For the Love of Flowers

Disclaimer: All rights and content within this story belong to their original owners; I own nothing.


Chapter 4: The Definition of Sanity


The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement sighed as she signed her name with a flourish before adding the document to the already towering, ever growing stack besides her. A quick glance at her mounted wall clock showed that it was a little after five in the evening, ten minutes before the meeting she had been waiting all day before.

Both the thought of the person she was to meet with and the subsequent topic that they had to discuss sent chills up her spine, but for different reasons.

Two days prior she had dispatched a squadron of aurors to deal with an abnormal amount of spell fire that had been reported from a muggle residential area. Although the entire department was short-staffed as the amount of people that both chose a a career in law enforcement and were capable of completing their training camp became few and far between, she had doubled the normal amount of respondents when they had learned just who was casting the majority of the spells.

She'd also added Senior Auror Kingsley as an additional, thirteenth member in the hopes that both his years of experience would help control the situation and that he would report back to the vigilante organization he was in and prevent the meeting she was having today from happening in the first place.

It turned out to be one of the worst mistakes she had made in the entirety career as the squad was slaughtered to a man alongside numerous civilian muggles. The department had been working alongside the ministry obliviators and the muggle prime minister to cover the event up.

A stack of letters prepared by her predecessor that should have been sent out the day she had learned of her aurors' deaths was burning a hole in her pocket.

I'll be damned if I'm just going so sit back and have an owl deliver these. She set aside her quill, the urge to work leaving her, and pulled out one of her desk drawers. She fished out a small, nondescript box and popped it open, pulling out her desired object before replacing the box back in its drawer. A tap of her wand had the tip of the object smoldering and she brought it to her lips, coughing as smoke filled her lungs.

There was a frantic knock at her office door. The woman looked at her cigarette, sighed and gave a quite cough before snuffing it out. "Come in," she called, tossing the wasted cigarette into the rubbish bin below her desk.

Her door swung half way open, admitting her secretary. Shadows hung beneath his eyes and his face was pale and drawn from the sleep she knew he was lacking. Adjusting his robes even as he entered the room, the man laid several folders on her deck. "Here are the files you asked for, Director," the man said. He glanced over his shoulder before he turned back to her, his voice hesitant. "Did you know you had a man sitting in the lobby, Ma'am?"

The director grimaced, sparing a brief glance at the bauble that had spinning on her desk for the past hour. "Ah...Yes, I did. You may send him in now. Thanks, William."

William gave her a nod before holding the door ajar, allowing the man who had been in the anteroom to enter. He then slipped out behind him, the swinging shut.

"Amelia!" The man said, smiling, his arms spread in greeting.

"Albus," she said with a curt nod, "have a seat. And not with one of those plush arm chairs I know you like, one of mine."

The man raised an eyebrow but acquiesced, pulling out one of the straight backed wooden chairs and took a seat.

"Now," she said, folding her hands together, "give me one reason that I shouldn't have you carted off to Azkaban this instant, Albus."

The man, Albus Dumbledore, man of many titles and known for having one of the best poker faces in Britain, paled at her question. "Azkaban?!" He said, spluttering. "These are troubling times indeed if people are being arrested for little to no reason."

You want to play that game, eh? Amelia frowned and reached for the second folder in the stack that William had brought her. She opened it and turned it towards Dumbledore, showing hims its contents. She stabbed at one of the pictures with a finger, "Do you know who this is?"

Dumbledore shook his head, but his hands tightened on the arms of his chair.

"Seventeen people, Albus! Twelve aurors and five muggles killed, one hospitalized! That girl that you're sheltering killed seventeen people!"

"I can assure you, I am doing no such thing. While I do recognize her, I am not sheltering her underneath my roof."

Amelia glared at Dumbledore and shrugged, "Alright, so one of your Order members is sheltering her. Who is it? Tell me now and I'll let them off with a fine. If I have to get a warrant from the Minister and find her manually, they'll be sharing her punishment."

Dumbledore raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'd even help you look, nobody in my little club would shelter such a person. It goes against everything we stand for."

Amelia groaned, letting her head fall into her hands. "Why can't you work with me, Dumbledore?" She asked, "The girl's a mass murderer and a menace to our society, to everyone. She's worse thing we've had to deal with in the past decade."

She flicked through the stack that William had given her before pulling out the third from the bottom. Spreading it open, she pointed out each individual point as she spoke. "Massive amounts of magical power and skilled in wandless magic. An affinity for unaided flight. Sadistic tendencies. An unprecedented physical strength."

"What are you planning to do once you arrest her?"

"Standard procedure. She'd receive a trial and then if found guilty I would personally ship her off to Azkaban for the rest of her life." That's a lie, she would be executed on the spot, but he doesn't need to know that.

Dumbledore's fingers taped out a steady rhythm against the arm of his chair, an action that kept drawing her eyes much to her annoyance. "What if I told you that none of the girl's actions were done under her own will?"

She snorted at that before bursting into a gut busting laugh. "Kingsley reported that she was taunting the squad as she fought. You expect me to believes that she was suffering from the Imperious curse?" She asked between gasps of breath.

She sobered up as Dumbledore gave her a glance reminiscent of her Hogwarts days, his eyes twinkling. "Ah, but I never said it was a wizard that was controlling her. What do you remember of vampires? I believe the Daily Prophet published an article on them not too long ago."

"Impossible. Asides from the fact that it's illegal for a vampire to enthrall someone anywhere in the EU, they can't enthrall someone stronger than themselves. If you're insinuating that we've got a vampire that's capable of enthralling someone as strong as her, we've got bigger problems."

Dumbledore shook his head, "Please, Amelia, contain your questions until the end. I was an afforded the opportunity to speak with her for a moments time before she disappeared and I believe I managed to piece together a vague picture over what has happened to the poor girl. From what I could tell, she was taken and converted into a vampire at an extremely young age, before being enthralled. As she grew into her magical maturity, I believe she grew too powerful to control and the vampire switched to a more subtle form of control: psychological conditioning."

"Physiological conditioning? Asides from the fact that a lot of the vampires in Britain sided with You-Know-Who, what would they gain from conditioning a young girl to kill one teenage wizard, especially a being as powerful as her?" She asked, her mind whirling as she attempted to find the thread that connected the unknown attacker to one of Britain's biggest celebrities. Her heart sank as she stumbled upon one.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, no, no. How close?"

The moment she saw Dumbledore's sad smile, she wanted to reach into her desk and pull out her comfort pack.

"It's probably the worst case scenario in terms of political fallout," he confessed, reaching out to turn the picture of their subject towards her, "Let me introduce you to the self proclaimed Yuuka Kazami, Harry's sister."


Harry affixed his gaze upon his laden plate, fork clutched in hand, unable to muster desire nor energy to eat. It was so tempting to glance up and across the table to where he knew she sat, watching, appraising him her cold, blood red eyes. Instead he chose to bury his questions and curiosity, pushing around the food on his plate and taking a small bite whenever Mrs. Weasley craned her head to look at him.

The rope of tension that stretched between him and her seemed to have infected the rest of the room as silence prevailed within the cavernous basement kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The only sounds were the soft clank of cutlery and the occasional, murmured request for more of this or that, something to which Mrs. Weasley would grant with a quiet reply of her own.

Closing his eyes for a moment in resignation, he set his fork down and glanced towards the far end of the table. Just as he had expected, she was watching him, her lips curved as she observed the expression on his face, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands. With what he assumed was deliberate slowness, she took a sip from her cup before placing it down, its clatter drawing the heads of many.

She smiled at him as she cupped her hands before her chest and bowed her head. When she looked up and opened her hands, a small, pink flower rested between them. She then winked at him, crushing the flower in her hands and brought the crushed mess to her lips. Three solitary petals floated across the table in silence, every person in the room's attention fixed upon them. The three petals landed on the table next to his hand and faded.

The three flowers that grew from the wood of the table were smaller than the original Yuuka had created, but were no less vibrant. No less real.

A gift, she mouthed to him, a pleased expression upon her face.

"What was that? What did you just do?" Demanded Moody. He had left his seat against the wall and his wand, which had been held at his side, was now pressed against the back of Yuuka's head.

Harry glanced down at the flowers by his hand, they swayed, moved by an invisible breeze as Yuuka's pleased expression fell from her face. "They were a gift," he said, reaching out to touch one of the flowers. It's thin stalk curled his finger before releasing him. An impossibility, yet it had happened, "but they are more aren't they?"

Yuuka nodded to him and winked once more, her smile returning as she picked up her cup of tea. Behind her, Moody's face was stormy but he returned to his seat with a grumble. His wand, however, remained pointed at the smiling girl's back.

"Amazing," whispered Hermione from beside him, staring at Yuuka's gift. "These are amazing."

"Huh?" Harry questioned, whispering back, his voice just as quiet. "They're just flowers, Hermione."

"Just flowers? It's not the flowers!" Hermione hissed, her voice no longer as quiet. He noted that they had garnered some attention, Ron, Ginny and even Ron's elder brother, Bill, were listening in with rapt attention.

"It's the magic. You can't conjure living things, Harry. It goes against the law of magic. And she did it wandlessly, without an incantation? Do you know how hard that is?"

"Difficult, I'm guessing?" He asked, bemused by Hermione's sudden boldness. By the voice that came from the stairs, it was apparent he wasn't the only one who felt that way either.

"Things never change, do they, Hermione? You sit in the same room as a girl who looks a few years older than you at most and is an acknowledged murderer and the only thing you're interested in is her magic."

Hermione blushed at Sirius's words, hiding her face in her hands as Sirius took the empty seat besides Harry.

"What did Dumbledore say?" Harry asked his godfather, handing him the plate that Mrs. Weasley had just handed him.

Sirius's face soured as he took a bite from his plate, thanking Mrs. Weasley before turning to face Harry. "Dumbledore was vague...He confirmed that there was a contract of sorts formed and that she's no longer a threat, but he didn't say anymore than that. His meeting with the ministry did go better than he had hoped for though."

Sirius pulled two letters from his belt and tossed them across the table where they slid to a stop before Yuuka. "They're both for you, one's from the ministry regarding your temporary sentence, the other's your Hogwarts letter."

There was a choking sound from the other side of the table as Ron clutched his chest, his sister pounding on his back.

Yuuka gave the choking boy a curious look as she tore open her first letter. "What is this Hogwarts you speak of?"

It was Mrs. Weasley that answered her. The woman's face was bright red as she rose from seat. "Has the headmaster gone senile," she exclaimed, slamming one hand down onto the table. "I'm not letting my children go to a school where something such as you is going to be roaming around free."

"I do not understand your objections. I would be just as shackled there as I would be here," Yuuka said, slipping the folded up letter she had been reading into her shirt pocket. Her unopened Hogwarts letter followed a moment later.

"Is it perhaps because yourself would not be there to restrain me, should I choose to harm them?" Yuuka asked, a slight widening of her eyes betraying her sudden realization.

A hand placed on arm of his irritate wife by Mr. Weasley had her sit back down. Around them, their children shuffled about in their seats, unease and discomfort plain upon their faces. Even the Weasley's eldest child, Bill, seemed uncomfortable with his mother's declaration, his fork pushing around the dessert on his plate without actually lifting anything.

Sirius doesn't seem overly concerned about the fact that Yuuka would be at school with me. Is it because she's like my sister? Harry stabbed at the remaining quarter of his peach cobbler with his fork. His thrust tore through the pastry's soft crust and skated against the silver plate. His actions drew the attention of Sirius, who raised a questioning brow.

He just gave a shake of his head, adverting his eyes. This wasn't the place to talk about the thoughts that had been rampaging through his head the past few hours.

Whenever he closed his eyes, the earlier events of the day stood out at the forefront of his mind. He still remembered the way the locket she'd held had gleamed in the evening sun; he could still remember the way blood had pounded in his head, time seeming to slow to a halt around as her words had registered with him. Our Mother.

The implications behind them had been numerous and the questions that had been raised, countless. Where had she been? What had her life been like? Who had raised her?

The bitter irony of the situation had him wanting to lash out. His entire life he had imagined what life away from the Dursley's, with his real family would be like. And while the Weasley's kind and loving, they weren't his family, they were Ron's.

Two years prior had been a roller coaster of emotions as he had learned of his godfather's existence, his supposed crimes and then eventually, his innocence. To find that someone who cared for him would be unable to serve as his guardian and savior had been an unpleasant revelation.

And then there was the girl, whatever she was, that called herself Yuuka Kazami, his sister, When he had first seen her, he had known in an instant that she was a magical like him. His pleasant surprise at learning she was there to find him of all people had turned to horror when he learned of her reason: to kill him, to destroy his soul and erase him from existence.

The world truly was an unfair and cruel place.

The piece of cobbler that he had been bringing to his lips fell back to his plate, his fork after it. "I think I'm done for tonight," he said pushing away his plate, his voice a whisper. He ignored the questions and glances of his friends as he walked to the kitchen door, pulled it open and left.

One of the last things he saw within the kitchen before the door swung shut was that Yuuka had disappeared, a flower identical to the one she had made for him left in her place.

I really hope she hasn't killed someone, but I do wonder where she went.

He blinked and shook his head when he realized that the thought had not bothered him as much as it should have.


His question about her whereabouts were answered by complete accident a few steps after he had cleared the final steps leading up from the basement.

She had tucked herself away into a tall-backed armchair, one knee drawn up to her chest while the other dangled down, the toes of her bare foot drawing faint lines through the dust covered floor. The bloodstained and torn clothes she had been wearing at dinner were gone, replaced by a pale, pink nightgown. The locket she had held before him with such reverence earlier now hung from her neck and her ever present parasol was open, shadowing her face and upper body despite the fact that it was dark, inside and out.

It's hard to believe that this was the girl responsible for so much death, Harry thought, frozen on the spot. The locket resting on her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, matching the movements of her chest. It was a surreal moment and he found himself paralyzed.

He was unsure of how much time had passed, but it was with a heavy reluctance and a great exertion of will that he tore his gaze away and turned to the next flight of stairs. "Good night, sister," he whispered, starting his way up the stairs, one hand upon the handrail to steady himself.

It was the suddenness of the boom of thunder and the patter of rain upon glass that startled him and lead to him missing his next step. He fell backwards with a cry, his grip upon the handrail broken. The pain he expected as he fell backwards, however, never came. Instead he groaned as his fall came to a sudden halt when a grip of iron closed around his arm.

"I am not your sister," A voice said from right before him.

He swallowed the dread welling up in his throat and forced his eyes open. "Thanks for the save," he said, still held suspended in her one-handed grasp.

Yuuka's red eyes stared back into his own green, green hair covered one eye as she tilted her head so that she matched his own, awkward angle. She then nodded and dropped him to the ground. "Do not let it happen again, I will be displeased if I must waste my timing saving you from pointless self-harm."

He rubbed at the spot where his back had made contact with the edge of the steps when she had dropped him and winced. She calls that saving? The house is probably charmed to make sure nobody gets hurt.

"What do you mean you're not my sister, what else could you be if we share the same mother?" He asked as she walked back to her chair and retrieved the parasol that lay discarded on the ground.

"Tell me, do you human magicians know of time travel?" She asked him, smiling when he nodded. "Good, that will make things simpler. To put it bluntly, you and I are one and the same. One soul stretched across two bodies due to the interference with the flow of time."

"That's hard to believe," he said. He then asked, "Is that why you tried to kill me?"

Yuuka giggled at his question, hiding her mouth behind one of he hands as her shoulders shook. "There was no trying, my dear alternate. I was going to kill you. I merely took too long playing and ended up harming myself."

She moved towards him, her bare feet making no sounds upon the wooden floorboards. Although her laughter had faded, the smile upon her face had not as she sat down close to him. Too close, he thought as she leaned in, placing her head by his ear.

"Tell me," she whispered, the feel of her breath upon his neck sending shivers down his spine, "Do you fear the dark, Harry Potter? Do you fear oblivion, the endless sleep that awaits us beyond the veil? Tell me, o' alternate of mine, do you fear death?"

It was impossible to breathe, his breath sticking in his throat. He could feel his heart pounding against the confines of his chest, desperate to break free of its cage. And deep within the recesses of his mind, his very being, he could feel something answering her call.

"I have been shackled," she whispered into his ear once more, her hair hanging down and brushing the back of his neck, "Bound. Helpless. No more powerful than a mere animal."

Before he could react, she had moved from beside him to in front of him and was leaning down, as if to kiss him. Move. Move! He shouted within the prison of his mind, shutting his eyes against his oncoming doom. There was a pause and then he felt something, warm and wet, press against his cheek.

"Shh. Shh, I understand," she murmured, her hand cupped against his cheek. It was then he realized that he was shaking. "The same blood flows through our veins, child. The idea of your enemy, especially one so far beyond you such as I, lying broken and battered at your feet is exciting, is it not?"

"N-no," he stuttered out, "That's insane. Nobody would want that."

"Liar," she cooed and he felt her flick his nose, "You may deny it as much as you want, but I can feel your blood roaring, pulsing. Now, open your eyes, child. You're being rude."

There was a sharp, stinging pain in the side of his neck and his eyes shot open, Yuuka winking at him as he did so.

"Do you see?" She asked, holding up her hand. One of her nails was dripping red. "There is no confusion," she said, bringing it to her lips and shuddering, "Your presence, it cries out to me; your blood, it heals me. That you would still deny our connection is insulting. Face your fate with pride."

Her hand reached out and two fingers pressed down upon his brow, closing his eyes. He felt her lips press against his own for a fleeting moment before her whispered, melodious voice filled his ear once more.

"Fate has bought you a year, do not squander it. I shall be waiting; I shall be watching, and should I find you lacking, our game will begin anew once more. And this time, I promise you, we shall not be interrupted by those pests you call friends.

You have a year, Harry Potter, do not disappoint me."


AN: Hello everyone, it's been more than a week hasn't it? Sorry for the delay, I ended up falling ill with a kidney infection and haven't been in the proper shape to write. Do not fear, we shall be returning to our regularly scheduled programming starting with next week (I need to re-look over my notes and see where I left off).

I just want to drop this here to answer a few PM's I got: I'm attempting to write this story from a Third Person, Limited perspective. That means that what a character says, IF they're not lying, is what they believe, not necessarily what is true. If you have any questions, let me know and I'll do my best to answer them

A small gift in exchange: Next time on 'For the Love of Flowers' - Diagon Alley, two-legged Dragons and explanations.

Until next time,

RM