A/N: Hello all! So begins the promised rewrite! In this chapter is an entirely new scene, along with various little edits. If you just want to read the new bit, skip down to the first line break. I hope to be posting 2-3 chapters a week, as well as posting a chapter to part 3 every week, at least while I'm on Christmas break. But, you know me, so we'll see how it goes. For newcomers and old-comers alike, please read and review! ;)

Three figures stood silently atop a hill. One, a pretty woman in her late thirties, was sobbing openly into a handkerchief as another, a young man on the cusp of adulthood, stood stoically supporting her, refusing to give into the grief that had him looking so much older than his years. The third, a young woman, bent slowly to the earth. Her hands were cupped, full of dirt, with a small sproutling in the middle. She gently placed the plant into a hole in the ground.

"There," she said. Her voice cracked, and against her will the tears began to fall, watering the soil beneath her. She all but collapsed on the ground, her strength leaving her. Her godbrother grabbed her, helping her to stand again.

"He wouldn't want you to be like this," he said softly, "neither of you. He would want you to be strong, keep fighting."

The young woman nodded, wishing that she had something more of him, something more than an empty grave and a little dogwood tree. He deserved so much more than what he had got.

The little family jumped at a small explosion that came from just beyond the hills. They turned as one to see brightly colored lights and smoke emanating from just beyond the horizon. The two young people narrowed their eyes, both reaching for something in their pockets, while the older woman simply shook, looking as though she was soon to float away from this world into the next.

"We've got to go," the young man said. "We're too much in the open—it isn't safe anymore."

"Damn it teh 'ell," the young woman said bitterly. "Why 'asn' Dumbledore done anythin'?"

The older woman sighed. "Bailey, 'e is a very busy man, an' 'e 'as a lot on 'is plate, a lot o' people to keep safe—"

"More importan' people than the Chosen One?" Bailey said, a slight snarl to her tone. The young man went a bit red.

"You know I—" he began.

"Hush, 'arry, yeh're a priority in this war whether yeh like it or not," she replied, cutting him off.

He pursed his lips. "C'mon. Let's get back to the house," he said as another explosion went off in the distance.

He put his arm around both women's shoulders as they began their trek back to the little farmhouse. Bailey put a hand into her dark robes' pocket where there was a small slip of paper that had been there since before the beginning of summer. It had weighed heavily on her mind since she had been given it.

The side of the Light was doing nothing to keep Bailey and her family safe. She would have to start searching for alternative methods before it was too late.

Bailey drug herself into the kitchen, immediately putting on some coffee for herself and her mum as well as a kettle for tea for Harry. Harry was not far behind her.

"Mornin," he yawned. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"Harry, yeh don' have the fix us breakfast every mornin'," she said. "We're perfectly fine with just toast—"

"I know you say that, but I want to, really," he said. "I like to cook when it's someone who appreciated it. So, how about some crepes?"

Bailey rose an eyebrow. "You know how to fix crepes? You really are full of surprises, Po—"

She cut herself off at the tapping of an owl at the kitchen window. She opened it up and sighed when she saw that tell-tale red envelope. The Howlers and other such hate mail had been a daily occurrence since they had moved back to the farm. Apparently, the wards around Grimmauld Place had mostly kept her safe from them before.

"Best open it before Tilly comes down," Harry said in a resigned tone of voice as he gathered the ingredients for breakfast and began to mix up the batter. "Why people can't just leave you alone—"

"Because they're useless busybodies," Bailey said, viciously ripping the letter open.

"SIRIUS BLACK WAS AND ALWAYS WILL BE A MURDERER! HIS WHORE WIFE AND WHORE DAUGHTER WILL MEET THEIR END THE SAME AS HE—"

"What is tha' racket?" Tilly grumbled, walking into the kitchen. Without hesitation, Bailey whipped out her wand and made the paper burst into flames. "Bailey Anne, yeh know yeh're not supposed to use magic outsi' o' Hogwarts, I don' car if yeh found a way to get 'round it!"

"Sorry, Mum," Bailey said, not sorry at all. "Yeh're up earlier than I woulds though'."

Tilly shrugged, not quite done with questioning her daughter. Luckily, the Golden Boy cut in to distract her.

"Good morning, Tilly," Harry said. "D'you like your crepes savory or sweet?"

Tilly visibly softened when she looked at her godson. "I think I'mma jus' 'ave toast and tea, Harry. I thin' I've woken up with a bug o' some sort."

Bailey frowned. "Why don' yeh go and lay back down, Mum? I'll bring it to yeh."

Tilly, somewhat dazed, nodded. "Think I'll take yeh up on tha', dear."

As soon as she left, the teens turned to look at each other.

"I'm worried about her," Harry admitted.

"She's regained and lost her husband in less than a year, been forced to move out o' two different houses, an' now is receivin' death threats. I know tha' she knows more abou' it than wha' she lets on—she's jus' humorin' us," Bailey said with a frown as she popped some bread in the toaster and poured her mother's tea. "Teh be honest, I'm worried abou' all o' us."

"Why, again, are you leaving so early?" Harry Potter asked for the umpteenth time a few days later. Bailey sighed, readjusting her robes again. She would look the part of an imposing Pureblood, even if she had fallen in power.

"Because, Potter, I need to 'ead to the bank," she said in a no-nonsense tone. Stupid little godbrothers and their stupid little questions.

"But I thought the Ministry wasn't allowing you access to the Black accounts?"

Bailey growled under her breath. Her godbrother was right, of course. The Ministry of Magic had thoroughly gone through Bailey's file, and largely due to her association with the newly-outed Death Eater Lucius Malfoy's son and status as a minor, they had decided that she was not to be given access to her inheritance until she graduated Hogwarts. It did not help that there was all sorts of suspicion being cast on the origins of the Black fortune, many claiming that they had made their fortune off of wartime profiteering during Grindelwald's reign. Complete rubbish really; the Blacks had been rich when Merlin was a twinkle in his mother's eye.

That, of course, meant little to the enemies she and her family had out there. As a result, she had no access to Grimmauld Place, her family's vaults, or any of the many privileges of being a Black for two more years. After all, she had never 'officially' been made heir.

Dumbledore, the man who had all but sent her father to his death, had sat idly by.

"The goblins don't always go by the Ministry's rules," Bailey said as she perfectly applied winged eyeliner, a feat she could not accomplish, or even cared to, only a year ago. Thank Merlin for Amelia and Mrs. Malfoy. "And besides that, there are other funds to be sorted through."

"And you don't just tell Tilly this because…?"

"Because, Harry," Bailey began, sounding thoroughly bored. "Mum has been sick enough, and she hates the goblins, but would insist on going with me. This is somethin' I need to do on me own."

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure I want to lie to her. Especially for this. I'm sure she'd understand."

You've never met her, have you? Bailey thought sarcastically.

"Look, yeh're not technically lyin' to her," she said in her most convincing voice as she passed him the rest of her Chocolate Frog stash surreptitiously. He rolled his eyes at her childishness. "All you have to say is that I'm going to the joke shop to spend some time with George. If yeh can imply that I'm dressed up special an' actin' shifty—"

"—you are acting shifty," he interrupted in a surly tone.

"Good, less you'll have to manufacture," she replied happily before continuing, "If yeh can do that, that'll be even better. She'll be overjoyed that I'm actin' like a normal teenager."

"Alright," Harry replied uneasily. Bailey kissed him on the cheek.

"Love you, little brother," she said with a wink.

"I'm not little!" he retorted.

"Yeah, Harry, yeh are," she replied before stepping through the Floo. "Diagon Alley!"

Bailey stepped out into Flourish and Blotts and only just managed to keep standing as a wave of guilt washed over her. She had lied to her godbrother, in addition to getting him to lie to her mother.

But, she didn't know what else to do.

On top of not being able to gain access to her inheritance, her mother had been struggling to keep up with the bills on their farm. Time off from work in addition to a wet summer demanding that repairs be made to the roof of the barn meant that bills were stacking up.

Dumbledore's fight (damn, she hated that meddling old man) to put Harry back into the custody of his vicious relatives, without alerting the media or anyone else to the Boy-Who-Lived's new place of residence had only added to their financial burden, though Tilly had tried her hardest to keep Harry and Bailey in the dark over that aspect of it. Of course, little went on at Fleecewood or Grimmauld Place without Bailey knowing about it, especially when she was on break from school. She had become quite the eavesdropper when it suited her.

If all that was not enough to earn a person a padded room in the mental ward of St. Mungoe's, Bailey had seen the lights from wand fights out of her bedroom window for too many nights to count since she had come home. The Order of the Pheonix (meaning Dumbledore) had ignored her and her mother's pleas for more wards to be put on the house.

She had to do something. And it seemed she had but one option left

Before leaving school at the end of her fifth year, Bailey had been approached by Daphne Greengrass of all people. The other Slytherin had given Bailey a way to contact someone who would pay her well for services rendered. The same person had continued to pursue her, sending offers and gifts for over a month. Finally, Bailey had agreed to meet with him, provided that he keep the raids away from her home for a week.

He had not gone back on the promise.

So, Bailey strode purposefully through the twists and turns of Diagon Alley with her hood pulled up to avoid any ambushes by the paparazzi. She had barely been able to go anywhere in Wizarding Britain without being bombarded by Daily Prophet reporters since her father's death. She glanced both ways as she approached Knockturn Alley before quickly ducking in.

The Knocktrn Alley was at least ten degrees cooler than Diagon Alley. Bailey was thankful; her thick black robe had been suffocating. Finally, she turned into Borgin and Burke's.

"I am looking for someone," she immediately told the proprietor. He gave her a greasy smile.

"Oh? Have you lost your daddy, little girl?" the man said. Bailey lowered her hood and fixed him with her most withering stare.

"I would think twice before labeling me as some little girl to be trifled with, Mr. Burke," she said imperiously, doing her best impression of Mrs. Malfoy.

"I am most apologetic, Lady Black," he said with a deep bow. "How may I be of assistance to you, m'lady?"

Bailey glared at him. His fake deference sickened her.

"I am meeting someone very important," she said, chin pointing up proudly. "Now, I expect you know exactly who I am talking about, Mr. Burke, and you know that he does not like to be kept waiting."

"Of course, of course," he simpered, his nose practically touching the floor as he bowed, "right this way, Lady Black."

Bailey followed him deep into the recesses of his store to a set of stairs, leading to his Back Parlor—essentially wizard-speak for 'super-special-secret clubhouse'. As soon as he showed her in, he quickly bowed out nervously, leaving Bailey alone in the room. Part of her felt like following him back out.

Because she wasn't alone. She was standing in the presence of the most dangerous Dark Wizard of all time.

"M'lord," she said, quickly bowing in front of him. She hadn't even dared to look at him yet.

"No need for such formalities, Lady Black," he said. "After all, I dearly hope that we will become great allies and close friends."

Bailey slowly stood up, careful to not make eye contact. "I understand you may have a job for me?"

The man chuckled, which looked strange on his pale, snake-like face. "So serious for one so young. You've struggled much over the past few months, haven't you? Before that, even. And for what? Dumbledore's greater good?"

"I did not fight at the Ministry for any reason other than to keep my family safe," she replied vehemently. She felt anger rise within her at the tears she felt trying to come. "I had made a deal with Dumbledore—and he reneged on it. Many times. He has worked against me and mine since before the first war. So now, I come to you."

"I know," he said sympathetically. "I would have fought as well for a man of the same pedigree as your father."

Bailey swallowed back the wave of grief that had threatened to overwhelm her so many times since her father's death.

"I understand where you are coming from, my dear," the Dark Lord said in softly hissing voice. "And I am willing to help you, for very little on your end. After all, anything for so fine a member of my old House. I ask only for some potions. Perhaps, if you are amenable, you could even take my Mark when you are ready."

Bailey's head was spinning. She knew that her father, her mother, her entire family—none of them would understand. She would not expect them to; she did not quite understand her own self. They would hate her and never speak to her again; maybe they would even kill her. She should leave while her soul was still her own. But, where would she go? She had run out of options.

"What potion do I start with?"

The Dark Lord smiled. "That won't be necessary quite yet. Just send me a sample of your work," he told her. Then, he pulled out a large sack that jingled in his hands. "I want you to not have to worry about a thing while you recover from your father's death. This should be more than enough to keep your farm afloat."

Bailey only just barely restrained from gaping at him. She had not even held so much gold in her entire life. "My lord—this is most generous—I—I don't know what to say. Thank you, so very much."

"Trust me, there is no need for your thanks," he said with a sinister look in his eye. But, as soon as she saw it, it was gone.

A little while later, she walked into her boyfriend's shop, her pockets far fuller than they had been. Almost immediately, George saw her from the cashier counter and rushed her, snogging her soundly in front of the entire store, causing no small number of wolf-whistles and cat calls.

"D'yeh really have to do that every time?" she said a bit breathless, grinning at him and putting on the face of happy girlfriend.

"You mean show off the fact that I have a hot, rich, and highly intelligent girlfriend—the very trifecta of a woman, if you will—to the entire world?" George replied with a boyish grin that told her that he was just teasing. "Of course I do."

Bailey shook her head, smacking him lightly on the chest as she leaned into him. She felt exhausted, ready to sleep for a millennia. George began to lightly run his hands up and down her back.

"You are crazy," she teased lightly.

"Crazy attractive, you mean," he said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Now, what has you in such a good mood? It's been a while," he said, concern shining through his eyes as he pulled away from her to get a good look at her. Bailey felt the beginnings of guilt in her gut, but quickly quashed it down.

"I managed to convince the bank to give me an allowance until I come o' age," she said, giving her most convincing smile.

"Really? That's brilliant!"

Bailey smiled and nodded, leaning back into his embrace, all the while wondering what would happen if he ever found out the truth. She was sure that there would be no more stolen kisses and catcalls when that day came.