Part 1 - Daddy's Girl

I was born on April Fools' Day, and it took my mum twenty minutes just to convince my dad that she wasn't playing a prank when she said she was going into labor. He fainted, and Mum had to call up his three best friends to revive him. They couldn't, so one of them carried him as the other two carefully escorted her to the hospital.

They arrived at St. Mungo's at eleven o'clock at night. I was born at two minutes to midnight, just in time for my dad to regain consciousness, then promptly pass out once more as he laid eyes on me exiting my mother's vagina. It's my favorite story.

My name is Stella Eris Black. Eris was because she's the Greek goddess of discord and chaos. With those being two of my mum and dad's favorite hobbies, it was a natural choice. Stella, which means 'star,' was because, when he fainted the second time, my dad smacked his head really hard against a countertop, and the laceration, and subsequent scar, was star-shaped. Mum picked the name as way of perpetually teasing him. That's my second favorite story.

My dad is Sirius Black. Yes, the Sirius Black, prodigal son of the pureblood philosophy, legendary prankster, notorious murderer. I've always known he was innocent of that last one, and what is about to unfold before you is the story of how I proved it to the rest of the world.

I don't remember very much about him from back then; I was only two when he was arrested, when he was taken away from us. The clearest memory I have is of riding his motorbike. He used to tuck me inside his leather jacket, and take me flying, and I loved it. I would laugh and scream joyfully as he took me cruising through the clouds, and I would fall asleep surrounded by the smell of wind, and leather, lulled and comforted by my dad's heartbeat.

I wish we could've had more time together, but fate had other plans.

The night the Potter's were killed, they were over at our house. In fact, all my surrogate uncles were over at our house because my parents were having a Halloween party. They'd chosen to host one that year because they had a wonderful announcement. My mum had just found out she was pregnant, about two months along; I was getting a little brother or sister. Since I already adored my little god-brother, Harry, I was ecstatic, and spent the whole night chattering on and on to anyone who would listen about what a great big sister I was going to be. I was only two years old, and already had a hard time keeping my mouth shut for more than a few seconds.

James and Lily went home around ten. Voldemort came knocking at half past. All three were dead (or varying states of) a few moments later.

But I'm sure you know that part of the story, so let's move on to something you don't.

Members of the Order of the Phoenix all used to wear rings, or bracelets that had had panic buttons on them. If they ever got into trouble, they could push theirs, and it would alert the other members, send them running to help. They were Dumbledore's idea, after too many of his soldiers began being slaughtered in their homes.

My dad was the first to respond the Potters' distress calls, rushing over with his heart in his throat. He arrived to find his best friend, a man who was practically his brother, lying dead in the entryway. Devastating shock quickly turned into fear, and he stormed upstairs. Lily was dead as well, but that wasn't surprising.

Voldemort's lifeless body, however, was. The Dark Lord was slain, and the only thing left alive in the house was little baby Harry wailing in his crib. Blood was running into his bright green eyes from a small cut on his forehead and his glasses were cracked, but he was otherwise fine. It was a damn miracle. My dad picked him up, trying to comfort the screaming baby as he carried him out of the house.

Hagrid was the second member to show, already having been instructed by Dumbledore that he was to take Harry to his muggle relatives. Distraught, my dad pleaded to be allowed to keep the boy with him, but there was no arguing with Hagrid. Eventually he got his way, and my dad loaned him his bike to make sure they got there safe.

Dad went straight home after that, and was pacing the kitchen when I wandered down to pilfer myself a midnight cookie.

"Daddy?" I inquired sleepily, rubbing at my deep blue-gray eyes, the eyes I got from him, strangling my tattered stuffed purple puppy, my absolute favorite toy, which I'd also gotten from him. My dad jumped, and turned, and I could see that his eyes were puffy, and red, so I asked in all my babyish innocence, "Daddy, why are you crying?"

The expression that came over his face was heartbreaking, and even as I child I understood that something bad had happened. My daddy wasn't supposed to cry, and that made me cry, sad, confused, heartbroken little whimpers that immediately propelled me into his arms.

Cradling me tightly, his body shook against mine, and his deep voice soothed, "Shhhh, don't be afraid, baby. Don't be afraid." As is the case with a daddy's effect on his little girl, I calmed almost instantly. My daddy knew everything, and if he said I shouldn't be afraid, then I wasn't going to be.

I threw my small arms around his neck, snuggling into the comforting warmth and smell of his leather jacket. He hummed tunelessly as he carried me out of the kitchen, up the darkened stairway to my bedroom.

My eyelids were more than half closed by the time he brushed a loving kiss on my forehead, inhaled deeply, and then tucked my into my little bed.

I remember looking up at him, barely able to see anything but little glimmers where my nightlight was reflecting off his eyes. I remember him softly, reverently petting my tangled blonde hair as my breathing slowed. I remember being almost asleep when he whispered, "I need you to be brave, Stella, and I know you will be, because you're my brave little girl. Take care of your mum, and your little sister. It's a little sister, did we tell you that? No, I guess we were waiting for it to be a surprise... Just- Just be brave for me, and I'll try my hardest to be brave for you."

I didn't want him to go, and tried to grab him and make him stay, but I was too tired. He kissed me again, mumbling against my skin, "I love you, my brave girl. Always. Never forget."

I closed my eyes, murmuring softly, "Never. Love you, Daddy." And then he was gone from my life.

Just a few hours later, his face was plastered on the front of the Prophet. My father was a fugitive, and my mother was distraught. No one knew where he was hiding, and we didn't figure out until much, much later that he'd gone to track down Pettigrew. If he didn't find the rat, he was going to prison.

Unfortunately, someone spotted him in Diagon Alley, and my mother, Leda, who had been glued to the wireless all day for any word of her husband's whereabouts, heard the bulletin go out. She rushed to the scene, carrying me with her.

We were just in time to be caught in the blast.

I never saw it coming. One second I was clinging tightly to my mother's neck, trying my best to be brave like my daddy told me, and the next my ears were ringing as my body was hurtled violently through the air, ultimately slamming against a brick wall. I wasn't even conscious long enough to feel the pain.

"That Sirius Black," I heard whispers in the following years, haunting me everywhere I went, "That Sirius Black is a monster!" I grew to hate the hushed, frightened exclamations from people who never knew the man he was, who never saw the goodnight kisses, and laughter, and love, "What an evil beast he must be to have betrayed two of his best friends, slaughtered another, and tried to murder his wife, and own daughter!"

Pettigrew was the real villain, the traitor, the one responsible for the Potters' deaths and miscarriage that killed my baby sister, but, at the time, Dad was blamed. He was locked up, and I was far too young to even understand where he had gone. All I understood was that he wasn't with me. It broke my heart.

Years passed, and my mum became completely consumed by the undying belief that he was innocent. She made sure I knew it, too, and spent all her time searching for evidence. Though she was right in the beliefs she held, she was driven slightly mad by them. The miscarriage the force of the blast caused also cost her the ability to have children at all, and she had a hard time dealing with it. She couldn't hold a job, and, since the Ministry seized my dad's bank accounts, money became an issue.

It didn't take long for us to lose our home, to end up bouncing between shitty apartments, persecuted everywhere we went because Mum loudly and unabashedly insisted upon my dad's innocence.

For awhile, during the summer I was five, we stayed with my Uncle Remus in southern Belgium, where he was teaching in a small wizarding school. Those few months were the happiest since my daddy went away. Uncle Remus (who was just my daddy's very good friend, and not really my uncle despite the fact that I felt he more than deserved the title) was kind, and patient, and used to read to me for hours and hours without his strong tenor voice so much as cracking.

But he didn't see eye to eye with my mother. While her faith still rested firmly in my dad's innocence, Remus didn't believe so. "We all knew there was a spy in the Order!" I heard him yelling the night we left, "You need to stop deluding yourself, and just accept the fact that he wasn't the man we all thought he was! He fooled us all, Leda! For Merlin's sake, he tried to kill you! And Stella, too! He cost you your unborn daughter! How can you-"

From where I was hiding, I heard his voice cut off by a sickening slap, and suddenly knew that my mother had struck him. The tense, painful silence was frightening, and I began to cry quietly, squeezing my raggedy purple puppy for comfort.

"Don't ever try to convince me he did such a thing," Mum finally hissed, sounding more furious than I can ever remember before or since, "Sirius is innocent. You're his friend. You're supposed to know that."

I heard her taking slow, measured steps across the tiny living room of the cottage, turning back just on the other side of the door I was hiding behind, stating coldly, "Thank you for letting us stay, Remus, but I think it's time we got out of your hair. Stella and I will be gone in the morning."

And she packed our things, and we left. Disheartened by Remus' beliefs, but filled with a new resolve to prove him, and all the rest of the word wrong, Mum came up with a plan. Somewhat stupidly, she thought she would be able to infiltrate the ring of the remaining Death Eaters, to spy, and gather some information that would prove my dad innocent of the crimes he was being incarcerated for having committed.

She took a low paying job as a private tutor to a pureblooded, spoiled-rotten little brat, everyone's favorite bouncing ferret, Draco Fuckface Malfoy himself. We both lived in Malfoy Manor for about a year, and I had to deal with that horrible boy quite a lot. A day didn't pass without him whining like a bitch to his ice queen mother.

"Mummy! I told Stella I wanted to play circus, and she won't be the elephant!"

"Mummy! I want Stella's cookie, and she won't give it to me!"

"Mummy! Stella won't stop reading and play with me!"

And then came that fateful day when I reached my limit. That uppity little bastard had the nerve to demand that I give him my stuffed purple puppy. Of course, there was no way in hell it was going to happen. My daddy gave me that puppy, and I barely ever let it out of my sight.

So he stole it from me while I was napping, and decided that it would be funny to cut his head off. When I found him with it, smiling evilly over the remains of my most precious possession, I went nuts. By the time the house elves pulled me off the little fucker, who only a year younger though about the same size as me, he was missing four teeth and his arm was broken in three places.

We were told none too politely to vacate the premises, and the year my mother had spent trying to gather information was lost. I know it was my fault, but do not for even a second regret what I did. And I know Mum didn't blame me. She repaired my stuffed purple puppy, and thanked me for being good for as long as I had, apologizing for having forced me to deal with Draco.

I was six when we left, and we were broke and homeless, outcasts everywhere we turned.

As much as I hated living with the Malfoy's, the next two years were even worse. The only job my mum could find that would allow her to keep on with her quest to find evidence of my dad's innocence was as a housekeeper for Severus Snape.

He was an extremely sour man, but not entirely horrible to me. I remember him reading to me a few times, though he wasn't nearly as good as Uncle Remus since he only read potion manuals. Occasionally, he had me help him cut ingredients, or watch over a boiling cauldron, and rewarded me with a few knuts or some candy.

To my mum, however, he acted like the most fucking horrible prick on the planet. I didn't understand it at the time, but now I know why. My dad was his mortal enemy, and had tormented him all through school. I don't defend that, but still think that it was slightly sick of Snape to get off on torturing Mum as some demented sort of revenge.

She cried a lot, from things he said to her, venomous, stabbing little remarks he would make in passing specifically to hurt her, like a twisted little boy pulling the wings off a fly. My heart ached a little more each time I came across Mum quietly weeping to herself on the back steps of his small home in Minsk. It hurt like hell to watch her strong spirit breaking down.

It was a horrible, soul-crushing ordeal, but was fruitful in the end. In the middle of a freezing January night the year I was to turn eight, I was shaken urgently from a serene, inconsequential dream. Forcing my sleep-heavy eyelids open, I found that my mum's face was hovering above mine in the dark.

"Shhh," She warned in a elated, giddy, utterly terrified whisper, "Get up and dressed, my darling. We have to go now."

I did as I was told, and ten minutes later found myself being dragged through the darkened streets of the city. Even then, I knew something very big must have happened, and, let me assure you, it most definitely had.

In her bag, my mum had a roll of film. On it there were only three pictures, but they all showed Peter Pettigrew, alive and well, conversing heatedly with Snape in the living room of the potion master's foyer. It was all the proof she needed, and she had to see that it found its way into the proper hands.

We were on the run then, a race against time and the evil men chasing after us. After Snape found us gone, he put two and two together, assuming that my mum had seen Pettigrew, and he raised an alarm. He may be a bastard, but let no one ever claim he's a dunce.

Knowing how much danger we were in, mum wouldn't trust the film to anyone else. She developed it herself, in the dingy bathroom of our seedy motel room in Essen, Germany, and made three prints of each picture. I watched in quiet fascination as she put the sets in separate envelopes, one for the Ministry, one for the Prophet, and one for Uncle Remus. She wasn't taking any chances, so, on top of that, while the pictures were developing, she hid the negatives in a secret place. I don't know where it was though. She was gone for less than an hour, could have flooed or apparated anywhere in the world, and came back with a smile on her face. The only thing left was to send out the envelopes.

"You see, Stella," I recall her saying, an excited, nearly mad gleam in her usually listless brown eyes, "You see, I promised you I'd find a way to bring your daddy back, and now I have! We'll be a family again!" It was quite a thrilling prospect, and I slipped my hand into hers, preparing to accompany the blonde woman on her journey to mail the small three envelopes that had the power to set my father free.

Before we could take a step, a sharp knock came from the door. Three curt taps, tap, tap, tap, and then frozen silence. I felt my mother begin to shake just before she let go of my hand, slowly creeping up to the pale beige door in order to look cautiously through the peephole.

"Hide under the bed," She demanded flatly, turning to face me fully for the last time. The dark circles beneath her eyes, hints of graying blonde hair at her temples, and the premature wrinkles on her pretty face made her seem much older than a woman in her early thirties should have, but her life had been hard, and exhausting. I'm sure she knew what was about to happen, but didn't seem scared at all, simply tired... somewhat resigned to it. Ready to stop running.

"Take this," She said, removing a key on a chain from around her neck and pressing it into my small hand, "And hide under the bed. No matter what happens, don't come out, or even make a sound. I love you, Stella." Being shoved beneath the bed, frightened out of my mind, I replied automatically, "I love you, too, Mummy."

There wasn't enough time for her to tell me what the key opened, or where she had hidden the negatives. If she had wasted the few seconds that would have taken, it would have been too late for me to hide. She chose preserving my life over securing my father's freedom.

From under the bed, I heard the door kicked in, but couldn't see anything aside from feet. Mum's I knew, but the other two sets I did not. Neither of the intruders spoke, but there was a rustling and tearing of paper that I recognized as the pictures being destroyed. The remains fluttered gently into my line of vision, and I had barely made out two halves of an image of Snape and my Uncle Peter, who I thought was dead, before a burst of magic hit the scraps, and they smoldered into ashes.

I was compulsively hugging my stuffed purple puppy, and squeezing the key in my hand so tightly that its jagged teeth were digging into my flesh, making a deep impression that would turn into a bruise and take weeks to fade. It was all I could do to keep from sobbing out loud, especially when I saw my mother kneel. The killing curse was uttered flippantly, the intruder sounding almost annoyed, and brilliant green spellfire flashed through the room.

Leda Black's lifeless body slumped very slowly to the dull, floral-patterned motel carpet with barely a thud.

I couldn't take my eyes off her, crying silently, getting dizzy and sick from the effort of keeping myself quiet. The two intruders, men, most definitely, conversed lowly for a few moments, but it was only dull background noise to the tragedy before me.

And then suddenly they were gone, and I could see flames consuming the room. It only took a few moments before I was choking on thick smoke, before I had to crawl out from my hiding place or else die. I needed to get out of there, but my mum... I didn't want to leave her like that.

So I stayed, sobbing beside her remains until the smoke overtook me.

I woke up in a hospital, in a trying-too-hard-to-be-cheery room in the children's ward of a German wizarding hospital. I was being treated for severe smoke inhalation, and some minor burns on my arms. I shouldn't have run away, I shouldn't have taken my stuffed purple puppy, and my mother's necklace, and snuck out in the middle of the night. However, that's exactly what I did. I was scared, and all alone, and the only thing I could think to do was run, before the bad men came for me. It was stupid, and childish, but, as a stupid child, I feel that I should be exempted from blame.

I'm not entirely sure how I survived for nearly two months on my own, running on foot across Germany, Switzerland, Italy, France, and finally Spain, but I do remember that it was hard. Nights were cold, food was scarce, and there was never anyone around to hold me when I cried. I was sick, exhausted, hungry, always freezing, and had absolutely no idea where I was going, but was convinced that I couldn't stop. Something was chasing me, and it most definitely was not some shadow from my imagination.

I'd been following the coast since Marseille, France, and crossed the border into Spain the day before my birthday. Night fell, and I found myself in a small village called Port Bou. The weather was getting warmer as I traveled farther south, but it was still very cold at night. Wearing clothes I had stolen from a lost and found box in Switzerland, I quickly began to shiver. The alley I'd chosen for my bed that night was dark, and terrifying, and I still had the feeling that I was being followed.

Half asleep, I almost didn't know if I'd imagined the footsteps coming towards me, wasn't sure until I saw a tall shape looming from the darkness. I never knew I could run as fast as I did.

The figure gave chase, shouting what sounded like angry threats over the rush of wind and blood in my ears as I sped faster and faster away. The hard tattoo of his shoes on the pavement was so loud, and fast, and my heart was beating itself against my thin chest like a war drum. My lungs, still scarred and weak from the fire, ached tremendously, and my cold, malnourished body could hardly have kept itself going if my mind had not demanded so strongly that it do so.

Dozens of twists and turns finally threw the man from my trail, leaving me gasping for breath in a deserted ship yard. It was very dark, lit only by a few yellowed lamps that were throwing sinister shadows from the skeletons of half-built boats and claws of heavy machinery. It was a terrifying place, and I was so scared, and so tired, and so ill.

I started hearing the footsteps again, and couldn't hold back from sobbing any longer. I struggled my way onto one of the docks, hiding behind a stack of boxes very close to the water's edge. Curled in a tiny ball, I whimpered pitifully, trying to silently catch my breath and praying that the bad man would just leave me alone.

But he didn't, the footsteps slowly came forward, the old, splintered wood creaking with each one. I knew the man could probably hear my crying, but couldn't stop. I felt like a coward, not at all like the brave girl made me promise to be.

The creaking came to a careful, measured halt just on the other side of my hiding place. I squeezed my stuffed purple puppy harder, and held my breath, even though it made me dizzy. The action managed to cut off almost all the noise I was making.

"Stella?" The voice was soft though, and didn't sound mad or scary at all without the wind giving it harsh edges. I thought I recognized who it belonged to, but chastised myself for doing so. I had imagined the similarities because I so desperately wanted it to be someone I knew, someone who cared about me, the last person alive who I knew really did.

"Stella?" It called again, moving cautiously closer, sounding more and more familiar, "Please, where are you? It's Uncle Remus."

A sob finally broke out of my throat, relief flooding my whole body, and then he was there in an instant, scooping me into strong arms and hugging me fiercely against his chest.

"Thank Merlin!" He murmured against my temple as he planted a loving kiss there, "Thank Merlin you're safe, darling girl!"

Far too distraught to answer, I clung to him like a life preserver in a flood, weeping hysterically into his neck. "Why were you running from me?" He inquired, his normally strong tenor voice breaking as he soothingly rocked my exhausted little body, "Oh, you're so cold! And you're shaking! Are you hurt at all? Talk to me, love.

I was so tired, still gasping for breath and unable to stop crying. Despite that, I felt safe for the first time since my mum died, finally allowing myself to relax as a new wave of fatigue washed over me. After that, I only remember being carried away.

I spent my eighth birthday completely unconscious in St. Mungo's. It's just as well; there wasn't much to celebrate that year anyways.

Remus had been on my trail since Switzerland, and chased me all across Europe. He was there in the hospital where I'd been taken after the fire, and was the first to discover that I had fled. The presence I ran from, the one I was so paranoid and afraid over, was him. Honestly, I felt like a moron when I figured it out.

Remus Lupin is my godfather, so, with my mum dead and my dad incarcerated, he became my guardian. After a few days recovering in the hospital, that beautiful man took me home with him, and loved me like I was his own daughter.

He was living in a small apartment in the heart of Athens, Greece, working as a clerk for the Ministry branch there. My Uncle Remus is a werewolf, bitten when he was just a boy, and has a lot of trouble holding down jobs because of that. Well, actually it's more because people in general are intolerant bastards.

But I digress. We stayed in Athens just long enough for me to become fluent in Greek, about eight months (I'm a fast learner), and then he was fired. We bounced around a lot after that. Uncle Remus was a paper-pusher in Sarajevo, Bosnia, an accountant in Copenhagen, Denmark, a museum tour guide in Bordeaux, France (where I learned French reasonably well), and, my absolute favorite, a librarian in Dublin, Ireland (I speak a bit of Gaelic, too). Librarian may sound boring, but it afforded me hours and hours of sitting in a comfortable corner with any book my little heart desired. It was heaven.

Despite moving a lot, life was fairly calm. I missed my mum like crazy, but Remus took very good care of me. He still didn't believe in my father's innocence, and balked the first (and only) time I told him Mum had gotten evidence. He never argued with me though, not like he did with her, and I loved him even more for not trying to convince me that the one thing I knew for sure was false.

My Hogwarts letter was an unexpected surprise. I had heard tons of stories about my parents' and Remus' time there, but somehow never thought that I would go myself one day. I didn't want to leave my uncle, but, at the same time, was absolutely giddy over the thought of the adventures I would have.

I can still remember my first day like it was yesterday. Remus took me to the train station, and gave me a million hugs before he tearfully saw me onto the Hogwarts Express with one last call of, "FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, BE GOOD, YOU DARLING LITTLE HELLION!" Ya, that's his pet name for me, and I absolutely love it. Let's just say I've always been a spirited child.

I've always been pretty average height for my age, too, but, surrounded by that dense horde of students, I suddenly felt very small. Dragging my heavy, battered trunk (a hand-me-down from Remus) through the halls, trying to quiet the fuzzy little gray owlet he had given me before I left (which I'd named Mercury), I quickly found an empty compartment towards the back of the train, and claimed it for my own.

Then I sat back and waited, patiently reading and silently hoping for excitement to find me.

The train had barely been in motion for ten full minutes when it did. In a sudden, loud, startling burst, the door shot open, closing again in an instant as the two stocky, redheaded boys who had entered hunched down below the view of the windows and giggled like mad.

"Hello," I chirped brightly, making both of them whirl around, their identical, freckled faces immediately looking guilty and startled. Still, I smiled, and continued, "What are you guys doing?"

"Nothing much, firstie," One mocked, brushing me off with a charming grin. The other was a tad more roguish, winking as he soothed, "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

They couldn't have been more than a year older than me, and I definitely did not appreciate being talked down to like I was a toddler. Scowling, I replied snappishly, "If you're going to be arses, then you can leave."

"OOO! Fiesty firstie!" The roguish twin teased, elbowing his brother and causing deep red fringe to simultaneously fall into both their sets of light blue eyes, "What say you, Frederick, figure this one for a Ravenclaw? I'll put a knut on it."

"Nah, I got two that say Gryffindor. That was right brave of her, standing up to us blokes like she did."

"EXCUSE ME!" I shouted, very quickly becoming extremely annoyed with their discourse, "But I'm sitting right here! If you have something to say to me, then fucking say it!"

"There, there, ickle firstie," The one called Frederick tutted, throwing himself down onto the seat beside me, and slinging an arm around my shoulders, "No need to get your knickers in a twist. We was just playing."

The other, still nameless, more roguish twin laid down at my other side, resting his head in my lap and smirking up at me as he replied flirtatiously, "Now, Fred, if the bird wants to twist her knickers, than that is her right. Girl power, a woman's body is her own business, and all that fun stuff. Say fuck again. You're smashing when you talk dirty."

Incensed and outraged, I was just about to throw both of them off and give them the thrashings of their lives, however, a more entertaining opportunity presented itself, and I simply could not resist.

"WEASLEYS!" A downright scary voice rang out, sounding like it must have had its origins deep in the bowels of the seventh circle of hell. Seconds later, the doors slammed violently open, making the entire compartment shake, the glass in the windows bowing outwards, whining from the struggle not to shatter.

All three of us froze, turning our gaze on the completely irate woman standing in the doorway. It only took me a moment to figure out why she was so upset. The miniature neon purple flamingos growing out of her head instead of hair were a dead giveaway.

"YOU!" She growled, advancing menacingly, gnarled hands balled into twisted, liver-spotted fists, "YOU MISCREANTS! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME!"

"Wasn't us!" Fred shouted, crawling over me trying to escape (though I don't know where he expected to go). He tripped over his twin, knocking them both to the floor, where they became far too tangled with one another to even cower in a corner.

"DON'T EVEN TRY TO DENY YOUR GUILT!" The woman, who I suddenly realized was the one who I'd seen pushing the food trolley, shouted as she towered over them, "IT COULDN'T HAVE BEEN ANYONE BUT THE PAIR OF YOU!"

"Um, excuse me, Ma'am," I interrupted politely, barely able to keep my devious smirk contained, especially when she rounded on me, and one of the flamingos bit her ear.

The woman looked like she was quite prepared to kill, but I didn't let that bother me, smiling softly as I stated, "I don't think these two boys are the ones you're looking for. They've been with me since before the ride began."

Her confusion was utterly, utterly priceless. "Bu... They... Wha..." She spluttered, gaping like a fish, and completely at a loss for anything coherent. Over her shoulder, I could see the twins exchanging confused, hopeful glances. And, when I also noticed that a small crowd had formed in the doorway, I knew it was time to make the kill.

"Oh, yes," I stated softly, giving the redheaded boys a very sincere look of pity, "Poor dears have been just bawling. They miss their mummy already, and have been quite inconsolable."

Two freckled jaws dropped, the boys' expressions passing through identical processes of confusion, shock, and horror as the students gathered around the door began to snicker. I'm sure some people would've felt bad about the way I planned to humiliate those two, but, fortunately, I am not one of those people, and therefore could enjoy the experience to the fullest extent.

Smiling soothingly at the angry, purple-flamingo-haired woman, I continued, "Yes, you see I happened upon them when I picked this compartment, and they were both sobbing quietly in the corners. This one," I paused, getting up from my seat to walk over and pet the twin whose name I still didn't know (the one who I thought had been just a little ruder to me) on the head. He looked frightened, but I managed a small wink, that would have been conspiratorial had I not been about to publicly humiliate him. "This little one," I continued, "He'd wet himself quite thoroughly. It's a good thing I had enough wits about me to perform a cleaning spell, or else he might have caught cold. Unfortunate little fellow was far too distraught to do it himself."

The giggling outside had turned into full on guffaws quite awhile ago, and the furious woman looked even more furious, her right eye twitching uncontrollably and the veins in her wrinkled neck throbbing. All was going perfectly to plan.

"Is this true?" She managed to hiss, her bony shoulders shaking from the effort of keeping her anger contained. Everyone turned to stare at the twins, awaiting their responses, and I couldn't help but smirk evilly as I watched them try to decide which was worse, taking an alibi that said they'd been crying and losing bladder function while the prank occurred, or fessing up to the prank and throwing themselves onto the mercy of the clearly homicidal trolley woman.

In the end, Fred turned bright red, and muttered in defeat, "Yes, it's true."

"So, you see, Ma'am," I stated, not even skipping a beat as I turned to the woman, as well as the crowd of snickering onlookers (some of whom had already run away laughing to spread the event to the whole train), "These two couldn't have been the ones that messed up your hair. They've been crying far too hard to even have gotten up, let alone ventured out with their mussed shorts."

The flamingos in her hair were starting to fight amongst themselves, and I'm sure it was just the last straw because she let out a strangled moan/yell/grunt/shriek, and turned, and stomped away, slamming the compartment door shut behind herself.

Once alone with the twins again, I couldn't help myself any longer, and burst out laughing, falling over on the bench seat, holding my aching sides, kicking my feet into the air, and finding myself almost unable to catch my breath.

"You sneaky little..." The unnamed twin grumbled as he got up from the floor, advancing on me with his wand in hand and looking like he wanted nothing more than to hex my arse to where my face is supposed to be. As soon as I realized the danger I was in, my own wand found its way into my hand, and, in just a split second, I was on my feet with it pointed directly at the redhead's neck. He had his trained on me, and we had ourselves a standoff.

"That was a dirty trick!" The boy shouted at me, seeming torn between outrage and amusement. I smirked, "I don't know what you're bitching about. Got you out of trouble, didn't I? You owe me."

"OWE YOU?" He gaped quite loudly, "What you do you mean owe you? You just told everyone I pissed me'self!"

Fred snorted with laughter, and the unnamed twin reeled on him, insisting in outrage, "It's not funny!" His brother chuckled, smiling cheekily as he corrected, "It is a little funny."

And then the unnamed twin broke out into a small, almost unnoticeable grin before swearing under his breath, and turning back to me once again. Narrowing his eyes, he let his wand down, offering up his free hand as he introduced bluntly, "George."

"Hmm," I replied, cautiously shaking hands with him, "Even though your monosyllabic grunt of an introduction is far less than impressive, it's still very nice to make your acquaintance. I'm Stella Black."

The boy got a strange, thoughtful look on his face, then his eyes went wide, "Black, as in related to Sirius Black?"

"Yes," I snapped sharply, trying to remain calm until actually insulted, though I was sure that's what was about to happen, "He's my dad, and he's innocent... Got a problem with that?"

"No," The poor confused redhead stated, looking to his brother for help, "It's just... I thought he... killed you..."

Scowling, I informed him hotly, "My dad didn't kill anyone, and you're thinking of my little sister. She died in the attack on Diagon, but it wasn't him who did it. He was set up."

"Oh," George responded, seeming to be thinking hard as he scratched his tousled tomato hair, "Ok then." That was it. He didn't call me crazy, or laugh in my face, or anything of the sort. It was a blissfully rare experience.

Still slightly stunned by his lack of reaction, I almost didn't notice that the other twin was talking to me, holding out his hand as he said with a grin, "Well, I'm Fred, in case you hadn't already figured it out. Thanks for the alibi, even though it kind of... blew..."

Regaining my sense, I shook his hand as well, responding with a soft smile, "You're welcome, Fred. It's very nice to meet you, now that you and your brother are no longer behaving like arseholes."

He blushed, and I decided that it was quite adorable, especially when he stammered, "Sorry if you got offended. We didn't mean anything by it. Really."

I shrugged, "No harm, no foul. I can take a joke just as well as anyone else." Both twins beamed, chiming in an eerie, mischievous chorus, "Good to hear."

It was the beginning of a beautiful, slightly twisted friendship.

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k, well, I've been debating about whether or not to post this one for awhile, so be sure to let me know what you think of it. Should have a few more chapters posted shortly.