Disclaimer: Ok, this is the story of Snow White...Twisted a bit and shoved
into the realm of Harry Potter. The seven dwarfs are not dwarfs, and JK.
Rowling owns all of them. Whoever wrote Snow White owns that tale. I am
only claiming her, because she, even though taken from Snow White, is owned
by me. Her name is not Snow White, but seeing as how they have no name for
her, they incidentally call her Snow. Anyway, the plot, or things that
didn't happen in Snow White or Harry Potter, are mine. Oh, and there is no
wicked step-mother...but there is someone who wants her dead. These things
seem longer when I have to tell about two stories I don't own.
Authors Note: Bear with me through all this. I don't have spell check. This is a Remus/OFC fanfiction. And it may seem a bit dark at times, but that's just the way I want to write this. Oh, and...please review!
Prologue
It was a bitter cold night. The fires that were lit in every fireplace seemed powerless against the numbingly cold winds that drove at the house.
It leaked in through every crack and available entrance. The house itself seemed to produce it from within it's own interior.
The seven men that were sitting at random places in the house shivered with every howl that sounded from the outside.
Among these men, there was Albus Dumbledore, who stayed near Grimmauld place whenever he could now-a-days, Sirius Black, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, and the newest to join the Order, Fred and George Weasley.
All stationed at different posts, all felt the same nipping cold, biting at any inch of exposed flesh. Harry Potter was seated in the kitchen, dozing off into a dreamless sleep every minute or so.
A sudden noise, only the popping of the old house, would jerk him back to reality and he would sit wide eyed for another few minutes.
His eyes drifted close, opening a second later, before dropping so his bottom and top eyelids would meet. But, it was another sound that awokened him. The sound of a cry; a girl's cry.
Harry jumped from his seat and looked around the kitchen to see nothing. The candle's flames danced hypnotically, flickering shadows across Harry's face. His eyes darted back and forth, but found nothing.
He exited the kitchen, hearing the sobbing once more. It was coming from down the darkened hallway. It looked ominous and Harry felt fear creep up his spine.
Was this a trap? Would he look for the crying girl and be caught by a deatheater admist his noble intentions? On the other hand, what if was not a trap? A poor little girl could die from the cold outside, and it would be his fault.
The Gryffindor within him won over his decisions, and Harry made his way to the front door.
Shakily, he reached the golden, rusting door knob. He could feel the cold creeping through the keyhole, winding itself around his fingers and chilling him to the bone. It was a dead feeling, the kind a dementor leaves you with.
He grasped the handle and twisted it, expecting to have it shoved open by a Deatheater. But, he was not met by the evil clan, nor by anything at all.
As snowflakes swirled around him, blinding his eyes with their frozen structures, Harry brought his arm up to sheild his eyes.
No one was standing outside the door. However, there was someone slumped against the doorframe. Their black velvet cloak was draped across their shoulders, and face, blocking Harry from seeing who was under it.
Slowly, he reached down, having his fingers bitten by the wind, and slid the cloak from the body.
He was met by a pale, slender face of a girl. She looked no older than 16, and her skin was blue under the full moon that cast it's glow over the house.
As she looked up into his face, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fell to his feet.
A/n- That takes place before the war...but, everything else is taking place during the aftermath of Voldemort, and the few vengefull Deatheaters. OH! Review please. . Or, no cookies for you! C'mon, click the go button...you know you want to.
Authors Note: Bear with me through all this. I don't have spell check. This is a Remus/OFC fanfiction. And it may seem a bit dark at times, but that's just the way I want to write this. Oh, and...please review!
Prologue
It was a bitter cold night. The fires that were lit in every fireplace seemed powerless against the numbingly cold winds that drove at the house.
It leaked in through every crack and available entrance. The house itself seemed to produce it from within it's own interior.
The seven men that were sitting at random places in the house shivered with every howl that sounded from the outside.
Among these men, there was Albus Dumbledore, who stayed near Grimmauld place whenever he could now-a-days, Sirius Black, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, and the newest to join the Order, Fred and George Weasley.
All stationed at different posts, all felt the same nipping cold, biting at any inch of exposed flesh. Harry Potter was seated in the kitchen, dozing off into a dreamless sleep every minute or so.
A sudden noise, only the popping of the old house, would jerk him back to reality and he would sit wide eyed for another few minutes.
His eyes drifted close, opening a second later, before dropping so his bottom and top eyelids would meet. But, it was another sound that awokened him. The sound of a cry; a girl's cry.
Harry jumped from his seat and looked around the kitchen to see nothing. The candle's flames danced hypnotically, flickering shadows across Harry's face. His eyes darted back and forth, but found nothing.
He exited the kitchen, hearing the sobbing once more. It was coming from down the darkened hallway. It looked ominous and Harry felt fear creep up his spine.
Was this a trap? Would he look for the crying girl and be caught by a deatheater admist his noble intentions? On the other hand, what if was not a trap? A poor little girl could die from the cold outside, and it would be his fault.
The Gryffindor within him won over his decisions, and Harry made his way to the front door.
Shakily, he reached the golden, rusting door knob. He could feel the cold creeping through the keyhole, winding itself around his fingers and chilling him to the bone. It was a dead feeling, the kind a dementor leaves you with.
He grasped the handle and twisted it, expecting to have it shoved open by a Deatheater. But, he was not met by the evil clan, nor by anything at all.
As snowflakes swirled around him, blinding his eyes with their frozen structures, Harry brought his arm up to sheild his eyes.
No one was standing outside the door. However, there was someone slumped against the doorframe. Their black velvet cloak was draped across their shoulders, and face, blocking Harry from seeing who was under it.
Slowly, he reached down, having his fingers bitten by the wind, and slid the cloak from the body.
He was met by a pale, slender face of a girl. She looked no older than 16, and her skin was blue under the full moon that cast it's glow over the house.
As she looked up into his face, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fell to his feet.
A/n- That takes place before the war...but, everything else is taking place during the aftermath of Voldemort, and the few vengefull Deatheaters. OH! Review please. . Or, no cookies for you! C'mon, click the go button...you know you want to.