A/N.

Hi all. I wrote this story about a year and a half ago. I started posting it on another site. And sadly, said site went to crap and made posting stories impossible. So my readers never got to read the ending of this and I promised I'd put it here. It's not perfect; you can tell when I got the news that the site was going down the toilet and tried to finish it quickly. I've been trying to fix this for months but I just don't have time. So hopefully you can just enjoy it for what it is!

Some background info: This was kind of a "spin off" to a couple Neville/Luna stories I wrote (they're not necessary to understand this story) so, please note that this is alternate universe. Neville/Luna are recently married but they aren't the major focus of this story.

This is about my original character, Ross Warren. I based his character on the unnamed first-year mentioned Deathly Hallows.

This story takes place in Ross' seventh-year.

Prologue:

So despite all odds, surviving all different kinds of deadly obstacles, including but not limited to Death Eaters, war, Dumbledore's Army practices, and girl trouble, I, Ross Warren, have managed to make it through six-years at Hogwarts in once piece.

Hallelujah, praise Merlin! It's a miracle!

What? You don't know who I am?

Sigh. It kills me, because you have heard of me. I'm just not important enough to be known by name. Well, not important enough, yet. I definitely plan to change that this year, but never mind that right now.

No matter what I do, I guess I'll never live this certain event down. You probably know me as that sad little first year that got chained up in the dungeons during his first year.

Yeah, by those Death Eaters that took over Hogwarts during the War.

The Carrows.

And yes, I was rescued by Michael Corner. And again, yes, he did get tortured badly and then beaten into a bloody pulp because of me.

After the war, I guess it's safe to say I changed a little bit. Not a lot. I swear I'm not some crazy post-war veteran suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Seriously, I was only a twelve year old kid. I didn't even help out in the battle.

But after the Carrows kidnapped me, I never wanted to be helpless again. I paid attention in class; I stopped being the class joke ( well, maybe about eighty percent of the time. I still cause mayhem and whatnot, but more during the weekends or between classes). I did my homework. I worked especially hard in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It became my best subject.

Dumbledore's Army, once a student rebel movement, became an official club at Hogwarts. I kept going to meetings, even after the war ended. I went at least once a week. By fifth year, I was tutoring first and second years.

My goal for when I leave Hogwarts? To become an Auror.

No matter what.

Chapter One:

"Last back to school shopping trip today. Isn't it unreal? These last few years have really flown, haven't they, honey?" says Mum, ruffling my hair as I walk past her to the kitchen.

"Yeah." I smile at her over my shoulder. I normally wouldn't walk away from her like that, but it is early in the morning… and I am really hungry. I'm not exactly charming when I haven't eaten. I summon plates (Merlin, do I love being seventeen) and start putting together breakfast. "Seems like just yesterday I was a little kid, all annoyed about having to go away to school. And now, I'm actually starting to feel like I'm going to miss it."

"That's how it usually works," laughs Dad as he grabs his coffee mug. And Mum wonders where my caffeine addiction comes from.

"Are we going to pick up Lysandra and Tyson in Diagon Alley?" asked Mum. That's been the tradition for the last four or five years. I'd run into two of my best friends while shopping for school supplies, and then I would beg my parents to let the two of them stay with us the last few days before school started.

However… this year, things are different.

"Um, no," I say, cutting pancakes into small pieces as I take a seat at the kitchen table. "I actually invited Nick Nuri and Capricia Walter." Nick and Capricia, or Ricia which is what we normally call her, are the other Gryffindors in my year. I don't usually hang around with them much.

In the last few years, individual house pride has fallen by the wayside. Inter-house unity all the way. Except when it comes to Quidditch. I don't mind admitting that we're still obnoxious and competitive when it comes to the Quidditch cup.

True, Lysandra is also a Gryffindor, but Tyson is in Ravenclaw. And the other member of our little group, Luke, is in Hufflepuff.

Anyway, why are things different?

Because earlier this summer, at Neville and Luna's wedding, Lysandra and Tyson-the-Worthless-Idiot showed up. Together. Hand-in-hand.

On a date.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. It's not like I didn't see them snogging their brains out in Hogsmeade towards the end of last year. But still, I had hoped that I would find out that it was some kind of mistake… Like maybe he tripped and landed on her face.

If it sounds like I'm jealous, it's because I am. Yes, I'm that disgustingly cliché that I'm in love with my best friend. And what's worse? Lysandra used to like me, apparently. But I was fourteen, an idiot, and was chasing after someone else.

Now here I am.

Delightful.

Chapter Two:

"What happened?" asks my mother. She knows something's up. She always knows. She's got a real gift. And it's a right pain in the arse most of the time. Especially when I don't want to talk about it.

"It's just that since they started…dating…" I spit the word out like it has a bad taste. "Things are… weird. You know? Very third wheel. It's a little better if Luke is around." Lies. It's actually worse because he keeps throwing these concerned looks at me, and I have to act like I don't give a Golden Snitch.

Mum just smiles as she walks by me. "Third wheel. Right."

She knows. How the hell does she do that? Ah well.

At that moment, we're interrupted by my little brother— Rhys. He runs into the room like he's losing a race. Remember when I said that I was less-than-charming when I was hungry? Well, Rhys is almost seven and is downright demented when he's hungry. But I love the kid. I was resentful at first, you know. After ten whole years of being an only child I was kind of spoiled. But the thing is; Rhys probably saved my parents' lives.

Apparently, I am what they called a "first-generation pureblood." As in, all my grandparents were Muggle born wizards, so technically that makes my parents Muggle borns. But since all my grandparents were wizards, I'm a pureblood.

Yeah, it doesn't make sense to me either.

But when the Ministry slash Death Eaters raided our house and discovered that Mum was expecting a pureblood child, they were impressed. This kept my parents from being arrested—or killed—during the war. Provided that Mum and Dad promised to have more pureblood children.

And that's why my five-and-a-half-year-old sister Rebekka is here. Well not "here" here. She's at her friend Lara's house right now. But it's why she exists.

Unlike Rhys, Rebekka had me from the first time I saw her. And also unlike Rhys, I never call her a brat or a prat, or anything else that rhymes with "rat." I never yell at her and I pretty much do whatever she asks. According to both my parents and my friends, this is because Rebekka is a little girl. But I think it was because I am older and more mature and already knew how great little siblings could be. And I'm generally nicer to her than to Rhys because she's not insufferable like he is.

Ah, who am I kidding? I laughed inside when I said I was more mature. But the rest is true. I think.

I finish up breakfast, send my empty plate to the sink, and go back to my room to get ready to go to Diagon Alley.