Disclaimer: Leon Mason belongs to Lord Cargyle, and has been used with permission. The rest of named characters, save for Kylin, are the property of J.K Rowlings and whoever else she deems appropriate. Kylin…Well, Kylin's mine Also, please note that some foul language is used.

This is a fanfic based off a fanfic, based off Harry Potter. I would like to thank Lord Cargyle, and my friend, Lady Rayya for their help in proofreading and opinions. Please feel free to offer some yourself, but please, no flaming. I take criticism very seriously.

Thank you!

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The rain pelted against the pavement for the third day in a row, with no signs of stopping or even slowing down to allow the people in Diagon Alley to continue their way through their normal lives. That included her. Kylin didn't mind the rain nearly as much as everyone else. It helped mask her from the rest of the crowd, allowed her to move around easier. After all, people didn't notice a slight bump if they were numb with cold. And they definitely didn't notice things missing until they were long gone.

She leaned back against the wall of the building, one foot resting against the brick as her grey eyes scanned the shoppers. Most were bundled too much for her to get any sort of access. Shivering, Kylin wrapped the too-light cloak around her absently. It was going to be a long day.

At the other end of the alley, people were still attempting to gather the things needed for the start of their school terms. Which one would make the best target? Her gaze settled on the group of friends outside of Flourish and Blott's. She was just across the street from them, and while they weren't exactly the type she normally looked for, she figured that they were the closest she was going to get to a meal today. Steeling herself, Kylin stepped out into the middle of the street, grimacing as the rain pelted against the hood of her cloak. She looked as if she were trying to dash into the store, but as she passed the nearest one, a tall boy that didn't seem to stop talking about the wonders of chocolate, she brushed his cloak, her fingers searching. There. Right at his belt were the coins. If she could just manage to get--

A vice-like grip caught her wrist, twisting it roughly as she spun around. She found herself face to face with a her now very angry mark. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the voice demanded.

"What'd she do, Leon?" asked another of the group. He seemed different than the others, mostly because his hair was darker, but there was no mistaking the scar that peeked out from under his sopping mass of hair.

Kylin mentally kicked herself. Great. Not only was she pick-pocketing a student from Hogwarts, she'd decided to go for a fellow American who just happened to be on good speaking terms with the one and only Harry Potter. Typical. She craned her gaze over her shoulder, her face twisting in a frustrated scowl. "Never try to pick-pocket when your hands are shaking," she said, more as a mental note to herself than anything else. She was well-aware of her own Southern accent as it tilted the words and obscured syllables. Though it wasn't as strong as, say, one from Arkansas or Louisiana, it was easily recognizable when set against the accent that the American carried and enough to catch him off-guard. His grip loosened just enough that Kylin was able to spin, twisting her arm back into place as her leg swung out towards his head. In an instant, he dropped her wrist, grabbing her flying ankle instead. She grinned at him without humor. "Not good enough, Yankee Doodle..." Dropping quickly to her hands, with him still holding onto her foot, she kicked her other leg against his knees, sending him sprawling onto the cobbled street.

It was then that the rest of his party interfered. A fairly tall boy with a sharp flash of red hair and freckles grabbed both her arms, while the two girls and Harry put themselves between her and a now-cursing Leon who seemed to have conjured up a sword out of nowhere. Kylin froze. American. Sword. SHIT! Why in the HELL did she have the worst luck?! Now she had to add attacking a psychic to her list of stupid stunts pulled. Peachy. Just peachy.

"Just what is this all about?!" The high-pitched screech could only come from a mother, and by the looks of her, she belonged to the redheads. Two more followed close behind, one obviously her husband, the other...well, the other seemed a bit sickly, to be honest, as if he hadn't seen a descent night's rest in several months. Kylin thought quickly. She was easily out-numbered, out-gunned, and out-maneuvered...Or were they not fast enough?

She thought quickly, struggling against the lanky boy's hold as much as she dared, her ears straining to catch the heated discussion."

"...Just came out of nowhere..."

"No, it was from across the street."

"...tried to steal my fucking--"

"Leon, don't swear."

"...anyone move that fast?! He didn't even see it..."

They were talking one right over the other, and it seemed she wasn't the only one listening in. The boy 'holding' her was enthralled, trying to put in his own two cents as well. 'Lordie! They're like a herd of braying mules!' She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to ready. It would have to be fast. She'd have to throw the move, twist, duck, and run for all she was worth. If she did it right, she'd have enough time to make it around the building without anyone the wiser...well, they'd know she'd gone, but they wouldn't know where she went.

"...thieves in Diagon? I didn't think..."

Kylin fumbled at her belt. As the Knut fell, it clattered against the street. It was enough of a distraction that the boy ducked down to look. She slammed her head upward and back, rewarded with a sudden crunch and a loud curse as her arms were freed. Even as she tried twisting around the boy, who was now holding a bleeding nose, she felt someone tackle her from behind, pinning her to the ground.

The wind rushed from her lungs from the impact. "None of that, little one," the quiet voice commented in her ear. From what she could tell, it was the man she had thought was in bad shape. And yet, she couldn't move.

"Get off!" she demanded hoarsely, trying to throw her weight to one side. If she could get on her back, she could push him off with her feet.

"Not until you behave."

Kylin struggled for several more minutes until she gave up, lying limply against the street, her mass of black hair obscuring her face from the falling rain.

The man waited several more minutes before pulling her to her feet, though he still held onto her arm, keeping a careful eye on her. "Where are your parents?"

She turned to look at him. There was no way she was going to answer him just now.

"You might as well tell us."

"With all due respect, sir, if I were to tell you where my parents are, you'd have to kill me."

He blinked at that, and the group around them stilled, slightly confused.

"And why is that?"

"Because my parents are American spies, and if I tell you where they are, I've betrayed my country, and if I've betrayed my country...well, they wouldn't be too happy about it, now would they?"

The boy she had tried to pick-pocket (Leon, she had to remember his name was Leon) snorted darkly, his arms crossed over his chest. "Bullshit."

Kylin's eyes narrowed and, surprisingly, she bared her teeth at him. "Try me, Yankee Doodle." she felt herself being pulled sharply to one side as a dagger embedded itself two inches into the concrete beside her head.

Even as Leon lunged for her, the others quickly grabbed ahold of him, forcing him to stop in his tracks. Kylin made to rush him as well, and was restrained by the man still holding her arm. "That's enough, both of you! If we can't straighten this out, we'll take you up to the Wizengamot. I'm sure they could sort all this out."

The effect that had on her was startling. Her grey eyes widened in alarm, searching for the nearest escape, even as she struggling against his hold. There was no more cunning in the moves, only desperation, like a fox caught in a steel trap. "Look," she insisted, "you don't have to go to them. I can just go, you could pretend you never saw me, and this could all just...just blow over."

"You broke Ron's nose!" exclaimed the redheaded girl, pointing an accusing finger at the boy who was obviously her brother.

"It's not broken, and he should have moved out of the way!" Kylin shot back, trying to pry the man's fingers off her arm. It wasn't working.

The motherly figure narrowed her eyes slightly. "Do you have a place to stay, child?"

"I'm not a child," came the instant reply.

The woman arched her eyebrow, folding her arms over her ample chest. "Is that so? Well, you certainly have a strange way of showing it, dear. Now, where are your parents?"

Kylin grew sullen, her gaze dropping down and to the side.

The man next to her leaned down, trying to make her look at him. "I believe Mrs. Weasley asked you a question."

"Tell her to mind her own goddamn business."

Several of the shoppers had slowed, or stopped completely, fascinated by the show that had decided to appear in the middle of the rainy street. "Why don't we take this inside the Leaky Cauldron?" Harry Potter suggested. "At least there, we could get a private room and stay out of the rain."

The red-headed man, Mr. Weasley, nodded vigorously. "An excellent idea, Harry! Why don't you run ahead and see that things are prepared. Leon, go with him."

"But--"

"Please, Leon. Don't cause any more trouble! Just do as I say."

The boy shot Kylin a nasty glare, which she more than happily returned, going so far as to stick her tongue out at him to add to the effect. "See you there, Yankee Doodle."

The group waited until they were sure that the arrangements would be made and things in place before entering the pub. Thankfully, the request had been granted, and it wasn't long before they were seated in a private sitting room, nestled in chairs close to a large fireplace, mugs of butterbeer and cocoa in their hands. Save for Kylin. She sat in the middle of her own little couch, as if being sentenced to her own death. How she loved the British.

"Now, let's start at the beginning. What's your name?"

Kylin leaned back in the seat, her hands folded delicately in her lap. "Jimmy Crack Corn, and I don't care," she replied.

The scrawny man frowned. "You do realize that Mr. Weasley is with the Ministry. I'm sure he could pull a few strings and get you an early hearing." Even in the ruddy light of the fireplace, her face paled. "I will ask you again. What's your name."

She was silent for several long moments, and he moved to open his mouth again. "Kylin Elizabeth Savich." Her answer was short, angry, bitter, almost as if the name were acid against her tongue.

The man nodded slowly. "Progress at last...Where are your parents?"

"4357 Ocean Drive, Corpus Christi, Texas, Section GP, three markers to the north, one marker to the west."

That quieted the room in a heartbeat. "That's very exact..."

"Hard to forget where your parents are buried." She turned her gaze up to the boy who had been the cause of all this trouble. "Isn't it, Leon?"