'She' was the one who would have to spend a whole damned year with these people...

She sat at the grubby table at Grimmauld Place, glaring holes into the worn wood. Why in the name of Bloody Merlin did I do this? Oh, yes. Father's death, Mother's murder, and the oncoming War to consider. Not to mention the fact that she was a messager from and for both sides of it, giving her a purely neutral ground. It was quite logical, if risky and completely traitorous, in the case you found yourself cornered by one or the other on the battlefield. They'd think you a much higher ranked member of their side than they, and simply imply you were doing what was expected of you. Fighting with every light that was ever so impossibly extinguished.

Leaning back, she ran a hand down her young face. The chill of her fingers was normal, but the heat of her face was not. She cut a glance to the fireplace, and saw that it had been kindled. A figure sat in a chair facing it, their back to her. Despite her reverie, she hadn't expected anyone to come in here, especially when she'd put massive locking wards on the doors. She was more adept at this than anyone she'd ever known, including her Death of a father. A slight growl sounded from her throat as her lip curled. "What are you doing in here?" she asked harshly.

"Thinking.... 'Tis that a crime, too?"

That voice. . . . The Mudblood's. The one whom she shared most intellect with in this grime, and the one who, she now realized, was more spell-wise than she'd thought. By saying 'massive', she meant massive. Those wards were of Dark nature, some. And it would take a fairly well-read person to even know they existed, let alone break them. "Yes."

She pushed herself away from the table with unbelievable force for her thinness and calmly walked to the door, undid the remaining wards. Leaving, she turned for a last glance at the Mudblood. And what she saw made her jaw drop.

The girl was staring at the fire, eyes slightly glassy, a bottle of what she was sure was vodka in her hand. Her chestnut curls were sticking to her neck and face from her sweat. She was leaning rather close to the fire. With a small smirk, Rainne left the girl to her drunk rendezvous.


Harry awoke with a start. It was still dark. More than dark, really, going on the fact he couldn't see the nose attached to his face. Eyes widening, he heard a slithering sound from the floor.

He hadn't been stupid enough to move, waking with such abruptness meant something had done that waking for him. Last summer the trio had gone through advanced caution training with Moody, Tonks, and Shacklebolt. He now knew more than many adult witches and wizards, let alone those a Hogwarts.

The sound had ominously stopped. Forcing himself to keep steady, lazy breaths to feign sleep, Harry slowly reopenned his eyes.

What he felt next nearly made him scream.


As she walked through down the narrow staircase, voices could be heard from below. The minute she stepped off the bottom step it ceased. Feeling uneasy, she frowned and looked from face to face. There had to be at least half of the original Order members there, and they had to have been previously talking about her. She wasn't stupid. Sudden hushes when one enters is a clear sign of talking behind that one's back.

"What is it? I can tell I'm needed. Just tell me where and why." Her voice was slightly higher than she would have liked, but it was done.

"Jadian's there... isn't he?" She asked frantically after a silence. "Oh Damn him to Hell!" She quickly ran from the landing and to the door, not stopping at Weasley's voice.

"Who's Jadian --?" The door cut off all other noise. Within seconds she was quickly running down the road, growling under her breath at her stupidity. Without another thought, she illegally Apparated.


Harry was overcome with images, a cold shiver encasing his body, crazy facets of sick imaginations convulsing under his eyelids. Perhaps his imagination.

He was standing in the Great Hall, staring up at the Head Table. A body, mangled, bloody, and limp hung from a noose. Words were carved in the pale flesh "Fuck You, Potter". Blood pooled under the innocent body, forming words he didn't bother to read. Brown eyes stared into his, telling him how much he'd failed her. How he couldn't help her now. Her death had been caused by him, in a sick way, and he couldn't stop it now. Hermione was there, numbing him with her wretched, grudging murder . . . .

Countless bodies lay distraught on the fog-covered fields. He turned his head. Bodies everywhere. Some moving slightly, if only to caugh up blood helplessly, knowing their death was immenent; others lying spread-eagled, eyes staring hauntingly at the steely skies, mouths slightly agape as if they couldn't believe they had actually failed all they had worked for. And he stared ahead, watching himself as if from the skies themselves, as he was comfronted by Death himself. The Flight of Death to be exact. . . .

Screams. Wracking him like waves. Threatening to tear him from his sanity. "NOOO!"

"NO! I will NOT!" Harry bolted up in his bed. His eyes raised to horrifyingly black ones.

"Potter." It was a man.

Harry quickly bared his wand like a sword, nimbly hopped off of his bed, and glared at the man shrouded infront of him. Still trembling from the horrid images that flitted across his sight, Harry clenched his jaw and waited. . . .

With a loud, if magically mute, crack, a woman came inbetween the two. Well, she seemed like a woman, with her height and hair, but in the dark of night she could have been thirty. Suprised, Harry jumped back.

"Get back Potter, this is a family order..." Her voice, he'd heard it before. Those screams! They'd been her's. . . ."Go! Before I bloody well blast you there!"

He stood stock still, watching what was unfolding. His own trauma encasing him like a shell. I"ve been closed before now. I've done more than any of them. And I don't flaunt it. I should get an explanation.

Idiotic boy! If you stay you won't have anything to live for anyway! Damned incarnates....

Realizing the voice was not his own, ripped out his wand, and pointed it at the man. "I'm not going, whoever you are." It didn't matter who or why the hell had just Apparated at Number Four, Privet Drive. It was the fact that the man looked dangerous. Leaving anyone with a man like that is stupid, rather Malfoy-like. Let alone a female.

"Oh, yes you are." She growled and flicked her wand. With a crack, he was siting next to members of the Order... gaping.


"Jadian-"

"You had no right to interfere." It was a snarl, ragged and haggard. Wrought by years in Moribundus, a prizon worse than even Azkaban. It was underground in Malaysia, carved from stone and impregnable.

"I had every goddam right, brother. If you would have killed him, the prophecy would have gone haywire. Merlin knows we all want to, but we can't. That's the Dark Lord's priveledge. He was drained by the prat, he should be able to kill him. Slowly and painfully."

"I'm not giving this up without killing you, too." Even in the sickening darkness, she could tell he was close to insane laughter.

"You can't kill someone who's already dead, Jadian."


"Harry? Harry!" Mrs. Weasley gasped and engulfed the teen in a warm, frantic hug. "I knew she wouldn't kill you..." Her voice had an edge to it, and Harry followed her eyes to a girl on the opposite side of the table.

Hermione hicced once before comprehension dawned on her. With glassy, wide eyes she stared at Harry and abruptly began sobbing. "It's all -hic-... her fault!" She managed, rocking in her chair.

Alarmed, Harry looked around the table and met confused faces. Every one of them familiar. Silently, he wished Sirius were there. Shoving the thought away, Harry looked around the room and back to 'Mione, placing a simple Cheering Charm on her. Immediately, she stopped hiccing and sobbing, smiling gleefully.

"Who's fault? Who was that woman? And why in the bloody Hell are you all staring at me like I've grown three heads?!" Harry bellowed. The faces were still glued to Harry in astonishment. Bill Weasley was holding a tearing Ginny, Ron's mouth was agape, Moody's magical eyes was spinning so fast it was like a hurricane, and Mr. Weasely was rubbing his temples. Lupin was first to speak.

"She would probably rather introduce herself, I'd think. Don't you, Arthur?" Lupin's hair was grayer and his face held more wrinkles than Harry had seen on anyone but perhaps Dumbledore. His blue eyes were filled with concern, and he looked absolutely worn-out. Harry felt a sudden rush of understanding. Lupin had lived through four of his best friend's deaths, all of which were to or for Voldemort.

"No need, Remus." A young worman's voice rang through the room. All heads turned to the magnificent, if warped, sight.