Dear Readers,

This is a love story. This is a drama.This is a tragedy. This is the biggest thing I have ever tried to write!

This is marriage law story, ( loosely based) about Mr. Ollivander and an original character, If you are not interested in that sort of story, then, well...you have been warned. The entire reason behind the story is that I could not accept that one of my favorite HP characters might be a villain..without any explanation.

I am just a Harry Potter fan. I am in no way an expert on the universe, though I have tried to research all of the dates and names thoroughly. Please, if I get anything wrong, tell me so I can correct it.----

Amanda, light of my life,

Fate should have made you a gentleman's wife.

Amanda, light of my life,

Fate should have made you a gentleman's wife.---

You sheltered me from harm.

Kept me warm, kept me warm

You gave my life to me

Set me free, set me free

The finest years I ever knew

Were all the years I had with you

I would give anything I own,

Give up me life, my heart, my home.

I would give everything I own,

Just to have you back again.---

Met my darlin' in the springtime

When all the flowers were in bloom

And like the flowers our love blossomed

We married in the month of June

Our love was like a burning ember

It warmed us as a golden glow

We had sunshine in December

And threw our roses in the snow

Now God has taken my darlin'

And left me with a memory

A memory I will always cherish

Are these last words he said to me

Our love was like a burning ember

It warmed us as a golden glow

We had sunshine in December

And threw our roses in the snow

My darlin's buried on the hillside

Where all the wild spring flowers grow

And when winter snows start fallin'

On his grave I'll place a rose

Our love was like a burning ember

It warmed us as cold winds blow

We had sunshine in December

And threw our roses in the snow-----

--Prologue: A Funeral--

A pearly grey mist was lingering sadly, clinging to the mossy headstones. Not heavy enough to be a concealing veil, it merely dimmed the outline of the small group of mourners, until, at first glance, they could easily be mistaken for ghosts themselves. There were perhaps, twenty five persons present, besides the grim, man presiding over the solemn ceremony. Most of these stood a respectful distance from the wet grave, huddled under black umbrellas, and consulting their watches from time to time.

Nearest to the grave, stood a lone woman. Petite. Her back was impossibly straight against the troubles of the world, yet her head was bowed low, and her shoulders shook with emotion. She wore a black dress; plain, stiff, and coarse. It's collar was puritanically high, the skirt unfashionably long. A matching hat, and veil obscured her hair and face, yet it was suggested that she might be lovely. Occasionally the wind would blow the veil back, and reveal glimpses of her pale skin.

Every so often she would lift a trembling hand to wipe away her tears with a lace-edged, black handkerchief.

Behind her, in a small clump, stood four women. Three of them were so similar in size and stance, that they seemed to be the same person repeated by some trick of the light. They stood formidably, shoulder to shoulder.

Behind them, the fourth woman was much shorter. Near to her stood two children, a boy and girl, each shivering with bowed heads. She rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. The boy held onto the skirt of the woman directly in front of him.

The last words of the service were uttered. Bitten off by the grim man with a static finality.

The silence that followed rang eerily across the dampened cemetery. Many of the mourners turned to leave with a attitude of relief. The woman in the veil, with what seemed to be a great effort, began walking slowly toward the gleaming mahogany casket, where she tenderly lay the coral rose that she had been clutching desperately to her breast.

It's vibrant orange hue was garish, almost indecent, yet it was with great tenderness that she placed it on the carved lid, allowing her fingers to caress the cold wood briefly. Smearing the beaded droplets of mist that had accumulated there. She bent suddenly from the waist, and pressed a kiss where her fingers had rested, lingering just long enough to whisper something that know one could hear. Not even the wind.

This done, she turned, swaying on her feet and and her children ran to her side. They led her back towards the waiting women, their pink faces innocent in the manner of children. Hoping both to comfort, and to be comforted. When they saw her tears, they compulsively began crying as well, and clung tightly to her hands.

A man stepped suddenly into their path. He had been watching the service from behind a sickly yew tree, leaning into it's patient trunk for support.

The lady halted, startled by his appearance. He was quite changed. His once dark hair was now greying and thinning. His skin had a pinched grey pallor, his once condescending blue eyes were now wide and wild, sunken into the bruise colored sockets.

Her veil remained down, but he saw that copious amounts of tears streamed down her cheeks, and dripped unbecomingly from her chin. He flinched with disgust at the sight of her, and the children at her side.

" Elias..." she said, sympathetically, and held out a hand to her stepson. He pulled away violently, and his sour expression turned to a frown laced with hatred. When he spoke, his voice was cracked and accusing.

" It did you no good, Amanda." hissed. " Father left me everything. He's dead, and you get nothing. Do you hear me?"

Amanda felt the strong hand of her own mother suddenly resting on her back, and she swallowed the hysterical tears that threatened to spill over. A twisting stab of agony wrenched through her stomach, and she wanted to be ill.

But it was Elias that sank to his knees, clutching his chest and gasping, his face red and perspiring even in the chill. She reached for him, but he slapped her hand back.

" Leave me alone! You've done enough!"

" What have I ever done to you, Elias? " she asked coldly.

" This." he said, indicating the cemetery. Another spasm of pain struck him, and he had to lower his forehead to the ground at her feet.

She resisted the sudden urge to kick him.

" The house is yours. You can move in tonight if you please." she said, bitingly. " But he left the shops to Lionel, and so help me, if I ever see you so much as look in the window of one, I'll have you arrested. You're cordially invited to never set foot near either place, nor to ever speak to any of us again. Good day."

She stepped around him, flipping her skirt far away so that it wouldn't accidentally touch him as she passed.

He groaned.

" Am...Amanda?"

She paused, but did not turn.

" Amanda...are you...going to be...all right?" he forced the words out as though they had sharp edges.

There was a pause.

" No, Elias. I'll never be ' all right' again. " she answered, and began to walk on. " Will you?"

" Where will you go? I...don't want you begging from me."

" Perhaps you forget, Elias...I came with my own inheritance. Maybe I should be concerned about you begging at my door. " when she walked again, she only increased her speed, ignoring him behind her, calling her name.

It grieved her terribly that it had to be this way. And it grieved her even more that she had to desecrate this day, this place, with such harsh words and anger. Looking briefly to the marbled grey sky, she pleaded silently.

Forgive me. Forgive me.

Amanda--Don Williams

Everything I own--Bread

Roses in the Snow--Emmylou Harris

Author's Note-- I apologize on the front end for:

The length of the story:

I know it has some rambling dialogue, and perhaps too many original characters.

The language:

I get corrected often on grammar, syntax, and colloquialisms. I am Southern, and yes, the terms creep into my writing. Most of the writing style is going to sound odd because most of the reading I do is from very old novels. I think my most modern influence is F. Scott Fitzgerald. Much of the conflicting styles is done on purpose to complement the storyline. I wanted it to sound like D.H. Lawrence, Jane Austen, and J.K Rowlings had a brainchild together. It might be surreal.

I also apologize for any mistakes I might make in regards to British culture/speech/etiquette etc.

If it has a glaring error, please PM me and I'll see if it was intentional or not. Thanks.

The characters:

There are lots, and I know I don't do a perfect job of balancing them out with the plot. But they sure are fun to write, and I think one or two of them are rather fun to read. if you are expecting to see a lot of the popular canon HP characters, such as Harry, Hermione, Draco, Ron, Snape, or Dumbledore-- you might be disappointed. This is not a story about Hogwarts, and definitely not about moody teenagers saving the world. If you want that kind of story, then well...you have been warned.

The Plot:

Well...I am a better character writer than a plot writer I guess. Don't expect it to be breathtaking. The basic summary is that a young American Muggle, with no magic, discovers that her mother is part of the Wizarding World. This is the story of how she became a part of that world herself, and how closely she is tied in with the world of Harry Potter. And like I hinted above...it is mostly about love and sacrifice.

A special mention to:

The book "Cold Sassy Tree" -by Olive Ann Burns. I was just about to give this idea up completely, thinking no one would want to read it, when someone lent me that book. I was inspired to continue.

The song "Amanda", by Don Williams.

Guillermo Del Toro and his Umbrellas

Charlotte Bronte

My Betas

Thanks to anyone who reads this story.

Note: When the story is completed, an unedited NC-17 version will be availible by Private Message. Just ask!