Disclaimer: This world and the characters in it are adapted from the world of Harry Potter by JK Rowling. I do not claim to own any of these characters or places, nor do I claim that this story is a part of the original canon of the Harry Potter series.

(A/N): Yay! First real chapter, I hope you like it. We'll be introduced to our main character in this chapter.

I awoke with a start. My last dream had been particularly vivid. I had been at one of my favorite coffee shops, The Swirls, staying up late at night working on one of my papers for English class. The Imperial High School of London was well-known for strong engineering and science departments, and I was well on my path to becoming a successful female researcher by going there. English, though, was one of my most hated subjects, and I was highly annoyed at having to take English classes to graduate from the high school.

Breaking from my rapidly wandering thoughts, I refocused my attention back on my dream. It had been absolutely terrifying.

The entire shop was in uproar. Chaos was everywhere. The few that had managed to make it outside when the robbers had revealed themselves immediately fled the scene, dialing 999 and screaming for help. The shop doors, which had been slammed open as panicked individuals barreled out of the scene, swung shut, and the screaming outside dulled down to a muted yelling. I became more and more aware of the click of the guns and the slap of boots on the wooden floor.

The rest of us unfortunate ones inside the shop were rounded up and left to cower in the middle of the shop. The uncomfortable position made my legs and my abdomen burn from the intense exertion, but I was too afraid to move.

If only I had done more wall-sits. I should have listened to my friends and their obsession with exercise.

Nevertheless, it was too dangerous to budge. If I even shifted one inch, or made any movement that could attract attention, I could be singled out. And if I did … I shuddered. I didn't dare even think about it.

And so there I knelt, head down, eyes closed, desperately hoping that today would not be my last day on this beautiful earth.

The next few minutes were agonizingly slow. Every step of the robbers behind me seemed to suggest that they were moving to my position. Every tap and click made my heart skip beats. The stress started to overwhelm me. I could feel tears threatening to burst from my eyes, and I noticed that some of the other women were already crying, silent sobs escaping from them, even as they desperately tried to mute the sounds to prevent the robbers from taking notice of their weakness.

I directed my eyes towards the ground, steadfastly avoiding anyone and everyone's gaze, but even so, I could see the shadows of everybody around me. Every single time a new shadow appeared, I flinched and held my breath, afraid that they were directing their attention towards me. At last, a single man stopped right behind me. I swore his gun was pointed right at my head.

My heart stopped.

As if on cue, Bonnie Tyler's Holding Out for a Hero started playing behind the cafe's countertop. It would have been hilarious if not for the fact that I was in very real danger of dying.

I heard a blonde man beside me, someone I thought I recognized from the Imperial High School, start humming the song unconsciously. He had been one of the most hysterical ones when he realized what was happening, bursting into tears and whimpering for his mother. He realized what he was doing and stopped.

It was too late.

The man behind me slapped him hard with his weapon, and kicked him down. The rest of us flinched automatically away from him. I glanced at the blonde boy and his assailant out of the corner of my eye, holding my breath.

"Awww, what a little crybaby," the assailant, who I did not dare not turn to look at, sneered. "Holding Out for a Hero, eh? Well, you won't be getting one. If you're lucky and you hand over all your money right now, maybe I'll spare your life. If you don't … well, I daresay you should be expecting a bullet instead of a hero." He laughed uproariously at his "clever" joke.

The blonde boy, whose name I think was Thomas, immediately burst into tears, digging his hands into his pockets and flinging everything he had at the man with the gun.

"Please, oh god please don't kill me. I'll do anything you want! Anything!" he begged for his life.

The man sneered at Thomas. "We'll see. It depends on how much money you have. If there's anything less than one hundred in here, I swear to God –"

His voice was cut off by numerous pops from outside, and I immediately tensed as I saw his shadow rapidly shift positions. I heard the man swear and duck instinctively, expecting bullets to come sailing through the window.

Silence.

The man snarled and growled to his accomplices: "Those fucking idiots made a move. Punish them."

One of them, a hawk-nosed man with ice-cold blue eyes, hissed into the transmitter. "Looks like you're making some unwarranted moves out there, officers. I think we'll have to teach you all a lesson."

He aimed his pistol towards a poor middle-aged woman, who had come into the shop looking to buy a cup of cappuccino for her son. He was kneeling right next to her, watching with fear apparent in his eyes. The woman started to cry and pleaded for her life.

"No! Please, I'll empty my entire bank account for you, I swear it. I have a husband and kids, please have mercy, I–"

The café speaker system crackled to life again, and I saw the man with the hawk-like nose twitch, almost pulling the trigger.

"No! Don't shoot! We can still talk this out!" One of the officers outside demanded. The hawk-nosed man simply sneered in response, his fingers tensing. I held my breath, waiting for the sound of a shot that was sure to come.

My senses blurred into a cacophony of sound and motion.

The next thing I knew, I had been blown two meters away from where I had been kneeling before. An ever-present ringing filled the air, and my vision swam.

What the hell had just happened?

Then, with a rush of sound, the world righted itself.

Outside, I heard numerous booms as cop cars died fiery deaths, the blast of the explosions shattering windows in the shops all around. A bright orange glow from newly raging fires illuminated the inside of the now-dark café shop, the lights having been blown to smithereens in the initial explosion. Unfiltered, bright white light from posts outside the shop streamed in, the tinted windows having disintegrated into sharp shards of glistening glass that was now littering the floor. Broken tables and chairs strewn the floor of the once pristine shop, splinters embedded painfully in my arms and legs. Yells and shots echoed outside, people moving furiously in the distant and dark background.

I, with difficulty, glanced down at myself. My cream-colored sweater had been sliced in many places, stained red with what I desperately hoped was some sort of wine, not blood. My ripped jeans, too, now had even more holes than it had before, tiny glass shards having sliced through skin and flesh as they whipped past my body. The same red wine stained those jeans.

I noticed a large red cut on my thigh. A piece of glass the size of a plate lay on the ground next to me, its tip dyed red.

I suddenly realized that this café shop did not sell wine.

Screams emanated from the people beside me, as dark figures clad in black, swirling cloth stormed into the café. Before any of the robbers could do anything, the figures raised their hands and jets of green, purple, and menacing green light flashed. Within seconds, and with no resistance at all, all the robbers died, along with numerous people that were in the general vicinity.

Startled, I realized that they were not here to help. They were indiscriminately killing people, laughing with joy as they did so. The woman who had been threatened, along with her son, died as twin jets of green light impacted their heads. Their cold, lifeless bodies dropped to the ground, terrified eyes turned upwards towards the broken lights, unseeing.

One of the dark figures approached me. Under the hood, I saw pale lips curve into a lecherous sneer.

"My my, what do we have here? A poor, innocent defenseless girl? Imagine what could happen to you…" his voice trailed off suggestively.

My blood froze solid.

I had always considered myself quite pretty, what with my auburn hair and light green eyes. Boys had always taken notice of me, although I was easily able to shake them off by acting aloof and cold. It usually worked.

But this was not just some hormonal teenage guy.

He clasped my arm and dragged me outside, towards the rest of his gang. My muscles still burned from the position they had been holding before the explosion, but somehow the shock, fear, and adrenaline pounding through my veins gave me enough energy to start furiously kicking.

It was of no use. His grip was like iron.

"Let's have a little fun, shall we?" He smirked to the rest of the members as he dragged me. "She's rather pretty isn't she … I think a dirty Muggle like her would love to spread her legs for real, powerful men like us. She would probably –"

Another crack interrupted his terrifying speech, and I saw, with horror, another black clad figure appear next to them. His very presence emanated incredible power, and I was immediately on guard when I saw that the rest of my assailants respectfully fall silent in front of him.

He turned around, and I screamed mentally.

He was a hideous creature. He looked like a man, but his nose had flattened into two reptilian slits for nostrils. His eyes were a burning blood-red, and his pasty white, bald head emphasized his unnaturally snake-like features. His eyes roamed the people before him, and the instant his eyes connected with mine, my body wracked with shudders.

He seemed to enjoy my terror, smiling coldly at me for a split second.

My friends," he hissed, turning his attention back to the rest of the men. "What a fine night it is." I noticed his s's seemed to be drawn out. I could imagine a snake's tongue flickering out from between his pale lips, tasting the air for blood.

Naturally, my heart seemed to beat faster.

"Yes, my lord," replied everyone dutifully.

My captor took off his hood and his silver skull-like mask, revealing his long, silver-blonde hair. An aristocratic face, one that seemed as if it were used to looking imperiously at inferior beings, emerged from the hood, creased with fear. He bowed before his master. "My Lord, I have captured this girl. We were about to have some fun with her. My lord, if you wish, I would be happy –"

"Silence, Lucius," barked the demon. I could feel Lucius' grip on me slacken and start to shake. I took a little joy from the fact that he was just as terrified as I was. "Are you, perhaps, giving me permission to do what I want? Hmmm, Lucius?" His red eyes stared back at Lucius challengingly.

"N- No, my Lord," Lucius whimpered. "I'm sorry, my Lord. I beg you to forgive this offense. It shall never happen again, my Lord."

The Lord sneered at his henchman. "It had better not. If it does, Lucius, need I remind you that your wife and son …" he trailed off threateningly. He turned his attention to me, evaluating me. I felt like a little rat being examined by a cruel, yet majestic serpent. I almost instinctively groveled at his feet. "Nevertheless, this creature of yours does seem quite pleasing. Take her back to the Manor, Lucius. We can keep her as a little pet, meant to service us when we desire it." I desperately fought the shudder that ran through me. "I think that –"

"My lord," another black-clad man interrupted him. I could see the snake-faced man's eyes flare, and narrow in pure rage. He raised his hand, whirling on the man who had interrupted him. A green light formed at the tip of a polished white stick he was holding.

"There is someone watching us."

Everyone started, including me, and we all turned to see where he had been pointing. On one of the roofs was a man who was lying down on the dark shingles, a sniper rifle clasped in his hands.

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy balls is he holding?" Wondered Lucius, looking suspiciously at the rifle.

I suddenly felt incredibly hopeful. If they didn't know what it was, then maybe the man on the roof could shoot them down before they could kill him. Then, I noticed the sniper's incredibly horrified look, and his complete lack of response.

"Thought you could stay hidden, hm? Enjoy your last moments on earth, Muggle." The snake-man's laugh was like the sound of nails on chalkboard, harsh and unpleasant to hear. A few moments after, the rest of the men started cackling too. Lucius, in particular, was giving it his best shot.

Speaking of shots, please shoot already, I thought.

The laughter stopped. The snake-man lazily flicked up his hand. "Avada Kedavra," he drawled.

The green light that had been hovering at the tip of his wand leapt towards the man on the roof.

A final crack echoed through the air.

Lucius screamed in horror - I privately thought he sounded like a little girl - as a mist of red coated his body.

The snake demon fell, a shocked look on his face and a clean, gaping hole in his reptilian, white skull.

I tasted something a little salty, bitter, and fatty. Looking down, I saw that the same mist of red was coated all over my body. That demon's brains had been blown out of his head, and some of it had landed on me … and in my mouth.

I fainted.

When I next awoke, there was a concerned looking girl kneeling over me. She was about my age – roughly seventeen. It was still night, but the moon had shifted positions. Numerous dress-clad figures were sweeping around the area, conversing quietly in the background, their eyes creased and frowns apparent on their faces. Others, however, had looks of joy, and were weeping happy tears as they clasped hands with people around them.

"Are you okay?" The girl asked gently, pulling my gaze back to her. Her warm brown eyes peered softly at me.

I nodded yes, unable to speak. My throat was particularly parched, and I regretted drinking the coffee that I had before the attack happened.

"That's good. I healed your wounds – that gash on your leg was particularly nasty. It'll leave a scar behind. I couldn't do anything about that. I'm sorry."

Blood still coated the gash in my jeans, but I fingered the hole. Nothing hurt, so I was satisfied. I glanced up to thank her.

She was gazing at me with analytical eyes, rolling a polished stick between her fingers thoughtfully. It was similar to one of those sticks that the dark-clad men were wielding as well. It took me a few seconds, too long, to connect the dots.

She's one of them.

I instinctively flinched back. Her brown eyes didn't seem so warm and kind anymore.

Noticing my actions, she held both her hands up in an "I surrender" pose, looking kindly at me. I didn't buy it. She tried to reassure me again, murmuring something to me.I didn't care, nor did I reply. I was too busy carefully watching the stick in her hands.

Nothing happened for a little while, both of us maintaining our carefully-held positions. Slowly, I realized that if she wanted to harm me, she could have done so already.

But perhaps she was just toying with me.

Determining that I should remain on guard, I decided to ask her about what was happening, and who she was.

"Wh- Who are you?"

She smiled, cocking her head to one side, her somewhat-bushy hair bouncing in response to the motion.

"Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you. And you are?"

I frowned, deciding whether or not to lie to her and give her my real identity. If she knew who I really was, would she track me down and perhaps abduct me in the middle of the night? I took no chances.

"Jennifer. Jennifer Greenbourgh. I'm a student at Imperial High." She looked amused, as if she knew I was lying. She opened her mouth to speak, but someone interrupted her.

"Hermione! Obliviate her already! She's not important." A red-head boy yelled at her from inside the shop. Hermione looked annoyed at being interrupted, but then seemed resigned. Shaking her head, she sighed and raised her stick, pointing at me.

Dammit. I knew she was trying to kill me. That backstabbing mother of a banshee.

"Obliviate non praecantationem," she whispered. A jet of opaque white light shot out and hit me before I could react.

I flinched, waiting for the pain and the darkness to overcome me.

Nothing happened.

I opened my eyes, relieved that I was not dead, and yet still afraid of the consequences of my survival. From my extensive knowledge of watching movies, I knew that villains always liked to torture and play with their victims before they killed them. I didn't want to die, but to suffer agony at the hands of an insane witch...

I resolved to goad her into killing me before she decided that torturing me would satisfy her obviously insatiable penchant for violence.

"I swear to God, the police are going to get you for this," I spat in her face, determined to die a quick and painless death. "They'll make sure you rot in hell for what you've done. You ought to burn for eternity for what you've done to these poor people. Your sodding mother would have rather mated - that's right I said mated, because she must have been a real animalistic beast to have some witch like you - mated with a three headed goat, at least then she would have produced an earthly being, you fat-faced - " I paused my rant when I realized she wasn't listening to anything I was saying, and wore a shocked look on her face.

"You should be disoriented at least," she whispered in shock. Her eyes were distant, and her mind seemed to be spinning as fast as a pulsar, furiously trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

I snorted back at her. "Your crazy magic won't affect me, you evil witch."

Hermione stared back at me. "Are you magical?" She questioned. In response, I spat on the ground in front of her. The thought of ever being related, or even compared, to one of these monsters was sickening.

"I would never be one of your kind!" I snarled in response. "I would never torture, or kill, or main, or hurt innocents like your pathetic excuse of a race! You all deserve to rot in the deepest pits of hell for what you did."

Instead of looking pissed and torturing me to eternity and back like I expected, Hermione looked understandingly at me. She waved two of her friends over: the red-headed boy who had yelled at her earlier, and another handsome black-haired, green-eyed guy. I mentally berated myself for thinking that last thought. They were my enemies. I couldn't think one was cute.

Hermione spoke to me. "I understand how you feel, Jennifer. Those people who attacked you earlier – those were Death Eaters. It's true that they are from our world, but they do not represent the Wizarding World as a whole – not at all. They're like terrorists in our world, people who like to torture people like you and pillage cities and towns. Most of us," she gestured to herself, the rest of the people walking around, and her two friends, "are not like that. In fact, I was just like you – I had no idea magic existed, until my letter for Hogwarts came and told me I had magic, and I was opened to a whole new world."

As she spoke, she drew her wand. She raised her hands in a placating fashion once again. "I'm going to run a few spells to see if you are truly magical or not. I swear that I'm not going to hurt you."

"Yeah, right," I snorted in disbelief. "Like you said how you were a friend before you tried to kill me?"

"First of all, I didn't say I was your friend; I said that I was pleased to meet you," the girl stated. She realized what she said and seemed to retract her statement. I felt a brief dash of triumph - she had just proved my point. For some reason, it made me relax a little bit. "Plus, I wasn't trying to kill you. No offense, but you're defenseless right now. If I really wanted to, I could have done so already. I was using a mind-wipe spell because I didn't want you to remember this night. I'm sure, given your experiences, you can understand why."

She glanced imploringly at me. I weighed my options. I was still furious at her underhanded attack against me, but I knew that even if she was trying to harm me, I couldn't stop it.

Plus I was surrounded by her friends, the impatient red-head and the cute dark-haired guy.

Damn it.

I reluctantly assented to her 'diagnosis'. "Fine. But if you try anything funny, I'll start screaming for help. And then you'll be screwed."

Hermione looked amused at my steadfast resistance. She waved her wands, chanting under her breath. The dark-haired boy took this time to introduce himself to me.

"Sorry about all this trouble, really. We need to take the time to make sure everything is alright and normal, given that – well, given that." He pointed, looking rather distant, towards the dead body of the snake-faced man, who was still lying in the exact position in which he had fallen. All the people who were walking around gave him a huge berth, as if afraid of him, even in death. I remembered the way his brains had splattered against my lips, and I immediately felt the urge to retch.

"Woah, are you okay?" the dark-haired boy asked concernedly, breaking out of his distant thoughts. "You look a little green. Hermione, are you sure she isn't infected by any dark curses or whatnot?" I took a few deep breaths to calm my revolting stomach, deciding to ignore his remark about dark curses in order to prevent myself from hurling the night's dinner. I suddenly realized it was a bad idea to think about anything related to food.

Feeling sick again, I immediately banished that thought from my mind. It had little effect.

Hermione finished. There was a frown on her face, with detracted from her admittedly pretty appearance. She glanced at me.

"It's weird. She has a magical core, there's no doubt about it," she said thoughtfully, completely ignoring the question. "It doesn't make sense, though. Hogwarts is supposed to send her a letter if she has a magical core and is a Muggleborn. There's no way that they could have let something like this through. The only explanation is that she developed her core recently, but that's impossible. It even says so in the "Arte of Magick, Vol. 31" by Miranda Maximoff. Magical cores develop to detectable levels precisely by the time the child is seven years old. That's a proven fact. How could this even be possible, Harry?"

The dark-haired boy, to whom she had diverted her last question, answered, looking incredibly exapserated. "'Mione, you know that if you don't know the answer, neither do I. I would ask Dumbledore, but …" Harry's voice trailed off. The trio was silent for a moment.

"Well," Harry resumed talking, forcing himself to stop dwelling on what seemed to be painful memories. "I suppose we could talk to the goblins. They seem to be the only ones who really even know what goes on with ancient things like Hogwarts' wards. Meanwhile, though, we need to get her to safety. She's not safe, given that all those Death Eaters had seen her face. She will be a target for sure."

Feelings of intense worry rose to the surface within me. I would be targeted again? Remembering what had nearly happened the night before, I wrapped my arms around my knees. It was childish, sure, but it inexplicably made me feel a little bit safer. I did not ever want to be in a situation like that again.

Hermione looked calculatingly at me. "Harry," she whispered. "She could go to Grimmauld Place, couldn't she?"

"I suppose," Harry murmured. "It will keep her safe, I guess." He glanced at me suspiciously. A battle seemed to rage in his mind, but he took notice of my vulnerable state, and his eyes softened. Seeing him raise his wand, I flinched backwards, my gaze focused warily on his wooden stick. A small part of my brain humorously noted that I had probably flinched more in the past three hours than I had in the rest of my entire life.

"Harry!" Hermione reprimanded, seeing me react. "What are you doing?"

"Putting her to sleep," Harry answered. He turned to me. "Sorry, but I don't really know you and I can't have you divulging the location of my safe house somehow. I promise that no harm will come to you under my watch, unless you turn out to be a Death Eater in disguise. You will essentially be placed under house arrest, but it's better than constantly worrying about whether or not you will die in the next five seconds, I suppose."

Hermione lay a hand on Harry's arm, and turned to me.

"Are you okay with this?" She gazed imploringly at me, and I could see a surprising amount of honesty and worry in them. She really wanted me to accept, and I could feel that she had my best interests at her heart. True, I would be essentially kidnapped by three people I didn't know, but something told me that they could be trusted. Plus, even if they did kidnap me, there was nothing that could possibly be done against them. I just had to hope that I would be safe. Reluctantly, I nodded yes.

Harry moved his wand, his lips moving silently. I could feel my eyelids growing heavy, and my limbs growing sluggish.

The last thing I felt before blissful sleep overtook me was hope that I made the right choice.

I shook my head to clear my train of thought.

I frowned at the unfamiliar room I was in. The walls were dusty and a dull grey, and no paintings hung on the wall. Sunlight streamed in from a dusty and dirty window, illuminating clouds of dust that were swirling inside the room, settling on a mahogany wooden paneled floor. I realized I was sitting on a bed that I had never seen before, and which seemed way too extravagant to have been owned by anybody I knew.

My day clothes were also switched out for a nice pair of soft pajamas depicting strange little balls of fur that resembled obese hamsters. The shirt proclaimed in fancy lettering: "Go go Puffskeins!" I had no idea when I had changed out of my old clothes, and I had no idea whose pajamas these were, for they definitely were not mine.

The rapidly growing suspicion that my incredibly vivid dream was not, in fact, a dream was steadfastly ignored.

I rolled up my pants. Checking the lightly tanned skin of my thigh, I found a scar – the scar of the wound that Hermione had healed in my dream.

No – it had not been in my dream.

It had actually happened.

I looked, panicked, at the door, deep in thought. I was in the "Grimmauld Place", if the conversation yesterday was to be believed. But where was that? Was I still even in London?

Footsteps echoed outside of my door, and the golden carved handle to the door turned. Hermione stepped in slowly, the lights from the outside hallways flooding in with a warm golden glow. Her bushy hair once again bounced in time with her steps and she stared at me, her brown eyes cautious.

"Hey," she greeted me, slightly wary. "I suppose you have some questions."

With firm proof in front of me, the day's events finally caught up to me in its entirety.

Everything had actually happened. I had nearly died.

And now I was in a house with a bunch of crazy magic-wielding teenagers who I had inexplicably allowed to kidnap me, and I was pretty sure no one but them knew where I was.

I'm screwed.

(A/N): Please review! I spent a lot of time working on this and I hope to get some feedback about my writing style / how the plot is developing. Anything going too fast or too slow? Please tell me!

Thanks guys! :D