Chapter- 1

Of Hallows and Mysteries

Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry seemed, in the dead of night, totally destroyed. How it would ever be repaired was beyond anyone's guess however it was a place of great wizards, of great losses and greater victories. It was a place of miracles in its own ways and, so, it was not beyond anyone to think that it would, someday, be as grand, if not grander, than it had ever been before. However that is not what was important. It is not what mattered. What mattered was that, while Harry Potter and his fellows slept peacefully in the crumbling castle, the three Hallows were nearer to each other than they had been in ages.

The wand, the stone, the cloak. The hallows that had , in their own way, proven to defeat death. Allies and servants of Harry Potter, the boy who lived. However this is not, wholly, true. Inside the tomb, clasped in the hands of its late master Dumbledore, the Elder wand pulsed with a magic all its own. The stone, abandoned on the floor of the forest twisted and then turned itself. Once, twice, three times. The cloak, draped over Harry's chair shone with a golden light.

As if by magic, and in a world full of magic this would have seemed totally impossible, three men appeared near the hallows. Their features cast in shadows. Each considered where they were, each had the faintest etches of a smile on their face. One looked down at a wonderful white tomb, one looked at the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, and one laid a gentle hand atop the sleeping head of the Boy who lived. Oh they knew his plan, and they knew it could not come into fruition. Not really. Not ever. However they could not abandon their master, could not leave him as he was. So incomplete and wracked with guilt. At the same time there was nothing they could do, nothing that would jeopardize everything. Even if they could do something it would not have the desired solution. No they were magical artifacts even in human guise. They could not heal a human, only another human could do that. When that though flittered through the three men's minds a picture formed. Someone they had all seen during the battle, someone totally over-looked and, perhaps, totally invisible to everyone. No one knew of her, no one would care. More important was that she was, in many ways, very much like Harry. Even more important was that she was not, necessarily, totally human at all. What she was none of them could say for sure. And enchantment surrounded her so strongly they suspected not even the defeated Dark Lord could have ever understood her. But they suspected. Oh yes they suspected.

It was a unanimous decision, and one that would be carried out this very night. Time, in this place, would not pass at all.. No one would know but, perhaps, they could serve their master and then, effortlessly, pass on to their chosen master. Of course that all depended on whether or not the man would accept. After all the Elder had killed him and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the man was stubborn.

Could one life really change anything? The stone thought.

Yes. The Elder said easily.

This boy, alone, proves it. The cloak agreed.

With this agreement they disappeared, back into the Hallows from whence they had come. But they did not rest there, no, they called out. Called out to the one part of the great wizard that held the Elder in death that stilled lived. A phoenix, appropriate when considering exactly what was going to happen.

---

Later in life they would all agree that Harry was the first to hear the song. They would say that he had, perhaps, been waiting for it. For when the first notes echoed through the castle he was the first to wake up. Bolting into a sitting position and almost sending Ginny crashing to the floor. He had caught her in time and she was, thankfully, too exhausted to wake up. For a few minutes Harry heard nothing, saw nothing, smelled nothing, and felt nothing other than Ginny. How and when she had come into his bed he didn't know but she was there. She had come to comfort him, and herself as well. She was soft and warm, her breath coming in a steady rhythm. Her red hair, matted and dirty, shone like a fire and her lips were slightly parted, as if waiting for his kiss. He wondered what would happen if he kissed her, and he fought that urge because she might wake. Because he knew she was tired. Then the reasons why he had jolted out of sleep broke the spell.

Voldemort was dead, the war was over. Still he felt no happiness. He didn't feel at peace. Maybe it was because of everyone who had died. Maybe it was because he knew exactly what Voldemort now was, a scarred and dying child choking on hate and left to suffer forever alone. Or it could be the voice of the man he had hated more than even Voldemort. The man that had done the impossible and saved him, perhaps even loved him, more than Dumbledore, his parents, and even Sirius ever could have.

"Look…at…me" he had said. And Harry had. What he had found was a boy, scarred and alone, fighting a battle Harry knew very well. A battle to save the people, or person, he loved. And he had done everything for that, had done the one thing Harry had barely avoided: died. A wretched sob caught in his throat and tears welled in his eyes, but before the sobbing could begin he realized that another sound was there. Music the likes he had heard many times before. Jumping to his feet he, unconsciously, grabbed the Invisibility cloak and ran, the cloak clutched in his hand.

The magic of Hogwarts had been weakened, but in no means destroyed. The school was still a wonderful maze, though now covered in blood and crumbling stones. They had removed all the bodies earlier that day and buried them all next to the white tomb that belong to the only true headmaster the school would ever have. But Harry wasn't thinking about that right now, he was so focused on the song that he barely registered Hermione and Ron, hand in hand, moving beside him. He knew that they all looked somewhat dazed but he also knew that they were too busy trying to get to the song to care. It shouldn't have surprised him that the song was coming from the headmaster's office. Shouldn't have surprised him that the gargoyles had already moved to allow them entrance. And it didn't. What surprised him was that, the moment the three of them stumbled into the room, the phoenix, no doubt Fawkes, was singing while perched on the arm of a girl, no older than 18. A girl none of them knew.

Instinct ruled Harry's mind and he brandished his wand, beside him Ron and Hermoine did the same. Fawkes stopped singing and the girl, apparently unaware of their presence, placed a gentle hand on the bird and cooed softly to him. She seemed to be calming him. For the space of a moment her face radiated with kindness and innocence, power pulsed from her in undiluted waves and yet it was not harmful. Nor was it threatening, it was a soothing kind of power. But when she turned and caught sight of them she changed, gone was the kindness and the power. In its place was cold and unfeeling eyes. She seemed wary and untrusting, aloft and alone, secretive and guarding. Without a word she placed Fawkes on his stand and stood in front of the phoenix, no wand in sight, but obviously intent on protecting the beautiful bird.

Harry, Ron, and even Hermoine were at a loss of what to do. Attacking her wasn't wise, as they didn't know who she was. But they couldn't just dismiss her either. Instead each of them took the time to study her. She was lean, slender, and attractively muscled, but filled with womanly curves. Her shirt, black as night and unevenly cut an inch shy of indecent, stretched across her bosom. She wore muggle jeans low on her hips, ripped and tattered, with chains of various sizes and weights attached to them. Two arches visible above the jeans showed that she was wearing black lingerie but this was almost covered by the two studded belts, crisscrossing in the front and back, around her waist and hips. She was barefoot and Harry could just barely note that her feet were wrapped in red-stained bandages. Her hair was cut short but was a chocolate brown, filled with red highlights. Her skin was an obvious natural tan, so much it almost seemed golden. Peeking out on the side of her stomach was, what looked like, a white tiger. The tiger, and Harry was sure he had imagined it, blinked and its head drew back in a warning growl. On the opposite side a black wolf raised its eyes to Ron, whose mouth opened in shock, and slashed at the boy. The girl turned just enough for Hermoine to see the flittering of a black angels wing on her back, and to catch a glimpse of eyes as red as blood.

The girl had full, almost rosy, lips. Her eyes so dark they could only be called black save for the barest splash of amber in their depths. Her face was marred with a scar that cut across the right side of her face, it could have been from either a spell gone awry or a knife. It was only after noticing the scar on her face that Harry began to notice other scars, small and slightly paler than the rest of her flesh. On her lower stomach long, jagged, scars stretched from some point on her back. Scars that the white tiger jumped, gingerly, over.

At last, and expectedly, one of them spoke. It was, of course, Hermoine.

"Who are you?" Her voice sounded calm and steady. Harry had to applaud her for her nerves of steel.

------

The bird, Fawkes, had led her here. She understood that but did not want to think of the things that took place before this moment. Because the bird was singing now, its song a sweet melody. A calming tonic she couldn't help but drink. The bird's song always brought to mind eyes as dark as night, alone and pleading. But that was all she ever saw of the man she had never met. Fawkes had sung his song for so long that she knew something was wrong. So intent she had been on making the phoenix feel better she had failed to hear anyone arrive. Which, of course, had led her to her current predicament. Three wands in her face and no way out. She fought back the urge to scowl as she placed Fawkes on a perch and stood in front of him protectively. Two boys and a girl; one with untidy black hair and a lightning scar and green eyes, the other tall and lanky with hair like fire, the girl shorter than her companions with brown hair and intelligence gleaming from her equally brown eyes. They had come here and, instead of attacking her, had just stared at her. She could feel the tiger on her right and the wolf on the left twitch beneath their gazes. She felt the wings of the creature on her back flicker slightly before the girl spoke. She sounded tired and, against all judgment, she couldn't help but feel worry for the poor girl. She kept these emotions hidden, she was good at that. Very good.

"You first." She said slyly, knowing her voice would disturb them. It disturbed everyone.

---

Her voice was like ice and Harry couldn't imagine how something that, albeit guarded, was obviously filled with life could produce such a voice. It was a nice voice, sure, but it lacked emotion. It lacked any sign of warmth but, then, at the same time Harry admitted that it was a comforting voice. Familiar in a way he couldn't identify. He only knew he had heard it recently and, by the look on their faces, he knew Hermoine and Ron heard it too.

"My name is Harry."

"Ron."

"Hermoine."

They spoke in turn, braver in voice and stronger than they really felt.

Harry heard the girl sigh, soft and low, and knew, more than ever, that he had heard her voice somewhere before.

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She knew of them, knew their names. Hadn't the whole wizarding world heard of the Boy Who Lived. Soon to be the Boy Who Killed You-Know-Who. Ridiculous, she thought absently, calling that man by such a name. Voldemort would do nicely however she, secretly, preferred his true name. Tom Riddell had been, after all, a great, if evil, wizard. Sighing softly she considered them for a moment, there really was no point in hiding her name from them. They wouldn't know her. No one knew her.

"Name's Sin."

She could see, instantly, that they didn't believe her. But what could she do? It had been what her 'mother' had called her. It had been the only name she had ever known. Was it her true name? No, certainly not, but whatever her true name was she didn't know. Never had and, probably, never would.

"What are you doing here? How did you get here? And where did you get Fawkes?" Harry demanded and she scowled openly, Fawkes, on the other hand, cooed gently to her as she had done for him. She felt the flaming bird flutter to her shoulder and stay there, almost defiantly.

"Him." She said, nodding towards Fawkes. The answer would suffice for all their questions, especially considering that she didn't know most of the answers herself.

"He brought me here. He led me here. He let me find him." she clarified after a moment. And while Ron

and Hermoine stood looking at her suspiciously Harry was looking at Fawkes with mingled pain and regret. She heard a voice in her mind and knew, instinctively, who was thinking and feeling so hard she could hear it.

Could Fawkes have saved him? Why did I hate him SO MUCH? Merlin I'm such an idiot! Why didn't you come back sooner? You could have saved him. YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HIM FAWKES!

Sin bristled at this but, at the same time, she felt something inside of her tear. Looking around she noticed that, one by one, the portraits were waking. Most just looked at them with mingled suspicion and curiosity. However two of them stood out in her eyes. The first was of the wizard she knew to be Dumbledore, his had been the first chocolate frog card she had ever received. It was he that, she knew, owned Fawkes. He who she had read was buried in the white tomb. The second portrait was that of a dark haired man. His eyes black as night, the traces of a sneer on his face. Her eyes widened and, in that moment, the 'Golden Trio' all saw color leap into her eyes. A color between silver and gold, totally conquering the darkness. Before anyone could say anything, even Dumbledore's portrait (whose mouth was open and eyes were wide, ready to shout a warning), Fawkes exploded in a blaze of fire. Sin, instinctively, reached towards the fire. Intend on reaching the burning phoenix. Reacting by that same instinct Harry, Ron, and Hermoine lunged at her. To stop her and protect her. But when the three of them collided with Sin Harry could see a featherless baby bird clutched, protectively, in Sins hands.

He saw something else too. But it had to be his imagination because there was no way it could ever be possible. Because the thing he saw, before darkness stole over him, was three impossible things: A cloak, a wand, and a stone.

---

Sin felt the heat of the explosion and grabbed for Fawkes, she could not imagine the bird dead. It was instinct, because nothing else could have torn her gaze away from the black eyes that had haunted her life for as long as she could remember. When she had something in her hand, and she was ready to look again at the portrait, she felt the three others ram into her body. Her first thought was that they would get hurt in the fall so she forced herself to turn in the air, her body a protective barrier against the pain to come. She wanted to shut her eyes but they remained open. And in an instant she saw them, three men handing her something. She wanted to shake her head, to say she couldn't because if she did she would have to drop the others, but they had already disappeared. She felt different somehow, something warm had covered her body from head to foot, something small and hard had rammed into the hand that clutched the featherless phoenix. And a wand, warmer and more welcoming than anything else she had ever felt

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All of them, all four of them, heard the voices. That was, in the end, the only thing that they had ever agreed upon about that night. The only thing that was clearer even then Fawkes rebirth or even Voldemorts demise. The voices spoke about different thing to each of them, left them different instructions to follow, but the one thing that was the same, for all of them, were seven barely audible words:

You can save him. Save Severus Snape.