Hello, friendly readers! If there are any. Quite frankly, I'm not sure myself why this story is even happening, but when inspiration sees fit to shank you and refuse to set you free until you sit down and write something, there's no point in arguing. Just a warning, I've had a bad track record in the past of finishing stories, but as always, I shall try to do my best. If it makes you feel better, I waited until I've at least got a handful of chapters waiting to be posted, and with a little bit of faith, trust, and some fellow nerd support, I'd really like to complete this one. :) That being said, reviews are always appreciated, even if you're one of the Draco Malfoys of this world and enjoy spicing them up with negativity. Please just keep the swearing to a minimum. ;) (Ps, if you haven't noticed, I'm painfully sarcastic. Surprise! Hope no one's actually offended, 'cause I would feel bad.)(Also, in case this was confusing, I actually love Malfoy.) Anyway, as always, I reserve the right to change things if need be, so if you have any suggestions, please share. If not, hope you enjoy it anyway (yes, it starts sort of slow, but bear with me. I hate intros, too, but they demand to be done.) And, as always, have a fabulous week!

-Echo

Oh, and silly me! I forgot to tell you- I have never really written an OC. If she's awful, please tell me so I can apologize, try to fix it, and send myself to Azkaban. Though, again, she does get a bit better. At least, I think. Allons-y!

CHAPTER 1: Turn Tail and Run

"Stood at the coal face, stood with our backs to the sun

I can remember being nothing but fearless and young

We've become echoes, but echoes that fade away

We fall into the dark as we dive under the way…" -Silhouette (Aquilo)

It was two long years before Mavis Roberts remembered what had happened the summer the foreigners came to the campground. Two long, painful years before she knew why her little brother died. It was two years that she lived unaware of the hidden world that had and would change hers forever, until the day that it all came flooding back, with flashing light, her family's screams and tears, white masks, and the word 'obliviate.' But she had never forgotten him- the pale blonde boy, an unnamed face with iced blue eyes. She didn't remember anything else about him, except that he was the only thing that survived the memory charm that stole a piece of her life and failed to stop her brother's nightmares. She would find him, the one she called the Dragon. He was her only small chance for justice, and she would make him pay.

She was fifteen when the dreams began to bring back the memories of her thirteenth summer, when she first heard the words "muggle," "Hogwarts," and "Quidditch World Cup." Having grown up in rural England where her father ran a campsite every holiday, she was used to being completely bored by the small trickling of geared-up outdoorsmen and their grubby children, but for a few weeks that year, things were very different. Sometime in July, the oddest sort of people began showing up- an old man wearing a nightgown, a child carrying a broomstick like a prize, and a whole slew of teens bedecked in shamrocks or red robes bearing the face of a man she'd never heard of nor seen. First a few came, setting up tents with weather vanes, windmills, and chimneys. A few more followed, paying with gold coins and toting around carved sticks. After that, they poured in in droves. Every day, her father would come in after taking their fares, and mumble about all those crazy out-of-towners, with their strange ways, their strange words, and chattering about some bloody world cup. Her mother would chide that it was good for business, and when she asked her little brother what he thought of the whole thing, he was young enough that he just shrugged and kept playing with his toy cars on the rug. Some days, she tried to ask her father what made the travelers so strange, but he seemed to forget pretty quickly that he'd ever complained about them, before doing just the same the next day. The first week, she watched from the window, curious, but not daring to go outside. But thirteen year olds don't stay put long. The eighth day, and for many days after, she donned her slippers, put on a ratty shirt and jogging shorts in an attempt to fit in, and snuck downstairs and out the door.

If she'd thought they were odd from afar, the foreigners, which it turned out were witches and wizards, were more curious up close than she could have imagined. The sticks were actually wands, sending out bright sparks and performing fantastic tasks with just an incantation and a wave; and the brooms actually flew; and the tents not only had odd decor, but were also larger on the inside, complete with stoves and beds and cupboards and sinks, and objects that moved on their own. Magical folk were everywhere, in every campsite for miles, all talking and laughing and bragging and betting and fighting, and selling souvenirs for some sporting event called "quidditch." Mavis was fascinated, and she spent hours every day there, curious, but not daring to approach anyone. There were a few times when sellers would try to get her attention, but when she showed them that all she had were pound notes, they called it "muggle" money, and bothered someone else. Everything for sale was either "Bulgarian" or "Irish," red or green, your team or mine. She enjoyed these memories, but her dreams couldn't stay there, on those good days. It was the last day that held the answers. It was the day of the Quidditch World Cup that she met the Dragon.

Early in the morning, she snuck out, first checking that her brother was asleep, her mother cooking in the kitchen, and her father busy with a handful of mostly red-headed customers outside. Clinging as close to the wall as possible, she raced out back to where more tents than had ever been at the campground before stood surrounded by an air of amplified excitement. Tying her chocolate brown hair in a huge green bow that she'd just added to her ensemble, and determined to find a seller who would accept her pound notes for a souvenir of the best summer ever, she skidded to a stop in front of a beefy vendor wearing duck slippers and stripped overalls, with a stall and a sign reading: "Get your Sonic Whistles! 5 Galleons Each."

"Hello, Miss! Sonic whistles, louder than sonorous at 1000 yards! Great for cheering your team, only 5 galleons, a steal!" said the man in a heavy Bulgarian accent, holding up a long metal pipe with ornate holes at either end.

"How much in pounds? I left my… er, galleons… back at my tent," she lied. "You take… muggle money, don't you?

The man frowned. "No. Wizard fare only. You come back?"

She plastered a smile on her face, thinking it figured and beginning another lie, but the man was already calling over her shoulder.

"You, sir! Biggest fan of the world cup needs a sonic whistle, eh?"

"What, so I can blow my eardrums out? Come on, Crabbe, Goyle. Wait 'til my father hears about this load of rubbish," said a voice, clearly unimpressed. Mavis looked over her shoulder, and that's when she saw him- a boy who couldn't have been more than a year her senior, flanked by two brawny boys that could have as easily been bodyguards as friends, sticking up their noses in distaste at the wonders that surrounded them. The vendor began to protest, but she didn't hear him. For some reason, the boy's cold blue eyes had locked on hers instead of on the stall where his attention had been drawn. She guessed he was probably a great ruddy prat by the way he was acting, but something changed in his face as she looked at him. There was something like danger, or maybe fear, lurking behind those eyes- she could somehow sense it. How… strange. Not like the others were strange. As far as appearance went, he looked normal, (or if she were being honest, above.) No, something else. She was still trying to figure it out when one of the brawny boys broke the trance with a loud whisper; "Who's she?"

"Who's who?" the boy said irritably, scowling and breaking eye contact.

"That girl you're stare-"

"Never mind, Goyle," he snapped, his pale skin going the faintest, almost gray shade of pink. "Father will be expecting me. Come on, then." And with that, he turned to stalk away.

Unable to look away for some reason, Mavis watched him go, and he seemed to feel her meadow-eyed gaze because a moment later he glanced back, glowering at her and seeming rather uncomfortable. Uncomfortable herself, and not really sure what had possessed her, she rolled her eyes at him, as if to say, "oh, go on then," as if they'd been having some lovely conversation and not an awkward staring contest. His expression darkened, and she saw it again- that mysterious glint of fear. Because it's what you do when you're thirteen and don't know how to cope with boys and unexplainable emotions and situations, she stuck her tongue out at him, and he took it as his cue to stick up his nose and go.

It would have been fine and well if she had never seen him again, but she saw him later that very day. Late in the afternoon, the large crowd that had gathered began to dissipate. In a steady flow, the wizards and witches gathered a few belongings and left their campsites, all heading in about the same direction. Falling into step behind a tall witch wearing an apron and galoshes, she followed them until she was filled with a great feeling of urgency that she needed to get home. In a panic, she turned around, walked a few paces, and felt fine. What was she worried about? The worst that could happen would be a grounding for not being home on time. She turned around again, and began following a teen in a surprisingly normal outfit, when she was filled with dread again, in the same exact location. Heading for home once more, she decided it might be better if she stayed put for awhile rather than follow the crowd. She hid behind a large tent sporting a rather noisy wind chime, and soon, the place was deserted. She almost did go home, but the heat of the day, and the sudden calm after a few weeks of constant excitement left her extremely tired. She fell asleep in the grass, until she awoke hours later, alone in the dark, to the sound of triumphant hooting.

The Irish had won. They must have, because the second a green-faced, clover wearing madman caught sight of her green bow, he snatched her up in a hug, yelling in her ear drunkenly; "we won, we won!" Though most were less emphatic, many more wizards than had hitherto noticed her kept clapping her on the back and waving Irish paraphernalia in her face. Despite being utterly bewildered, she couldn't help the wide grin that spread across her cheeks, infected by the contagious atmosphere. At least for the first few hours. Finally, ears ringing and bracing a huge headache, she started stumbling home. And then, she saw him. That boy again. He wasn't cheering. He wasn't smiling. He was inching, in the way of someone up to something, around a corner. She caught sight of some sort of white cloth clenched tightly in his fist as he passed her, his hair gleaming golden beneath the firelight.

She had no moment of hesitation. She followed him.

He was moving in the direction of the forest. Discreetly, Mavis kept a few yards back as she trailed him through the revelers and to the edge of the clearing, to a tent close to her home. He didn't seem to notice her as he strode inside a lavish, but surprisingly dark colored tent, larger even on the outside than most were on the inside, and she wasn't sure if she dared look in. Thinking better of it, she pressed herself to one of the walls, but she couldn't hear anything. After straining for a few minutes, she was about ready to give up and assume he wasn't actually up to anything but a long night's sleep, when a light flashed her directly in the eyes. She looked up guiltily, a lie already formulating in her mind as she stumbled to her feet.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" drawled the man towering over her. The light adjusted as she stood, so that it fell on a pointed nose, a white face, a blonde head of hair much like that of the boy she had followed, and a lofty expression. From around the corner, presumably from beyond the tent flap, a woman's voice whispered tentatively; "what is it, Lucius? Is anyone there?"

"Why, yes, there's a young lady here to see us. How nice. Please, come in, my dear."

There was something not quite right about his smile, but Mavis didn't quite dare refuse. "Stranger danger" kept ringing through her mind, and if she'd been smart she might have listened. Still, she might be able to talk herself out of trouble. Reluctantly, with the man's wand light trained on her, she hurried inside.

"I can explain-" she began, but the words were barely out of her mouth before she stopped dead in her tracks. She tried to step back, but the hulking form of the man, Lucius, blocked her route. Before she could scream, a hand was clamped tightly around her mouth and she was dragged into the room, kicking furiously. Pointing his wand at her temple and using a word she'd never heard before, "stupefy," she suddenly felt as if her every muscle had gone stiff, or turned to stone. She couldn't move, and it took her a moment of panic to realize that she could in fact breathe. Lucius had let her go, but she couldn't run from the bewildering and frankly terrifying inhabitants of the room. Wide eyes swiveling wildly, all she could see were at least a dozen white-masked figures, studying her through emotionless black holes.

"There's a good girl. Made it easy, didn't she? Now we don't have to go looking for her," Lucius said contemptuously, striding around to examine her face. She tried to open her mouth and land him the worst curse word she could imagine, but nothing came out. He chuckled, which was eery in the way it echoed into the dark corners of the room with the acoustics no tent should ever have. It felt more like a rock tomb than a fabric hut.

"This is the muggle girl," he spat, sneering at one of the smaller figures that was probably the woman, as if that explained everything when the silence grew too cold. He turned back to Mavis, patronizingly; "Roberts, is it? Want to tell us where to find your mum and dad?"

With an immense feeling of relief, she found herself able to speak again, though her limbs were still completely numb. For half a second, she thought she was going to beg, but her tongue betrayed her.

"Never, you filthy… muggle gargoyle!" she yelled, not really sure what it meant, but 'muggle' seemed to be a pretty bad thing around here, and his contorted face looked rather like the grotesque creatures perching upon the nearby church she attended every Sunday. Lucius lifted his eyebrows in surprise, and nervous laughter broke out from behind a few of the masks. Lucius rounded on them.

"Think that's funny, Yaxley? Goyle? Laughing at the foolish antics of a mudblood?"

She didn't know what it meant, but by the withering glare he was giving them and the way they immediately shut up, she knew it wasn't good. A faint spark of recognition flickered through her mind at the name "Goyle," but when she placed it as one of the hulking boys she'd seen earlier, she knew they weren't big enough to be any of the masked men. Maybe a relation, she thought distractedly, realizing taunts weren't getting her anywhere, and his attention would refix on her at any moment. She had a feeling they wouldn't be giving her any answers as to why they'd taken her, and she couldn't think of a thing to say that might convince them to let her go.

Just then, by a stroke of luck, there were footsteps from the hallway- yes, the tent had a hallway, as incredible as it seemed. She'd almost forgotten why she was there at all until he emerged, dropping the white cloth that was evidently another mask as he saw who the ruckus was about. Recovering quickly, the boy turned to Lucius with a bow, the corner of his mouth twitching in agitation as he tried to avoid her gaze.

"I'm ready, father. It's all been taken care of."

"Ah, excellent. Best run along. Wouldn't want you caught up in this tonight, not until you can apparate."

Giving Lucius a curt nod, and ignoring Mavis' shocked expression, he went to leave but stopped halfway outside. As if bracing himself for a punishment, he glanced at her stiffly.

"Father?"

"Yes, son?"

"What… what are you going to do to her?"

"Ah. I see." Mavis' stomach clenched at the way his mouth twisted into a sneer at the words. "I thought we already discussed this. Just a bit of fun. Not to worry, Draco, she's only a mudblood anyway."

She could have heard a pin drop.

"... Yes, sir."

She saw the fear flicker in his eyes as he walked out, saw the gruesome grin on Lucius' hollow face as he donned his mask, heard her own screams as she was suddenly flung into the air, hovering.

So that was the boy's name- Draco. She would never remember it. But she would remember its association, the dragon. She would remember his slit gaze as he tried not to see her, the drag in his step as he turned tail and ran. She would remember the callousness with which he saved his own skin, as she flew, upside down, into the night.

Even as the memories filled her fifteen year old mind, two years after it had happened, it was still a blur. She swung, full of fear as the blood rushed to her head and full of pain when her flailing limbs and head raked the trees and scraped through the tents. Tears flooded from her eyes and into her hair, fogging the vision of her parents running from their home, demanding the safe return of their daughter, and being hoisted beside her. A deep gouge from a weather vane arrow gushed red across her forehead, dying the image of her little brother fleeing and being lifted by the ankle as they caught him a step from the front door. Loud bangs and cries resounded through the maze as they bobbed this way and that way, held aloft and humiliated, hurt and helpless. And all the while, watched by those empty masks. She couldn't turn her screams into thoughts, much less words, but deep inside, thumping through her veins, she was cursing the one who wasn't directly responsible, but the one she blamed. Draco! Please, Draco! Please, help! No, please! No! Draco… The glacial dragon.

For two years, she saw him, every time she closed her eyes. And then one day, when she opened them.

XXX

So, thoughts? Guesses? Hm, me neither. ;) One last thing- I've seen other authors add questions at the bottom of their stories, so hey, why not? Question of the day: What are your Hogwarts and Ilvermorny houses? Anyway, TTFN, and hope to have an update soon. :) Bye!