Author's Note: Hey y'all, this is set 20 years after the last Harry Potter Book! And the curse child is being ignored! Hope you enjoy!

~Rose POV~

1. Making escapes and introductions

I turned through the air, flying by the world, being above, beneath, within. The swirling of my robes slapping against my legs as I felt my stomach drop to the floor, except no floor was there beneath me. I was not flying, but I was also not yet accustom to the feeling of apparating, as if you were on a roller coaster that had climbed so high and teetered, tipped, and then fell, racing to the floor.

My feet hit the sidewalk jolting me to an abrupt stop, the pavement dusty and grimy beneath my feet, and the dust rose and clung to my clothing. My trunk was clutched in my hand, as my knuckles turned white, and I rest it down with a sigh, I never was able to travel light.

The sound of a whistle brought me out of my quite revere, loud and piercing, as the whole world turned into action, and I was lost in the crowd. Looking up, just above me was the station, 10, and there, to its immediate right was number 9. The numbers shined with a dinted gold gleam, which peeled at the edges as the paint detreated more every year, now barely covering the 1 in the10.

The train station was busy, bustling with noise and filled with the flurry of movement. The familiar sent of London, a mixture of smoke and ash, but with the undertone of freshly baked bread, that always made my stomach growl. And that warmth of the familiar sent made my lips slightly turn up at the sides, and a ghost of a smile that was lost over the long months of summer holiday began to make its first appearance, the muscles in my cheek unused and creaked and complained, but my heart it picked up its pace. And one thought only stuck in my mind, 'Almost home'. And therefore free to leave the nightmare behind and the cold of the world without magic as well.

The distant roar of trains approaching and disappearing and the rumble of their heavy metal wheels on the train tracks filled my ears and clouded my senses. That too was familiar, this was my way away, and it took me back, flashing through memory after memory, the first time I met the Potters, my friends laughter, the tears of joy, backtracking through good times, and times of grief, and my pulse remembered with me, beating its own melody.

It took me back to when I first arrived at this crowded station, smaller, and big eyed, filled with adrenaline to the brim, and longing an escape, but afraid of what lied ahead. I remember asking the tall officer, with his blue uniform and shiny buttons where platform 9 and ¾ was, I remember the way he laughed and said, "We get that question every year, on this date, funny ain't it?" I can still close my eyes and remember first feeling the red paint beneath my fingertips, and that emotion, something unknown, hope.

As well, thinking back, to standing in that crowd for hours, looking around, waiting for a train on a platform that didn't exist, getting more desperate by the minute, so I sat down on my little trunk, clutching a kitten to my chest, and murmuring to myself, and that is the first time I saw magic. They were older than me, taller, but they had the same ticket clutched in their hands, the same look of joy on their faces, and they had big trunks, like mine, and they ran at that wall, head first, laughing all the way, and they disappeared into that wall, as if they never existed. And vanished into smoke, I thought it was a trick of the lighting, and that the fog was too thick to see threw, but I was sure that my eyes were not playing tricks on me. I remember how my heart pounded, and how I jumped to my feet, eyes wider than before, heart beating faster than before. And I remember following them, timid in my step, not running, but walking and I remember it not working. And then I ran, feet hitting the pavement, wind in my hair, and I was magic.

A loud yell rings through the air, and the action in the crowd awakes me from my thoughts yet again, and I move within the sea of people, and we all move, together as one, rushing, quick in our step, and walking towards our futures, even if it is a tomorrow.

I turn right, into a familiar alley way, where no one sees me cling to the shadows, and I take out my wand, something more precious to me than myself. It is elegant, every centimetre of its long 13 inches, made out of evergreen wood which is a dark colour, so dark it could be mistaken as black, smoothed and curved into a straight line that stretched to a tip, and gleamed with a finish that made it look alive. Its shine was reflective as it had a rose growing from its base, its petals and thorns etched to perfection, and it seemed to grow and bloom when it caught the light. Its core was a dragon's lost loved heart, and pixie dust with 4 drops of unicorn blood. But what made it rare was the tear of a mother's first born child, which gave the wand its power and a love that was unknown, and pure. And just beneath the wands base, were my initials, carved into the wood, marking it as my own, R.N.T short for Rose Nadia BlackThorne.

"Accio!"

The spell rang through the alleyway, which had fortunately remained empty. And there out of the mist and fog that clouded my vision, swinging through the air, and coming to an abrupt stop before banging to the ground, and hitting the cobblestones arrived my owl, Tempest, and book bag, as well as my cat, June, grey and blue eyed and young, a kitten that I had adopted over the vacation. Swinging the bag over my shoulder and picking up the two cages and my trunk, after tucking my wand away, hidden beneath my robes, I step out into the busy street, and head for my platform.

There is a fog, of smoke, and the cold, as both muggle and wizard's breath mixed together, the September air is chilly and it sends a thrill down my spine, my breath is steamy and creates a mist of its own as does everyone's around me. And out of that fog there it is, hidden behind the mist, and a part of the smoke, a brick wall, simple, etched with a few cracks of age here and there, and grey with the ash of cigarette smoke and the trains exhaust.

It is a comforting sight and before I charge towards it, I take a final look at muggle London, the streets, that you can see just a glimpse of above the steps that lead out of the train station, and I value the way those steps lead to a different part of my life. A part where I am no one, and I am just another person in the crowd, moving with the people, and then I look to the wall, simple, but beckoning, and inviting me to come see what is on its other side. And I take its invitation.

I run at it, my heels hitting the ground, making a satisfying sound, my heart beating loud, and I don't stop, I keep running towards it, excitement and adrenaline coursing in my veins, almost free, it is millimetres away, and I feel as if I am to crash and then I hit, no, I slip through, as if the wall opened to my command and I step onto the platform, and a new smell welcomes me, and it is the smell of home, the smell of magic in the air.

And I look up, above me, shining as if the sun itself, polished to perfection, with no cheap painted coat, but real and solid gold, shines my platform number, 9 ¾ and it is, large, curving, and standing out against a wall, that is not covered in cigarette ash, or stained with smoke, but instead, a wall of red brick, that shines new and real, and I drop my belongings and spin around to face the world I was born to be in.

"It never changes does it?"

The voice is as happy as I am, and the voice, a voice I have missed so very much over these past 3 months, it is the voice of a thousand great memories, funny times, and hard days, the voice of someone I could not live without, and a shriek escapes me.

"V!" My arms are around her in seconds crushing her to me, and a laugh escapes me, I take in her familiar sent, of Lavender and Sage, and I am happy, happier then I have been all summer long, and she laughs, a melody that sounds like bells at Christmas time.

I pull away to inspect her, "Your hair!" She giggles; the ends are long, silky as they run through my hands…

"Merlin!"

She is gasping for breath a grin that touches both of her ears and lights up my world is planted on her face, and her laughter has turned into a silent giggle, "I know"

I am shaking my head, "All those letters and you didn't tell me once you were growing it out!"

"You're one to talk" Her eyes leave my face and take me in,

"Are you taller?" I look down at me, and roll my eyes punching her in the arm,

"No, I don't grow, okay, and the fact that you brought that up is highly appalling and too early in the day to talk about such serious issues and you have no idea the struggles I must face-"

She cuts me off, "Yeah, yeah, I know, 'cause you have to wear higher shoes, and you don't get the same amount of respect that taller woman do… I know…"

I shake my head, and mutter under my breath "Yeah right you do"

She laughs again, and pushes me, causing me to glare right on back, eyes narrowing, "You are bloody evil!"

She walks away, facing me, as she takes each step backwards, her long caramel hair swinging side to side, "Uhuh! Always!"

And then I smile, I smile because the laugh came unforced, the banter was natural, this life, it was my life, and I smiled because I am happy.

I pick up the luggage I dropped in a hurry, and though my arms strain to hold it all, I welcome the extra effort I must exude to hold it. And I follow her, my feet hitting the cobblestones beneath me, which are clean and swept for this big day. The day we go back.

And my eyes roam the platform, the crowds of people are unlike those at King Cross Station, these crowds are all one, and we all stand, some levitating, others zooming around on broomsticks, but what makes us different is the magic, it courses through us like electricity and surrounds us.

"Get your last minute school supplies here!"

"3 Knuts for an exploding snap, have your last dash of fun!"

"Butterbeer, 4 Knuts a gallon!"

The voices in the air are crisp, as little carts and wheelbarrows are turned into instant shops, and selling their trademark items, sugar quills, textbooks, ink, potion ingredients, sweets and candies, savoury foods for the journey, potions to stop sickness that some students get aboard the train, pet owls, and toads of every variety.

The shops line the walls of the station, and compete with each other, calling out and advertising their products, one at a time, or all together, their voices ringing over and over again, as others walk within the crowd, with large baskets and crates, forcing things upon unprepared students, and parents alike, as money is given to each other, and some go to the side to haggle it out, bargaining for better prices, and better quality.

But there, in the crowd, was Terdoc Millfygan, the person who handed out the daily prophet's special limited addition, which cost a few extra Sickles here and there, but was worth every cent. He is always the only vender I will stop by, and though he must be older than 100, with his knarled hands, and missing teeth, and the daily prophet's he hands out were most probably obtained illegally, he has a gentle heart, and remembers my name.

"Hulo 'dere Miss Thorne, you wanting one of 'des papers, no?" He calls out, waving the paper above his head, and making gestures for me to come his way.

I send him a jolly smile, and slip through the throngs of people,

"Thank you for saving me one!"

I gasp, breathless, from the excitement of the crowd and the struggle of carrying my heavy trunks,

"Always miss, you just remember, no tellin' no one it was me who gave ya' it"

He is wagging a wrinkled finger and squinting his eyes up, while nodding his head to and fro, and my heart warms with his raspy voice,

"Uhuh! Of course!"

"You coming, idgit?" V's voice rings from far in front of me, her eyebrows raised, and her eyes rolling,

I drop the money into his hands, and grab the paper, sending him another smile, and screaming right back,

"Yes I'm bloody coming, what are you my mother?"

I jog to reach her, and I see her grumble a lofty response under her breath, and bump her with my shoulder,

"What was that, I'm sorry I didn't catch it, mom!"

She bumps me back, hair slapping me in the face as she tosses her head,

"I said let's go!"

And we laugh, like 3 months didn't feel like forever, and we go, side by side, catching up, talking about the world we know, and what here summer was like.

And then I see him. Them.

They walk with both authority and power, and people clear the way before them, they travel as a pack, all together, laughing, and poking fun, but at the same time, they exude a superiority, and they don't look at the world turning around them, for that is what the world is doing, spinning all around them.

All eyes stray to their faces, but glance away, almost in fear, but more so in respect. They respect their chosen ones, for that is what they are, chosen by society to be above, better, worshiped, kneeled to. They rule the government, elected in by the people and creating an elite circle, an elite army, club, call it what you want. They named it Dumbledore's Army, after the first one established by Harry himself. It is a group of Aurors, Ministry members, which discuss all political matters, financial matters and threats that face this world. The Minister of Magic makes a decision, and then, this council votes their decision, and then their decision is placed into action. So they rule the world from behind the scenes, not in the light, behind closed, locked doors.

They are all dressed expensively, all wearing long black coats that skim the floor, their robes dark velvet, the inside collars lined in dark burgundy, and the cuffs encrusted with jewels that catch the light. They wear shiny dark shoes, with laces of thin gold, disappearing beneath well-tailored pants, sculpted around their ankles. Their red and black hair, and well defined faces, all stand out; they are beautiful, dangerous, and perfect.

The Potters.

Our heroes some people say, they are wizarding world royalty, they are gods among us, and they are unreachable. They have saved us from destruction, for it was Harry Potter, now a man, but then a boy, just turned 17, that had to kill himself to save us all, the story well known of the defeat of darkness, the solving of all problems, the conquering of all evil. It is a legend parents tell their children, one of a kind, that people will shake their heads in awe, and say "Not possible," "Liar!" "They can't be human"

I say they are human. And humans are capable of great, but ordinary acts of bravery. I say they didn't save the world so everyone could raise them above, I say they didn't save the world to conquer anything, they saved it because they didn't want the people they loved to die. And that is miraculous. That is worth recognising.

There they come, talking amongst themselves.

Lily Luna Potter, small, petite, her red hair like flames, overpowering her, and surrounding her, she is just going in to the beginning of second year, but she already looks like a woman, with big green eyes, and high cheekbones, and determination in her, courage in her. Gryffindor. Beautiful, but no one dares lay a hand on her, and no one dares walk in her fiery path, for she resembles a dragon, beautiful, magnificent, but terrifying when you get on the wrong side. And yet, she is also a child, a little girl that likes pigmy puffs, and dress ups. That plays with dolls, and likes twirling around and getting her brothers to carry her everywhere. She is the youngest of the Potters, but also the nicest, her smile is like watching a flower bloom in May, and she is much like her name sake, Lily Evans, a great woman, who sacrificed her life to save her son's, who also was as innocent as a dove, but as lethal as a viper.

Then there is Albus Severus Potter. The odd one out, the scandal no one shuts up about. The middle child of the Potter's, some say he takes to many traits from the late Severus Snape, I say he is pressured, and does not crave the perfection that labels the Potters, he does not enjoy the analysing spot light, the eyes on the back of his head, the whispers left behind him, the headlines in the news. He doesn't want the life of a celebrity for something he never did, and never had any effect on. He is tall, 5'8 and growing, but smaller, and thinner, some say he is a carbon copy of his father at that age, his eye are also startlingly green, but his face is more angles, and his skin is more creamy, a shade lighter. He stands to the side of the group, glasses perched on his nose, askew, and he carries the weight of the names he was given, the weight of the best man anyone has ever known. And the worst man, that changed sides at the last second, to save millions. He is going into third year as a Slytherin. Yes you heard right, we were all scandalized, a Potter as a Slytherin.

Then there is the oldest. James Sirius Potter. He is at the centre of the group surrounded by his friends, a smile that flashes across his face like lightning, and a laugh that is addictive, roaring above the crowd. His hair is messy, black as death, and darker than midnight, falling into his eyes, but not long, purposefully scattered, and appealing. He has a different demeanour than the rest of the Potters, there is a fire that burns in his soul, and peeks out of his eyes, flames, red, powerful, dangerous, incredible, enthralling, electric and happy. They burn with a passion for living, for James, more than anyone I have ever seen knows how to live, every second, of every day, of every moment, he spends adventuring, laughing, destroying and creating. He doesn't waste time, and takes advantage of it. He is fascinating, so if I stared at him long enough I would be lost in the detail, and once I found those details and memorized them, I would be lost in new ones. He is tall, 6'2 and never stops growing, towering above everyone and adding a couple inches to accommodate his hair. He is the youngest captain of any Quidditch team in the history of Hogwarts, and he is the seeker of that team, winning the game every time, with a flourish. He has been appointed a prefect as I have this year, for the legend, himself, is in my year, 4th year. I have hardly known him for the 4 years we have spent in the same castle, but castles are large, and I rather associate with people who give a damn about their lives, for James would jump off a cliff, and not care if he died falling. I'd care, I mean, if I fell, I wouldn't care if he did, I don't care about anything Potter does, I never have, I pride myself with my uncaring attitude.

He is laughing at something Fred Weasley said, head thrown back, hair falling into his eyes, teeth glittering in the sun light, white, like little pearls, He has a Gryffindor scarf rapped loosely around his neck, and I watch it slip slowly to the side, exposing his atoms apple, and I watch it move as he laughs, his neck moving backwards, the muscles flexing. His eyes reflect the sun and his skin, tanned from the summer, is golden kissed, and I watch his head move forward again, hair slipping out of his eyes as he runs a hand through it, and then those hazel eyes, with the gold rimmed around the outside and the pupil, meet mine.

His laughter dies as we observe each other, his eyes are curious, happy, glowing with joy and warmth, and they look at me, not through me like they normally would, but at me. And I wonder if he knows who I am, or if he even knows my name. I wonder if he has ever had to wonder that, had to think, ask himself if they knew who he is.

John Prewett, says something in his ear, and his eyes don't leave mine as he cracks another one of a kind smile and nods his head, chuckling under his breath. But he still looks at me, and then his eyes shift, to next to me, just to my right, and his voice rings clear, through the crowd, the world,

"V! You gonna ignore your bloody relatives?!"

She laughs at him, "Hell yeah!"

"Are we truly that embarrassing?"

He fakes a blow to the heart, clutching his hands to his chest, as his eyes dance with humour,

"YES!"

He laughs, a bellow, loud, clear, and it is spontaneous, I feel my lips tilt up at the corners, and then fix them back in a straight line, I turn to the tall girl beside me,

"You rush me over here, in all that haste just to get rid of me when someone better comes along?!"

She looks at me with puppy eyes, dripping with false love, and an undercurrent of adoring sisterhood…

"Ughh go ahead you bastard!"

She mouths 'thank you' and moves her way through the crowd to greet them, I see James hook an arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer, in a warm hug.

And I watch him watch me over her shoulder, those strange eyes staring at me, but his expression I can't quite place, he finds me quizzical, interesting, as if I am a plant in a greenhouse that has a nice bloom. And I feel the heat begin to rise. No one looks at me like that.

And then his right eye darts close, in a wink, long eyelashes brushing his high cheekbone, and an expression that makes butterflies take flight, as his lips turn into a trade mark, well known, smirk. It flashes towards me, hitting me like a running train, and I feel the blush spread across my cheeks.

"Crap" I murmur, and turn away, my back facing him, as I run a hand through my hair.

"Crap"

I walk away, hurrying, away from the Potters and the Weasleys, all one big family, that I am not prepared to face head on. My muscles scream for release as the forgotten trunks and luggage strains them. And I push my way through everyone, ignoring the constant sounds, and jitters, and then before me my escape emerges.

It is a large, fire truck red train. It glistens in the sun, shining with a new paint coat, the wheels ending at my waist, large and twice my size, they are a bronze copper, freshly oiled so that they also are new. And in big, gold, block letter, painting the side of the train is, "Hogwarts Express". It is magnificent, getting longer each year, as the students, from all over the world, reunite to live, to stay, to learn in this one school.

I let out the breath I have been holding all 3 months, and breathe in the new air, the old air, the air I know. The scent of the fresh paint coat, and engine oil, the smell of pine trees that they crushed under their wheels, the pine needles, as they came from Hogwarts, it is familiar, and I can smell home in it, the distant smell of Hogwarts. The sound of the train whistle, and the 'all aboard' bell, that rings, like those at an abbey, it also reminds me, but not of something good, it reminds me of the Hogwarts fire and damage alarm, the huge brass bell, that hangs high above all towers, with rickety ladders, that shake, and break at any sudden movement. I fear that bell, louder, and roaring, but this one is smaller, more timid and I fall in love with its ring.

"You going to stand there all day, with your hand pressed to the new paint job, oooorrrr? You gonna say hello to me?"

A smile plants itself on my face, turning from happy, to ecstatic, from small to a grin!

"DOM!"

I am the one screaming as I fling myself at her, hands buried in her white, blonde hair,

"You're TAN!" My voice is still loud, as I clutch her in my arms, she is solid, real. And another breath I have been holding all summer is released.

"Uhuh, yeah right I am!"

She inspects me with curious eyes, resting on my face, searching my eyes.

I inspect her back, arms still locked around her; desperate to make sure she is actually there,

"Dominique Weasley, where the hell have you been?"

She laughs, a sound that always reminded me of a fire sparking alive, and I listen to it, taking it in, soaking in the sound I have missed.

"You are only going to say hi to her? I thought you didn't have favourites!?"

The voice is like the wind, caring, a whisper, or the murmur of grass that rubs together in the breeze, soft, and young, and innocent. Though at the same time it is indignant, and care free, I love her because she is soft, and still like the sea, steady, but just like the sea she can carry a wave, of joy, understanding, defiance.

Roxy.

I am shaking my head, laughing and close to tears, tears of relief.

I pull her into a bear hug, hiding my face in her brilliant red hair.

And I feel arms loop around me from behind, covered in a light dusting of freckles, and the smell of mint chocolate chip ice cream fills me,

"Lucy!" she giggles, like a child, and spins me around to give me a big kiss on the cheek, and I pull away from her, and grab for her big cone of dripping chocolate chipped-mint ice cream, she holds it above her head, just out of my reach, and tosses her head back as she giggles, watching my fingertips close on air, and her giggles become a whirlwind of chocked laughter, as I hop up and down, becoming a child with her, as I desperately attempt to get her ice cream, my favourite.

She is the child in the group, the one who doesn't want to mature, to grow up, the one that plays games like hide and seek, and just like a child her innocence of the horrors of the world, has stayed intact, and her ignorance is bliss.

"Give me!" I groan at her, my eyes wide with joy, and my hair a tangled mess, from running in circles around her, attempting to get it, as Dom raises her noise at us, and complains about how it smells like 'bloody toothpaste' and 'what's the big deal anyways?' and Roxanne lectures her about the importance of mint chocolate chip ice cream, making up a dramatic story about the history of ice cream through the decades.

And my eyes don't know where to focus, my hands hanging in the air reaching, and it is almost perfect, except I miss, the hands at my sides tickling my rib cage, making me laugh, and clutch my chest for air. I stop for a moment, I miss her, the last piece to our puzzle, and the light to my darkness, my best friend, the idiot I love so dearly, "Where's V?"

Everyone stops, glancing around, eyes searching the group, and then the people in the crowd moving around us, "Huh." We are gasping for breath, and the smiles were temporary,

"There she is!"

Roxanne's voice is like the wind, fresh, soft, and happy again, her long arms waving madly above her head, as she gestures for her to come and join us, and I watch where her eyes are looking, and there she is, her head propped on Potter's shoulder, dark hair fanned across it, smiling at something they are saying, and I feel a monster inside me roar its head awake, jealous, and envy with green, I swallow the new emotion,

"I'll go get her!" Dom grumbles, as she skips through the crowd, long hair swinging behind her, hands out reached to grab her, a grin planted on her lips.

Jealous. Why? I watch her near them, grabbing onto V's arm and tugging her, and I watch them all laugh, as Potter wraps an arm around Dom's back pulling her into him and ruffling her hair, an adorable look of affection on his face. And there it is again, jealousy, not anger, but envy. But for who? I don't envy Potter for hugging his cousins, my friends, no, I envy my friends for hugging him.

"Oh my god!"

Roxanne raises an eyebrow at me, "What?"

I glance down, looking at my scuffed shoes, cracked in a few places, and worn out, the pavement beneath, clean, and grey, with a few stained footprints of dust on it.

I shake my head, "Nothing, just, just wondering what they see in him,"

Roxy giggles, and it is her turn to shake her head, "He isn't all bad"

I smile again, and scoff; "Now you're making excuses for him?"

"Noooo, just, he is, you know what, you are right, I have no idea what they see in him,"

"How about what you see in him?"

She pretends to think, putting on a serious face, scrunching her eyebrows,

And I wait in expecting silence, my lips upturned,

After a long pause, "A bastard..."

And I hit her on the arm, and push my way through the crowd, going to get the rest of my friends who were lost in the sea of people.

"Look who I found!" I say with a raised eyebrow, and pursed mouth,

V at least has the decency to give me a guilty look, and small smile, while Dom simply responds,

"A beautiful veela, I know, count yourself lucky"

As she gives a small twirl, tossing her hair, and eyes dancing.

"Part veela, and no, I found disgusting deserters… Who will be punished accordingly,"

"Is that so?" His voice has a husky undertone that cuts through the air, and brings everyone's attention to him; he has a look of humour, as he tilts his jaw, and watches me with those eyes. Playful, poking fun at me and my empty threats and I dislike the way his tone challenges me.

So I hold my ground, and nod, "Yes, it is so,"

I look away from him, tearing my eyes from his interesting face, "Now, are you coming?"

James Potter cuts in again, "Veronica, you haven't introduced me to your quick tempered friend?"

The question hangs in the air, and my suspicions earlier are confirmed, he doesn't know who I am. But I know who he is. And it upsets me, so I answer for her.

"We have already been introduced, in 2nd year, and you weren't interested then, so there is no need to become interested now,"

"Interested in what?"

The question hits me like a bullet, and I swallow, hard, not able to come up with an answer, without making assumptions.

He watches my silence, and looks right through my angry face, and into my confusion. What had I meant?

He ducks his head, and looks up at me, eyes narrowed, a knowing smile gracing his face,

"Wait, did you mean, did you think, that I, was interested in you?"

And his friends laugh, patting him on the back and shaking their heads,

Fred Weasley says "Good one mate,"

And I feel embarrassed, small, and I hate being small, so I do something I never thought I would do,

I grab V's hand and with the other hand I flip the James Sirius Potter off.

And it is my turn to toss my hair, flinging it over my shoulder as I stride away, ignoring what lies behind me,

But his voice follows me, as he calls out, "I didn't catch your name?"

I stop in my tracks, and I don't dare turn around, but I feel his eyes watch me, calculating my next move,

"Rose, it's Rose."