Please excuse my first attempt at handling the complex world of Harry Potter on my own. I hope J.K Rowling doesn't mind my intrusion into her characters lives.

Maybe I shouldn't have done that.

He glared at me and I felt like he'd dunked me into an ice bath. His eyes were breathtaking, I couldn't help it. Like smoke filled spheres. They were filled with such indignant shock and instant distaste; I was in a state of awe with how much emotion could be packed into a single dirty look.

I hastily gave him his arm back and smoothed my thin dull coat suddenly very conscience of the way I looked. He should be the last person to know how taken back I had been with his stare. It had been so obviously unfriendly, I was a little pushed when I had so quickly shaken off the scathing exterior and focus on the beauty of his hate. He was still starring at me, trying to place where he knew me. It's happened to me on many occasions, I keep my head down, dress blandly. I was to be a simple unimportant glint in the brightness of life. I made it a habit to be unremarkable; I wouldn't be able to complete my job if it was easy to remember me. His initial glare was lessening, but he still looked displeased with my sudden interference. I had to struggle with myself to not fidget under his gaze; I knew exactly who he was, my thoughts even more embarrassing with the fact. I really shouldn't have done that. I could tell he knew me as well, the feeling was there, almost like deja-vu, he was having trouble placing my name and where he remembered me from. I seemed to have done a passable job of living in a fog of gray. Somehow, I didn't feel too pleased.

I quickly looked down at my hands, avoiding his stare. I wouldn't help him with that memory problem. He tried to catch my eye again. Honestly, I didn't want him to remember who I was. I wanted him to shrug what I'd done off and walk away. Preferably, I'd like him to forget me. I'd hate for him to see what had passed through my thoughts, for him to be able to read a persons face as I'd been taught.

I felt his stare leave me and I chanced a look upward, he was looking at the mess around us, the baggage spread around the terminal, the few people sprawled on the ground, others kneeling beside them. Charlie was still sitting on the ground beside my feet. Her long legs tangled under her skirt, her bag forgotten behind her. I'd pushed her down before it happened, but without thinking, I'd grabbed the man that was passing us and pulled him a few feet to the side. Large beams from the ceiling lie just feet away from us, reminding us of our fortune. Dust and debris snowed around us, blanketing the stunned people of the airport. I could feel the white dust weighing in my hair, gathering on my shoulders. I glanced at Charlie and a small pile slid off my nose.

No one was hurt. A woman yelled of the miracle, distracting the ice-eyed man enough for me to pull Charlie up and quickly move away, disappearing in the crowds. A cape of white dust was following behind us, billowing through the stunned crowds.

"What the hells going on?" Charlie asked desperately, catching her bag as I swiftly guided her through the confusion. She easily towered over me, her six foot frame and beautiful presence achieving everything I was forced to subside in myself. She was such a remarkable woman; anyone to have even glanced her would remember every detail of her person.

"This isn't right Charlie." I breathed quietly. "This wasn't supposed to happen, something's wrong." I whispered. I was becoming just as confused as the others rushing into the terminal to see the damage. Their eyes wide, frantic questions filled my ears, intercepting with my thought process. How was I supposed to think through this properly? "Charlie," I stopped, dragging her with me against a wall away from prying ears. "I have to get you out of here."

"Hey!" The shout barely made it through the chaos boiling around the hall. The voice was smooth, even with the wild surroundings. It carried an indignity of someone not used to shouting.

My head snapped at the yell. It fit perfectly with a pair of icily grey eyes I had not long ago ran from. I could see the white blond head looking over the many hats and hairdos rushing through the wide hall. He'd followed us, he'd found me. Charlie's eyes widened, she recognized him too.

"Bathroom, Apparate. Bathroom, Apparate" She breathed a few times making a mantra of it and taking her turn to drag me around. Her bag was widely swinging in the crook of her arm. Her pace a mad rush. I was glad she understood the severity of our problem.

With the shock of the collapsing ceiling, the talk of terrorists, whispers of bombs, the halls of the large airport were crazy. People were screaming for no apparent reason at all. But the bathrooms were empty; the loud madness of the airport became only a buzz of sound in the tiled room. As soon as I was dragged clear of the door, I slipped from Charlie and pushed with everything I had against the door. He had been right behind us, following the trail Charlie had forced through the crowd. I heard him grunt as I held the door shut. I felt my inadequate muscles strain against his brute force.

I wildly looked to Charlie and she understood. Her blond hair was a wispy tangle from our retreat, and her clothes had developed creases from running. He was pushing the door open; of course he was stronger than me. My feet were sliding back, the tiles too slick to get a firm grip on. Nearly falling forward, Charlie took a firm hold of me, and we disappeared with a loud crack, like a car backfiring. The encased bathroom intensified the sound ten fold and screams of another attack filled my ears as we disappeared.

My stomach fell with a sour sting. Not because of the uncomfortable trip that comes with all Apparations, but because of the strong grasp a familiar arm had made around my own, locking in an unfamiliar knot of bone and flesh. It was the arm I had grabbed to pull away from the falling roof. The arm of a known Death Eater. The arm of Draco Malfoy.

Ah, shit.

I should start at the beginning. My best friend, Charlie, always liked to refer to my life as a real sob story that happened to make you laugh and feel sorry for me (a long title); I forget why she's my best friend a lot. I couldn't have cared less though. Abandoned. My parents weren't the best people to allow to have kids. But I was lucky; this really amazing bum named Sally took me in. He'd been the best adult figure I crossed during my childhood. He raised me from four –when my parents dumped me—to eleven, all the way up to the day I'd gotten my letter. He was tall, chestnut haired and had a light golden complexion that convinced me he was an angel throughout my early childhood. He saved me after all.

Before then, we'd like to hang out in France. The warm beautiful weather agreed considerably with sleeping outside, especially along the southern coasts. I'd picked up pocketing like a natural in those years. Sally was one of the most intelligent people I'd ever met. He taught me all the important stuff, everything from accessing people who carried the most cash to getting free taxi trips through London. He had been struggling with life when he came across me, alone at the entrance of an ally between a prestigious advertising company and McDonald's. I had stood crying with my child size sleeping bag and Elmo backpack filled with Cheeze-its and a Tang juice pack. Again, great parents I'd had. They actually gave me ten pounds too, but they had dumped me in Greece.

Sally let me carry his kitten, June, and I stopped crying. I haven't look back. Sally saved me that day, I hated to think what would happen if someone else had noticed the crying toddler.

Sally's real name was Richard Lucas Muntrealas. He owned a small shipping company in Spain a few years before he picked me up. But when his wife died, he gave the company to his cousin and left to wander Europe like a nomad. He had never been comfortable on the subject of his wife; she had died way too young. But I was lucky Sally decided to go out abroad. How else would he have found me?

When I asked him about his name, he told me that when you turn to the streets, you always need a new name. Two years later, Sally took up a small office job with a cannery in Romania and we stayed in a nice apartment. It'd turned out that Sally had made a stable and safe environment for me so he could adopt me. I was thrilled the day our papers were approved. I was then the proud seven year old Annabelle Hazel Muntrealas, legal daughter of Sally the environmental engineer, like I knew what that was. I picked up my life long accent in Romania, the one feat I seemed unable to hide about myself; my accent became a liability, a memorable characteristic people couldn't seem to forget no matter how hard I tried. So I made it a habit to not to speak around people who were better off not remembering me. It would only bite them in the ass later anyway.

So for a few more months, while child services observed us, Sally kept his head up and made a name for himself in the research of dead zones in the Mediterranean Sea. Again, as if I even knew what those were. He made a few conferences here, a speech there. We thrived, simple and happy.

I woke up one night; a cold sweat covering my small body, Sally had rushed in when I screamed. I remembered that night a bit too clearly then I liked, I had truly believed in my ability after that night. Crying and clutching to Sally's bed shirt with my tiny fists, I begged him not to go to work the next day at the cannery. He was going to finish a report with some co-workers in the morning. He swore he wouldn't stay long, but I wouldn't let him go until he promised he wouldn't go to work. I was too scared to tell him why, my dream had been horrible. The next morning Sally sat with me on the couch eating pancakes as we watched the news, the cannery had caught fire early that morning. For the second time in less then a few hours, I'd watched the rushing orange flames stretch to touch the sky out of every window in the entire cannery, the tin walls of the canning building melting over the trash bins along the sides. The office section, where Sally had worked, was indistinguishable among the white hot flames. I cried again. We disappeared after that.

Far past the probation period of my adoption, we slipped over to Eastern Europe to be happy bums again. I went to an English speaking school in France for a while, but the teachers were too strict, and they deeply disapproved of my immense imagination I felt I needed to share with the other children. Later, I realized my thick Transylvanian accent had made me a lesser being in the eyes of the snooty, over paid, teachers. We left there after five weeks. We hadn't picked the best place to stop in France.

After that, Sally mostly just taught me everything he knew, and the rest we picked up together in a library in London. I loved London. I finally got to spend that ten pounds. But rain's not a happy bum's best friend; we liked to stick to Southern France. But when the mood had struck us, Sally and I finally saved up to catch a ride over to Spain as soon as we could. It was where Sally was from after all. Buying tickets for a ride over to Spain had taken a year. I convinced Sally to get tickets for a later trip once we managed. The first boat –that we were going to take—had engine failure and they had sat dead on the water for ten hours before someone came to tow them in.

From when I turned eight to ten and a half, we lived in a small home Sally actually owned off the coast of Spain. It was a beautiful house from his past life; he never was thrilled to be inside those walls. I got my first job in Spain; tourists paid me to translate for them at the markets. It was great, I was happy. Spain has always been my absolute home, the people were nice, and they didn't mind my accent, didn't mind my foreign appearance.

But Sally was sick. And Spain didn't have what he needed. Dressed in my best skirts and Sally in his best suit, we walked away from the lovely Cliffside house down the stone driveway and back into prejudice.

I always miss Spain, where I can remember Sally best.

We were back in London for Sally's treatment. He had heart disease, it ran in his family. Sally was all I had; I sat with him in the hospital reading him books I'd checked from our favorite library. I could always tell him when we'd be getting a new nurse, or the color his gelatin would be that day. Ever since the fire, I'd never had a full blown…..vision I guess they're called. I could only see what immediately would be happening, and nothing important. Though Sally always told me it was very important he knew what color his Jell-O would be, goodness forbid he ever got green if he wasn't readily prepared for it.

"Emma." I'd told him one night.

"What sweetie?" he asked, I could tell he was ready to drift off to sleep.

"I love you, Sally." I whispered, I was crying again. I've lost a lot of tears over the years.

"Oh Annie." He said reaching his arm out for me to hug him. I willingly fell into his embrace and hugged him as tight as I dared.

I woke up in the cardio waiting room with a small brown owl starring me in the face.

I'd turned eleven two weeks earlier. Sally had given me the large heart shaped locket he had always kept under his shirt. The irony had made me cry. The chain allowed the heart to hang a few inches above my belly button. I'd woken up clutching the locket, a musty smelling letter near my nose, and an owl softly hooting for me to wake.

It was addressed to 'Miss Annabelle Hazel Muntrealas, Catholic Health Center, Cardio Waiting Room, The Three Seats Between the Fichus and Goldfish. '

I had glanced around me in wonderment at the weird plant and small aquarium on either side of the chairs I'd slept on. I'd thought we were being stalked or something. I grabbed the letter by one of the corners and ran to Sally's room holding it away from my body; I knew it wasn't visiting hours yet, but he had to see the letter, it was crazy.

Emma Northing, Sally's new nurse stopped me from entering the room. He'd died. Richard Lucas Muntrealas died at forty three, left everything he owned to me, an abandoned toddler he's found one day wandering the streets of a large city in Greece.

I sat alone at the funeral; I'd buried him in Spain, with his wife. He had a small family, a few cousins and an uncle. I recognized some homeless we'd met over the years but that was it. I considered myself dead as well that day.

I staked out in our house over the cliffs and wasted my days watching the ocean, the sunrise, watching the sunset. The letter lay forgotten on a table, unopened. Days later, during the suns highest point, the weather was warm, the tourists were in full swing, and another owl visited me. It was a large grey thing, it perched itself on the thick beautiful rock railing that separated the houses occupants from the short cliffs fall. The rather un-proportional thing had dropped another letter in my lap then took off. I had ignored it, my eyes glazed over, watching the waves peak off in the distance.

I remembered it had taken six owls, in broad daylight, to get me to look at the letters. They all said the same as far as the address went.

'Miss Annabelle Hazel Muntrealas, 1081 Cliffside Manor, Back Porch against the Sliding Door'

Again, I wondered how they could have pinpointed me so well. I lifted my hand before another large owl could nip my fingers; it seemed annoyed that I had moved. A smaller owl landed on my knee and had hooted encouragingly, if not a bit annoyed as well. I'd sighed, straightened my legs, and ripped the damn thing open. Life's never quite been the same.

A school off in Britain had accepted me for their next term and would have been "delighted" to have me. A piece of paper at the bottom had caught my attention, I mean beside the schools name having been Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The writing was from another hand. A man named Dumbledore –the headmaster—would be visiting me personally to answer questions and help me gather what I needed. I remembered being stunned that the Headmaster would be visiting me, I wasn't special. Then at the end of the letter, he had said the small dark brown owl seemed to be fond of me and that I could keep him. I'd named him Rich.

A stock man –that Dumbledore "fully trusted"—shoved me through the brick post and I was off into a world Sally had told me stories about ever since the cannery caught fire. A world he told me would accept me just as much, and maybe more, then Spain had. His world.

Of the first on the train hidden inside a brick post, I took a compartment to myself, and ended up traveling to Hogwarts alone. No one had even asked to sit with me. My trunk sat on the seat across from me –I was too small to lift it above into the carrying rack—and my owl was already at the school. I didn't have a cage for him, neither of us minded, somehow he always knew if I needed to write a letter, which was not often.

The first week of my magical school experience I had spent friendless, quiet. I didn't understand why. I was short, yes, but who cares. I'd had short dark brown waves of hair and green eyes, I was blessed with a clear face, a constant faint tan from my travels, and it was impossible for me to gain weight. I thought I was pretty, Sally said I was beautiful, even the doctors said I was a lovely young lady! Had I smelt bad in my adolescence?

I still sounded like I came from ancient Transylvania though, a few other accents hinted along with it. I could hardly believe that could have been it. The big glaring default of Annabelle.

Smart, short, overlooked. I became the invisible Ravenclaw girl. Thank the stars Charlize Amelia Woodrow finally noticed me. I lived through some of the most awkward years of my life in that school. And Charlie was always with me. Tall, blond, and absolutely gorgeous Charlie.

Now seventeen, a small job, a lovely apartment and completely rid of Hogwarts, I was sitting at a small coffee shop with Charlie, the kind of shop people managed to titter on the sidewalk with tiny metal chairs and tables. We were saying goodbye.

I didn't know what to say. Her brown eyes were already watering and I couldn't help the chain reaction. We had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday a few weeks ago, now she had her bag at her feet and we were trying to spend her last hours in Europe together before she had to hop a plane to New York.

Charlie unfortunately hadn't done very well at school, my stories of the non magical life had sparked some hope in her, and now my accidental model friend was being shipped off. We knew we wouldn't be seeing each other for a very long time. I told her about my dream.

"Oh Annie." The tears flowed; she sounded almost exactly how Sally had. Her own tears pilled over once I broke, we instantly pulled out handkerchiefs and switched to dab at our cheeks. "I don't want to go." She suddenly said. I couldn't have that; she had such a great thing ahead of her.

"Charlie," I said reasonably. "You have to, you know what's going to happen around here." I told her what she already knew. "You won't be safe."

"And what about you?" she asked miserably.

"I'm not sure." She frowned unhappy with my answer. "But I'm part of it, you know that." I said folding her handkerchief to distract myself from her face. "If anything, I have to do what Dumbledore wanted me to." I said sadly. We both looked down. Dumbledore had looked after me during my school years, helping me with my "gift", keeping it secret. I couldn't ignore what he'd asked of me. Especially since he died my sixth year. The worst part was that Charlie was sitting there and had no idea what I was really talking about. She wasn't allowed to know what I really had done for Dumbledore during our years at Hogwarts.

After a moment, Charlie looked up. She seemed to be mustering up to something. With a puff she shot her left hand out to me.

"Am I going to get married?" She suddenly asked, I could tell she was holding her breath as she looked off to the side, unable to look me in the eye. She was embarrassed. I smiled grudgingly grabbing her offered hand.

"Nope!" I told her with a plastered grin after a moment of fake searching. She let out her breath and smiled wearily. I'd known the answer to that question ever since fourth year; it had been a very awkward dream.

"Oh thank God." She sighed slouching back into her small seat. My friend had sworn to never marry. She had seen what it had done to her aunt. But I only told her what she wanted to hear. In some years she was fated to meet a sexy photographer, lucky her.

"Come on, lets get to the airport-"

"You want to get rid of me!" she yelled accusingly. I sighed grabbing her accusing hand and stood pulling her much taller frame with me.

"I'd love it if you never had to leave." I assured her patting the hand I held. "But you know how early you have to be to airports these days." I told her. Besides, if we left soon we could skip out on our bill. I hadn't seen the waiter in over half an hour.

"Yeah," she sighed. "I just don't want to go." She complained hugging me to her tightly. "Or I want to take you with me." She said, "I don't want you to stay if what's been said is true. It's too horrible." She was crying again. She was talking about the news surfacing all over. 'The Dark Lord was back' the papers had said.

"Come on Charlie, you're bringing unwanted attention to yourself." I told her managing to dump some muggle money on the table as we left. Stupid waiter, showing up. The sun was on its way out, but the sky was still bright and the light managed a faded glow. Apartment windows blindingly gleamed orange as Charlie hailed a cab. I sadly smiled as a cab quickly skid to the curb. You were always guaranteed a cab almost instantly whenever you go out with Charlie. She was so obviously beautiful, you could even tell at a great distance.

"I.A. terminals." Charlie said forlornly to the cab driver as I scooted in next to her.

To be honest, I was next to ecstatic that Charlie was leaving. She was in so much danger here in Europe I could have choked. She had no idea how true those papers had been. And since she was my only friend, I was always lying to her constantly. I wasn't a modest secretary at the Daily Prophet, but that's what I had to tell Charlie. I didn't fail my secondary school I went to during our last year at Hogwarts –I'd skipped some grades- but that's what I had to tell Charlie. I just assumed that I would feel better once the one person I was always lying to would be gone, so far away I didn't have to lie anymore. It hurt to tell her I was going to the office when I was really off trekking through dense forests tracking down murderers. It was brutal telling her excuses for my injuries.

I sighed leaning my head against the recently cleaned window, starring off into the muggle world. That's what I did, I was specially trained to track and contain Death Eaters. I was primed and prepped ever since I took my first step into Hogwarts. It was upsetting to arrest your fifth year potions partner, or severely wound your assigned study buddy for the ancient runes N.E.W.T's. And the worst, the only person I could talk to about anything and everything, I couldn't. I was ordered to keep her in the dark, and I understood. I was all for keeping Charlie out of unnecessary danger, especially if it became my fault if she'd end up hurt.

It was better if Charlie was alive and thriving hundreds of miles away from me, then lying on her death bed because someone had seen us have lunch together. I shuddered slouching in my seat.

"Anna?" Charlie softly freed me from my revering. "You know you're my best friend." She stated, she didn't need me to answer. "I understand that you do it to keep me safe, but is it too much to expect an owl or two?" she was going to cry again, I knew she was because my eyes were already stinging with her words; we had a weird unexplainable link when it came to our feelings. It sounded so girly, but there was always a next to none chance we were feeling the same together.

I couldn't look at her yet. Somehow I'd always known she knew about my secret life, maybe it was a feeling, or I really had known-known deep down, past my conscience. It hurt to know that she knew I had been lying to her.

"Oh Charlie." I sighed ignoring my tears. "Only two guys know about me and they've been cursed into silence until it's pretty much public knowledge, and that's never going to happen." I was ranting. "I hate this, it's like I never had a chance to choose something I'd wanted. I was guided into what they wanted." Charlie was listening so intently, I knew she'd already made sure the cabby wasn't listening. "I know so many secrets its ridiculous. I have no one to tell them to. All I can look forward to is some sign! I don't even know what it is, but I'll supposedly just know. And I'm being controlled by a dead man!" I said angrily. "Dead, Charlie. He's dead! But I'm still stuck doing what he says!" I hit my knee and looked out the window again. Time past silently. It felt good to get it out.

"You know what?" she said, the cab was pulling up to the terminals. "You do what you have to, and I'll always be an owl away." She promised. We shared a moment as the cabby waited for his money. That's why she's my best friend. We skipped out on paying him.

Then I went and did something stupid in the terminals, I saved a Death Eaters life. But the most upsetting thing was I had no clue anything was going down until seconds before it did. The bad guys were becoming unpredictable, inconsistent. Even if their plans before had seemed random or spontaneous, I had known the rhythm. I knew what would happen, I could plan ahead.

If I'd known this would happen, I would have convinced Charlie to take a damn boat.

Review please!

-BS