I only own Jada and her family. Everything else is J.K.R.'s!

Warning: This chapter contains much profanity and some angst, both clear to see and some implied. The second chapter will have a short synopsis of what happened here, so if you feel you'd rather not read a whole bunch of four letter words or angst, then skip ahead.

The Rage and the Green

"Solute: Jada Walker. Solvent: Wizarding World. Solution: better world. Catalysts: Harry Potter (reactivity on scale of 1-10, 1 being not at all, 10 being destructively so: 9.50), Voldemort (reactivity: 9.99), Dumbledore (reactivity: 8.73). Danger level Red 4: will result in deaths. Approach with all due caution. Confirm any changes with PM." –Abstract from Jigget report 1.0

Jada looked up at the new house with an angry frown. The hell was wrong with the military? First they made her move, no, made her dad 'transfer', and now this thing! What was up with this dinky little house? No. Just no. She wanted her nice, big American houses. None of these old buildings with cracked stone walls. She'd gone through this moving houses crap ten times, so she could already tell that this was going to be the pits. It would never top the Chicago house on the list of "My Least Favorite Houses", but damn if it wouldn't come in second. No. Just… hell no. She and Dad had been sent to England, far, far away from their own culture, from their own people, only to be housed in this… damn box-thing (she refused to call it a house) about ten minutes from Nottingham. Was this reasonable? Seven hells no! Damn, but those military people had thick skulls. The hell was wrong with them? Dammit, she wanted her friends around. They weren't close friends, but at least they were people she knew. They could've been of some help in this period of time. The hell was wrong with the military anyway? Why now, of all times? Goddammit, especially now of all times! It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, goddamn them! The hell was wrong…

"Hey, Jada," her dad said, "Can you go get some stuff from the van and take it in?" Jada watched him juggle a pile of boxes, and neatly caught one when he dropped it. He gave a waned smile. "Thanks, dear," he said, and went into the house, carefully nudging the door open with his foot. She sighed, and went to lug boxes out of the car, handling them with practiced ease. This was her eleventh house in sixteen years. It felt strange, moving in like this. She and her dad both knew why, but neither said anything about it. They both knew why.

"Sorry, pumpkin," her dad had said, tired and wanting her to understand, "But we've just got to go along with it. Ok?" Go along with it? Just like that? To be so damn passive about this when it was so unfair and so blatantly inconsiderate to them and… and…! (Can't even think about her. Still too shaken up to think about… about it. Damn it, why?!)

But no. Bullshit. Jada knew her dad. He was just as upset, as tired of this crap the world kept handing them as she was. But he was Dad, and he had to be the grown-up. And if he didn't play the adult, then no one would, because Jada sure as hell was not in any state to do that.

She didn't trust herself enough to be alone without adult supervision. She was afraid she'd do something stupid.

But that was then, when her mom's murder in Chicago was still too fresh, too painful for words.

That was then.

But this is now.

That first night, all the boxes had been brought inside the house. Her dad had gotten McDonald's (at last, some comfort!) and after supper, with her dad urging her on, Jada explored the house from top to bottom. It wasn't as bad as she'd thought it was.

"Well? What do you think?" her dad asked with a little smile. Jada smiled back, a little stiffly at first, but less so as her muscles remembered what it felt like to smile. "I think," she said, "That it could work." No sense in stressing him out with things like the fact that she highly disliked England at the moment. Not hated, because dad didn't like strong words of any kind. Just… disliked.

Two months later.

Jada raced through the front door, leaving it ajar as she screamed, "Dad! Dad! There's been another one!" She heard footsteps upstairs as her dad stumbled out of his room and thumps as he ran down the stairs. "What? Where, honey? You're okay, right?" he asked, frantically checking her over for wounds. "Yes, yes, I'm fine, Dad," she said, letting him finish before pulling back and grabbing his arm. "But we have to go now. I think they're headed right for us," she said, tugging him toward the door. He resisted. "Wait a minute, Jada," he said, standing firm against her pull. She turned to look at him, eyes wide with impatience caused by fear.

Oh, lordy. Of all things, he was in his pajamas. He must have just started getting ready for bed. Right, he had a meeting at 4.00 tomorrow morning. Not that it mattered, a little voice said inside of her, if he didn't live until then.

It was still light outside, but the sky was starting to turn dusky orange with streaks of pink. Jada had been hanging out with some of the neighborhood kids when the black-robed terrorists attacked. She'd ordered the kids to all run to back to their homes as fast as they could before following her own advice. Her father didn't tell her much of what he did, but she'd pried it out of him a few weeks ago that these attacks were a major reason for their move from Chicago to Nottingham.

"How do you know about this attack?" her dad asked. Jada averted her gaze. She wasn't supposed to be out and about after 18 hundred. Her dad looked at her sternly for a moment, then sighed. "We'll talk about this later," he said, "But for now, let's go to the old bunker. If we stay here, we'll risk being killed. The streets should be safe for now. Even they can't move that fast." Jada nodded, and they headed out into the growing darkness. The bunker, at a run, was only about fifteen minutes away.

They raced along, taking the alley shortcuts, not hesitating in their headlong rush for the bunker. The bunker was an old thing, leftover from the Second World War. It was a strong building, easily sealed, but not so easily breached. There was no doubt in their minds that they would be safe once they reached it.

They were just two blocks away when a black-robed man stood before them. Shocked, Jada and her dad screeched to a halt, a mere five feet from the man who had come from nowhere. The terrorist had the most hideous mask on, and Jada's dad reflexively pushed her behind him, blocking her from the mask's skeletal leer. "Jada," her dad whispered calmly, "I want you to run. Do not argue. Run when I yell, 'You son of a bitch.' Okay? Don't answer. Don't even nod. Just do it." Jada's heart was in her throat. Her mind was frozen with fear. This… this was… so similar to that deadly night. She could see it in her mind's eye.

"Jada," her mom had hissed, "You have to run. Don't argue with me. Just do it."

Her dad shouted, "You son of a bitch!" and lunged for the man in the robe.

Her mom had screeched, "Don't you dare touch my daughter!" and went for the man's eyes with outstretched nails. But then there had been a bang, a loud, long, everlasting bang that went on forever, and then she had frozen, oh so still, so frightening, and fell in the way a marionette falls when its master cuts its strings. And the blood had begun to pool as the light flooded out of her eyes, as life left her body and all the happiness and joy Jada knew her mom by disappeared. And Jada had been so frightened that she had stood, frozen, and helpless.

Now it was happening again.

But no bang. Just a jet of light. It hit her dad, and he fell to the ground in the forever time that all horrible things happen in.

Things were different. This was England. Jada was now alone. Alone, alone, alone.

No. Enough of this.

Something like a dam broke within her, and the rage at everything came pouring out, covering up and dissolving the fear.

She lunged forward to catch her father, already knowing that he was dead, not caring that he was, because this time she could move, and did not want to see her dad lying still, crumpled, like her mom. She caught him, and struggled under his weight, trying to lay him gently on the ground. She did so, and with that success giving her power, she looked up into the eyes behind the murderer's mask.

They were amused. How dare he be so amused by her dad's death? How could he call himself human?

"Human? What do you know about being human? You are a dirty rat. He was a dirty rat. I am an exterminator, a cleanser of the filth of the world," the man in the robe said with a grin in his voice.

Jada blinked. What had he just done?

"I read your thoughts, silly Muggle," the man said, again responding to her mental questions.

Perhaps he was reading her mind.

"I just told you I am. Oh, never mind. I don't know why I play with the mice like this when there are so many other, more interesting ways to have fun," he said, eyes looking her up and down.

"But you are a fairly interesting mouse, so I suppose that it's excusable this one instance. Now, why did all that fear suddenly disappear? I killed your father. That should have done something adverse, not helped you gather your courage. Does it have something to do with that bitch I saw in your head? The one that died with a hole in between her eyes? It must have. You just felt an overwhelming amount of rage. Yet, still no fear. Well, what if I did this?" he said casually, and, raising a stick, seemed to yank her into the air by her ankle with an invisible force.

Jada's eyes widened with fury, and in that fury completely bypassed the question of how he was doing it and focused on the fact that it was him. The man laughed. "Ha. Is that your only reaction? That was boring. Very well, I'm done with you." And with that, he dropped her to the ground. Jada saw the cobblestones coming up at her at a surprisingly quick speed, and had time to wonder why her own death seemed to come so much faster than her parents' deaths before stopping in her free fall a mere centimeter from the rocky ground.

The masked man snorted, sounding a little impressed. "Well. Well, well, well. You are interesting." Jada stayed silent, furious with her helplessness (why now? why again?), and enraged at the man who insisted on humiliating her and belittling her dad's sacrifice.

She twitched in surprise when another robed man popped into existence.

"Smith! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, leaving the main force? We could've used a Legilimens on the front! That bugger Mad-Eye showed up, and we couldn't tell what his bleeding aurors were up to," the second man said, then caught sight of Jada, hanging above the ground. He stared, then groaned. "Damn it all, not this again! Christ, Smith, we've been over this! You can't just take off because you want to exterminate Muggles! There's a plan, Smith, there's always a plan, but this time, you ruined it!"

Smith spoke in a whiny voice, "But this one was interesting! She has no fear! None at all. Look, I killed her father, and she became enraged! With no trace of fear! Only rage. Can I bring her back to camp? I think she'd be an interesting test subject."

The second man snapped, "No, Smith, you cannot. I don't care how interesting it is. I have orders to take you to see the master, and that thing is not coming with us. Look, since you seem to care so much about it, I'll do you a favor and kill it cleanly for you."

He pointed his wand at Jada. "Avada Kedavra."

The green light filled her vision before all faded into the deepest black.