Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Please read & review! It takes quite a while for me to write another chapter but I'll be as quick as I can.

Thanks to Wolfie and Needles, for putting up with my 'scary Harry Potter Fangirl' ranting. Silverwing says hi.

Thanks to Marauder0103, for ideas.

The elderly wizard led the young girl up to a set of imposing stone gates, while she took in the magnificent turreted castle with awed curiosity. Against the inky black sky, the stone castle was a grey smudge; it was impossible to tell where the castle ended and the night sky began.

Scattered across the castle were lit windows, like tiny fireflies. Warm, yellow light spilled out into the winter night, and they quickened their pace.

The girl glanced at the wizard's wand.

"I have a wand," she said quietly, "but it didn't choose me. It doesn't work very well for me."

"Then we'll get you a new one," replied the wizard. The girl's eyes brightened with excitement, and they descended into comfortable silence again.

Shrill owl hoots punctuated the night sky, and from the tightly packed skeleton trees of the forest came whispers and howls, murmurs and growls, but the castle's impenetrable exterior was silent.

Upon reaching a grand set of tall, bronze doors, the wizard knocked loudly and waited. A few moments later there was a scuffling noise the other side of the door, a key clinked in the lock, and the doors groaned open.

"Who is it?" rasped an irritated voice, as a scowling, hunched man peered around the edge of the door.

"Good evening Argus," greeted wizard politely.

"Oh, it only you... come on in Headmaster... come on in...," said Argus, waving the wizard impatiently inside. He caught sight of the girl, hiding in the shadows behind the wizard, and jumped.

"Well... lookee here... who's this then?" she stared at her, leeringly.

"Argus, she's a guest tonight," said the wizard firmly," would you please find her a room in our Hospital wing," the wizard caught sight of Argus's curious expression, "she just needs somewhere to spend the night."

Argus grunted, and opened the heavy door just enough so that she could squeeze in, glaring at her suspiciously. The girl avoided looking at him, but strode quickly up to her wizard and beamed at him, and she thought she caught him smiling faintly too.

She followed the Headmaster down a well lit flagstone corridor, branching off into smaller corridors every fifty meters, like a messy cobweb. Walking and gossiping down the corridor were hordes of students carrying books and wands, chattering aimlessly, all wearing warm black robes and striped ties. The bustle of noise was almost visible above the chaotic tide of boys and girls sweeping in every direction. As they drew near the Headmaster they fell respectfully quiet, but smiled cheerfully at him.

"Watch out Will... It's Filch!" warned a stocky boy with a red and yellow tie.

"Hide me," ducked his friend, "I set off some Dungbombs last night outside his office!"

But it was too late; Argus Filch spotted Will, and dragged him down a smaller corridor with a wheezing cackle.

Turning her head, the girl caught strands of a dozen separate conversations, as the students blurred past her.

"... Mrs McGonagall gave us an entire foot on this essay...but it does count for our grades..."

"...the Ravenclaw Vs Slytherin game on Monday..."

"... and Amelia said she would never come with me to Hogsmeade..."

"... so when is this Transfiguration homework in again..."

"... hey Fred! Quidditch practice tomorrow... it's supposed to rain though..."

The girl had never seen so many people her own age in one place at one time. Constantly alive with commotion, the swarm of noise and colours made her dizzy. She turned left and right, trying to take all the sights, smells and sounds in at one time.

Quidditch? Ravenclaw? Slytherin? Dungbombs?

She stopped suddenly, startled. Out loud she whispered, "It's a school. A school for magic..."

She grinned around her, like she was daring someone to shout out that it was a joke.

"Would you like to walk somewhere a bit less crowded?" said a concerned voice in her ear. The girl startled and flinched away from the voice. Anxious eyes peered at her from over half-moon glasses. She nodded, and they walked into a gloomy deserted corridor, the splash of noise and colour fading rapidly from the main corridor. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the stone floor.

"Were you all right back there?" asked the Headmaster.

"Yes... I've just never been anywhere like this before," she replied. "It is... it is a school, isn't it?" she asked nervously. The wizard's eyes twinkled.

"Yes, this is Hogwarts, a school for magic. It is not compulsory, but many parents chose to send their children here."

"Is it a boarding school?"

"Indeed."

"Can I come?"

The old wizard looked at the girl curiously.

"Of course you can come. This school admits every pupil whose name has been written down."

"What are Ravenclaw and Slytherin?" she blurted out, after a moment's pause, like she couldn't contain herself.

"Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are our four houses. Everyone is sorted into a house at the beginning of the year by the Sorting hat."

"Ah... here we are! Chocolate wand," said the wizard, stopping outside a gargoyle guarding a twisting staircase. They stepped onto the staircase, which began to twirl upwards, so that the corridor sand out of sight. It gave a growling rumble and swept them up so fast that the girl sat down briefly so she wouldn't fall over. They spiralled out onto a landing bearing a door with the sign The Headmaster's Office.

As she stepped cautiously into what was to become her favourite room of the entire castle, the girl was welcomed with a thousand clicks and clinks as confusing contraptions lined the shelves of the office. Everywhere she looked, something was happening, from a cabinet full of glittering, dusty bottles, a faded brown globe standing proudly on an oak desk, multitudes of worn books lining shelves built into the wall, a rotating telescope next to a star chart that was filling itself in, to a flaming red phoenix squinting at her curiously from its stand. The office itself consisted of three overlapping circles, slightly higher than each other, with steps leading up to each level and stone pillars placed at each intersection.

A sharp voice just above her head said "Well go in! You're letting all the heat out!" She jumped and craned upwards to see who had spoken. Covering the curving wall above her, were portraits of old witches and wizards, some as tall as life, some as small and rectangular as a book, jumbled together like different pieces from many jigsaw puzzles.

"Well don't just stand their catching flies! Shut the door!"

She shut the door.

"Forgive me, forgive me, but I never asked your name?" inquired the old wizard, seated comfortably behind the desk. She sank into a cushioned armchair opposite him.

"I'm Rowan... Rowan Bellatrix Riddle," she said, smiling ruefully.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brain Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts," he said, and they shook hand formally over the desk.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?" Rowan blurted out, "I'm not a Death Eater. I-I just wanted you to know."

"Good, good. Now," Dumbledore pushed his fingertips together, "about what you are planning to do. Do you know anyone that would take you in?"

"Well, Hann's Orphanage. I went there before I was adopted... adopted by the Walle's," she said, her voice cracking. "Tonight, at least," he said softly, with a small, sad smile," you should stay in our Hospital ward. I will contact the Orphanage and will explain you need to return back there. At the same time, I will inform them you will be starting a boarding school this September."

"Thanks," she whispered.

"A letter will arrive in the post containing a list of all your school equipment and books needed." Rowan's wet eyes brightened, she sat up straighter, wiped her eyes again and sniffed.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

"Hmm?"

"I – I don't have any money, and the Orphanage is quite poor so –"

"Please don't worry. Hogwarts has a trust fund that can help, however some of your books and robes might have to be brought second-hand."

"That's fine – but, sir – where do I buy spell books and robes?"

"Ah – in Diagon Alley, in London. The entrance is concealed behind the wizard pub The Leaky Cauldron. Would you – Would you like any assistance buying your things?" Dumbledore said intently.

"You mean – someone would come with me?"

"I would, if you would like that?"

"You?" said Rowan," would come with me?"

"Only if you would like me to."

"That would be brilliant," Rowan smiled," if you have the time, I mean."

"Well, that's that. It's quite late now, I shall see you tomorrow. Argus Filch will, I think, lead you to the Hospital Wing."

Rowan took this as a dismissal, and walked to the door, pausing to smile back at the Professor. The door swung shut with a thud.

Back in his office, Albus Dumbledore sighed, brow furrowed, before walking over to a stone basin filled with smoking glittering wisps of a substance that wasn't quite liquid or gas. Pointing his wand to his temple, he dragged out a long silver thread, and dropped it into the Pensive. Swirling the contents around with his wand, an image of a girl crying next to an iron tree surfaced for a moment, before vanishing back into the mist.

Rowan followed a grumbling Filch to the Hospital Wing. It was very late, and the lights were turned off. Sliver moonlight illuminated rows of forlorn hospital beds with neat, clean covers; all empty expect for one at the end.

As Filch muttered something about coming round at seven, Rowan's eye was drawn to the occupied bed. She heard an echoing click as the door was shut, and winced.

Tiptoeing, she peered at a girl lying on the bed, arm in a sling, jerking and flinching in her sleep. On her bedside table was a grey bottle labelled Skele-gro.

Rowan padded over to a bed the other side of the room, and sank beneath the covers.

It hit her like a stone wall; she was never going to see Emily again. Helen Walle would never yell at her for getting mud on her clothes, or for not finishing her chores again, John Walle would never come home and spin Emily round and round in the air again. And Emily would never peep out from the end of her bed and shout "Happy Birthday!" ever again. They would never fall, laughing, off the swing, they would never steal biscuits from the kitchen, and they would never fantasize about the future together. Rowan started shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face. After about then minutes she forgot what she was crying about, the world turned upside down and all she could see through a curtain to salty tears was the end of her bed. She sat up, telling herself to get a grip, before remembering that Emily was gone. Her world dissolved into watering blacks and blues as her tears started falling again.

An hour later, or maybe several hours, she finally drifted off, straight into her usual nightmare.

A heavy lidded woman with curled black hair stood at the doorway, her hand on her hip, leering down at a little girl with disgust.

"Hurry up, Rowan!" she snapped, "the Dark Lord is waiting for you. Pack your clothes."

Obediently, the little girl rushed over to a tall oak wardrobe, grabbed a handful of grey cloth and started piling her clothes into a small rucksack. She stopped suddenly, and turned to the woman.

"Mama," she said, and the woman flinched angrily," it doesn't all fit."

"Well make it fit, you stupid girl!"

"I don't know how to do magic yet."

Huffing, the woman stomped into the tiny bedroom, tore the rucksack from her daughter and prodded it with her wand. Flinging back at her daughter, she said," There, you wretch. An extension charm, it will fit now. Quickly! The Dark Lord does not like to be kept waiting!"

The girl smiled eagerly at the woman, who turned away in revulsion. Grin fading, the girl zipped up her rucksack and swung it onto her shoulder.

"At last! But remember this Rowan," she said sternly, looking into her eyes," the dark Lord is your father, do you understand?" The girl nodded fearfully. "But he is your Lord. You will address him as 'my Lord', and you will never, never do you hear me Rowan, address him as father." Rowan nodded hurriedly. "Good," said the woman, standing up and roughly grabbing Rowan's arm. She spun around in a tight circle, yanking the girl with her, before appearing instantly in a narrow, dimly-lit hallway, festooned with cobwebs, bearing a single door.

Taking a deep breath, the woman pushed it open and strode in.

There was no natural lighting inside the tall hall; only a weak silvery glow came from enchanted candles, imbedded in grinning skulls. Lurking in the shadows, cloaked figures sporting gilded grinning mask's watchful eyes followed the movement they made, as they walked to the centre of the hall, where a lone figure sat on a chair, bathed by light from a glowing chandelier high above his head, waiting.

"Here at last, Bellatrix?" he said, in a cold, high voice.

"My apologies, my Lord. We came as quick as we could," replied Bellatrix, pulling the girl out from where she had been cowering behind her.

"I brought the girl, my Lord," she added softly.

The girl met a pair of cruel, red glowing eyes, assessing her. He had snake-like slits for a nose, and was deathly pale deathly pale. He sat back on the chair like it was a golden throne, and wore plain black robes like they were the finest velvet. He narrowed his eyes.

"Rowan..." he hissed. The girl cringed, and the Death Eaters winced at the sound. After a few long moments of silence, the Dark Lord raised his head a little, searching eyes never leaving her face, and commanded "Death Eaters, leave," with a dismissive wave of his skeletal hand. At once, the shadowy figures walked swiftly to the door that lead the hallway, as though someone had flicked a switch.

As Bellatrix turned to leave with the other hooded Death eaters, the Dark Lord said "Wait, Bellatrix. Stay here."

"Yes, my Lord."

Once everyone had left, he spoke again, "Bellatrix, how old is she?"

"Four and three-quarters," said the little girl quickly.

"Is your name Bellatrix?" he asked sharply, rounding on her, and Rowan froze. She shook her head, staring at the ground.

"You will start learning Dark Magic from the Death Eaters, starting in the morning," he said.

"Dark Magic?" the girl asked, confused.

"Yes," said the Dark Lord, staring at her intently for a few, long moments, "you do not want to learn Dark Magic, do you?"

"I-I thought I would be going to a school, like Hogwarts, to learn, well… legal magic..." she said, trailing off at the end as she saw the rage on his face.

"Hogwarts?" he said, dangerously quietly. Rowan glanced at Bellatrix, hoping for guidance, but she just stared blankly at the opposite wall.

"I-I read about it," she blustered," in a book... And – and I thought – I would be learning... um, legal magic..." She stopped suddenly, and stared at the floor, knowing she had gone too far.

"Legal magic," hissed the Dark Lord, wand drawn from nowhere. "Legal magic? Are you disagreeing with me?" he asked, daring her to deny it. But the girl was silent, eyes wide.

"I'll teach you a lesson, Rowan. You do not disagree with me."

He raised his wand, muttered something she couldn't hear over the roaring in her ears, and shot a green jet of light from the end of it.

And Rowan exploded inward, red hot glass and molten metal clenched around her heart. She slammed to the floor; someone was screaming, unendurable screaming. Everything turned blinding white, black and red. Struggling to breath, suffocating in pain, her nails drawing semi-circles of blood in her palm, it had to stop... she couldn't carry on, she would rather die...

As suddenly as it had began, the pain stopped, like someone had pressed rewind. After a few seconds, she realised that the unearthly screaming was coming from inside her head. Teeth clenched, still shaking slightly, she raised her head, thumping like an army had marched over it, and stared at the Dark Lord. How long had the pain lasted? It had seemed like years.

"Remarkable," he said, in a bored voice," she didn't even scream. Make sure she reports here tomorrow morning to start her training, Bellatrix." He strode out the room, not even glancing back at where Rowan lay, trembling on the floor.

Bellatrix looked steely at Rowan, "Get up. Now." Rowan groaned and let her head fall onto the floor again.

The background grew dark, and all Rowan could see was a shadowy figure standing in front of her. Bellatrix's annoyed face morphed slowly, gruesomely into a skeleton white figure that chilled her bones, fingers outstretched, grinning, before turning into the ghostly hooded figure of a Dementor, a single skinless hand protruding from its robes, drawing nearer and nearer...

Rowan lay, unable to move on the stone floor, bending under her weight, sinking like quicksand. And suddenly she was falling into cold, inky blackness, a high laugh reverberating all around her.

Sorry about this chapter, it didn't really turn out how I would have liked.

Please review – I'm quite new to writing fanfiction and any points for improvement would be useful.