Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note: This story involves everyone in Hogwarts, not just Draco and Hermione. This Chapter is based on the first part of A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray.

Genre: Romance, Drama, and Angst... maybe Suspense.

Chapter One: Loss in a Vision
Original Character's POV

June 26th, 1996
Paris, France

"Please tell me that we are done shopping!" I stare blankly at the displays of hats, shoes, and dresses. Not that I hate shopping of course. I love it just as much as the next girl, but shopping for six hours straight is a nightmare. I swear Mamá is addicted. But like always, she was oblivious to what I said and went on looking for things to buy.

"What do you think about this hat, Pandora?" Mamá asked as she marveled over how exquisite it looked, "Oh it would look perfect with that dress we bought in New York last month."

New York. How I wish I could go back home to the city. "Mamá, we have enough dresses, hats, and shoes to clothe an army! Not to mention the fancy dress robes and silk cloaks be bought yesterday."

"Right, well, I just want you to look nice for our trip to Milan next week." She checks her watch, her eyes widen in desperation. "Oh, we are going to be late!"

We are moving past the many shops and into the throng of people crowding every inch of Paris' frenzied marketplace. It unbelievably hot. Under my light yellow sun dress, sweat streaks down my body. I pull my long, midnight black hair into a loose bun at the nape of my neck. It hardly helps at all. Flies dart about my face. I swat at one of the flies, but it escapes and I swear I heard it mocking me. My misery is reaching epidemic proportions.

Overhead, the clouds are thick and dark. Some of the outside vendors are beginning to pack all of their things and the shops begin to fill up with more customers.

"How much farther to Mrs. Bradshaw's new home? Couldn't we please take a Port Key?" I ask with what I hope is a noticeable annoyance.

"It's a nice day for a walk. And I'll thank you to keep a civil tone."

My annoyance has indeed been noticed.

The train screams into the station. A dark plume of smoke from the train stretches up, touching the heavy clouds. Mamá watches it rise. She places a hand on her throat and fingers the necklace hanging there. A locket-sized, twinkle-shaped star made entirely of white gold and diamonds with a sapphire jewel in the middle. A gift from her husband, she said. He was a muggle and died when I was five years old from leukemia. It is her good luck charm. I've never seen her without it.

Mamá pulls her gaze from the train, dropping her hand from her necklace. "Come. We'll have a lovely time at Mrs. Bradshaw's. I'm sure she'll have a lovely cake just for your birthd-"

Someone in a thick black cloak stumbles into her from behind, bumping her hard. They had their hood up and over their face. They didn't say anything, but instead bowed down to excuse their rudeness. I'm guessing this is a man. Weird. Behind the him, I notice a woman, also wearing a thick black cloak. Her dark hair flowing down her back, contrasting with her pale skin.

The hooded man came closer to my mother. He whispers low to her in slick hiss, "Circe is near."

Mamá had the look of sheer panic on her face. Her eyes are wild as she whips around and scans the crowded streets like she's looking for a lost child.

"What is it? What's the matter?" I ask.

The man was suddenly gone, along with the woman. He has disappeared into the crowd, leaving only his footprints in the dust. "What did that man say to you?"

Mam's voice is edged in steel. "It's nothing. He was obviously deranged. The streets are not safe these days, wizard or muggle." I've never heard her sound this way. So afraid. "Pandora, I think it's best if I go to Mrs. Bradshaw's alone."

"But-but what about the cake?" Stupid thing to say, but it's my last day here in Paris before I go to Milan then from there to Beauxbatons, the school I have been going to since last year. My birthday is in a week and while I don't want to spend it in Mrs. Bradshaw's living room, I certainly don't want to waste the day at home, all because of some black-cloaked madman has spooked my mother.

Mamá adjusted the shopping bags in her hands. "We'll have cake later..."

"But you promised-"

"Well that was before..." She trailed off.

"Before what?"

"Before you annoyed me so! Honestly, Pandora, you are in no mood for a visit today. I suggest you take the bags and go home on the train."

"I'm fine, Mamá," I protest, sounding anything but.

"No you are not!" Mam's amethyst eyes find mine. There is something there I've never seen before. A vast and terrifying anger that stops my breath. Quick as it comes on her, it's gone and she is Mamá again. "You are overtired and need some rest. Tonight, we'll celebrate our last night here and I'll let you drink some fine wine."

'I'll let you drink some fine wine.' It's not a promise, it's an excuse to get rid of me.

There was a time when we did everything together, and now, we can't even walk through the market without arguing. I am an embarrassment and a disappointment.

The train's whistles shrieks again, making my mother jump.

"Here, I'll let you wear my necklace, hmm? Go on, wear it. I know you've always admired it."

I stand, speechless, allowing her to adorn me in a necklace I have always wanted, but now it weighs me down. A shiny, hateful thing. A bribe.

"There. You look... beautiful." She presses her hand to my cheek, holds it there as if to memorize it with her fingers. "I'll see you at home."

I don't want anyone to notice the tears that are pooling in my eyes. So I try to think of the worst thing I can say and then it's on my lips as I bolt from the street.

"You're not my real mother. I don't care if you come home at all."

I dart off down a narrow side street, following the twisting, turning alleys til I have to stop and catch my breath. Hot tears spill down my cheeks. I let myself cry now that there is no one around to see me.

'What was I thinking?'

There's nothing to do but swallow my pride, make my way back, and apologize.

'If I can find my way back.'

Nothing looks familiar to me. Two old men sit on their rocking chairs, smoking small brown cigarettes. They watch me as I pass.

I realize that I'm alone in the city for the first time. I'm usually with Mamá or my friends from school. My heart beats faster and I quicken my pace.

The air has grown very still. A storm isn't far off. In the distance, I can hear frantic activity in the marketplace, last minute bargains being struck before everything is closed down for the storm. I follow the sound and end up where I started. The old men smile at me, an American girl lost and alone on the streets of Paris.

I approach the men to ask them where the marketplace was, but their smiles fade, replaced by a look of fear. One of the men begin to speak to the other in a dialect too hard to understand. Faces peek from windows and doorways, trying to see what was causing all of the trouble. The old man stands, points to me, to the necklace. He doesn't like it? Something about me has alarmed him. He shoos me away, goes inside and slams the door in my face. It's refreshing to know that it's not just Mamá who finds me a pain in the ass.

The faces at the windows remain, watching me. There's the first drop of rain. The wet seeps into my dress, a spreading stain. The sky could break at any moment. I've got to get back.

I come to a fork in the road. 'Choose a direction, Pandora, any direction- just go.' I take the path to the right. The unfamiliar street leads to another and another, and just as I come around a curve, I see her coming. The dark-haired woman from the marketplace.

'Don't panic, Pandora. Just move slowly away before she sees you.'

I take two quick steps back. My heel catches on a slippery stone, sending me into the street. I see the woman staring at me with a look I can't decipher. For a second, neither of us moves. We are as still as the air around us, which is either promising rain or threatening a storm.

Fear takes root, spreads through me with a cold speed. This woman is coming toward me, closing the distance between us in powerful strides.

She means to catch me, but I won't let her. Heart pounding, I drop all of my things and I'm ready to run. I try to take a step and my legs go shaky as a newborn calf's. The ground shimmers and pitches beneath me.

'What is happening?'

Move. Must move, but I can't. A strange tingle starts in my fingers, travels up my arms and into my chest. My body trembles. A terrible pressure squeezes the breath out of me, weighs me down to my knees. Panic blooms inside me like weeds. I want to scream. No words come. No sound. She reaches me as I fall to the ground.

'Help Me.'

The words stick fast inside me. I know I must be dying. I try to get my mouth to tell her this. But there is nothing but a choking sound in my throat. My eyelids are fluttering, fighting to stay awake. It's her lips that move, speak.

Her voice that says,"It's happening."

The pressure increases until I feel I will burst and then I'm under, a swirling tunnel of blinding light pulling me down like an undertow.

The strong tide grabs me hard again, pulling me through a veil of blackness, until I see the twisting street in Paris again. I am a visitor, walking in a living dream. No sound except the thumping of my heart, my breath going in and out, and the swish of my blood coursing through my own veins.

There's a shop where dried herbs hang from the eaves and a small twinkle-shaped star with a sapphire jewel in the middle -the same as my mother's necklace- is affixed to the door. A woman comes quickly up the street. A woman with long black hair, dark skin, and a blue sun dress. Mamá. What is my mother doing here? She should be at Mrs. Bradshaw's house, drinking tea and discussing work at the Ministry.

My name floats from her lips. "Pandora. Pandora." She's come looking for me. The man in the thick black cloak is just behind her. She doesn't hear him. I call out to her, my mouth making no sound. With one hand, she pushes open the shop door and enters. The man followed. He closed the door and muttered a spell to lock it. I run to the door, my wand ready.

"Alohomora," Nothing happened.

He must have used dark magic. I desperately needed to open that door. I stared hard at the door, wanting it to open. A huge gust of wind blew through the heavy rain, the wet whipping at my face. I kept my stare at the door. 'Open, open.' Suddenly, It felt like my mind was pulling the door for me. I ran to the door and entered, the pounding of my heart growing louder and faster. She must know the man is behind her. She must hear his breath now. But Mamá only looks forward.

The man pulls a dagger from inside his cloak, but she still doesn't turn. I feel as if I'll be sick. I want to stop her, pull her away. Every step forward is like pushing against the air, lifting my legs an agony of slow movement. The man stops, listening.

There's something coiled, waiting in the shadows at the back of the shop. Its as if the darkness begun to move. 'How can it be moving?' But it is, with a cold, slithering sound that makes my skin crawl. A dark shape spreads out from its hiding spot. It grows until it reaches all around.

The man takes his long, thin hands and open his palms in front of the blackness. The thing shoots toward his hands and enters his body. The man turns toward my mother and speaks to her in his slick hiss.

"Come to us, pretty one. We've been waiting..."

My scream implodes inside me. Mamá looks back, sees the dagger lying at a nearby table, and grabs it. The man howls in outrage. She's going to fight it. She's going to be alight. A single tear escapes down her cheek as she closes her desperate eyes. She says my name as a soft prayer, "Pandora." In one swift motion, she raises the dagger and plunges it into herself.

A strong tide yanks me from the shop. I'm back on the streets of Paris, as if I'd never been gone, screaming wildly while the black-cloaked woman pins my flailing arms at my side.

"What did you see? Tell me!"

I kick and hit, twisting in her grip. Is there anyone around to help me? What is happening? 'Mamá!' My mind fights for control, logic, reason, and finds it. My mother is having tea at Mrs. Bradshaw's house. I'll go there and prove it. She will be angry and send me home on the train and there'll be no wine later, but it won't matter. She will be alive and well and angry and I'll be ecstatic to be grounded by her.

She is still yelling at me, "Did you see my Master? Answer Me!"

She still has her hands on my arms, her nails digging painfully into my skin. I need to see Mamá, and this woman is angering me.

I stared hard at her, my thoughts on her letting go of me. 'Just let me go!'

I felt that same feeling. As if my mind has once again pulled the woman off of me. I pushed her into a brick wall and she went unconscious. I reached over to my wand, but it had snapped in half. The woman must done it. I take off blindly down the street and around the next corner, fear pushing me forward. A large crowd is gathering in front of a shop. A shop where dried herbs hang from the roof.

No. This is all a hideous dream. I will wake up in my own bed and hear my mother waking me up and the smell of breakfast will fill the air.

My legs cramp and tighten, going wobbly as I reach the crowd and try to make my wake through it. The people in front of me clear away. My mind takes it in by degrees. A shoe upturned, the heel broken. A hand splayed, fingers going stiff. Contents of a handbag strewn in the dirt. Bare neck peeking out from a thick mane of black hair. Those famous amethyst eyes, open and unseeing. Mam's mouth parted slightly, as if she had been trying to speak when she died.

Pandora.

A crimson pool of blood widens and flows beneath her lifeless body. It seeps into the cracks of the Earth. I close my eyes, willing it all to go away.

'This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening.'

But when I open my eyes, she's still there, staring back at me, accusing.

'Your not my real mother. I don't care if you come home at all.'

It was the last thing I'd said to her before I ran away. Before she came after me. Before I saw her die in a vision. A heavy numbness weighs down my arms and legs. I crumple to the ground, where my mother's blood touches the skirt of my dress, forever staining it. I lift her up to me by her shoulders, burying my face into her neck, crying. The scream I've been holding comes pouring out of me hard and fast as a night train. Just as the sky opens wide and a fierce rain pours down, drowning out but every sound.

"Mamá..."