Summary:

Eighteen-year-old Nymphadora Tonks is a "fledgling" -- an Auror Cadet with a Mentor -- and her life is at a turning point. Will she be able to pass Stealth and Tracking exam, let alone save the world? Nine-year-old Harry Potter lies beaten in his cupboard, barely conscious. Will someone find him in time, or will the Dursleys flee to America, where nobody knows of his existence? Ginevra Weasley is the youngest and only girl of seven children, but her fiery temper and strong spirit more than make up for the teasing of her brothers. Can she find true love at the ripe old age of eight? Come with me on a journey you'll never forget, where the Harry Potter timeline we all know and love is slightly... metamorphosed.

Author's Notes:

PLEASE NOTE that I have intentionally made Tonks and the two eldest Weasley brothers two years older than the HP lexicon states, to fit my story. The idea for the light comes from the Avatar: the last Airbender TV show on Nickelodeon (great show). I know very little about London geography, so I put Lupin in a random borough after looking and coming up with no better place.

It's my first fanfiction, so please read and review. If you can't review, just put it on your favourites list wink wink. So here it is. . . .

Chapter 1: Whispers of the Wind

Steel buildings stretched towards the sky, scraping the surface of the tumultuous clouds in a fruitless attempt at finding the sun. People swarmed at the buildings' feet, like busy ants. A young woman slumped down the busy London block, her normally vibrant pink hair an ebony wave rippling down her back. Occasional passersby, who weren't as busy as some, gave her odd looks. She simply returned their stares with her own grim sneer. If she wanted to wear a T-shirt in the middle of December, she damn well would! Besides, the harsh sting of the icy, winter winds felt fitting on her bare skin.

At least one thing in this world understands how I feel, even if it can't speak to me, Nymphadora Tonks thought bitterly.

Nymphadora Tonks, or Tonks, as she liked to be called, was in training to become an Auror, earning about ten-thousand Galleons a year while training. Aurors were the wizarding world's main form of law enforcement, acting like a combination of the Scotland Yard and the Police Force. Yes, she was a witch, an eighteen year old one, and yes, wizards and witches do exist. For many years now, she had known about her Dark family and decided to become an Auror to differ from them, making up for the misdeeds of her relatives, such as torturing defenceless Muggles for existing, and just the fact that they tortured people period. Bigotry had always disgusted her.

Shortly after she had entered into the Auror Programme, the dean of the London Auror Academy asked for her to meet him in his office. Pale and shaking, she had approached his office at the scheduled time. Inside, she found not only the dean, but famous ex-Auror and regular guest speaker at the LAA Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody sitting at the table. Apparently, she wasn't doing so well in class. To quote the dean, they were "worried about her ability to perform in the field" but she was "an invaluable resource that could not be wasted". She hated the way he talked about her in the third person, but looked down shamefully when they told her how terribly she was doing. She would be taking mandatory remedial courses in all the applicable lessons, or she would have to drop out of the Auror Programme as her klutziness inhibited her duelling. Rumours of her atrocious performance had spread through the LAA as fast as the Hogwarts rumour mill and Tonks had been quickly ostracized because, according to overheard whispers, "the only reason she's still here is because of her freakish ability." Tonks quickly accepted when Mad-Eye Moody offered to be her mentor. Who wouldn't?

Mad-Eye had taken over most of her training, including an intensive duelling course (which was a combination of all regular self-defence classes and Paranoia 101), Muggle combat (fire-armed or otherwise), and intense morphing training (which trained her quickness and accuracy in her morphing, and her ability to imitate personalities and mannerisms). Although she took the rest of her classes with her fellow cadets and would be taking The Test with them in two and a half years, "Fledglings", as cadets with mentors were called, would be allowed to do some minor field work once they passed a certain point. The Test, with capitols, was the extremely difficult exam all cadets who made it through the gruelling programme would take to become a fully fledged Auror. Only about twenty-five percent of the cadets passed, so many had taken to studying for it since the moment of their acceptance to the Programme. The officials had not yet come up with a suitable name because, as rumour had it, The Test was too difficult to describe. Tonks herself had come up with the name Auror's Required Standardized Exam, or ARSE for short.

Tonks trudged into the play park she had gone to ever since she was little. Growing up in the neighbourhood, she had gone there as often as four times a week before she entered Hogwarts.

Although she hadn't considered herself "innocent" for many years, and never entirely innocent as she had always been a bit of a rebel, Tonks realized how blissfully unaware she was of the things her parents' generation went through.

Well, she thought scornfully to herself, I'll never be like that again.

Tonks unconsciously shivered and drew closer to herself as she rehashed what happened earlier that day with a furrowed brow.

She jauntily stepped through the entrance hall of LAA, smiling cheerily at everyone she saw. Mad-Eye had told her that he had a special lesson planned and that she would be missing all of her classes with the rest of the cadets that day. Nymphadora Tonks was downright excited. Yesterday, her mentor had hinted that she was very close to accompanying him as a fully fledged Auror on a minor job, stressing the minor part to the point that Tonks was watching his electric blue eye in fascination, expecting it to pop out of his head. Giggling at the memory, Tonks attempted to strut over to where Moody was motioning to her, only to fall flat on her face after a few steps. Shaking her fluorescent pink ponytail, Tonks rose, brushing herself off, and strolled up to Mad-Eye.

"How's it hanging, Mad-Eye?" Tonks asked Moody, biting her lip to fight off an excited grin.

A gleam of laughter shone in his single beady black eye but was quickly stifled with a shake of his head and his look became sombre.

"Today, I'm gonna show you a coupla things rookie Aurors don't even see. And if they do, most o' them chicken out of the job. You sure you can handle this, Sprite?" Moody asked, his gruff exterior desperately trying to hide the affection and pride he felt for his pink haired charge.

"I'm sure."

Looking her in the eye and nodding appreciatively, Mad-Eye led Tonks to the designated portkey area. Moody rummaged in his pocket and pulled out an object, that, when enlarged, turned out to be a metal disk with a phoenix etched on it. She glanced up at Mad-Eye before inconspicuously testing whether it was Ministry-approved or not. Nodding slightly to herself, she touched a finger to the portkey.

"Good lass," he grunted, and, with a tap of his wand, they disappeared in a whirl of colour.

From her position on the floor, Tonks could tell that the room was split up into two sections, one much larger than the other.

Heaving herself off the floor, Nymphadora looked around in awe at the medium sized room that felt cramped with the pictures on the wall blinking and flashing down at her.

"This is the Room of Records in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You can only enter via portkey, and very few people are even allowed entrance. It took me a hell of a lotta bargaining to get you in here, I can tell you that.

"The Room of Records in the DMLE contains the detailed records of the past two wizarding civil wars, the attempted genocides of "lower beings" by Grindelwald and Voldemort. This room has all the files of suspected Death Eaters, their attacks, and their movements and battle patterns, their social ideals," he listed, spitting the last one out disgustedly. His voice lost its acidity as he continued, "The lead investigators and Aurors on their tail, their enemies... and their victims.

"This room holds information on what you'll have to deal with in the years to come. Take a look around and see what you find."

Shakily, Tonks forced herself to the wall with the pictures on it. Newspaper clipping graphically portrayed burning houses and sightless corpses, sickly Dark Marks sneering over every scene. She moved onto the pictures not release to the press, the ones taken by the Aurors enlisted for crime scene investigation and struggled not to empty her stomach. Women and children lay naked, their mangled bodies violated and abused. A man with no limbs lay sobbing by the maimed remains of his family, unable to cradle his baby in his arms or kiss his wife's cold lips. A family devoured by werewolves was in a picture, their little boy bitten, shunned by the Ministry, and among the ranks of the werewolves that bit him. Tonks scowled at the heart wrenching irony of it all, turning her head to shield her eyes from the picture.

Tearing herself away from the pictures, Tonks carefully flipped through the files, looking for anyone by the name Black. She found some quickly.

Bellatrix Alyssa Lestrange D424M, nee Black (f.) b. 1951

Charged with torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom to insanity on the evening of the 31st of December, 1981 with the use of an Unforgivable and with being in league with the Dark-Lord-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Tried and found guilty by the Wizengamot January 5th 1982. Sentenced to life in Azkaban prison. Found on the scene with Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange and Bartemius Crouch Jr. (For more information on the trial, please go to the DMLE clerk's desk.) Known loyal Death Eater. Alum of Slytherin House.

Deciding she didn't want to know any more on the gruesome subject, she found another Black.

Sirius Orion Black D390M (m.) b. 1959

Imprisoned for the murders of Peter Pettigrew and 12 various Muggle bystanders on the 1st of November, 1981 (see file GH--81 at DMLE clerk's desk for accident report). Leaked information on the whereabouts of Lily and James Potter and classified information to Voldemort, leading to the Potter's murders. Imprisoned for life without parole. Alum of Gryffindor House. Former Auror.

Her hair went red with anger. He was their friend, and he betrayed them! He was supposed to be a good Black, but his loyalty to the light was all an act! Her face contorted into an almost feral snarl, eyes flashing amber before fading back to black. Tonks shoved the file back into the drawer and slammed it shut, fuming at the worst cousin of them all. Taking a few deep breaths, a small voice in the back of her head whispered that the file had said nothing about a trial. Shaking her head, she stored that info in her brain for later and moved along to explore more.

Tonks moved along, surprised to see that the files went as far back as the early 60's. Reports of recruitment filled most of those files, but she stopped on one that caught her eye.

Remus John Lupin W007H (m.) b. 1960

Werewolf. Bitten January, 1966 by Dark Arts supporter Fenrir Greyback. Father and brother killed in the attack, mother survived. Claims to be against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Alum of Gryffindor House. Friend of Sirius Black. Unemployed. Currently resides in the Greater London Area, UK. (For exact location, check the Werewolf Registry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures) Currently under surveillance.

Her mind flashed back to the picture she saw on the wall of the boy standing alone among the corpses of his family, already shunned by the closed-minded Ministry. How could they do that to a child? And on one who had just lost some family, no less! Mr. Lupin was one of the few that actually was allowed an education, standing by the light even when demeaned by the Ministry, and was still "under surveillance"; it sounded to her that he more than proved his worth as a docile wolf, while people like Lucius Malfoy got away with performing dark magic in front of the Minister for Magic.

The room was closing in and Tonks fought for every breath. Seeing her predicament, Moody resized the portkey and with a jerk behind their navels, they were back in an empty entrance hall.

"You're excused for the day," Mad-Eye muttered softly. "I'll see you tomorrow... if you come."

Tonks sank down heavily into the swing and wrapped an arm around the chain. A tear slipped down her quivering cheek. How can the earth keep on turning when people are murdered, tortured, raped? Tonks cried to herself. Why does Time go on when people die before they're supposed to?

More tears spilled down her cheeks and Tonks was surprised to find she was sobbing outright and swaying gently in the swing. Does it really matter when we all die, anyway? Tonks considered morbidly. And life goes on, no matter how hard we try, and when we die, what's left? A pile of bones. A pile of bones and a memory. And there's nothing we can do about it.

Tonks hung her head and heaved a great sigh, filled with the anguish of many. The tears started again and Tonks clung harder to the swing. An atlas weight settled on her shoulders and it began to seem like it would stay there forever when the weight lessened and her shoulders lifted slightly.

There is something I can do about it, isn't there? I may not have my own face, she scoffed as she thought of the many requests for her to change into celebrities. But I'll help those without a voice. That's what an Auror does, isn't it? She smiled her first true smile since leaving the Room. They'll call me "Metamorphmagirl!" Bloody hell, that sounds cheesy. How about "00 Crazy?"

She laughed outright at that and stood, brushing off the seat of her pants. Tonks shut her eyes and took a deep breath of crisp air. Stretching out her arms as if she was trying to hug the wind, Tonks let the wind dry her tears. She could've sworn she heard someone whisper in her ear "Help me... please," as the wind played with her hair.

Wiping the grit from her eyes, Tonks rubbed her arms in a feeble attempt to warm them and made her way towards a safe apparition point.

Now that you've found yourself, find him, the Wind whispered after her.

Ginny Weasley wasn't a quiet girl, that's for sure. So, it was surprising when she was sitting silently in the tree outside her window, watching her brothers play Quidditch. It wasn't surprising to find her watching her brothers play or sitting in that tree. It was just abnormal to see her sitting quietly. Ginny wasn't allowed to play quidditch by her brothers and her mother, even though her mother was usually against any discrimination against her; she was especially protective of her daughter when it came to quidditch. Normally, Ginny would spend her time in that tree watching her brothers play, talking to Harry Potter. Of course, she wasn't actually talking to him; she'd never even met him. But she'd pretend, explaining the finer points of the game to him, or joking about what they were saying to each other. But today, Ginevra Molly Weasley was silent.

He'll never fall in love with me, she though despondently. Harry Potter will probably love some rich, pretty, and perfect girl without temper problems. And they'll ride off into the sunset on the back of a dragon, like Charlie always says in the bedtime stories. "Unicorns are much too girly for a Weasley."

Get a hold of yourself, Ginny! she thought to herself. You're only eight. You're not supposed to fancy boys yet. And yet you fancy a boy whom you've never met. Darn Weasley blood.

She fought to keep the tears in her eyes and focused on something in the distance, her lower lip pinched between her teeth. She swiped furiously at the couple of tears that escaped over the rims of her eyelids.

See what you are? a cruel voice in the back of her head laughed. A weak little girl. You gonna cry, baby? All you are is a dirt-poor, freckled baby.

A chilly breeze blew through the tree, yet Ginny didn't wish for her coat. You are stronger than most, Ginevra, the Wind whispered in her ear. Ginny gasped in response. The wind was talking to her! Remember what happened to Percival?

Ginny giggled, recalling what happened earlier that week. She had been knitting a sweater for Harry Potter, a tradition she had since she could remember. She thought that since he didn't have a Mummy or Daddy, he needed somebody to keep him warm. Nobody heckled her about it anymore; they were used to it.

That day, Percy had come waltzing into the den when she was finishing the last row.

"Ginevra," he said, looking down his nose condescendingly. "Are you really going to wrap it and put it in the attic with the others? Come now, you're getting old. You should know that Harry Potter will never want anything from you."

That had stung deep down. The lamps in the room flickered as the magic welled up inside her. She was fit to burst when the words just came to her.

"Mucus vespertilionis," she cried, and Percy's screams of discomfort soon filled the house.

Ginny smirked as she remembered how his nose was still bleeding on and off. It serves him right for being a nosy git. And the look on Mum's face was priceless! She was so shocked at my magic that she forgot to punish me. Unless she thought he deserved it too.

The wind blew by, making her hair dance like an inviting flame. She could've sworn she heard someone whisper in her ear "Help me... please." She thought it might be the wind, but it didn't sound like her.

She sighed to herself. Well, I have one thing to offer Harry. Protection. I'll be the best bodyguard or whatever you call it that Harry's ever seen. Nobody'll hurt Harry ever again. And if it's good enough for me, it better be good enough for him. Once I find him, that is.

Taking a deep breath, Ginny went back to watching the Quidditch match and talking to "Harry", feeling much better than before. The breeze ruffled the tree and whispered to her: Now that you love yourself, love him.

A little boy sat in his cupboard. He was lying haphazardly on top of a bloodstained crib mattress and moth-eaten sheet, as if thrown there. A few sets of enormous clothes sat folded on the shelf in between cleaning supplies and his rucksack. Below the bottommost shelf, on the floor, his most prized possessions were hid: a drawing pad, pencils, and a sharpener and calendar. He marked his birthday (told to him by his third grade teacher) and the day he would be going back to school in the calendar, and wrote down test and assignment due dates. The pages of the drawing pad held the contents of the little boy's soul, and were shown to no one. He thought that he was a decent artist, and enjoyed it thoroughly.

The little boy in the middle of the cupboard dipped in and out of consciousness. He guessed he had multiple compound fractures and a concussion. Every bone in his body ached, and whenever he opened his eyes, his vision swam and he felt like he needed to spew. His breathing was shallow and quick, his heartbeat was rapid, and his feverish dreams were filled with images of his bellowing uncle.

The boy's name was Harry Potter and he was a wizard; an extraordinary one, too. But he didn't know that. He was always making funny things happen, and would be punished for it. Harry had recently been punished for turning his teacher's hair blue. He didn't mean to, but she called him an idiot in front of the whole class and he got angry. How was he supposed to know that would happen?

Harry's brow furrowed in pain as he came to and he let out a hoarse moan in anguish. His eyelids flew open for a second, revealing his eyes writhing around in his head. They were a nearly glowing emerald green and shined in fear, panic and confusion. Harry retched and slammed his eyes shut, breathing heavily and shaking atop his makeshift bed.

A chilly breeze slipped under the door of the cupboard and cooled Harry's forehead. Hush now, my child, she whispered softly.

"Help me... please," Harry rasped.

I will, the Wind whispered back.

His normally emerald eyes began to glow softly with a silver light, warming the room. The light gradually began to increase, emanating from his ears, nose, mouth, and wounds, too. His body arched off the floor and hovered, weightless. Just when the light couldn't get any brighter, it flashed three times sending pulses of magic, and stopped, letting Harry rest lightly on the floor.

With his more serious injuries partially healed, Harry went to sleep and dreamed dreams of a fiery little girl telling him about a magical game played on flying broomsticks...

"Did you see that, Shacklebolt? Three blips then nothing. Should we be worried? I mean, look at the power of this thing!" Junior Auror Pyos Python asked worriedly. "And you know there are no registered wizards anywhere near that area!"

"I don't think it's anything to worry about; probably just some Muggleborn doing accidental magic. But I'll file a report and send some fledgling over there with a Muggle Liaison Officer to check up," Kingsley responded in his deep, lilting, Caribbean-English accent.

Little did they know, the visit would change everything.