A/N: hello again, after three years. Finally got around to working on this more. I'm on a writing roll right now, so expect more updates in a timelier manner. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter Two

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All of Dudley's friends burst into laughter at the same time that I shriek, and the sky starts to dim rapidly. Harry looks up at the dark clouds speeding in, then at Dudley's wary face, then finally at me. He lowers his wand, the cronies starting to get nervous about the ominous wind and lighting.

"Dudley, Dudley let's go," they say, backing towards the playground entrance. They barely spare me a glance, but Harry is definitely starting to twist his wrist to soon point his wand at me.

"What's going on," Dudley mutters to Harry. "What are you doing?"

Harry glares at his cousin. "I'm not doing anything."

The wind picks up more and the other boys run. "We're getting out of here, Dudley!"

Litter swirls the playground, flyers and candy wrappers whipping around my knees. Above us, the clouds start to shift lower and cyclone. Everything grows cold.

"Dementors!" I remember, startling Harry Potter. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off sharply, "We need to run."

If this is real and not a dream – and this frigid air, this trashed grass, this fear, feels very very real – then I am not going to fuck around. I wait only the split second for Harry's acquiescence to follow a strange woman, then book it down the lane. I can hear his light footsteps and Dudley Dursley's heavy gait behind me. The blackening clouds seem to follow us, pounding rain on our heads as we head towards the overpass. The overpass!

The boys jump over the railing just inside, leaving me standing before it. Harry notices that I've stopped, unsheathing his wand again while Dudley watches the lights flicker.

"Who are you?" Harry demands, raising his wand toward my chest. Fog emits with his words.

Ice creeps up my spine and I don't have time to even scream. A force slams me from behind, flipping me over the rail. I land on my side and groan. My heart is beating so loud it's giving me a headache, and I feel so helpless. Hopeless. Crushed. Like the world is ending, and I'll never see the sun again. I think I'm sobbing but I can't even tell, the pressure in my ears is too pronounced.

Through the wet of rain and tears, I crack my eyes open to see Harry choking up on the wall and Dudley slip near the other end of the underpass. Shouldn't there be Dementors here? My heart and goosebumped skin feel their presence, but they're invisible to me. "Muggles can't see Dementors, can they boy?", the annoying voice of Cornelius Fudge filters up among memories of the lowest points of my life. Loneliness, desperation, humiliation—

"Expecto Patronum!" A blinding light radiates from the middle of the tunnel, returning warmth to my nose and fingertips. I feel like I'm encompassed in a hug.

My breath is labored, but I sit up and watch Harry pull his Patronus towards Dudley's limp body, expelling the rest of the cold. The summer heat sets back in, humidity dewing on our skins. Harry runs to check on Dudley, and Arabella Figg shuffles around the corner.

Scared out of my wits by her sudden presence, I scramble backwards against the wall. Harry hears and turns around, hiding his wand behind him. "Mrs. Figg?"

The old woman shifts her gaze between me and him. "Don't put away your wand, Harry. They might come back. Come, let's get you home."

Shocked, Harry stands, then thinks better of it to crouch by Dudley again. He pulls his cousin into a slouched stand, and nearly falls into the wall under his weight. My ribs hurt doing so, but I manage to rise and approach to help. Harry shifts Dudley away from me.

"Who are you."

I falter, for a second looking to Mrs. Figg for help that won't come. Who am I here? After the Dementor attack, I can safely say that I think this is all real as real can be. But how do I explain to a fictional character who the hell I am? "Um, Ingrid. My name is Ingrid Matthews. I can't really tell you more than that?"

Harry looks utterly fed up by that statement, so I try again. "I'm not like a Death Eater or anything, I'm nobody really. I don't know what I'm doing here, or how. But I do know that it's not safe here, and that he," I gesture to Dudley, "needs medical attention."

Just on cue, the large boy moans. Satisfied enough with the transaction, Mrs. Figg waves us on and starts back down the tunnel. Harry allows me to shoulder the other half of Dudley's weight and we follow her out.

The walk back towards Privet Drive seems much quicker than when we were running for our lives away from it. "Dementors, in Little Whinging, whatever next? The whole world's gone topsy-turvy."

Harry, on the side of Dudley closer to Mrs. Figg, frowns. "I don't understand. How do you know—?"

She interrupts him, "Dumbledore asked me to keep an eye on you."

Dumbledore! That's how I can try to make some sense of this. While one of my least favorite characters since learning in Deathly Hallows how cruel his methods have been, he should be the most equipped to help me.

My ears pick up the end of the others' conversation as Harry steers us towards Number 4. Mrs. Figg doesn't do anything to stop me from hobbling up the walkway with the boys, so I guess I'm going to the Dursley's.

"Duddykins? Is that you?" Petunia Dursley calls as we shuffle Dudley through the living room door. "Duddy? Vernon, come quick!"

Harry and I allow her to move him to the couch, then we step back to let the family fret. He sits on the barstool and I hover by the curtain, where I watched an inflated Aunt Marge float out two movies ago. The spotless, pinkish room is so uncomfortable. I feel like I'm in an antique dollhouse, except I'm from another playset. Petunia pushes me out of the way with a wastebasket for Dudley to potentially puke over, finally realizing my presence.

"And who are you?!"

I wish people would stop asking me that. "I know Harry," is all I manage. Petunia scowls at the implication that I'm involved with the magical world, and turns back to her son, steadfastly ignoring me. If her baby boy wasn't currently compromised, I'm sure she would be loudly and forcefully kicking me out of the house.

"Who did this to you, boy?" Vernon asks, hovering over Dudley.

The younger boy just numbly points towards Harry, and I can only stare as Vernon berates his nephew. Suddenly a dark shape flies by my head, distressing my hair and causing me to gasp. An owl drops a letter in the middle of the room, and we all freeze.

We and the owl watch as the mail levitates, but the creature leaves before the Ministry Howler opens itself to speak. "Dear Mr. Potter, the Ministry has received intelligence that, at 6:23 this evening, you performed the Patronus Charm in the presence of a Muggle. As a clear violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, you are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hoping you are well, Mafalda Hopkirk."

Harry's jaw drops as the letter falls back to the floor, and I clasp my hand over my mouth. That was so much more brutal to watch in person. Both Harry and I glare at Vernon's next snide remark, but then Harry storms upstairs.

The Dursley's all turn to me, and I freeze for only half a second to point at Dudley and squeeze a thin, "hospital," out of my mouth before bounding up after Harry Potter. No fucking way I'm staying down there alone with them.

When I reach the landing, hallway dark and empty, I try to remember if the movies ever show which room is Harry's from the outside. Each are plain white, except for the one with "Keep Out – The King's Chambers" sign that I can only assume is Dudley's. I nearly try just opening every remaining option and risk startling Harry, until I notice that one's doorknob's lock is on the outside. Bingo.

A hollow thud sounds from inside—Harry punching his wardrobe, if I remember correctly—and I hesitate a moment before knocking softly. "Harry? I'm sorry to bother you, may I come in please?"

At first there is only silence, and I don't think he's going to let me in, but finally the door swings open. He doesn't step out of the frame for me to enter though. "Who are you, Ingrid? What are you doing here?"

I'm starting to feel like Alice in Wonderland, constantly getting asked who I am. Lord knows how many more times this will happen before I go mad or get home. "I'm truly sorry to intrude on your life like this, it was a surprise to me as well, trust me. Do you think I could come inside to explain? The Dursley's haven't left for the hospital yet."

The teenager considers me, and I just now notice he's holding his wand at his side. He's already expelled and going to trial for underage sorcery, I wouldn't put it past him to do it again if he feels like I'm a threat. His grip slackens just a tad though, and he moves for me to enter. Hedwig, beautiful and stark against the black of her shadowy cage, chirps in alarm at my presence. I've never been met an owl before, much less been this close to one, so I don't know what to do. "Sorry, Hedwig, it's okay, I'm a friend," I try to assure her, but she just hoots at me then at Harry.

"Shh, Hedwig," Harry coos at her. Once she's calmed down enough, he narrows his eyes at me. "How did you know her name?"

I blink, and realize my mistake. This is going to be hard. Because I shouldn't tell him he's a fictional character, right? That would be way too meta for anyone to wrap their brain around, even if he believed me. And I've read fanfiction enough to know that I shouldn't meddle with his timeline. Or rather, Dumbledore would tell me I shouldn't. But wouldn't that be rich of him, the master of meddling himself. Ugh, what do I say that would make sense in this world?!

"Oh, um, well…you're Harry Potter. Everyone knows everything about you." That is the lamest excuse ever, but his disheartened expression means it landed. "I wasn't lying in the tunnel. I don't know how I got here, or why I am. But I'm on your side. If I knew how to prove it to you, I would, but all I have is my word. I—" my voice breaks as I contemplate my next words, the gravity of my situation shaking me to the core, "—am all alone, extremely far from home, and don't know what the hell to do other than ask for your help finding someone who can hopefully help me. Probably Dumbledore."

Here I am, a twenty-three year old woman, asking a fifteen year old boy to help me find a real grown-up. This is even more pathetic than the time I got publicly booed at for stopping to tie my shoe in front of a Banksy mural near my work. And, though I do have my qualms with Dumbledore's decisions and motives throughout the series, I have to admit that he's the most equipped to help me get home. Because I should probably get home—this isn't like my fantasies of going into the Harry Potter world, performing magic and going to Hogwarts and being apart of the adventure. I'm way older than these kids, and still have zero magical ability whatsoever. This place is just a hazard to me. I just got attacked by Dementors for fuck's sake! With the war against Voldemort about to start, I have no chance here.

My inner spiral goes unnoticed by Harry, who sneers, "Well, I don't know if you've heard, but I'm expelled from Hogwarts. Short of writing a letter, I don't know how I would be connecting you with Professor Dumbledore."

"Well, if you can get the Order to let me go with you tonight, then—wait, shit." I smack my hand to my face. It would be great if I could stop telling the main character his plot points.

"The what? What's happening tonight?" Harry's knuckles whiten against his wand again.

I try to phrase this as cleverly as possible. "Er, some friends of yours are going to take you away tonight, to somewhere safer, pending this whole expulsion thing."

"How do you know?" Christ, teenagers really can be quite belligerent, can't they. I can't blame this particular one, I guess, but it would be great if he could just trust me enough to stop asking questions I can't answer honestly.

I rub my temples. The Order are going to be pissed I know all their secret stuff, and probably think they have a mole or something. Every excuse I come up with is riddled with holes. "This is such a pain. I wish I could explain myself, I really do. I'm just a bloody Muggle with too much knowledge, okay? I'm trying my best."

I don't mean to snap at him, and he looks a little taken aback. "You're a Muggle? Do you have magical family members then?"

"What? Oh, yes. Yes, that's it." Finally something I can work with! "And I need reconnecting with my family. It's a very complicated magical situation that I don't understand, and Dumbledore is the most likely person to solve it. Again, I'm very sorry that I have to ask you for your help in this, I'm just completely out of my element and you're the only magical person around."

Finally, finally, Harry seems to accept my answer, nodding slowly. "Alright. I'll help get you in touch with Professor Dumbledore. When are my friends coming tonight?"

"I'm not sure. Just sometime later. You must convince them to let me go with you, though. They won't want to, because the place you're going is very secret, and no one knows me. But it's the most efficient way to get me to Dumbledore…" I consider my words carefully, but I've already let enough slip to maybe get away with a little exposition. "Fuck it. Here's the deal: Mad-Eye, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, Emmeline Vance, and Elphius Doge are going to fetch you tonight to take you the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, the secret society Dumbledore created to defend against Voldemort in the first war. Dumbledore talked to Fudge and got you hearing so you can fight the expulsion ruling. The Weasley's, Hermione, Remus, Sirius, everyone is going to be at the headquarters."

Harry's mouth draws open, struck at how much I just unloaded on him. I feel practically feverish in my urgency to get him on my side so they'll take me with them. "I know all of that privileged information, yeah? So I must be trusted enough to be privy to it, right?" He nods, probably still thinking of evil ways I could've figured it out, but accepting that I might actually be telling the truth. "Please, Harry, convince them that I can be allowed to go with you."

"I'll try my best," he promises. And honestly, with Mad-Eye "Constant Vigilance" Moody being the main recipient of convincing, that's the most I can hope for.

I tell Harry to pack and get some rest before the Advance Guards comes, and he shows me to the guest bedroom where I can wait and rest myself. It pisses me off to no end that the Dursley's had two extra rooms upstairs and still made him sleep in a cupboard under the stairs. This lilac and periwinkle guest bedroom is no place for a child, though—I'm a whole grownup and it gives me the heebie-jeebies. The room only consists of a bed with frilly cream sheets, a white vanity, and a small turquoise dresser, and everything is sea themed. There's a candy bowl on the vanity shaped like a seashell, there's a starfish trim on the walls, and a beach-scented candle on the dresser (whatever that's supposed to smell like). Why do suburban homes always seem to have a designated ocean room?

After mentally criticizing every decorating choice the Dursley's have ever made, I let my circumstances sink in. I'm at the Dursley's. In the Harry Potter universe. And I don't think I'm dreaming or hallucinating or getting pranked. This is simultaneously the best thing that's ever happened to me, possibly the worst, and definitely the weirdest and most exhilarating. I think almost died tonight.

I don't let myself think about staying here for any longer than getting Dumbledore's help. He'll have some idea of what's going on, then I can work on getting home. I think it's safe to assume that I'm gonna lose my job, since this endeavor will most likely take more than the weekend, and this is so a no-call-no-show situation. So no, I won't think about what repercussions my presence will have here, because I will not be here long enough to create any.

Have I already messed up though? Thus far, what's happened seems to be based on the movie. The way the film was edited, it made it look like the Advance Guard came for Harry the same night of the Dementor attack, but I think it was like three or four days in the books. Editing also means that a few days totally could've passed, and I've just inadvertently lied to the only person who can help me. Now that he's already gotten in trouble for underage wizardry, he probably won't hesitate to hex me for it either.

But if it is tonight…I glance at the conch-modelled clock on the vanity. I need to try calming my mind and getting some rest. Whether its going to the Order of the Phoenix headquarters or getting literally cursed by a teenager, I'm going to need my strength. Hunkering down in the scratchy bed, I try to quell my racing thoughts and heart.

I don't know how long I toss and turn, but whatever sleep I was starting to get withers away as thumps sound from the hallway. Someone's lumos shines from the crack at the bottom of the guest room door, and across the way I hear Harry's door thrown open.

"Very clean, these Muggles. Not natural," whispers Tonks, and Moody scolds her. I bolt upright, smoothing out my clothes. Should I go out there? Should I wait here? Do I have nap-breath? I tiptoe to the vanity and pluck a butterscotch from the shell bowl. It's a little stale, but this will be a very important first impression, so it's worth it. I meet my own eyes in the vanity mirror, inspect the purplish skin under them. My hair is a little disheveled, my jeans and boots are heavily coffee-stained, and I should've thought to borrow some deodorant or perfume or something while I was in the loo earlier, but otherwise I look…well, normal as one can be, I suppose. Nothing suspicious. Is it possible to look obviously Muggle? Suddenly I wish I did have the four days to get ready for this.

"In this one, you say?" The wispy voice of Emmeline Vance unlocks my door, and two bright wands illuminate the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye.

"This is Ingrid, Ingrid Matthews." Harry pushes his way into the threshold, but we both know nothing can stop the interrogation I'm about to get.

"Er, how do you do?" I will myself to just stand still as Mad-Eye approaches. My customer-service persona threatens to protect my anxiety, but I must stay calm and serious. "I apologize for crashing your rescue mission, I know you weren't planning on such a random security risk—"

"Yes, we were told to expect you here, lass."

"and I—wait, what?"

Tonks pokes her head around Harry. "Arabella did not leave you out of her report of tonight."

How stupid of me to forget Mrs. Figg. "Oh. Right, then. Well, then I can skip right to the part where I ask to invite myself with you. Please."

Mad-Eye circles me, magical eye whizzing all over my person. It's subtle, like a wave of warm goosebumps, but I think he's also performing detective spells on me. I wonder if I can learn Occlumency, and how quickly.

"How did you find Harry Potter?" He barks.

"I didn't mean to. I don't know how I ended up in Little Whinging. But I knew who he was, so I asked him for help. I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore, and I don't know any other way to do that other than through you all."

His wand is set on me at the first mention of Dumbledore. He very clearly thinks I am a big fat nefarious liar. "Mr. Potter says you knew we were coming, and where we're going. Who do you work for?"

"Starbucks," I snort, then immediately regret getting snarky at the time like this. Harry snickers, which brings me a hint of validation and confidence. "I don't work for anybody. I'm just extremely displaced. Please believe I intend no harm, I'm just well-informed about your order of affairs." I go out on a limb: "But don't worry, I'm an excellent secret keeper."

The Order members regard me with more suspicion now than before. Tonks and Kingsley seem the most curious rather than aggressive about it, but this is clearly not going well for me. Harry must see it too, because he jumps in, "She tried to warn me about the Dementors, and she knows about Sirius. Even if she's up to something, then isn't better to keep her closer?"

Not exactly the vote of confidence I was looking for. "If I tell you precisely where you're going, will that prove myself to you? You don't even have to take me there, just to Dumbledore, or some other interim place of your choosing until Dumbledore can see me. I can't stay here, and I don't have anywhere else to go. It's just imperative that I get his help."

Mad-Eye considers this, then holds out his hand palm-up. My confusion must be evident, so he explains. "Prove you know where we're going. Not out loud."

Hesitantly, I form my fingers against his hand, signing 12 Grimmauld Place. I'd been trained in sign language for work, but I hadn't thought wizards knew it. I guess the wizarding world is more inclusive than Rowling showed.

He grunts as I pull my arm back down, displeased that I really could prove it. "You're coming with us. You will be subjected to questioning upon arrival, then maybe I'll tell Albus you're lookin' for him." Good enough! I try not to look as thrilled as I feel. "Potter," his false eye whips to Harry, "get your things. We've got to get a move on. Miss Matthews, with me."

I follow him down the stairs as Harry rushes back to his room. He's already packed since I foretold about this, so he quickly falls in line behind Elphius, who stays on my six. The Advance Guard corrals us out the door and onto the street in a line. I get sandwiched between Mad-Eye and Tonks. Kingsley takes point, and tries to explain to Harry about the expulsion suspension.

"Pending a formal hearing, yeah, Ingrid told me."

The wizards exchange glances with each other then at me. Mad-Eye taps his walking stick against the asphalt, summoning everyone a broomstick. Warmth blooms on my cheeks, partially from excitement and partially embarrassment. I've always wanted to fly on a broom. As a child, I would run up and down the halls of our apartment complex with a Swiffer between my legs and black pointed hat, pretending to soar and cast spells on the neighbours. And now here I am, really about to fly on a magic broomstick…that I can't operate, surrounded by people who could never understand and would be currently unwilling to.

"Get on mine," Tonks orders, mounting the thin piece of wood that will somehow support both of us. She scoots slightly up towards the long black ribbon tied to the tip. I move to stand behind her, but I'm not sure how far back I'm supposed to be. Should guest-riders be sidesaddle? She furrows her violet brows. "Haven't you ever flown before?" Yeah, on an aeroplane. I shake my head. "Oh? Alright, stand over the shaft, and you can just hold onto me, then. You're not afraid of heights, are you?" I didn't think I was, but the idea that this toothpick is supposed to carry me all the way to Inner London is definitely making me question it. "Hey," Tonks asserts eye contact with me, "I'm an impeccable flyer, I'll have you know. No passenger's ever fallen off with me before, and never will."

A smile twinges my lips, and it's just now that I realize that Nymphadora Tonks and I are the same age. In real life, she could be someone I went to school with, got minimum wage jobs with, be friends with. If I was from this world, we would've been in Hufflepuff together. Twin pits of loneliness and longing curl in my stomach as I wrap my arms around her waist.

"Stay in formation, everyone. Don't break ranks if one of us is killed." He side-eyes me, but I try to focus on the worried figure of Mrs. Figg peeking past her window curtain across the street. I manage a weak wave before Tonks thrusts us into the air.

The temperature drops significantly chillier as we zoom through the Surrey atmosphere, and I curse myself for not putting on a jacket before getting cosmically abducted into a fictional dimension. My grip on Tonks constricts from both the cold and the situation. I'm flying! This is terrifying and amazing! It's like a very fast sled with the thrill of a rollercoaster. At first, I clamp my eyes shut, beads of water escaping the edges as the wind pulls them from the creases of my lids. But how could I miss an opportunity like this? There is a very real possibility that this will be the only broom flying experience I'll ever have. I peek through my lashes just as we pass over the Thames. The city lights glitter in the night like neon fireflies. It's breathtaking.

As we pass over thicker population, I wonder how the Muggles below don't spot us. Does the Ministry of Magic have an in with the Royal Air Force so that we don't show on their radars? The tree-lined streets of the borough of Islington come into view, and Tonks brakes above a park. I loosen my arms, not letting go of her just yet but not squeezing anymore. The others land smoothly, but she lowers us slower, putting her legs out as a show of instruction for me. I copy her, the grass gently meeting my boots. Once I'm steady on my feet, I can feel when she's disengaged the connection with her broom, and I back up off of it.

"Thank you for letting me ride with you. Five-star piloting, as you said; not that I doubted you," I stammer. And this is why I don't have friends. She gives me a wink and leads us on with the others. I end up next to Harry behind Mad-Eye, with Emmeline and Elphius flanking and Kingsley bringing up the rear. We wait for the garbage truck to pass by, then go out onto the street. Again, Mad-Eye stomps the road with his staff.

Harry's face transforms with awe as he watches the buildings before us, but I see and hear nothing. Unplottable location, indeed. Mad-Eye urges Harry in, and the rest of us follow. Tonks stays beside me, and I can feel her watching. Maybe I should've pretended. I keep my eyes on Moody's back as we go forward, not able to find the entrance myself. Once we're past the gate though, I lift my gaze. As if it'd been there the whole time, there is a townhouse between units 11 and 13, making my mouth startle open. The stones are a shade darker and the front steps worn, but there's practically a hum in the air as we near the battered front door. Its enchantments are heavy-duty.

"Come on, hurry," Mad-Eye scowls, tapping the shabby black door next to the silver serpent knocker. We step into the almost total darkness of the front hall. It smells of damp, dust, and something sweetish, rotting; it reminds me of an old-folks center. The gruff ex-Auror lights a candelabra, casting a flicker over peeling wallpaper, threadbare carpet, and age-blackened portraits hung crooked. An enormous portrait wails as I walk by it, but the thick black curtain covering it mostly muffles the sound.

We ease down the hall behind Harry, and conversation carries from one of the doors ahead. Mad-Eye sighs in exasperation and pushes past him, hobbling swiftly down the corridor towards the voices. Harry pauses along the wall to let the Advance Guard pass, so I do the same. All but Tonks go in after them to where the Order meeting has started, the Metamorphmagus still keeping close tabs on me. Under the clang of her tripping on an umbrella stand, I hear Mad-Eye tell someone to get an interrogation room ready. Great.

Harry moves forward into the dining room light as Sirius Black tries to call for action against Voldemort, catching his and Remus Lupin's attentions just before Molly Weasley blocks the threshold. I take the moment of their greeting to fucking reel. All these people are really in front of me, in the flesh. And I only caught a glimpse of the two Marauders, but holy shit. The Marauders. And while, just like Harry and everyone else I've met so far, they look so similar to their actors, there's slight differences that are more reminiscent of the books in Gary Oldman's coloring and the scar styling on Remus. While still trauma-haggard, they actually look like they're in their mid-thirties, too.

Molly is absolutely adorable, and watching her hug Harry and fuss over his thinness is heartwarming. Every fanfiction I've ever read that featured Molly-bashing springs to mind, and I mentally flush them down the toilet. This woman may not have her criteria straight for treating others with the respect deserved, but she radiates love and warmth like no mother-figure I've ever known. Her sights set on me and I internally steel myself from trying for a hug. "And who is this, dear?"

"Oh, this is Ingrid Matthews. She's…?"

"New around here," I fill in. Tonks makes a minute shift as if to stop me from stepping toward them, so I offer a little wave. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Weasley." At that moment, Mad-Eye opens the dining room door again, followed by Kingsley, Emmeline, and Remus. Tonks stands at attention and places a hand at my back. I turn to Harry before following them further into the manor, "Thank you for all your help, Harry." He nods after me before he gets ushered upstairs.

Tonks pushes lightly on my spine to get me moving, and we follow the Order members down a narrow set of stone steps to the cavernous kitchen. A rather gloomy room, it doesn't seem like the type of space you'd want the heart of a home to operate in. Tonks seats me at a small wooden table just off the long dining one, then joins the others to surround me. I feel incredibly cornered and try to remember that I've done nothing wrong.

"Would you like something to drink, Miss Matthews?" Kingsley offers, plucking a glass from a shelf.

"Water would be lovely. Thank you very much." I wonder what the probability is that there'll be Veritaserum in said water. Actually, the chance is very high. I'll have to be careful what I say.

He hands me the glass and settles off the side near the door, probably in case I try to escape. Tonks and Remus take more casual positions, she lounging into a chair at the long table and he leaning against a counter. Bordering my other side, Emmeline mirrors Kingsley's stance. Only Mad-Eye stays directly in front of me, staring head-on. I take a sip of water and try to look at the negative spaces between them all.

"Who are you?" He begins.

"Ingrid Avani Matthews." Christ that came out fast. I think I really did get truth-doped.

Apparently my thoughts are obvious, because they all consider me a moment before resuming. "How do you know about the Order of the Phoenix?"

I keep my jaw clamped shut. Will I be able to talk my way around this? I have to try, they're all waiting for me to answer. "I have extensive in-depth insider information about the wizarding world. I'm an…ally. An admirer, I guess? Big supporter. Huge fan!" It's like trying to speak with a mouthful of taffy, but it works well enough. They absolutely think I'm crazy though.

"Who told you about the Order of the Phoenix?"

Well, I can't say J.K. Rowling. And I think Hermione is the first one to explain it in the narrative; I can't say her, either, poor girl doesn't even know I exist. I'm pretty sure she and Ron are getting yelled at by Harry right now, two floors above me. Wow, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. For real.

"I wasn't told, per se. Fuck, this is so hard...Listen, I need to talk to Dumbledore, please. He's the only person I can explain myself to. I'm just a boring, book-loving barista from Bristol who's in way over her head. All I can tell you is that I'm on your side, beyond lost, and laughably ill-equipped to deal with all of this. The only thing I'm here for is help."

They mull over my words, and finally I hear Remus speak: "Why can only Albus Dumbledore help you?"

"Because he knows almost as much as I do."

...x.x. .x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x. ..x. xx..x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x...

A/N: Thanks for reading! As always, constructive criticism would be lovely please!