Disclaimer: I own neither of the fictitious stories created by other people that I borrow to use in this story.

A/N: Holy... Freaking... Christmas! I have NEVER gotten this much of a reception to a fic I wrote EVER, never so fast and so much! You guys are freaking bad ass man! I love you all. I looked at my email and I practically had a heart attack.

I got mixed reviews on the Truth. I think he was a wee bit out of character. Like I explained to a few of you, I like to think that he finds Edward amusing. So like, after this crazy black ball of sin takes years trying to make a plot to consume him and do... well... whatever with that power, conquer the world, yada yada, that cute little Ed showing up and offering his little insignificant human body up to him would be rather funny. Hoowweeevverrr, I read it myself, and I did decide that it was even rather uncharacteristic of ME. That's right, I was out of character. I'm never that nice. I think that I may go back and edit the first chapter, and I will inform you as to when I do, but only slightly. Same general idea, just with a little bit more malicious intent on the Truth's part. ;)

This is more or less... a filler. Gasp! It's rather short, and is simply to get Edward staying at Grimwauld Place. The next chapter is one of my favorites I've written so far, (it involves one of my worst fears and writing it made me squirm uncontrollably), so I'm really excited to get on with this chapter and post the third. Thank you so much for reading! And all the freaking favorites and reviews and alerts! Amazing!

Oh and, I wanted to mention that the title of Chapter One: Incunabula, is a very wonderful sounding word, that happens to mean the earliest stages, or first traces, of anything.

Rue

Chapter Two

Adumbrate

"Who are you?" Moody asked in a cold, curt tone, staring at the boy who sat at the end of the table, slumped bloody in his chair with his hands held upward in an "I surrender" gesture.

The mysterious boy only stared at Moody in return, his strange golden eyes boring forward as if they were searching for something in the man. No answer came. Mrs. Weasley found herself taken by the strange piercing hue of his eyes, lost in the intensity of his gaze. With the serious state of his wounds he shouldn't have even been conscious yet. Lupin had told them it might take hours for him to wake up. Apparently, he was wrong.

"Do you know where you are?" it was the for mentioned werewolf that spoke now, curiosity in his voice, among other things.

The boy turned his head from side to side, observing his surrounding carefully, before turning back to Lupin and shaking his head "No."

"Do you know of Twelve Grimwauld Place?" Moody questioned, taking a step toward him.

The boy's eyes darted instantly toward Moody's feet, taking notice of his slight approach, before returning to the man's scarred face; watching as the strange eye moved on its own accord. Another shake of his head came, along with a barely noticeable shiver.

Molly's motherly instincts immediately roared up their many-eyed heads, and she began to move toward him as well, a blanket she had been meaning to place over his unconscious form held in her outstretched hand. He immediately lurched out of his chair at her slow advance, but swooned a moment alter, one hand clutching his head and the other catching his balance on the side of the hearth. She let out a soft shush, not stopping her deliberate steps toward him, he eyed her warily, "Don't worry," she explained, he flinched as the blanket made contact with his cold skin, "you just look cold. I only want to help."

"You need to sit down, at the very least," Lupin warned, "you've lost a lot of blood. You shouldn't be up." Let alone be able to be up, was the part he left out.

"I don't think you two should treat him like a god damned house guest!" Moody spat angrily, and gold eyes flashed in his direction, "What if he's a Death Eater?"

"I don't think that's the case, Alastar, calm yourself!" Remus lectured as Moody barred his teeth with an angry growl of defiance, "If they knew where we were, I doubt that –"

"Maybe they're trying to take us down quietly! He could be some kind of strange weapon, pick us off one by one!" Moody interrupted him, "I mean, look at him, what if –"

In the next second, there was a knock on the door that interrupted Moody as well, and a starry-eyed, elderly man appeared with a crack into the kitchen.

"Dumbledore?"

"That was quick." Arthur admonished, standing, quite shocked, behind the man.

"I hear we have a guest!" Dumbledore called, clapping his hands together cheerily and glancing around the room. The strange boy was currently against the wall, the blanket pulled over his head and his eerie topaz eyes wide with a mix of horror and surprise. The old wizard paced to the other side of the table, nearing the young blonde, who flinched outwardly as the man came near, "So, this is him?"

"I'd hardly say he's a guest," Moody sneered, "though everybody seems to want to treat him like one."

"Oh hush, Alastar!" Dumbledore scolded, causing the hardened man to look quite abashed, "He looks very much like a guest to me! What's your name young man?"

The boy blinked up at the wizard slowly, before his eyes narrowed and his brows pulled downward. His jaw set in a hard, stoic fashion that accentuated the now firm line of his mouth. Old blood was caked across his face, and it gave him a very frightening look when combined with his fierce features and animal-like stare. He shook his head again, but Dumbledore seemed unaffected.

"Are you not from here?" the man asked, "You understand me though, yes?"

The boy hesitated, before nodding. Molly frowned at this, observing the strange boy's face more readily, there was certainly something foreign about him, but she couldn't quite place it. Especially not now, from such a far distance and with so much dirt and blood obscuring her view.

"Can you speak English?" Dumbledore asked, and was not stopped for even a second when no sign of an answer came, "Well, whether or not you can, I do have to try one thing."

"Forgive this," he called, "Levicorpus," everyone held their breath for a long time before Dumbledore coughed pointedly, waving his wand through the air in a very much exaggerated motion and letting out a solid, "Mobilicorpus!"

Nothing happened.

The boy's face was overcome by confusion, and Dumbledore put away his wand somewhere within his intricate, flowing robes, a small smile a lit on his face, "So, it's true then," he exclaimed, "magic truly has no effect on you!"

"What do you make of it?" Lupin asked, after which quite a few protests were heard from Moody.

"I like him," Dumbledore said simply, turning to Mrs. Weasley, "What do you say Molly? A mother's instincts are the greatest of judges!"

Molly swallowed, before nodding briefly.

"Well then, it's decided," the wizard chuckled heartily, "better to have him here, where we can learn about him. He doesn't seem too dangerous, don't you think?"

"Are you serious?" Moody proclaimed, "What if he's a spy? What if he's being controlled?"

"Alastar, magic doesn't affect him, we've already established that." Tonks stated rather matter of fact, shaking her head.

"I say we keep him around, what's one more child?" Dumbledore exclaimed, as if this were some sort of adoption, and the boy's eyes narrowed considerably, "You're to get Harry soon, yes?"

"Yeah, we've been meaning to –"

"Well, I have to go. Treat him well, Alastar," Dumbledore said with a wink, "he's our guest."

Another crack and he was gone, a piece of paper lay in his wake. Lupin reached down and grabbed it, his eyes scanned over the contents of the paper quickly, before muttering, "Incendio." and letter the ashes of it fall to the floor.

"Dumbledore says that its our job to learn about him, and send word of anything we find to him," Lupin whispered to a still-fuming Moody, his eyes moving toward where the boy now sat, stock still, staring at the place where Dumbledore had once been.

"Come on," Mrs. Weasley's voice came, directed toward the boy, "I've got a place for you to sleep." and with that she helped the astonished boy to his feet, helping him make slow progress – in the midst of which he insisted silently on dressing in the long pants and knitted sweater Ron had brought downstairs for him – out of the room and up the stairs. Where she would bring him to Ron's room, and give him a bed.

"What do we do about his blood?" Tonks wondered aloud as a sighing Sirius entered back into the room.

"We'll have to clean it the good old fashioned way," he said, "tomorrow." and shook his head before retreating to his bed as well.

Ron quickly pulled his heavy quilt over top his head as he heard a slow pair of footsteps approach his room, and the distinct drawl of his mother's hushed tones. He heard the door squeak open, and Mrs. Weasley entered, apparently leading someone to the bed on the opposite side of the room.

"You can sleep here. Do you need anything?" she asked.

There was no answer, not even the slightest noise.

"Come and find one of us if you do," she added, sounding concerned, "I know you don't know us, but we don't want to hurt you. We're here to help."

No answer.

"My son Ron is sleeping over there," she whispered, "I promise you'll be fine."

Nothing.

"Okay. Goodnight." her steps approached the doorway, and Ron heard the door click shut once more. Still he did not dare turn about, did not dare to move at all. There was some movement from the other side of the room, and what sounded like a clap, a small feeling, much like a breeze, the creak of bed springs, a rustle of fabric, and then nothing. Only his companion's shallow breathing, that signaled he was very much not asleep. Ron could not sleep most of that night, his eyes burned to see and his body longed to turn and face him. This new experience, this strange intruder to his room. The boy his brother's hand found, broken and bloody in the rain on the doorstep. A silent wraith that had spoken not a word to his mother. A simple curiosity. Interesting.

Eventually he fell asleep, but it was not long before he was woken once more, by the sound of the other boy moving across the way. Bed springs screamed once more, and two feet shuffled their way across the old floorboards, steps muffled. Ron bit back his anxiety and sat up in his bed, turning to look over at the boy that now stood in the washed out light of his open doorway, looking up at him.

"Oi – um..." Ron was surprised to say the least, and unsure of what to say, "Uh... hey Mate, er... Where are you going"

The boy merely stared at him for a long moment. Then he turned and fled the room, shutting the door behind him without a word.

A/N: Adumbrate means to produce a faint image or resemblance of; to outline or to sketch; to prefigure. Like I said, it's short and nothing really happens in it. But I felt it was necessary. Hope it went well enough. Thanks! :)