DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and Company are not mine: they are the product and property of one J.K. Rowling. A big round of applause, folks—she's got one hell of an imagination and determination for life, eh? Yah-hoo!
SUMMARY: A new character enters the scene as Harry's final three years at Hogwarts begin. She and her Family cause and contain chaos as they assist the Hogwarts Crew in fighting Voldemort. They raise quite a few eyebrows, sicken a few stomachs... and conquer a few hearts along the way. SS/OC, HP/GW, RW/HG, RL/OC, SB/OC, AD/MM, OW/OC and lots more, folks. J
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is stewing around in my brain; I am not sure where it's all going to go, so this may take a while to write. Again, I am using my beloved Sarah Claudia Hawkins and Gatewood House, only this time, we're in England. I've changed a few names, too; but otherwise, the situation at my favorite Victorian Painted Lady house is the same. Feedback is APPRECIATED and I do respond to emails! It's what keeps me writing, folks! Flamers who are unprofessional and unconstructive will have their flames spoon-fed back to them. READ: if you flame, please give CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. PLAY NICELY AND I WILL BE NICE BACK. Dig? Cool. ON WITH THE SHOW!
P.S. I am basing many of the HP chars on drawings done by LMR Join the group and see the pictures... they're amazing, folks, I SWEAR.
GATEWOOD HOUSE, 9AM on a Monday morning in early June of 1999.
'Dear God,' she thought, 'why does it always have to be me?' Sighing heavily, the petite red-head trudged back into the sprawling Victorian Painted Lady house known to family and friends as simply "Gatewood House". Her steps were ever so slightly uneven, as though she were not quite limping. Her eyes, currently hazel and swiftly turning mud-brown, perused the piece of parchment a good friend had just sent her. She bumped into a suit of armor that stood at attention in the foyer, muttering an explicative distractedly under her breath. Irritably she tucked fly-away strands of unruly vivid red hair back from her face. Most of her bright sunset masses were piled haphazardly atop and around her head, but pieces of it insisted on continually falling into her eyes. She muttered another swear word a little louder this time as she walked into a wall while still reading the parchment.
"You need another set of eyes," Nadia's voice came from vaguely in front of her as she entered the sunny kitchen of Gatewood House. She waved her hand in a frustrated and distracted manner in what she assumed was the Nadia's direction, still reading, and was rewarded with a mug of very strong coffee.
"What is it, Sarah?" another of her sisters—Magen, this time— asked, coming to stand over her shoulder as she sat down in a chair that was pulled out for her by what seem to be invisible hands.
"Trouble," she said in a firm and flat voice; she sipped her coffee, "Of the particularly nasty kind." Sarah looked up from the parchment then, and met the gazes of the many individuals staring back at her. Those of her six sisters were almost identical to her own face.
"I'll pack some things," she said, setting down her coffee and turning to the newspaper, "And be setting off in a bit."
"Where will you be going?" That was Gabriel. 'Good old Gabriel,' Sarah thought with amusement, 'He always thinks of everything that Nadia doesn't... which usually isn't much.'
"Away for a while," she said in drop-it sort of voice, "I'm going to make a couple of stops along the way—Privet Drive, The Burrow, the Leaky Cauldron, Hogsmeade, the Ministry, couple of other places—but I should end up around Hogwarts in a couple of weeks."
"In Sarah-time, that means at least a month—if not two or three," said Magen dryly, knowing her sister's way of doing things.
Sarah glanced up when Saskia snorted, but she had her back to the table and was doing dishes. The radio popped on quietly, with no-one touching it, and began playing God Help the Outcasts by Bette Midler. 'God help us ALL,' Sarah thought fervently to herself. Saskia seemed to echo her thoughts, as usual:
"God help the outcasts, she says," said Saskia, her cropped dark red hair swinging a little, "God help us ALL, I say. Jeez—everyone's a whiner!"
"I'm leaving after breakfast," Sarah continued as though nothing had been said, "I'll try to keep in touch as much as possible—after all, we want to avoid what happened last time whenever we can. While I'm gone, I want you to remain in contact the Weasley and Granger families, and keep an eye or two on Number Four Privet Drive. Notify the old gang, and get 'em all back together again. Let me know the second something happens. Oh—and be prepared for sudden company," she paused to gulp her coffee, "In fact, be prepared for anything. We don't want to repeat what we don't have to... surprises can be nasty as well as wonderful."
"Tell me about it!" Nadia exclaimed. Sarah just looked at her. Nadia, sensing that Sarah was staring at her, turned and met her penetrating gaze. Running a hand over her out-to-there pregnant belly, Nadia raised an eyebrow. Sarah went back to her newspaper and breakfast with a slight shake of her head.
MEANWHILE, AT #4 PRIVET DRIVE...
Number Four Privet Drive seemed like a perfectly normal house. It was a gray-sided, smallish, cookie-cutter house straight out of the fifties, complete with a white picket fence. There was a one-car garage that had been attached to the house in the seventies, and a white porch large enough accommodate three chairs and a flower pot comfortably. The backyard was reasonably sized—in a large city, say, London, it would seem huge—and at the very edge of it stood a small, stall-like wooden shed hidden behind a large tree. A low stone fence edged the yard in a perfectly square formation. All in all, it seemed like a perfectly normal house with a perfectly normal—if a trifle snobbish—family within.
It only SEEMED that way.
If you looked closely, you could see that there were bars on windows of the east-side bedroom, scorch-marks in a remarkable lightning shape hidden behind the rosebush (hence it's presence), only three chairs on the porch when four resided within, and a section of the east-side bedroom walls had been meticulously repaired. And if you observed very carefully... you could catch the comings and goings of at least four or five different owls at night, fluttering franticly at the barred windows of the east-side bedroom. And if you watched very, very closely, you could see the face of a sad and earnest boy of sixteen peering anxiously out of those windows at odd times of the day.
Harry Potter was being punished again. And yet again, he had done absolutely nothing wrong. Only this time, it felt different to him. This time felt... funny; like there was more to come, and it would be worse—much worse—than what he was enduring now.
For three weeks, he was fed only once a day. That meal (if you could call it that) consisted of one piece of stale bread and a small glass of warm water. He was allowed out once a day, in order to brush his teeth and cleanse himself. Other than that, the only thing he could do was to pray that somehow, somebody could get him out.
The last time something like this had happened Ron and the Weasley twins were able to break him out. But this time, the Dursleys had taken precautions, and had the entire house rigged with a security system. They had gotten it installed while he was away in his fifth year— too preoccupied with school, homework, Voldemort, and another face-off with Peter "Wormtail" Pettigrew that had left him in the Hospital Wing for two weeks—to keep an eye on Privet Drive. One of the first things he had done when he noticed the changes was to send both Ron and Hermione letters warning them of the new system. They had both made it clear that they were thinking of a way to get him out.
The letter to his Godfather had been the hardest of all to write. While Harry's "family" still shivered at the thought of Sirius Black, it didn't stop them from forbidding him to leave the house. Even when Sirius replied to Harry—even when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley showed up at the doorstep and offered to take Harry with them for the whole summer— it only hardened their resolve to keep him away from all those "freaks".
The Dursleys made it clear they intended to keep him locked up in the house or supervised doing hard labor outside, and took every opportunity to treat him horribly. Uncle Vernon made sure he smacked Harry upside the head at least once a day, and Aunt Petunia used whatever cooking utensil she had in her hand to hit him on the butt or the back whenever she felt like it. Dudley ('That great, big, hulking moron!' Harry thought furiously) always did something to ruin half the work that Harry did. If Harry had to paint the shed, Dudley would break the ladder or grab his fat friends and smear dirt over all of his hard work. Once, when Harry was cooking supper, Dudley snuck up behind him and tripped him. Harry's jaw had hit the edge of the stove, and he burned his hand.
After that episode, he had tried to contact Dumbledore. He even tried contacting Madame Hooch and Professor McGonagall, but to no avail. Every one of them had told him to sit tight, because they had their hands full trying to find a leak in the Ministry. None of them had listened to him; not one of them had even tried to pretend that they were too concerned with his well-being. And while Dumbledore had mentioned something about a spell on the house in his letter, Harry had seen nothing that convinced him that he was as protected as they obviously thought he was. All he could do in the end was pray that somehow one of his friends could help him.
He was jolted out of his miserable considerations when the locks on his door were undone. The door creaked open as Dudley and Uncle Vernon entered. Dudley was wearing a grin that would've made Professor Snape proud while Uncle Vernon scowled deeply. In his hands, Vernon Dursley carried a baseball bat. Dudley hitched his pants over his enormous bottom.
'Oh, shit,' thought Harry, 'this can NOT be good.' His male relatives advanced upon him; there was no chance for escape. 'I knew something like this was going to happen!' Harry thought, torn between anger and despair and fear, 'It was only a matter of time. And they didn't believe me!'
Vernon struck the first blow.
AN HOUR LATER, AT GATEWOOD HOUSE
Choosing to appear more inconspicuous, Sarah chose to drive to the Burrow instead of Apparating or Floo Powder. She loaded her motorcycle on the truck bed, hooked the truck up to her black Stratus, and threw her bags haphazardly in with the bike. She drove out of Gatewood House's large parking lot five minutes earlier than she had planned, and headed straight for the expressway that would take her most of the way to London.
Blaring Heather Nova over the stereo, the petite redhead sped down the roads of her travels, trying not to picture what could be happening while she ran around like a chicken with it's head cut off. She concentrated on the pavement, music, and lack of traffic so hard she felt pressure building up behind her eyes. Smiling wryly to herself, she gave her legs a cursory pat, and was satisfied that her pistols were safely secure in their holsters.
She let the windows down, letting the wind whip her hair around, rather than suffer the dry recycling of Air Conditioning. She had a bad feeling about this—she wasn't sure of anything right now. All she had was the queasiness in her stomach when she saw the parchment the Great Horned Owl had dropped at her feet this morning. It currently rested on the passenger seat, fluttering slightly in the wind. Neat, flowing script spelled itself out in purple ink so dark it was almost black. She reached out and took the parchment in her hand, trying to get a premonition, flashback, answer... something out of it. Once again, she perused the letter:
"Dearest Sarah,
I know that generally, the world asks too much of those residing at Gatewood House. I also know that you think of friends as family, and that family is held together and protected at ALL costs. Gatewood House is not merely a place, it is a people—a people borne wholly of love and unity. Together you stand, together you fall... whether you are home or not.
Home... it is such a powerful word. One that I would crave to know first-hand... but at the moment, that is only possible in degrees. The truth and love and pureness contained and nourished and spread by those of Gatewood House would erase the suffering of the world.
That said, I need to ask you a favor... and give you a warming.
THE FAVOR: Please rescue my brother's best friend, one Harry Potter. His relatives have him locked up, and this time there is a new security system, and it is impossible to rescue him like Fred, George, and Ron did a few years ago. I don't like this, Sarah; I think that there is more going on there than just too many chores, hard labor, and being locked up. Mum and Dad even went to his house personally to try and reason with the Dursleys, but to no avail. Harry said in his last letter that he had tried to contact Hogwarts, but that nobody could help him. They're not listening! This is serious! It HAS to stop! Oh, Sassy... I am so afraid for him! I... care for him, like Moira once cared for Andrew. Oh, gods, Sarah, what do I do? How can I just sit by and not help? I had to do something... I hope that you understand, and give me a reply. You know I wouldn't normally ask you to help, because eventually Fred, George, and Ron would put their thumbs on SOMETHING—but this doesn't feel right. Something is WRONG, Sass; very wrong. Can you at least take a peek in on Number Four Privet Drive for me? Just to let me know... know that he's okay. That this feeling is just... well, you know what I mean.
Okay, now for the WARNING: There is a leak in the Ministry. Fudge is still preaching that there is no Voldemort, but we know better, don't we? I shudder to think of the last time... gods that was... ugh. Father, Headmaster Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and several others are trying to deal with it... but they've got their hands full. I don't think they'll catch him/her before it's too late. The calvary always does come late, doesn't it? So please, please be careful—all of you! Tell the others, pass it on; just please, be CAREFUL... they're everywhere, as the saying goes.
All my Love,
Nia
Sarah sped up more as she entered the expressway. 'I hope that Harry can wait until after London; there is too much at stake here for me not to be prepared. Nia's right—he has to get out of there ASAP—but I have to be sure that I can get him out under ANY circumstance. So, consequently, that means London comes first. After that I'll get Harry,' she thought, 'hang in there, baby—I'm coming!'
MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS...
Severus Snape was NOT having a good day. He had been awakened at five in the goddamn morning by his Dark Mark burning up his arm, and had spent the better part of an hour trying to sneak away from Hogwarts. When he had finally managed to arrive at the Death Eater meeting, Voldemort had been in a very bad mood.
Now, Severus could handle Voldemort in a frustrated mood. He could handle the Dark Lord in an annoyed mood. Hell—he could even handle the bastard in a bad mood... but a VERY bad mood.... 'I feel like shit,' he thought through the pain.
The Dark Lord Voldemort had NOT been pleased by Severus's apparent lack of information on Dumbledore's comings and goings. Nor was he too impressed when Severus had, once again, failed to provide him with his latest potion request... and being late to boot hadn't helped much either.
'At least I was able to keep my head this time when he hit me with the Cruciatus,' he thought dryly, 'instead of accidentally spouting a little tid-bit of information. Gods, I thought Minerva was going to kill me when I told her that Voldemort knew that we knew he had a spy in the Ministry.' He tried to sit up—he had been lying prone on the floor of the Forbidden Forest for some time now—and felt an instant and sudden increase of pain shoot throughout his lanky body. He abandoned his attempt to sit up with disgust. 'When I was younger, I could shake off curses like they were flimsy cloth,' he muttered an explicative out loud. Damn—even thinking hurt. This would NOT do.
Heaving a sigh—which caused him more pain—he gathered his resolution, steeled himself for the pain, and MADE himself sit up.
He only just managed to bite back a scream into a whimper.
'I am defiantly getting too old for this shit,' he thought dazedly.
"Severus?" 'Who the hell could that be?' he thought.
"Severus, are you alright?" Severus felt his eyes flutter open in a flurry of pain. What he saw made him groan: Sirius Black, wanted man and illegal Animagus, was standing over him with a look of amused concern on his face. 'Oh, goody,' he thought angrily. Good... anger was good; anger gave him strength to combat his condition.
"Do I bloody LOOK alright, Black?" Severus expected a sharp retort; he expected to be left where he was. He expected anything but what Black did next:
"Well then, let's get you to Madame Pomfrey. Do you think you can stand if I help you?"
Severus blinked several times, but Black was still standing above him every time he re-opened his aching eyes. Hurting too much to care—if, indeed, he had cared in the first place—Severus braced himself to be pulled to his feet. He extended a hand weakly, shaking. Black silently took it, and with amazing gentleness, lifted Severus to his feet. Too astonished and full of pain to react, Severus Snape allowed himself to be aided by Sirius Black for the first time ever.
Trouble was, both of them knew it probably wouldn't be the last.
SIX HOURS LATER, FOUR O'CLOCK PM, LONDON
After several phone calls and traipsing around the city of London like a native, Sarah finally entered her hotel to check into her rooms. It wasn't that she couldn't find the grand-scale, upper-class place; she'd had errands to run and favors to call in. Fortunately, once most of her people had heard what she was about, most of them came through for her. A select few (old friends) had even given her freebies, which had been a real blessing, considering some of what she was buying.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and her day wasn't even halfway over yet. Throwing her bags haphazardly on the bed, Sarah started easing out of her cloths. Tight jeans, undergarments, white cotton tank, jean jacket, holsters, scabbard, and some other smaller weapons slid to the floor. She didn't bother to pick them up as she unzipped a bag and took out shower stuff, heading for the bathroom.
The shower felt good. She started out as hot as she could get the water to go, and used shower gel that smelled like men's cologne. 'It's as close as I'm gonna get to the real thing anyway,' she thought dryly. Next, she washed her long hair. Then she turned the water as cold as possible, and stood under the hard spray for a few moments. She warmed it up to lukewarm, and turned it off.
She dried off, wrapped herself in the huge towel she'd brought, and sat down on the bed. She re-read Nia's letter as she attempted to comb out the tangles her shower had bestowed upon her. Her cell phone went off.
It was Nadia, checking up on her. Talking swiftly and directly, Sarah cut the connection five minutes later. Reaching for the bag that held her pen and paper, she was suddenly hit with a force that was alarming and calming all at once. She felt a massive pressure on her chest and one building up behind her eyes, and it exploded into a world of a different consciousness:
FLASH
A young boy with black hair and an earnest face with a small scar in the center of his forehead being struck repeatedly by a fat man and an absolutely massive blonde boy. They were enjoying his screams, and laughed when a bone snapped. But only if she....
FLASH
That same boy throwing up blood. But only if she....
FLASH
The boy hooked up to IV's, people whispering around him... a redheaded boy, Ron, she recognized, and Nia, trying to elbow a way in to see the boy... doctors talking about tests... doctors talking about institutions, and the same fat man and huge boy nodding. But that would only happen if....
FLASH
................
FLASH
The visions sped across her mind too fast to calculate. But before her fingertips met the synthetic fabric of the bag with her pen and paper in it, she had seen them all. She paused, hand reaching out and suspended in air, thinking. What should she do? Which path would be the most efficient? Which path would help the best?
In a split second, she had made up her mind. She would finish London shopping tomorrow, and have the rest shipped out. Then she was moving out.
Little Whining was overdue for a visit once again.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Don't you all hate these cliffhangers? I hate 'em too, and I actually write them! Ack, well. NEways... FEEDBACK IS DESIRABLE, AND I DO RESPOND TO EMAIL. Just if you email, please put "fanfiction" in the subject heading so I don't delete you. Thanx.
So, where am I going with all of this? Well, let's wait and see. You already know that there will be three OFC's that take over the hearts of Snape, Remus, and Sirius. Got any ideas who they should be? I'll give you a hint: Sarah is definitely one of them, and I think maybe Nadia too. What's your opinion? Tell me! Suggestions? R/R is a great way to do that.......
And its past one ack emma, so I am off to bed and dreams. Thank you very much for taking the time to read this... AN's and all.