy, knelt before her, laughing maniacally. Jezebel's cold, yellowy green eyes danced merrily. "Good evening, Angeleigh," she sang. "We understand you have some important information for us. We're prepared to do what we have to do to get it." To the others she snapped, "Bring out the incentives."
The circle parted and allowed a masked Death Eater to come forward, escorting Emma and Leonard. Both looked calm and resigned. "No matter what happens, Angie, don't tell them," Emma urged as she was shoved onto the couch. Leonard nodded emphatically. "No matter what," he added. Angeleigh nodded, trying to understand. No matter what? What was Jezebel planning to do to her family? To her? She looked to her parents for guidance, scared beyond belief. They were steely, ready for anything, but when they looked upon Angeleigh, it was with such love and faith and confidence that she somehow found the strength to accept the inevitable.
Jezebel smiled and tore the sleeve of her cloak. The Dark Mark burned, black and ghastly, on her forearm. She tossed the material to the Death Eater holding Angeleigh. "She's going to scream when I do it. I don't need the neighbors getting involved." She began pacing. She reminded Angeleigh of a caged lion. "Now, Angie, dear, you know what I want to know. I'm not going to beat around the bush. If you don't tell me, I will inflict great pain on your family."
Angeleigh's heart thumped. She looked to her parents. They both shook their heads furiously. She took a deep breath. "I won't tell you," she said firmly. She spit at Jezebel to emphasize her statement.
Jezebel's face screwed up angrily. She turned upon Emma and Leonard and pointed her wand at them. "Crucio!" she cried.
Sure enough, Angeleigh screamed out in horror. The Death Eater jammed the heavy material of Jezebel's sleeve against her mouth to muffle the noise. It was rough and smelled of foul incense. She could feel hot tears in her eyes as she watched her parents writhe in the horrific pain she knew the Cruciatus Curse produced. She wanted it to stop. Jezebel was laughing. Angeleigh was losing the feeling in her hands. Finally Jezebel broke the curse. "Now you see we mean business. Are you prepared to tell me where the Aurors are convening and what they're planning?"
Angeleigh had never felt so torn apart. She had to save her parents. But saving them meant betraying hundreds of people across the country. And there was no guarantee Jezebel would spare any of them once she had her information. She looked to her parents, gaze blurred with tears. Her shoulders shook. Her mother, still trembling from the pain, managed a kind smile. She shook her head no; her father mouthed 'don't tell'. Mother, father, and daughter all sensed the weight of the impending sacrifice.
Jezebel sensed it too, and it seemed to intensify her cruel satisfaction in her escapades. "Perhaps this will help you decide, darling," she said casually. A flick of her wrist and her wand pointed toward Emma. "Avada Kedavra," she said. In a flash of dazzling green light, Emma St. Martin was dead. Angeleigh was too horrified to scream. "One last chance, Angeleigh," Jezebel said, voice dark. "If my father wasn't so bent on knowing what you know I'd kill you, too. So make this easy on yourself."
Angeleigh was limp in the Death Eaters' grasp. She felt numb all over now. Her father stared coldly at Jezebel. "I hope you rot in Azkaban for this," he hissed. "Angie, sweetheart, don't ever tell anyone what you know. You've been very brave tonight, honey. I love you."
"Touching," Jezebel snapped. "Now tell, or he dies."
Angeleigh was choking on her sobs. She managed to shake her head no and squeak out, "No, never."
"Suit yourself." Green light flashed from her wand and filled the room. Angeleigh felt like lead as she watched her father slump over, dead. She felt very heavy, yet empty and very cold. She felt like she was having the worst dream of her life and could not wake up from it. She didn't struggle as Jezebel shoved the black sleeve material into her mouth and jerked a dark hood over her head and only dimly overheard her order the Death Eaters to take her to Cyrus Reaper while she stayed and disposed of the bodies. Angeleigh kept wishing that she would wake up soon and this nightmare-- that was what it had to be-- would be over.
It didn't happen that way.
Authors' Note:
J. Rolande-
J. Rolande told me to tell all of you that she hopes all of you will continue to read the story, and you will all be open-minded as to how her character Angeleigh will develop and how her experiences will shape her as a student and as a person.
Oh yeah, she also said to not be cruel. ^.^
Amaniachwen-
Okay! It's nice to meet some Harry Potter fanficers! ^.^ I'll take a quick moment to let all of you know what J. and I are going with this fanfic.
For starters, this is not a Mary Jane or Mary Sue or whatever, and neither of us is into making our character the center of attention, and although the story might focus more on what's happening with them at the beginning, it's all for good reasons and everything will still depend on Harry. Angeleigh, as well as my character that we will meet in the next chapter (if we get a minimum of three positive reviews) both have something to contribute to helping Harry defeat Voldemort.
Since Angeleigh is J.'s character and not mine, I can't tell you much about her, but J. has her all figured out, and she is such an awesome character. ^.^ Phwee!
As I said before, my character will make her introduction for the next chapter if there is a next chapter. She'll definitely be the comic relief in Angeleigh's tormented life, so look forward to humorous tidbits and things.
I know that no one wants to read a Harry Potter fanfic that doesn't include Harry Potter and Co., so do not fret. ^.^ Harry, Ron, Hermione, Moaning Myrtle, Draco, Ginny, Fred, George, Dumbledore, Snape, Trelawny, Sirius, Hagrid, and many, many more will be part of the fanfic, as well. We're open to any pairing suggestions that any of you might want to suggest, but Ron and Hermione relationship action will most likely be a definite. ^.^
Remember, we will continue if we have a minimum of three positive reviews. I will provide nice virtual presents for those who review. Everyone will get something different, so it will be fun! Let's all relive Christmas! Hooray!
1. Ambush
Harry Potter rested his head on his arm, gazing dully out the window. The evening was fairly bright, and he could clearly make out the figures of the children who were playing ball under the glow of the streetlight.
Earlier that day, Dudley had kicked and stepped on his new DVD player when the DVD movie kept freezing. Lucky Harry, who had unwillingly been dusting the shelves in the same room at the time, was blamed because he had looked at the player. And it had inexplicably been broken and squashed-looking because he had. If the Dursley's hadn't locked him in his room as punishment, Harry might have snuck out to the street to join the kids' game.
"Maybe next time," he sighed. Then he buried his head into his arm. "September better hurry up and get here already."
It was still June. He was in for a long wait.
*****
Meanwhile, something that would affect Harry in a most serious way was about to occur....
*****
The St. Martin house was like any other house on Thatcher Street. It was comfortable, moderately sized, with a green lawn and trimmed hedges. It had a wrap-around porch with a porch swing and a porch light that was always on after dark so the Muggles who lived around the St. Martins would not suspect the truth about their neighbors. While the St. Martins, Leonard, Emma, and their daughter, Angeleigh, dressed like Muggles and acted like Muggles, they were not Muggles. They were wizards.
Most wizards, however, did not live amongst Muggles the way the St. Martins did. Few wizards would be seen walking down Thatcher Street, a typical Muggle street in Salem, Massachusetts. What made the St. Martins rather unusual was that they were in hiding. Since the recent arising of Voldemort, the darkest of the dark wizards, the St. Martins, alongside other American Aurors, were working to bring down his circle of Death Eaters in their country.
The American Aurors' Society placed its hopes in the St. Martins and their safety. In addition to being Aurors, they were gifted with second sight, and most of the family had the ability to see minds. They were a formidable foe, and Cyrus Reaper, head of America's Death Eaters, knew it. They could communicate telepathically, and the bulk of the Aurors' communication traveled through the St. Martins. While hope rested in Emma and Leonard, the real burden of hope was on their sixteen-year-old daughter Angeleigh. Angeleigh, proud, stubborn, willful, was their Secret Keeper. If it involved Aurors' secrets, Angeleigh knew it. The fidelius charms upon her were strong, as was her promise never to break them by telling what she knew to anyone.
For most of the year Angeleigh went, safe and unnoticed, to the American Institute of Magic in nearby Boston. Few students outside of other Aurors' children knew who she was or what her importance was, and she liked it that way. So did her family, who worked tirelessly to guard Angeleigh and the secrets she kept from their enemies.
But it was now the summer, and Angeleigh had been home for the holiday for two weeks now. It was a perfect New England summer, not too humid yet, with a breeze off the ocean. This particular day, June 23, was very warm, even though the sun had long since set. Angeleigh had spent this day as she did most summer days, on the town common watching tourists and passers- by, and considering getting ahead in her work for the fall term. When it came to the getting ahead bit, she figured it was the intent that counted, so her school books and quill pen remained in her satchel as she watched the people, taking it in, and even taking the opportunity to practice her mind reading tactics. She couldn't really read minds so much as she picked up on emotions. It was all definitely more interesting than Selected Topics: the Puritans and their Views, or Wizard Literature 4: Where Hawthorn Had it Right. Her advisor seemed to think that since she lived in Salem her coursework for her third to last year should center around the city and its history.
Now, after dark, with no chance of getting any schoolwork done, Angeleigh gathered her things, stood, and stretched, then started back toward Thatcher Street. On occasion people in light summer cloaks would nod to her in acknowledgement. The St. Martins were not the only wizarding family in Salem. On even more rare occasions, a Muggle boy would look her up and down, or flash her a wink and a grin. She loved the attention, and sometimes wondered what her parents would say if she ever fell in love with a Muggle. Her family prided itself on its pure wizard lineage; always had, always would.
Her thoughts quickly turned to more serious matters as she neared her street. Muggle boys and flirting and eloping took second place to the sense of urgency that grew stronger the closer she got to Thatcher Street. Angeleigh was always cautious after dark; her senses heightened, and her powers became focused on sensing danger and ill portents. Normally, it was a precaution and little more than a test of her abilities. But tonight something was wrong. Something didn't feel right, and she couldn't put her finger on what it was.
As she turned down Thatcher Street she felt like she'd been socked in the stomach by a bludger; one had, in fact, socked her in the stomach only a month ago, during a recreational quidditch match at the end of term. She remembered the ache in her internal organs, and the way all the air in her lungs rushed out until she felt quite dizzy from lack of oxygen. That was kind of how she felt now. Cold sweat poured down her face and she became aware that her legs felt like jelly. It made it difficult to walk. The quiet street looked perfectly normal, except for one small detail out of place. The St. Martins' porch light was... off. It was never off after dark; they left it on all through the night and turned it off shortly after sunrise. Only, tonight, while all other houses on the street had on their porch lights, the St. Martins did not. Their entire house was darkened. The air along the street felt charged with a dark sort of energy that Angeleigh could not explain.
What she could now explain was the feeling that was overtaking her. It was fear, in its most primal, concentrated form. Something was terribly wrong, and it made her deepest human instincts tell her to run. It made her heightened wizarding instincts tell her to run fast. But she had not been chosen as the Secret Keeper because her will was weak. She was a strong- willed girl, always had been, really. And oh, was she ever stubborn. No one and nothing could force her to do anything she did not want to do, not even her instincts. As much as they told her to run far and fast, away from this place, she could not. Her shaking legs kept walking toward 16 Thatcher Street until she finally stepped up onto the porch.
Most disconcerting to her was that the door was slightly ajar. Her parents always kept the door closed, even in the stifling heat of summer. A cold breeze grazed her bare arms. She slid her wand from her belt loop and pointed it at the door. "Lumos," she whispered, and a faint pale golden light shone from the wand's tip. She thrust it into the dark house and pushed through the open door. Her wand hand shook.
The light of the wand gave a ghostly cast to the ransacked living room. Pictures were knocked off shelves, the glass from the frames in shards all over the floor. Throw pillows were slashed and cushions were everywhere. Frightened more than ever before, Angeleigh took one step inside, then another. Then she was over the threshold and in the house. Another step-- and the door slammed behind her. She gasped and wheeled around, bumping into something tall and cloaked. She uttered a strangled cry and turned to run into the house, but the figure grabbed her wrist. She flung her wand at it, prepared to hex it, but the figure, quicker than Angeleigh could have anticipated, said, "Expelliarmus."
She gasped as her wand fell from her hand and her arm went limp. She wrestled away from the figure, only to be grabbed by two more. "Let me go!" she shouted. "Help me!" her neighbors were bound to hear her. They'd come help her, they'd call the police and rescue her and arrest these people who were intruding......
The tall figure came forward and slapped her across the face, knocking her breath out of her. A shower of sparks lit up her field of vision and she felt blood spurt from her nose. "Shut up," it growled. "Bind her hands. Tight," it ordered. The hooded people flung Angeleigh to the ground and tied her hands behind her back. When she was satisfactorily restrained, the first figure knelt beside her and held its wand to her. She flinched. "Lumos," it whispered with a laugh.
All the lights in the house went on and Angeleigh blinked furiously, trying to adjust her eyes. She saw that a circle of hooded Death Eaters, all masked and sinister, surrounded her. Angeleigh steeled herself, knowing and accepting what they had come for. She would not, could not, fear them. Her fidelius charms were strong, as was her will. Besides, her family would come for her soon; they'd put a stop to this all......
The figure removed its hood, and a Death Eater muffled Angeleigh's horrified yell with his dark sleeve. The figure in front of her was a woman, only a few years older than Angeleigh herself was. Jezebel Reaper, daughter-in-law of Cyrus Reaper, her family's mortal enemy, knelt before her, laughing maniacally. Jezebel's cold, yellowy green eyes danced merrily. "Good evening, Angeleigh," she sang. "We understand you have some important information for us. We're prepared to do what we have to do to get it." To the others she snapped, "Bring out the incentives."
The circle parted and allowed a masked Death Eater to come forward, escorting Emma and Leonard. Both looked calm and resigned. "No matter what happens, Angie, don't tell them," Emma urged as she was shoved onto the couch. Leonard nodded emphatically. "No matter what," he added. Angeleigh nodded, trying to understand. No matter what? What was Jezebel planning to do to her family? To her? She looked to her parents for guidance, scared beyond belief. They were steely, ready for anything, but when they looked upon Angeleigh, it was with such love and faith and confidence that she somehow found the strength to accept the inevitable.
Jezebel smiled and tore the sleeve of her cloak. The Dark Mark burned, black and ghastly, on her forearm. She tossed the material to the Death Eater holding Angeleigh. "She's going to scream when I do it. I don't need the neighbors getting involved." She began pacing. She reminded Angeleigh of a caged lion. "Now, Angie, dear, you know what I want to know. I'm not going to beat around the bush. If you don't tell me, I will inflict great pain on your family."
Angeleigh's heart thumped. She looked to her parents. They both shook their heads furiously. She took a deep breath. "I won't tell you," she said firmly. She spit at Jezebel to emphasize her statement.
Jezebel's face screwed up angrily. She turned upon Emma and Leonard and pointed her wand at them. "Crucio!" she cried.
Sure enough, Angeleigh screamed out in horror. The Death Eater jammed the heavy material of Jezebel's sleeve against her mouth to muffle the noise. It was rough and smelled of foul incense. She could feel hot tears in her eyes as she watched her parents writhe in the horrific pain she knew the Cruciatus Curse produced. She wanted it to stop. Jezebel was laughing. Angeleigh was losing the feeling in her hands. Finally Jezebel broke the curse. "Now you see we mean business. Are you prepared to tell me where the Aurors are convening and what they're planning?"
Angeleigh had never felt so torn apart. She had to save her parents. But saving them meant betraying hundreds of people across the country. And there was no guarantee Jezebel would spare any of them once she had her information. She looked to her parents, gaze blurred with tears. Her shoulders shook. Her mother, still trembling from the pain, managed a kind smile. She shook her head no; her father mouthed 'don't tell'. Mother, father, and daughter all sensed the weight of the impending sacrifice.
Jezebel sensed it too, and it seemed to intensify her cruel satisfaction in her escapades. "Perhaps this will help you decide, darling," she said casually. A flick of her wrist and her wand pointed toward Emma. "Avada Kedavra," she said. In a flash of dazzling green light, Emma St. Martin was dead. Angeleigh was too horrified to scream. "One last chance, Angeleigh," Jezebel said, voice dark. "If my father wasn't so bent on knowing what you know I'd kill you, too. So make this easy on yourself."
Angeleigh was limp in the Death Eaters' grasp. She felt numb all over now. Her father stared coldly at Jezebel. "I hope you rot in Azkaban for this," he hissed. "Angie, sweetheart, don't ever tell anyone what you know. You've been very brave tonight, honey. I love you."
"Touching," Jezebel snapped. "Now tell, or he dies."
Angeleigh was choking on her sobs. She managed to shake her head no and squeak out, "No, never."
"Suit yourself." Green light flashed from her wand and filled the room. Angeleigh felt like lead as she watched her father slump over, dead. She felt very heavy, yet empty and very cold. She felt like she was having the worst dream of her life and could not wake up from it. She didn't struggle as Jezebel shoved the black sleeve material into her mouth and jerked a dark hood over her head and only dimly overheard her order the Death Eaters to take her to Cyrus Reaper while she stayed and disposed of the bodies. Angeleigh kept wishing that she would wake up soon and this nightmare-- that was what it had to be-- would be over.
It didn't happen that way.
Authors' Note:
J. Rolande-
J. Rolande told me to tell all of you that she hopes all of you will continue to read the story, and you will all be open-minded as to how her character Angeleigh will develop and how her experiences will shape her as a student and as a person.
Oh yeah, she also said to not be cruel. ^.^
Amaniachwen-
Okay! It's nice to meet some Harry Potter fanficers! ^.^ I'll take a quick moment to let all of you know what J. and I are going with this fanfic.
For starters, this is not a Mary Jane or Mary Sue or whatever, and neither of us is into making our character the center of attention, and although the story might focus more on what's happening with them at the beginning, it's all for good reasons and everything will still depend on Harry. Angeleigh, as well as my character that we will meet in the next chapter (if we get a minimum of three positive reviews) both have something to contribute to helping Harry defeat Voldemort.
Since Angeleigh is J.'s character and not mine, I can't tell you much about her, but J. has her all figured out, and she is such an awesome character. ^.^ Phwee!
As I said before, my character will make her introduction for the next chapter if there is a next chapter. She'll definitely be the comic relief in Angeleigh's tormented life, so look forward to humorous tidbits and things.
I know that no one wants to read a Harry Potter fanfic that doesn't include Harry Potter and Co., so do not fret. ^.^ Harry, Ron, Hermione, Moaning Myrtle, Draco, Ginny, Fred, George, Dumbledore, Snape, Trelawny, Sirius, Hagrid, and many, many more will be part of the fanfic, as well. We're open to any pairing suggestions that any of you might want to suggest, but Ron and Hermione relationship action will most likely be a definite. ^.^
Remember, we will continue if we have a minimum of three positive reviews. I will provide nice virtual presents for those who review. Everyone will get something different, so it will be fun! Let's all relive Christmas! Hooray!