Chapter One:

Our car pulled up in front of the little cottage like house that was far out in the country, and I angrily scrambled out slamming the door behind me. So far I was not a fan of England. Not because it wasn't nice, but because I wanted to go back to the suburbian nowhere-land I'd come from. Dad hadn't even given me a reason as to why he was uprooting me from one country and dropping me haphazardly into another where I didn't understand the way they spoke or the way they acted. America and the UK were obscenely different when you got down to it, or maybe it just felt like that today.

He got out of the car and headed inside not even looking back at me. Lately he'd been even more estranged than normal. Dad always spent a lot of time out of the house, and little of the time he spent in the house was around me. I think it's because of mom, when she died it killed him. He always gets upset when I ask about her, but I need to ask. Pictures, videos, love letters, he has none of that. Imagination is the only way I can have any thoughts of her. Sometimes I think I'm dreaming of her, but other times I think it's just a woman I've created. A figment of my imagination.

He's been worse lately, snapping every time I question our move, getting really moody and angry when I approach him. I've been sure to stay away from him; I'd learned throughout the years if he was like that distance was the only way to ensure I didn't get struck. Rarely did he hit me, but once or twice in his anger he had. Work was really high stress he'd explained to me later through gritted teeth angry with himself for losing control.

Travel had always been a part of his job, but that usually meant I was home alone or left with my friend Lissa. This was the first time I was moving with him. I guess it was a new franchise for the company. There wasn't much I knew about his job. He'd told me once that he spent so much time doing it he wasn't in the mood to waste time talking about it as well.

The house seemed much too large for a family of two was my first thought as I walked in by myself dragging my things behind me. There were four stories and several rooms on each floor. The walls were all painted harsh colors and the floor was made of a blackened wood that created the effect of a black and white horror movie. Gargoyles- at least that was what I believed them to be- surrounded the hall perched on different corners with looks of fury on their faces. Still what brought my eye to them was the little figurines of humans being tortured by them. Backing away I quickly hurried up the stairs to the top floor.

Looking through all the rooms I felt myself becoming even more unsettled until I found one that was the worst of them all. There was a long table that was darker black than all the other shades of black in the house, and there were many. The chairs were all stiff metal rounding at the top except for the emerald throne like one at the end. Still it was the snake skin that lay shed on the floor that caused me to drop my bags and hurry from the room in search of my father.

"Dad!" I screamed rounding a corner before stumbling down the stairs so quickly that my Chuck Taylor caught sending me sprawled out on the rug. "Did you not check the place out before you came here? I'm, like, 95% sure that an evil cult used this place as a hideout a long time ago. Probably at least ten years ago based off the dust." I had picked myself up, so I could clearly see him roll his eyes as he entered the room.

He turned to me, "I doubt it was a cult. Now go set up your room, and then come help me clean the house. Some old friends of mine will be visiting us tomorrow and I want everything to be in a good condition when they get there."

"You do realize how long it will take to clean this whole house right?" I asked starting backwards up the stairs. He just nodded tersely before leaving me alone under the cobweb riddled chandelier.

Once I was upstairs I recollected my bags and pulled the door of the throne –for lack of a better title- room tightly shut. Then I walked to the opposite end of the hall and started checking the rooms. The last one made me sigh with relief. It was located in the turret of the house and had dark wooden walls and a lighter wooden floor, but there was no black. The sheets were silver and the window had emerald green stained glassed roses sending patterns onto the fabric making it look as though a pile of gemstones were lying on the bed.

Dropping my things I carefully took my major things I needed and set them on the metal desk already against the far wall. Slowly I put the rest of what I'd brought in where it needed to be, trying to put off exploring the house. I finished in a rush toward the end when the realization I had to clean the entire house for my father and it was already three in the afternoon.

Still it couldn't hurt to lie down for a minute. Dropping my pillow I laid down and closed my eyes- just for a half a second. I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep until they flew open as a large bang echoed around me downstairs. Jumping out of bed I ran down the stairs calling for my dad as I ran. My feet hit the carpet in the hallway at the same time that another bang exploded around me.

I followed the noise into the kitchen where a woman was standing angrily facing my father. Her hair was up in a tight bun but several strands were starting to make their way down. Watching out of sight I saw her breathing heavily while staring at my father with a look of complete disgust. His back was toward me as I started to creep forward. Freezing as her eyes met mine, I waited to see what she would do. Lowering the stick in her hand she smiled at me in a strained way, but still like she was glad to see me.

"Nadine, come here now, please," she asked me in a stern voice, but there was an underlying warmth in it that propelled my feet toward her.

I froze as another voice rang out, "Stop, girl!" My dad's voice was rough and angry addressing me almost like a dog.

I turned to him, "Dad what's going on?" I asked halfway between the woman and my father.

A feral growl rose from the woman shocking me that such an elegant looking woman could create that noise. "Dad?" she asked, voice coated with disbelief as though I'd called him Prime Minister. "Oh, Dolohov, you're just full of stories. Why don't you tell the girl what's going on? Tell her the truth for once, Antonin," her voice went from harsh and strained to concerned as she reached the last sentence and her gaze fell back to me.

Dad just laughed as though she'd told him a brilliant joke, "You know as well as I do as soon as she knows who she is; it's over. Face the facts Minnie I've done the girl a favor, lengthened her pathetic life. Or at least the part of it that will be enjoyable," a look I had never seen on anyone had taken over my father's face, as though something evil had made its way inside of him. Not only that, but his voice had taken on a British accent and a rough tone full of what could only be described as fury.

"Never call me that," the woman's face became even stonier than when I first entered the room as though my dad had just uttered the most grave of insults, "especially not in front of her."

He laughed, "He called you that; didn't he? He and that disgusting mudblood lover!"

"How dare you! Nadine come with me. We need to get out of here; some bad things are going to happen here soon and you need to be far away. There's only so much I can tell you, but first we need to get out of here. Come take my arm, please," she told me reaching towards me.

Casting a glance at my father I saw the same look still etched on his face, and something in my mind clicked making me reach out for the woman that was not to be called Minnie. I gasped as my feet were whisked out from under me and the air began to swirl; my stomach clenched as though it was being forced through a tube; my insides wiggled about causing a feeling of nausea to overtake me.

Cement was suddenly supporting me and the bad feelings vanished leaving only a slight ringing in my ears. We were standing outside a pub that I was led into and I followed her past the bar up some stairs to a room. It was very warm and had a small fire that was glowing orange in the corner.

"Please explain," I demanded tears starting to come to my eyes. "What was wrong with my father? Why am I here? How did we get here? What is the danger that I'm in if I know things? Who was my father referring to when he said someone called you Minnie? What is going on?" the questions flooded from my mouth.

She sat down on the bed and pointed to the plush chair adjacent to it. I sat down and took a breath trying to hold back the sobs gathering at the base of my throat. "First I must tell you that man is not your father. He kidnapped you when you were a baby the night your mother died and raised you as his own on his master's orders."

"His master?" I asked confused.

"Let me explain some history of your and my world. You probably realized on our trip here, that there are powers a work in the universe. You have been raised away from it, but magic is real and it is a part of you. Witches and wizards walk among muggle kind never quite blending, yet never being enough to stick out. There is a school, Hogwarts, and I'm a teacher at it, Professor Minerva McGonagall.

"Starting many, many years ago this one wizard rose. He was powerful and dark. Time had twisted him into a monster, and he accomplished things of great height, but horrible repercussions for the rest of the wizarding world. He believed that muggles, non-magic folk, were scum and below him and those descended from them who had magic were the bane of our kind. Many people who also felt that way fell into step with him, becoming his followers. That man that you called father was one of them.

"You're real father was a wonderful man. Death would come sooner than him joining He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I wish I could tell you more of him, but Dolohov was correct in saying the more you know the more danger you're in," she paused after explaining all of that with few breaths except for parts where she knew I would need a moment to take it in.

I paused so confused, "This has to be untrue."

"Do you really believe that, or are you scared?" she asked me lightly.

"I'm terrified. What does this man want with me? Why didn't you say his name? Does it summon him or something? I saw an episode of Doctor Who once where saying the creatures names would do things to them," I told her all of this in a jittery broken strand of information, much like the way my brain was processing her words.

She sighed, "Voldemort is his name, but he has done such horrible things that it harbors great fear for our people. I can't tell you what exactly he wants with you, because knowledge is dangerous. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can get inside your mind and identify you by what you know. If you don't know, then nothing in your mind will be important enough to grab his attention."

I frowned still not understanding the big question here, "But why me? What about me makes him want to get to me?"

"Blood is very important to him and his followers. You come from two of the purest most powerful bloodlines in the wizarding world. Not to mention there is great opposition to his movement in both of them, and it would be the ultimate blow for them. Having you be taken by him, while they could do nothing,"

I tilted my head to the side in question, a habit I'd picked up from my childhood dog, "Why did he kidnap me then? Why not just hand me over to Voldemort once my parents were dead?"

"Your father lives, and after your mother's death people realized the danger you were in. We tried to get to you, but we couldn't. Not in time. Antonin took you to America where we had no power to trace you and raised you with orders under false information. You-Know-Who was vanquished the same night your mother's life was taken. Some friends of her's had a son who Voldemort took an interest for reasons unknown. They were in hiding, but betrayal got in the way. You two visited them often. One night you were there and he showed up, he killed Lily and James, then your mother. When he tried to kill Harry and you it didn't work. You have a lightning scar on your body somewhere correct?" she paused after finally asking a question, still it was a question that while I could answer made me all the more confused.

I nodded, "On my ankle." I'd always loved the scar; it looked really cool.

"You got it when the Killing Curse touched you. Harry has one on his forehead. He's known as the Boy-Who-Lived due to his survival. However, you were presumed dead by most, and no one corrected the public for your safety if found," she explained and I gasped.

I paused, "My father does he-" I broke off.

"No, and he can't. Not until you are out of danger. You're life is worth a lot more than you know, but I've said enough. Get some sleep and tomorrow, the barkeeper Tom will help you get your school supplies. The train to Hogwarts leaves in two days.

"Find a girl with bushy, brown hair and a red headed boy by her side. I've told her you are an American muggle-born who their poor Magical government overlooked and will be starting your schooling late. She'll be your tutor so that you can take your year classes and not draw too much attention. Everyone else will think you a Beauxbatons transfer, and that the school is slightly behind. Hermione is good at secrets. Oh, and you'll be called Nadine Durand." She smiled before leaving me alone with a spinning mind and pile of information that still needed be sorted before I could make any sense of it.

You're life is worth a lot more than you know. Why did I feel that wasn't a good thing?