If I never have to deal with the Ministry again, I will have been saved from frustration beyond imagining, beyond caring, and blind to the consequences.

-Mr. Weasley, first Order of the Phoenix meeting of the second war.

Black velvet gloves; a sign that that wizard or witch was practicing Dark Arts was in my pocket at all times. Professor Vector stopped me in the halls and asked me to turn out my pockets one day when she thought I had a wand in my pocket ready to duel at any moment.

But instead I pulled out the gloves and threw them at her, earning a detention with Filch. She didn't know what it meant and threw then back at me.

I became wary after that because I knew for sure Flitwick, McGonagall, Snape and the nurse knew about them for various reasons. And all though it sounds cheesy to this day I could feel, not blackness nor shadow, but something running through my veins like a drug. I couldn't get enough of it but it was making me sick.

It had been exactly 2 days, 11 hours and 4 minutes since I had heard the Slytherins' conversation.

To all those students that have been selected,

We have come across some information that has been brought up. We would like you to examine it. Please meet me in my office at 6:30 pm. Your head of house will bring you.

Professor Dumbledore

I remember staring at the letter for the better part of breakfast trying to work out the message. I had gotten notes from the headmaster before but it started with Miss Lestrange and always said to meet Snape; not you head of house. I looked over and saw that no one else had the message that I could see. As far as I could tell this letter was addressed to me and a couple of other people. And I was completely right.

The day went by fast and before I knew it I was standing in front of Professor Snape's office door. Anxiety took over as I stood almost sweating staring at the door for a quarter of the hour. I heard a quill scratching against parchment and a chair scraped across the floor. I froze and closed my eyes. The door opened and I flinched and cracked an eye open.

Professor Snape looked at me, his hair hanging limply over his face, and he had both hands on the frame of the door. A scowl was written on his strangely handsome face and then walked inside.

"Well don't just stand there like a Hufflepuff! Come in," he said and I nodded almost to myself. I walked into the semi-dark room and closed the door behind me. A chair was set up right next to the desk and I sat down.

"The Headmaster wishes to see us," he said abruptly clearly annoyed by the whole business and walked over to the rather small fireplace. I looked up rather surprised at his instantly irritated face and watched as he threw emerald green powder into the ruby flames. "Dumbledore's Office Number two oh seven!" he said and pushed me into the flames headfirst. And I came spinning out the other end along with Snape.

He was able to keep his grace and held his chin up at the rather heavily decorated room. As I looked around I saw Harry Potter with Professor McGonagall. The headmaster was sitting behind the hug desk his back straight and his eyes serious. I took a step back and had a flash back like never before.

A little girl around age 6 ran up and down the halls of the mahogany manor, her eyes smiling and she giggled excitedly. Her ponytails bounced and swayed against her shoulders. She ran into a rather tall man with a serious face and light blonde moustache. He was dressed in robes and carried a black suitcase.

"Hi!" she said energetically and smiled up at him. She bounced to get a better look and he crouched.

"Hello young lady! I need you to come with me," he held out his hand, and he smiled trustingly at her, and they both walked to an office at her house.

"I'm so sorry Simone, darling but we can't keep up with the rent. You have to do to another foster family," she nodded and looked down at her lap.

My recollection was a grim one. The house I had stayed at had been nice and big. They cared for me and sent me to wizarding primary school. But they had lied too me to. They didn't even pay rent on the house. But after 4 years they had had too much and sent me away to an abusive family. No one knew this except the headmaster and the Potions master.

I snapped out of my memory with wild eyes and could only vaguely feel Snape pushing me forward, or the wood cutting into my back as I sat down. I tried to shake my head and the fogginess cleared. And the first thing I saw was a pair of bright, blue eyes.

The old man looked at me for a moment as I could almost taste the emotions going through his mind. He knew about my memory almost as soon as it started. He sighed and rubbed his temples gingerly, his face as fragile and old as ever.

"I have some things I would wish to share. As you know Harry, these two teachers are part of the Order of the phoenix. I trust them both and so should you. Simone, you aware of the order aren't you?"

I hesitated for a second. This could have been a trick question. For all I knew they had no idea I knew about the Order or my eavesdropping skills. I nodded and he smiled.

"Excellent! Know I have been informed by Professor Snape that a select few Death eaters will break out of Azkaban around the middle of January. I have wronged all of those in this room at the present moment. But things can only get worst. As the Secret Keeper of the Order I am requesting that you join us-"

"But really Albus she is only a child!" said the Deputy Head Mistress and I could see the dark man shift.

"So is Potter," the teen on the other side of the office scowled and I smiled at him and then smirked.

"She's a Slytherin!" Harry Potter said I crossed my arms.

Bonfires of Trust

Flash Floods of Pain

"And you're a Gryffindor. What's the point? I am more cunning then you and you do get into a lot of trouble," he puffed and I shook out my head.

"Children, Minerva, Severus, we are dealing with something serious. Harry and Simone have my full confidence in their abilities."

"Headmaster is this really a good idea. One is Fourteen and the other an impulsive fifteen. Are well really that desperate?"

I looked at her and then looked at my watch. It had been a birthday present when I was 5. It was a wizard watch and showed those who caused and meant me harm. Cracks made the screen hardly visible from being thrown across the room by Bernard Calder, one of my caretakers as he had been angry at me his rage taken out on the watch and not my skin. Its golden arms swung to Harry and I smiled at the irony of it.

"What would be my role?" I asked and my Head of House looked at me sharply.

"You are not to join. It is three years until your seventeenth birthday and-"

"Two," I said and he frowned, his eyes shifting.

"Two?"

"Yes," I was told my birthday a long time ago but hadn't had it celebrated for 6 years. I knew that it had been somewhere in October but couldn't tell.

Dumbledore got up from his chair and walked over to my chair, something he rarely did. I sat perfectly still as he came closer and had to suppress a flinch. I held onto the arm rest as I looked up and then down as he kneeled on the floor and cupped a hand at my chin.

"I want you to let go. What happens in the past stays in the past. You will not go back to that orphanage and if someone hurts you again I want you to come straight to me."

I shook and looked away. Back then, as a fourteen-year old and sometimes today I feel totally and utterly helpless. He was asking me, an abused Slytherin to be part of the "round table" but unable to hold my guard up when someone mentioned my life to me. I was very sure that I wouldn't be able to stand up to the Dark Lord if everything scares me.

After all the arguing and hissing (from Snape) was done and over with, Potter and I each took oaths with Dumbledore. I said things in Latin that only several years later did I realize what they meant. We swore on Merlin's final testimony and everyone left. It was one big ordeal for something as small as an oath that didn't even work for Peter Pettigrew or in some ways Severus Snape. And it meant nothing.

But yet for the souls of every person that went through the veil, every soul that flew across the skies on odds no one can match; it meant everything.