Hello my darling and welcome to what is probably some of my best writing on here. And I'm a damn good writer. No, really, I promise this fic will not be another pointless Mary-Sue and is actually worthy of your time. Honest to Goddess.
This is my fan-written take on OTP. I've pretty much taken the whole book on a joy ride, cause it seemed like a good idea at the time and the characters in my head have a story to tell.
This will be "epic" in proportions; meaning many chapters, new over-arching characters and ideas, and a pretty crazy whirlwind of a ride that I think will leave my lovely readers a little breathless when its all said and done. Life is a bit of a comedy, so of course there's going to be random humor. As well as romance, and shit tons of drama. Which I'm not used to writing but adapting to fairly quickly.
I am going to try hard to keep this T, but there will be strong language and violence. I'm going to try and keep it smut free, though if its requested enough I will just do a one shot somewhere, Deleted Scences or something of the sort.
What are you doing still reading this? The fanfiction below is so much better! As always, a writer cannot continue without knowing their stuff is worth reading, so please Read and Review! Suggestions are welcome, of any kind.
I hope you all enjoy reading this as much I as enjoyed writing it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter, all belongs to the amazing JK Rowling. The only things I can claim are my OC's. So, don't sue, cause I'm flat broke. Song used is Help, I'm Alive by Metric.
Many a thanks to: Rave aka Your Shadow Light, for giving me the inspiration to write pretty much everything I do.
Behind The Crimson Door
Chapter 1: Unaccompanied Minor
My regrets are few
If my life is mine,
What shouldn't I do?
I get wherever I'm going,
I get whatever I need
~*~
Trapped in this cacophony of people, surrounded by strangers in a completely unfamiliar setting, of two things our protagonist was sure of. First, wearing all black was a bad idea.
Second, "muggles" had to be the most unobservant people on the face of the planet to not notice the practical queue line of people with odd carts containing various animals disappearing into a brick column.
It had seemed like a good idea last night; the black. But now, with the eyes of those who shouldn't look twice lingering on her form like numerous nagging weights, it no longer felt like a wise choice. Though as she noticed that of the hundreds of people here at King's Cross only she was unaccompanied, her mind became immediately decided.
Black would do.
Boarding the train was simple enough. First day paranoia had made her early; the Platform currently housing a sparse amount of equally paranoid parents. They struggled with the cases they had over-packed, trying to force them onto the train by any means necessary.
With her own brand of magic, the woman levitated the bag onto the train with careless ease. Ignoring the strange looks and hushed whispers of her soon-to-be fellow students, she claimed a compartment for her own company. A soft chirp resounded from the cage as the witch went about stowing her luggage. The sound had been produced by a small yet cunning green finch, looking out at the gray sky in longing.
"I'm sorry Brigid, but I probably shouldn't let you out until we get to the school," she apologized, taking a seat beside her avian companion. The sounds of fellow students boarding the express became a hushed background noise, causing the woman to ponder for the 57nth time how Hogwarts had found her.
The sudden "disappearance" of her parents coupled with arrival of her letter could not be coincidence, of this she was certain. However, that also meant that for the past five years of her life her parents had known what she was, even as they tried to suffocate her in Christianity and customs. It meant that her parents were not ignorant to her abilities, but horrified to the point of somehow secluding her Hogwarts.
Again, the end conclusion raised another question. How could non-magical parents be able to hide her away, unless they were magical themselves? And if so, what reason would they then have to do any of the aforementioned tasks? Surely keeping a magically gifted child from the knowledge of the greatest wizard ever born was an endeavor requiring constant attention. The stress alone would have caused a mental breakdown; a motive for their "disappearance".
But then what reason would her parents, if magical and thus assuming they accepted said magic, have to reject her for these past 16 years of life?
It was then the compartment door flew open, snatching the young woman from that train of inquiry, something for which she was internally grateful. Questions without answers were a source of constant aggravation.
The source of the interruption was two boys and a girl, all about her age.
"Do you mind if we join you?" the lone woman asked, brunette and clutching a gargantuan orange tabby.
"Every where else is full," the red-headed boy explained, freckled and lanky; as if his growth-spurt hadn't quite evened out yet.
"Not at all," she answered kindly, mentally groaning as the accent immediately announced her country of origin.
"Well, I'm Ron Weasly, these are my best mates; Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter," the ginger boy introduced his fellows.
"Ceres Genavieve."
"Well it's a pleasure to meet you Ceres," the woman Hermione, she reminded herself; replied kindly.
"Right back at ya," Ceres answered casually, observing the three with mild interest.
"So, you're an American?" Ron asked, earning a small punch on the arm from his female companion.
"Yeah, I flew over from Massachusetts; one of the ones in North – East corner," the American explained, watching with intrigue as Hermione began to process the information, internal gears quickly at work.
"Oh yes," she quickly finished, "that's in New England, not far from Canada."
The remark earned a smile of acknowledgement from Ceres, and looks of bewilderment from her friends.
"What? We did geography in Muggle Studies."
"So, this is your first year then?" the black haired boy, Harry; she committed to memory; asked her. She nodded in reply.
"Yep. I've practiced magic on my own though since I was a kid. Tomorrow morning they're giving me a placement test to decide what year they're throwing me into."
"There's another type?" Ron 'asked', completely confounded.
"Called Wicca, one of many."
"Its all only theory," the Granger dismissed.
"To some," Ceres challenged.
"The theory is that, well…basically, there are two types of magic; internal and external. The internal is the stuff witches and wizards like you guys are born with, the kind you use everyday at Hogwarts. The external is the natural magic that occurs in everything around you; its what makes potions work, gives magical creatures their powers.
"Wicca is the belief that you can tap into that power and focus it into a spell. Simple spells don't need much, sometimes nothing more than a coherent thought. More complex spells and rituals require tools, ranging from herbs and crystals to an athame; a ritual knife; to help the caster summon and focus the power…do you guys follow me so far?"
"Well enough," the men answered, while Hermione seemed to be on the edge of her seat.
"Now, internal magic differs from person to person, carrying its own unique signature as well. This is how the Ministry catches underage wizards and such breaking the law. However, external magic all has the same uniform signature. So, if a person uses this 'earth' magic, the energy used would go unnoticed by the Ministry and thus practice underage magic."
She paused then, giving the trio a moment to speak what questions they had been holding in, barely so.
Harry started first.
"But then why aren't there loads of wizards doing this stuff?"
"Because," Hermione cut in, "it's impossible. I've tried it, followed the instructions exactly. It can't be done."
"It didn't work," the American witch addressed, "because you were missing the key ingredient."
"Hermione, miss an ingredient? Ceres, I think you underestimate—" Ron defended, but the woman in question cut him off, growing increasingly frustrated.
"I assure you Genavieve, I did not and do not forget ingredients."
The American witch merely smiled, not threatened in the least.
"Belief, and please, call me Ceres. I can show you an example, prove it to you. But first, I need you guys to make sure I'm not cheating. Tell me," she question, withdrawing her wand as she did so; 13 in, black oak, dragon heartstring core, springy, "what happens when you use your wand, not the spell itself, but the constant thing that reoccurs each time you practice magic."
She allowed them a moment to contemplate this, as it wasn't something regularly thought of. It was Harry who answered the inquisition.
"The wand grows warm."
This earned him a bright smile in acknowledgement.
"Exactly. So, Hermione," she began, handing the wand to the puzzled witch, "will monitor the temperature of my wand. If it gets hot, the magic is my own. But if it stays cold as it is now, then the power is…something else. Simple enough?"
Now all three of the 5th year Gryffindors were on the edge of their seats in anticipation.
"So," the Weasley inquired, "your going to do a spell with this 'external magic' to prove it exists?"
"Yep," was the oddly terse American's response as she closed her eyes to focus. Both hands were palms down on the seat, searching for that link, for the calm.
There was too much movement, hushed whispers of bodes, train flying over the tracks, natural objects being left behind too fast to comprehend.
No she internally reprimanded herself. These were all only physical objects, they meant nothing, affected nothing, not on this plane.
There; energy, power. Immediately it rushed inside, filling her up almost instantaneously. The moment it did so, it began to fight, this power, like a wild hippogriff trapped in a cage; searching for an outlet. She gave it one without hesitation, levitating the cage containing her beloved Brigid as simply as breathing. Effortlessly.
And then there was nothing, as if some metaphysical cord had been severed. The spell had been broken. Looking up at the now open compartment door, she saw the source.
Young men, three of them. Even money said they were fellow 5th years. Better still claimed that the brutish two had been paying someone for their grades, for there was no way for them to advance otherwise. In the world she had grown up in, they would be bodyguards, perhaps bouncers at best.
Between the cavemen stood the obvious brains of the outfit; silver haired and immaculately dressed. Storm grey eyes stared back into her glowing Caribbean-sea orbs without the slightest flinch of hesitation.
"Ah, well, if it isn't the Golden Trio; Potty, mudblood, and the Weasel."
Ceres shook her head with a bemused grin; a patronizing gesture. One which the silver haired boy took none too kindly to.
"Don't call her a mudblood Malfoy," Harry defended, standing now at even height with the boy.
"Shut your ungrateful mouth Potter. You there, what are you grinning about?"
Locks the color of blood rubies cascaded back as she met his gaze, fighting back internal bursts of laughter; among things. The power unused was still locked inside her, demanding to either be returned, or directed at a new target. Either way it didn't care; it wanted out.
"Just you. I mean, no offense, but you don't think you could come up with something a little more original, Malfoy was it?"
"Draco Malfoy; and you are?"
"Ceres Genavieve. Feel free to attempt a joke out of it, though I doubt you'll come up with much," she grinned at Draco's angered expression almost bursting with fury.
"Leave her alone Malfoy," Harry commanded, advancing forward in challenge to stand almost between the pair, but not quite. The shorter of the goons answered with his fist, but its intended mark was never struck. The ball of meaty flesh was diverted to another, the face of his fellow bouncer-to-be.
"Its cool Harry, I got it covered," Ceres smiled candidly.
"How the bloody hell did you do that?" Draco demanded, grabbing the pale American by the wrist and yanking her to her feet none-too-politely.
"Ancient technique," she spoke as the taller boy gave his fellow a bloody lip, under Ceres' compellence.
Furious, he shoved the woman back into her seat in disgust. Ron leapt from his place in response, intent on violence if not for Harry and Hermione, who successfully held the boy in check. Their non-plussed reactions gave her the impression that this wasn't an uncommon occurrence.
The wizard in question turned to make his leave, but only made it all of two steps before falling flat on his handsome face, to which Ronald roared with laughter. The cause of the "accident" had tears in her eyes.
"Real graceful there dragon."
He was on her before she could blink, so close that his breath tickled her skin as he spoke.
"Watch your tongue, Genavieve."
Grinning slyly, the witch ran her tongue over her bottom lip; a swift tease. Watching with intrigue at the twin emotions of lust and horror, she whispered,
"Never."
And then he was gone, and his body guards along with them.
"So," Ceres laughed, "What else do you guys do for fun around here?"
A/N~ OK, so, first off, might I say that out of all fanfiction I've written, this one has been worked on the hardest, and I hope it shows. Actually a rewrite, and there was a LOT that had to be fixed/scrapped. Already hard at work on the next chapter, reviews make me write faster, so, leave one! Hope you enjoyed!