Hey there again everyone. Sorry I've been such a bad author and not updated for so long, but my life has been rather hectic lately... and typing pages and pages with one hand sucks... I'm fixing to have wrist surgery again so bear with me people. Don't forget to review with the brutal truth, I'm a big girl, I can handle it. Also, I'm looking for a BETA so if anyone wants to help a cripple out it would be much appreciated. Thanks for your support and your patience. – Bex

Disclaimer:I don't own Harry Potter (but if I did... ahem...grins evilly) nor any of the other people or wizarding world. This is the brilliance of J.K Rowling. I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy!

Spoilers: Books 1-6

Rating: R for my bad language, violence, and sexual situations.

Summary: A lost heir is found, not to mention love, suspense, jealousy, and answers to burning questions about the prophecy. Harry shares dreams with another, passions are ignited, and mysteries are solved. HP/OC, HP/HG.

Author: Bex (HogwartsHarlot)

Chapter One : To Escape

"I tried to express

exactly what I lost

but now I just can't help myself

I really really wish I could be somewhere else

than here

you give me everything I need

but I really really wish I

just somewhere else

just anywhere else but here

no I won't forget"

"Somewhere Else" Razorlight

A sleeping figure lay peacefully in her bed. Her pretty features were softened by the full moon. She stirs restlessly, mumbling incoherently as she battles with Morpheus, the god of dreams. Her blonde hair that ended abruptly in black tips cascaded jaggedly around her shoulders and stuck to her full wet lips.

Suddenly, her mouth parts in a silent scream, she clutches her head in agony, and tries to rid herself from the intense dream:

A baby girl, dressed in a green jumper, was in a crib by the rear wall, a man with violet snake eyes was pointing a long skinny stick at baby Kathryn, which held her immobile by an unseen force in her wicker bassinet.

"Your whore of a mother shall pay." the scarlet eyed man sneered upon the toddler. His long crimson robes billowed about him as he twirled to face a beautiful woman with blazing blue eyes and smooth jet black hair. She was bound to a chair with very tight ropes, her petite body frame was swallowed by the chinz chair. Another man with ebony robes and a white sneering mask had his wand pointed at her chest. "It took me 20 years to find you, McKayla, your mother begged for mercy, I should've killed her after I robbed her of her purity long ago. " he smiled at the memory. "How dare you befoul my bloodline you cheap whore." he snarled at the woman.

"What bloodline? You're a half-blood remember father?" came a gravelly voice from the roped chair.

"Shame of my flesh! How dare you speak to Lord Voldemort in such disrespect to one who gave you life–"

"By accident."

"CRUCIO!" he screamed in anger. Green light illuminated the room and struck the woman directly in her chest. Her sapphire eyes blazed in anguish yet not a sound came from her mouth. "I can take back the life that was given to an ungrateful bitch. You befoul the very air I breathe."

"Then don't." the woman managed to choke out, obviously in intense pain. "You're not human enough to breathe so don't bother –."

"Silence you scum, you filth, you vile and dissolute whore. I will enjoy taking your life." he sneered. "And your abomination of sin." he said glancing over at the baby in the crib.

"No–"

"Silence." he flicked his wand at her, her mouth shut tightly as if her lips were Super Glued together. "Even if I did spare your life, you would not have much to live for." The woman made noises against her mouth. "Why you ask? Well, because your boyfriend will forever be thought of betraying his best friends, and will rot in Azkaban for the rest of his pathetic half-life, that's why, daughter dear. Now say goodbye to your child." he spat the word as if it was dirt. The woman bucked frantically against her restraints, and squealing hoarsely against her cursed mouth. Voldermort cackled with glee, and nodded at the greasy man in the corner who, in turn, raised his wand at the woman.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" green light shot out of his wand toward the woman. The impact of the curse toppled the chair on its side, the woman's head flopped lifelessly against her chest. She no longer restrained against the ropes nor made snide remarks to the dark wizard.

"Severus, the spell." Voldemort whispered anxiously. The greasy man once more stepped forward, this time towards the baby. He raised his wand and performed a complex spell on the baby that made her glow an electric, radiant blue. Suddenly there was a racket at the door and a good looking man with black hair and gray eyes came bounding in with his wand drawn and pointing directly at Voldemort, but his eyes were blazing with hate towards the greasy man.

"NO! MaKayla!" he screamed after he scanned the rest of the room and saw the woman's lifeless face. "Voldemort!" the man barked. His gray eyes found the masked man in the corner again. "Snivellus! You greasy bastard..." he spat.

"Such disrespect," the high cold voice cooed. "You shall learn Snuffles." his cackle of mirth rang through the small room as they disappeared with a loud 'crack'. The man's face morphed from extreme outrage to utter shock as he knelt next to the dead woman.

"MaKayla..." his large hand brushed away stray locks of smooth jet black hair from her staring cold face. "Why did I go? Why? I knew it was a bloody fluke." he put he head on his hands leaning against the limp woman's body. A squeal broke the silence of the mourning man.

"Hello my little kitten," a raspy giggle emitted from the one year old's mouth at the sound of her father's voice.

"Daddy!"

"You have her voice." his own broke as she grasped for his hands.

"DADDY!" she was jumping up and down wobbly in her crib wanting for her father's embrace.

Kathryn Riddleton awoke abruptly choking on a held back scream she covered her mouth with a shaking hand and smashed her other hand upon her alarm clock, infuriated at her weakness as the tears were flooding down her cheeks. The last time she allowed herself to cry was nearly four years ago, but she refused to think of that.

The clock read 1:45. She still had nearly all night to attempt to sleep before having to go to her job at the horse ranch and then to school. Accepting the fact that there would be no more sleep she decided to step into the bathroom to try to calm herself down, she was quivering and shaking, not in fear, she told herself, it was cold. It was a bit chilly in the room she told herself.

She came back from the bathroom trying to remember every detail of her father's face. She had a picture of her mother, but she never knew who her father was; whether if he was a good man? were they in love? or was it true, was she an abomination like the man with the red eyes said?

The way he held on to that woman; my mom, she reminded herself, he must have loved her. No one looked at Kat that, but she had seen it in movies. She grasped the ring around her neck, it was sterling silver with a red ruby set into the turrets of diamond, on the back there were words but in a different language. Her French teacher said that it was Latin, but she either couldn't or wouldn't translate it for her. She didn't know where it came from, whenever she asked her Aunt Margaret about it she said it was 'a fake piece of rubbish that your father stole.' Kat know for a fact that both the ruby and diamond turrets were real, because curiosity got the best of her and she took it to a pawn shop and got it appraised. She lied down on her very uncomfortable bed and tried to sleep. Impossible. She laid thinking bitterly of sleep, how other people were probably sleeping peacefully. Other people that didn't have insane dreams of a maniacal man killing their mothers with a thin bit of wood. She rubbed her forehead above her right eye, it was a strange pain, it only seemed to happen when she had dreams about her parents. She sighed, and picked up a large and rather boring book on the history of castles in England. She couldn't wait for this school year to end already. She could finally escape. Finally escape her past.

"SIRIUS!" Harry sat bolt upright in his lumpy bed, clutching his burning scar. He couldn't bring himself to block out the girl, it's only been going on since the train ride from Hogwarts, but he was intrigued by her. But this was the first dream where there was a meaning to her presence. Sirius never told me that he had a daughter. Or a girlfriend for that matter. You didn't give him much of a chance. He thought to himself. But then his thoughts went immediately to Snape. That greasy, betraying bastard. No wonder Sirius hated him. As if murdering Dumbledore wasn't enough.

As the thoughts mulled over in his mind, he bent down and wrenched up the loose floorboard by his bed and ripped out a piece of parchment. He wrote down every detail that he could remember from the dream, rolled it, sealed it carefully, and slipped it into the indestructible leather pouch that Moody had given him for his sixteenth birthday. The Marauders map, the (repaired) two-way mirror from his godfather, along with the other half that Lupin gave him, the fake horcrux, the photo album of his parents, and every birthday card he'd ever received, were all in the pouch, along with, of course, the previous dreams. These usually didn't have any real meaning. They usually were just of the girl, sitting in school (just a regular school, it didn't look like a wizarding school at all), or riding a horse (which Harry rather enjoyed watching), or occasionally it would be one when she was a child and would blow things up accidently just like he did when he was younger.

By the time Harry had finished storing the dream, daylight had already broken though the shabby window drapes. He sighed deeply, rolled himself out of the bed, and got dressed. He tried to find the smallest pair of Dudley's old pants, they were still roughly the length of Harry's body in the waist. Even though Harry had grown considerably taller, he was still skinny, but in a lean, muscular way, from all those long hours on my broom, Harry told himself.

"Get down here boy." he heard Uncle Vernon's growl up the stairs. "We're hungry. Get down here and cook us breakfast."

"Piss off you miserable old sod." Harry muttered under his breath.

"You hear me boy?" Harry sighed, and managed to control himself. It was something that he was slowly getting used to. Through a book that Hermione gave him he discovered that Occlumency helped him immensely with it, and he could put on the facade that he wasn't ready to burst on the inside.

"Coming sir." he hitched up his entirely too big jeans and trudged downstairs, into the kitchen, and to his little work station, the stove.

"And don't burn the bacon." his uncle hissed though his thick graying mustache.

"Yes Uncle Vermin." It was the first week that he was back in the Dursley's house, and Harry already wanted to escape. It didn't matter where. Just away. Where he could think about his burden.