Cecilia Burgess considered the old man with the crooked nose in front of her. Her eyes, a wider, deeper blue than his, held his gaze. Her lips were parted to accommodate short shallow breaths, but besides that, the only tension she betrayed was a slight shifting of weight from foot to foot, an ingrained habit from years of playing American football. When he moved it was quick, with no hesitation; he raised his wand, aimed, and shot what she knew to be a jinx at her right shoulder.

She gasped as the raw power hit her and sent her rocking, throwing her back into the sooty hearth. Long, sunshine yellow hair covered her face, and the fresh scent of smoke mixed with the greasier tang of old ash. Her hand flew to her shoulder, massaging the overpowering numb, pins and needles, her mouth a hollow O. And then with a sharp intake of breath, the knife was pulled from the wound and a burning sensation covered her shoulder, traveled down to her elbow and radiated into her palm finally reaching her fingertips.

"God Dammit!-" Oh, Dear Lord, please forgive me.

She leaned over, curling around herself, biting her lip on the blasphemy and cradling her arm, frantically wrenching off the scorching rings of her right hand. Thank You for losing my bracelet last week. Please take this pain away. Please. Please. Fuck.

She continued to moan, but finished her swearing and praying silently. It took longer to recover from this jinx, about a minute and a half. Finally when the worst of the burning, and the pain induced nausea had receded, she pushed on her rather heavy thighs and stood to her full height of five foot nine. Panting, she shook back her hair and continued to knead this freshest bruise through the thin pink cashmere sweater she had bought for herself the week before, the only Christmas present she received. Her finger snagged on the soft fabric. She looked down at a small hole, singed around the edges. Her eyes narrowed into slivers of storm.

"Miss Burgess?"

Breathing heavy through her nose, she looked at the old man in front of her. "Ouch," she said, punctuating every letter with as much emphasis as possible.

Albus Dumbledore lowered his wand and looked over his half-moon spectacles at her. She could almost feel his empathy embrace her. "Are you okay?"

She growled and turned her back on him, shaking her arm, and flexing muscles, testing to see if there was any damage. It was numb, like she had fallen asleep on it for most of the night, but the pain was almost totally gone. Despite this, it didn't help when she heard him chuckle. She snapped her attention back to him.

"How can you laugh?" she demanded.

He stretched his open palms up toward her, as if in supplication. "Forgive me, my dear Miss Burgess, I am not remotely laughing at you, I am merely astounded." He raised his hands higher in the air. "I have often wondered if this was possible; it seems to be a miracle."

She sniffed and offered her profile, not wanting to let him off too easy, but knowing the comfort of truth to his words. "I didn't know wizards put much stock in providence. And I told you to call me Sunny."

He chuckled again, dropping his hands.

Sunny paced the grimy floor, the tacky sound of her scuffed boot soles marking her progress. It hardly seemed only three days since Professor Dumbledore - she looked at him out of the corner of her eye without breaking stride; he was leaned over a rickety table writing something with an old fashioned feather quill, proof beyond a doubt, in Sunny's mind, that he was not a normal person. But then, she thought, pausing in her pacing, neither am I – It had been three days since he approached her in the streets of London. She had been staring at the door to a pub, The Leaky Cauldron, going in and out of focus, like it wasn't sure if it wanted to exist or not. She had been in London since the day after Christmas; taking advantage of her leave of absence from work, excellent airfare and no one in DC she wanted to spend New Years with. She laughed softly, breathing out through her nose; even in her wildest dreams would she have imagined to be spending New Years with a man fifty, no, she stole another look at the man now rolling up the paper , sixty years older, and learning…learning what? Sunny still wasn't sure. She had never even been out of the United States, but it never occurred to her to be nervous about traveling alone, because she never was truly alone. She was always with Him. Besides, how different could London be? She stopped pacing, standing in a cloud of dust motes that swirled thick in the shaft of the setting sun which filtered in from the lone window.

She was a long way from home. Please, give me strength.

"What kind of freak am I?"

Professor Dumbledore's face took on the stern look of disapproval. "My dear, what do you mean? I see a lovely girl in front of me that has a remarkable ability."

Sunny threw her head back and laughed, which turned into a choking cough as dust settled in her throat. She bent over again, laughing and choking. Dumbledore waved his wand and a glass of clear water appeared before her, hovering in midair. Still coughing, she took a step back.

Magic.

No matter what she had learned in the past several days, it was unnerving when it popped up out of no where. But it can't hurt me. She flexed her right arm, the numbness now gone. She passed her hand over shoulder, letting the rough fibers of the seared threads snag on her chapped hands. Not really, at least. She reached out and took hold of the floating glass, drinking half it down without taking a breath.

"See there, the fact that you can laugh in the face of adaption and accept the things previously unknown to you, it is remarkable."

She paused, panting, and smothering a choke. "I don't know so much about adaption, but no one's called me a girl in quite some time," she managed. "It's funny."

"Twenty-six is only one year over a quarter century."

A quarter century! Sunny closed her eyes and poured the last bit of water into her mouth, her cheeks stretched to bursting. Oh well, at least I know where I'm going when it's all over. Dumbledore was still watching her with an amused smile on his face when she looked up. She smothered one last cough, but spurted water onto her chin, which she had to wipe off. Not knowing what to do with the glass, it looked much too clean to place on any surface in this room, she held it out.

Dumbledore waved his wand again in an absent-minded sort of way. Sunny felt a small flick of something touch her hand. His brow furrowed. "Interesting. Miss Burgess, can you drop the glass?"

"Drop it?"

"Yes. Please," he added.

Shrugging, Sunny dropped the glass. It vanished with a subtle flick of the wizard's wand before hitting the floor. The silence echoed louder than shattered glass.

How is that possible? Where in creation do vanished objects go? Can a thing…can it Be one moment and the next simply not Be? How do You do it?

The last thought had her squirming. Nothing in her experience gave her any understanding to how God and magic worked together. Faith was the magic of God. Period. You either believed or you didn't. There were no shades of gray. But here was a person in front of her that she knew to be a man, not God, claiming magic for him and thousands of others. How is that faith?

Footsteps brought the silence to an end. Sunny re-focused her eyes on the spot the glass went into non-being and then straightened up to the bright blue eyes of the man standing in front of her.

"Are you okay?"

She blinked and didn't answer, afraid she might cry if she tried to. How had everything changed so fast?

"I must return to the castle; my students are arriving tonight from holiday. Are you prepared to…" he paused, leaning down to look deeper into her eyes. He sighed and stepped back. "It seems that you may not be so keen on the position after all."

She turned her head and looked out the window, blinking hard to keep back her tears.

"I don't think I can completely obliviate you without drastic side effects, so you will always have a heightened awareness of the wizarding world. I will not stop you from leaving if you so wish."

What? NO! The last word echoed in her mind like a vanished glass.

"No," she said, squaring her shoulders and turning back to face him. "No, I know… I just don't understand and I'm scared, Dear God, help me I'm scared, but I believe this," she gestured to the room at large, not knowing if she was including everything in the room, the odd little town or creation itself, "this is where I'm supposed to be. The worst part of moving on is that there is nothing to move on from." She shrugged, not really knowing what that meant, but it sounded right.

The sun sank below the horizon taking the last warmth from the light. Before total darkness could engulf them, the soft flickering light of candles ignited throughout the room, which cast gray shadows over the spare furniture, walls and the two people.

"Are you sure?"

Sunny gulped, trying to ignore the sudden change in atmosphere. "Yes. Must you go now?"

They both knew the question asked was, must I go now.

"I'm sorry, but please know that I'm sending you as safe a place as there can be."

"Like here?" She raised a sardonic eyebrow and peered around and the gray room.

The small smile he offered was comforting. "My brother has never been the best housekeeper, and unfortunately twelve Grimmauld Place -" he raised the roll of paper in his hand, which disappeared in flash of golden fire. Sunny blinked, sure she missed something, but Dumbledore went on as if nothing spectacular had just happened, "-is only moderately better than here. It was left vacant for a decade and has only recently been established as a home again. It is Sirius' house, and headquarters to The Order of the Phoneix."

"Sirius? Sirius Black, right?" Her voice was raw, breaking on the wild, untamed taste of night.

"Yes. And it's a good night for introductions; I believe Molly and Arthur Weasley may still at headquarters, as well as Remus Lupin." He peered at her as if he could read the words going through her mind.

The werewolf.

"Do we need to go overthe names of the other Order members, or do you feel confident?"

She gave a short jerk of her head. "Will the others… the other members of The Order, will they… I mean… do they know about me?"

So much for confident.

Dumbledore lifted his arms and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. His palm covered the hole in her sweater and felt profoundly warm. "They know a new, more unconventional member by the name of Cecilia "Sunny" Burgess has joined The Order and is to arrive at headquarters tonight, but no, they don't know about you." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I think it wise to keep your talent as close as possible for the time being. Of course it is inevitable that your abilities will soon be acknowledged, but I have found it's better to let others form their own opinions about one another, it leads to far fewer instances of under or overestimating our counterparts."

Sunny nodded, this time with a little more grace and managed a small smile, hoping to convey that she knew this was a warning for her as well. His fingers tightened momentarily on her shoulders. For just a second, the idea of stepping into a new, unknown life seemed not only fine, but thrilling.

Reversal of Destiny.

Dumbeldore squeezed her shoulders one last time and released her, turning swiftly around and crossing the room.

Stepping back, Sunny was caught off balance; dizzy and disoriented, she wished she couldn't see the hole on her shoulder. She took a breath, and raked her hands through her normally smooth golden hair to find her fingers catching in tangles. My hair! She set to finger combing, throwing her focus on solving the concrete problem of vanity.

She was still working on the ends, when a blue glow came from a book in Professor Dumbledore's hands joined the flickering candlelight. "Given your unique ability," he said, "I am going to take an extra precaution in using the Floo Network."

Sunny nodded even though she didn't understand what he was talking about and continued to pull at the knots binding her hair together.

"Once we hear ba…oh, excellent. Sometimes life is so beautifully choreographed, don't you think Miss Burgess?"

Emerald flames sprang to life in the cold fireplace and the outline of a silver dog bounded out, landing lightly on the floor. Sunny stopped grooming but could do nothing about her hanging mouth.

The dog nipped twice at the air before speaking.

"Message received and we are awaiting the presence of Ms. Cecilia Sunny Burgess."

She wasn't sure, but it sure looked like the dog winked before vanishing, leaving the distinct scent of animal.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said again, leaving no room for echoes. "Miss Burgess, if you please." Sunny closed her mouth and realized Dumbledore was holding his hand out to her, an invitation forward. Her heart started beating just as fast as if he was about to jinx her again. She crossed the room without knowledge and stood before him. "Now, I believe if you use this portkey," he said, placing a small leather book in her hands, which she took without looking ,"as well as the Floo powder, you shouldn't have any trouble."

Sunny blinked at the fireplace. Dear Lord, is this really my path? It wasn't a prayer it was a plea.

"I'm sorry not to be able to go with you, but I feel confident that we shall see one another soon." He gestured into the fireplace.

She stepped in, crossing her arms and crushing the book to her chest.

"Ready?"

Not knowing where to look, she closed her eyes.

"Oh and Miss Burgess-"

Her eyes fluttered open. Dumbledore was holding a bowl of glittering powder.

"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Your faith, Miss Burgess, I believe is the key."

Without preamble, he threw a handful of powder at her feet. Green flames and blue illumination grabbed hold of her and in a blaze of white, Sunny vanished.