Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would buy myself a computer that actually works.

Author's Note: This story will follow and original character FAR more than it will follow any of JKR's characters, if that's not your kettel of fish, don't get intrested in this story.

A large black crow flew past the ancient house's upper window and landed on a perpendicular electrical wire. Its large glassy eyes reflected the picture of the girl on the other side of the glass, lying on the floor breathing shallowly.

You didn't think this would be easy, did you? She scolded herself. No, she argued, but I did expect to be able to breathe.

It was true that the air of London, made thick with many seasons' fog and many factories' pollutants, was obstructing her lungs as she attempted to take a deep enough breath to clear her head. The fact that she badly needed something to drink, and not the London water, didn't help either. Downstairs the clanging of iron skillets and the shouting of two angry voices, no, one angry and one disappointed voice was making the floorboards under her head wobble. Slowly, she got to her feet and began to look through the trunk.

Already she had unpacked the once stiff and glistening leather coat that now was worn and soft, and hung it on a nail that had been sticking out of the wall. She set a photograph on the beam to the left of the coat and looked at it forlornly. Three members of her family stood on top of a crumbling boulder. The oldest had dark hair with two contrasting streaks of white that framed her face, and eyes already becoming accustomed to the prospect of death. Had her mother already been ageing prematurely under stress so long ago? The middle was still healing from an attack and had a slightly bloodied sling around her right arm. Who had attacked her? Had it been the government in its crumbling seat of power, still, at that time at least, fighting the House of Death, or someone on both the eldest's and the youngest's side who had seen through her perfect act?

The youngest's hand had been holding a flower at the moment the picture was taken. The black petals stood out against the brownish hair and the skin that might have been gold if it had been shown to the sun long enough to give the face color. The eyes that boldly observed the world were a wild almost-brown, not-quite-blue, expressing more joy even that the joyful motions that the jubluent child was going through.

Placing the photograph face down on the beam, the girl once again dropped herself to the floor. She hadn't found a mirror yet in her new room, no, her new cell, so she couldn't be certain, but she felt her body had changed. Not her brownish hair, not her body that was used still to wild, if not jublulent movement, not her skin that was still a sickly pale, but her eyes. They were not the eyes of a happy child anymore, but were eyes that mirrored the expression that had once belonged to her mother, the eyes that knew about death.

Slowly she dragged herself over to the chest. Two memory filled items down, the rest of a trunk full to go. Her hands quickly found the envelope that contained the letter that was trapping her here, the letter that had summoned her to another dimension, the letter that was currently forcing her headmaster-to-be persuade her father to keep her here.

She took one look at the Hogwarts seal and flung it to an unexplored corner of her cell. The motion pulled the skin that covered the healing gashes that went the length of her arms. She continued unpacking, taking a break to attempt to catch her breath now and again. When she was about halfway through the trunk she opened the guitar case that had been laying beside her trunk and started to idley pick out a tune. Slowly the tune took on a familar melody that had sad, mornful lyrics in an language more familiar to the girl than English.

She sang until she was once again gasping for breath on the attic floor.

She followed exactly six steps behind the rest of the "family", one father who might as well been a stranger and one half brother, emphasis on the half, that proudly sported his new Slytherin badge. She had followed behind them all through Diagon Alley, paying for the mostly used purchases with money granted to her by the school's scholarship, program. Going through the barrier to platform 9 3/4 was no different. Now she was ready to start to lead again. She pulled her old leather jacket closer to her bruised frame and walked towards the monstrous red machine before her. The smog coming out of its smoked stack was continuing to choke her. She longed for a drink, a real drink that would clear her throat and stop her mind from spinning.

And to think that I denied that that damned drink was addictive.

The sign of the beastly machine read Hogwarts Express, and boarding early had allowed her to get a compartment far in the back, one with a door that both stuck and locked, both of which she used as an effort to discourage any one who might plan on socialization.

Once she had successfully shoved her trunk into the overhead compartment she waited patiently for the train to start moving. As loud crowds of students boarded the train, a few tried the door to her compartment before moving on. It was as the stream of students clambering to find a compartment slowed to a trickle that a voice outside the door spoke.

"Alohamora." it said calmly as he once again tried the latch to the compartment.

She turned her face to the window, feeling the glass spread its cool fingers across her skin. The reflection in the glass showed the fuzzy outline of three boys, appearing to be about her age, and she was close to 15. The distorted glass didn't show a clear image of their faces, but she could feel three pairs of eyes stare at her in disbelief.

"You're in our compartment." the one with the scraggly brown hair said.

"Very astute." she replied, still not facing them.

The taller one, or at least he would have been taller if he was standing up straight, ignored her and sat down on the seat across from her. The two others followed his lead and began talking about "Quid-witch".

Stupid name for a sport. she thought to herself, but she played attention to the conversation in an attempt to learn something of the three friends. They were in sixth year, one year ahead of herself, and kept complaining about arithmancy.

Damn, and I signed up for that.

Finally, one who would have been the tallest turned to face her.

"Do you play the guitar?"

He had been looking up at the guitar case that had been sitting on top of her trunk.

"I try." she stated simply.

"You try to play the guitar?" he attempted to clarify.

"Yes."

There was an uncomfortable silence as everyone in the compartment looked in the direction of, but not at, her.

Finally, one that would have been the tallest nearly shouted, "Who are you?"

She turned to face them and attempted a 'stay back, I bite' smile.

"Aubrieanna De'Muertas, and you?"

"Miguel Johnson." he said, meeting her gaze and giving her a 'I do too' smile.

By the time the snack trolley came, advertising brightly wrapped packages of things like 'Bogart Bon Bons' and 'Troll Tarts', Aubrieanna was reluctantly discussing music with her new acquaintances. As it turned out, both Miguel and Richard, the boy with the brown hair, played instruments. The third boy, first name Mundungus, second name Fletcher, who preferred to be called Dung, couldn't play a song to save his life. Supposedly, though, he was going to be a 'musical manager'.

"It's for the money." he stated simply while Aubrieanna took out her guitar to show Miguel the 'cheater's' F-chord.

Just as Miguel was taking out his bass to show off a song he had written over the summer, a loud explosion took place a few compartments back.

"And that," said Dung, with his mouth full of the Cockroach Crunchies that he had bought off of the snack trolley witch, "is why you don't mix Combustible Crisps with the Mauraders."

A large commotion was going on outside of the compartment as people tried to escape the effects of the explosion. In a few minutes, all but a few of the students had returned to their seats. The few that hadn't, however, were loitering outside of Aubrieanna's compartment. Loud voices, belonging to four different owners, were laughing at the chaos that they had apparently set into order.

"I thought that I told you never to mix acids with Combustible Crisps, Peter. The look on your face..."

"Yeah, that was brilliant. Where'd you get those pop rocks anyway, Remus? They don't sell those in Diagon Alley."

"It's a muggle candy, James. My dad loves them. Put some in Mum's drink once, it nearly gave her a heart attack."

"I sympathize with your mum, Remus,. having exploding fire balls jump out of my stomach didn't do anything good to my heart either."

"Oh come on Peter, it was just a joke."

"Tell that one to the charred remains of the carpet in our compartment."

Across from Aubrieanna, a wicked smile began to spread over Dung's face. Narrowing his eyes he took out his wand.

"Glaciarto." he whispered.

Outside, one of the voices began to cough. "Remus, my Caldron Cake's all cold and hard and stuff."

"Do you mean your Caldron Cake is frozen Sirius..."

"No... Possibly... You're probably right..."

"I am right, Sirius. I'm always right, you should know that by now."

"You are not always right." the voice whose Caldron Cake had frozen began. "Once, in potions, Slughorn asked you how much nettles to put into a pain killing drought, and you said." The voice was cut off as the door to the compartment was opened by a pale, brown haired boy with a gash on the palm of his hand.

"Sirius," the brown haired boy said dryly, "it's how many nettles, and it was Mundungus who froze your food, you idiot."

The boy he had address, Sirius, looked bemused for half a second before he chucked the frozen cake and Mundungus's head.

"Hey, what was that for? I never did nothing to you..."

"Hmmm... I distinctly remember and incident with paper cuts and acidic band-aids, Dung..."

"Shut-up, James, nobody cares." Mundungus said good naturedly, throwing the frozen sweet at James's head. James sent a spell to deflect it, resulting in the Cauldron Cake falling into Aubrieanna's lap. She scowled, breaking the sandwich in two and throwing one half at Mundungus and the other at 'James'.

"Hey, Dung, there's a girl in the compartment." 'Sirius' said loudly.

"Well spotted moron." Miguel replied.

"What's her name?" 'James' asked Miguel.

"If your asking about My name," Aubrieanna said, glaring at the intruders and attempting to wipe frozen Caldron Cake off of her guitar, "Perhaps you should ask me."

There was a pause.

"Well..." 'Remus' asked.

"What?" Aubrieanna spat back.

"What's her name?" 'Sirius' asked Richard.

Aubrieanna reached into her guitar case and pulled a metallic orb out of an internal pocket. Placing head phones into her ears, she began mouthing words the to music that was now playing for her ears alone. The rest of the compartment went back to chucking the cake at each other.

Shaking her head, Aubrieanna resumed her vigil of the world outside of her window.