Chapter Title from "Rhiannon" by Fleetwood Mac

"The Cruciatus," Sirius muttered, the first to reach the hall and welcome the weary trio that stood on his doorstep. His best friend confirmed his assessment with sadness in his tired eyes.

"I did the best I could to mend her for the flight," Tonks said quietly. "The healing arts were never my strong suit."

"You did fine, I'm sure," Molly assured her, leading all the others, with the exception of Severus, into the hall.

A hush fell over them as they all assessed the crumpled girl leaning against Remus for support, her arms also flung over Tonks's shoulder to steady her as they led her along. She wasn't asleep nor awake- instead in a half dazed state, eyes closed, her head bobbing up and down with muscles twitching periodically. Sirius knew from his experience in Azkaban that the girl was hardly lucid following the curse. In all likelihood she felt like she was moving through a watery chasm with images and sounds drifting in and out of her senses like waves. Her limbs would feel like they couldn't make contact with anything they touched, even though in reality they were meeting everything in range with a huge, over exaggerated thud. Remus and Tonks were no doubt sore and exhausted from supporting her weight with the added burden.

This is hardly the state the girl would like to be introduced to the Order in, Sirius thought, but he could already see that she was lovely in spite of the Cruciatus effects. The golden curls from the childhood photo were still there, longer and fuller, though disheveled from her trauma and the journey. She was shorter than he would have imagined, petite and curvy, somehow powerful. As if all her magical force was packed tightly into a small package about to burst. He should have known to expect such a feeling when encountering the Dark Lord's own daughter, but the tension in the room still took him by surprise.

"Come, my friend, let me help you," he said to Remus, shifting the girl's weight to himself and leading her into the small parlor to the left of the hall. Remus breathed a sigh of relief. Sirius laid her down on the velvet settee, drawing a worn leather ottoman over to sit beside her.

"Positively electric," he murmured, running a hand across her pale cheek as he brushed the curls away from her face. He was a bit ashamed of the reaction he was having to an eighteen year-old, but quickly justified it as normal given 12 years spent in wizarding prison. Upon settling in his tropical escape after fleeing Hogwarts over a year ago, his first item of business was to find a willing female upon whom to release years of tension, frustration, and deprivation. He had no trouble finding companions, some casual, some a bit more serious, even if just for a time. But after returning to London and to Grimmauld Place, the necessary caution he had to maintain made finding a mate impossible. On this he chose to blame his hurried reaction to the young witch, along with the sheer force that radiated from her body. Any wizard would surely feel the same, although a quick glance at his best friend showed that was not the case. Remus was instead seated in a wooden chair across the room, head in hands as his purple-haired travel partner massaged his shoulders. He looked as if he had suffered under dark magic himself just by being in contact with the girl. Curious.

Minerva soon arrived at Sirius's side, examining the young Ilvermorny witch with a frown. "Arthur, fetch Severus, quickly. Tell him to bundle supplies from the medicine stores and bring them along."

The Weasley patriarch hurried from the room to find where Snape was hiding. Sirius instantly felt a rabid anger at the thought of the snake holding Rhiannon captive in his dungeons for the next year or more. Surely, now that he had seen her, Albus realized his plan was pure insanity. Sirius would have to find a way to intervene and offer an alternative before she was transported to Hogwarts. Perhaps she could stay at Grimmauld Place. It was obviously secure; it was the headquarters of the Order, for Merlin's sake. Sirius had a house elf, and plenty of room. It was an ideal plan. He could assist with her training well enough if given the materials. Maybe Tonks could visit and help. They were surrounded by Muggles so Rhiannon would have more freedom, fresh air, sunshine, and walks in the garden he had taken to cleaning up and replanting. Much better than spending her days surrounded by cold stone with only views of the dreary Black Lake.

"Albus, I..."

"Clear the room," Severus commanded, armed with a black leather bag full of the Order's emergency potion stores.

"Oh, your bag reminds me," Tonks said with a start. She jumped back to the hall and retrieved a bag embroidered with gold, red, turquoise, and green — a regal golden and white bird emblazoned on the front. "We were able to locate this in the abandoned restaurant where we rescued her. It seems empty but I believe the contents to be enchanted. There must be some things in there because I can detect strong protective charms. Just not able to break them." She blushed a bit with disappointment. An accomplished Auror such as herself should have no trouble uncovering the contents of a carpet bag.

Molly took the bag and laid it beside the settee. "Come everyone, let Severus tend to her without distraction. I baked several pies today. Let's enjoy them, shall we?"

"Molly, I certainly hate to miss your blackberry pie," Albus lamented. "But I do have another commitment elsewhere and must be going."

"Albus, wait." Sirius jumped up from the settee and followed him toward the door. The old man held up a hand and shook his head.

"Sirius, the decision has been made. And I labor under no impression that your intentions are any more honorable than those of Severus. If you must battle over this, as you seem destined to over every matter in life, then so be it. But I will not be involved either way. My plans have been laid out upon what is best for the Order, nothing less, nothing more."

Damn that man and his underhanded mind-reading, Sirius thought to himself. The man was so skilled you never noticed his legilimency until it was too late.

Dumbledore gave a small smile. "Good evening, all."

Having the room finally cleared to his satisfaction, Severus set to work lining potion bottles along the edge of the bookshelf next to the fitfully sleeping witch. He had taken his perch on the ottoman Sirius had vacated, studying the witch with a critical eye. Whoever had cast the Cruciatus on Miss Aspenfell had done so with the intent for long-lasting rather than acutely intense and painful effects. Treatment would have to be drawing the curse out from where it was woven into her muscle fibers, simultaneously calming and grounding her mind, and reducing the involuntary reactions preventing her from obtaining rest. If he did not succeed she would no doubt be suffering for weeks or even months.

His curious mind was tempted to analyze the strength of her connection to the Dark Lord, to look for clues, to infiltrate and dissect the energy he felt flowing from her. But he threw up his Occlumency shields and refused to go down that path, for now. There would be plenty of time for that. As much as he hated being burdened with another task, and as much as he feared the wild card role she was bound to play in their elaborate plans, he had to admit he was tantalized a bit by her being a puzzle he could study and solve. The offspring of a powerful dark wizard, protected as a child by the forces of good, reared in voodoo magic, educated at Ilvermorny— it was a whole new world for him to explore and learn. But now he had to ensure she lived. As herself, and not the shell she was slowly becoming as the curse ate away at her.

Severus began by applying to her arms ointments designed to draw out toxins, in hopes of reducing the twitching coursing through her. The interaction of her own magic, the curse's, and that of the potion was like static against his fingers, transferring the tingle through his own nerves. He paused, never having felt a transfer like that while healing another. He closed his eyes and strengthened his shields before continuing.

The Muggle clothes she wore were indicative of the humid Southern summer climate she had left— loose and exposing enough skin that Severus was able to apply the ointments without having to remove them, a fact for which he was grateful. He had no desire to violate the witch and was actually uncomfortable being behind closed doors with her, knowing what everyone in the adjacent rooms thought of him. He was glad the dog had obeyed him and left the room; Black would surely be gawking like a school boy and making Snape's job next to impossible.

He discovered a bruise on the underneath of her thigh, where she had likely fallen at the curse's impact. Taking a different bottle off the shelf, he applied this one to the black and blue mark more gently. Even in his care not to hurt her, he felt her stir beneath his hand.

"Miss Aspenfell?" he said in a low voice. She stirred again. It was a more normal, gradual movement. Her twitching had begun to ease.

"Miss Aspenfell, I need to administer a calming draught to slow the pace of your thoughts. I will need you to wake just briefly."

No luck. He needed her to swallow this potion to quell the rapid fire of images she was likely seeing as she half-slept. It was one of the more insidious effects of the Cruciatus, causing the sufferer to exhaust oneself as if they had spent hours running from a predator, when in reality they were merely running mentally from the onslaught of their own thoughts.

Severus reached out a tentative hand to grace her cheek, repeating her name. While it had seemed natural to touch her to treat her injuries, he felt awkward caressing her in such a way now to wake her. As if to validate his hesitation, her green eyes snapped open and she jumped back, frightened. Snape stiffened and backed away from her, focusing on the torn wallpaper in front of him while she became accustomed to her surroundings. He could imagine her terror at waking up in a strange place with only himself for company.

How horrified would she be once she learned of the fate Dumbledore had laid out for them?

Rhiannon's heart was racing as she returned to full consciousness. She was faintly aware that the twitching plaguing her limbs had started to disappear, but wild and terrible images still danced across her mind, and her adrenaline kicked in when she woke up in the dark, dingy, unfamiliar place. Her heart beat so intensely it hurt, and she felt a panicked heat course through her. She jumped back once she sensed a hand on her face, barely registering its owner. She only knew that her last clear memory was of danger, and for all she could tell she was still in the thick of it.

"Who are you?" she asked shakily, trying to focus on the dark figure in front of her. She could only see his profile at this point because he had abruptly turned away. Long black hair shielding his face, the only visible part being a rather large hooked nose. He wore a black, high necked jacket, buttoned up tightly with more buttons than she'd ever seen on a single garment. White cuffs peered out from beneath the heavy sleeves. She immediately deduced she was no longer in Louisiana. No one in their right mind would dress that way for a Delta summer.

The man turned to her with a sharp gaze. His eyes were very black and she knew instantly he was a wizard. Rhiannon could always tell; she would feel an instant leveling of the other person's power with her own, as if independent particles between them danced and dueled in the air, settling their own score. She suddenly found herself wondering if that feeling was unique to her, but then perceived the narrowing of the man's eyes as he assessed her as well. Her heartbeat finally slowed a bit. The man was not a threat. Rhiannon became conscious of a warm sheen on her arms and thighs, and she realized he must have treated her with a salve in order to heal her.

"I'm Severus Snape, professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he finally replied. "I suppose I am the first to welcome you to Great Britain."

How in the hell? What the hell? What had she been through in the past, what, 24 hours? How did she end up crossing an ocean and having no recollection? The frantic questions in her mind were only interrupted by an acute fascination with the voice that had just spoken to her. It was like silk, like a warm drink slowly filling her body, or an even warmer caress. She had never heard anything like it. She felt a quiver that she knew was not from any curse.

"Drink this," he commanded, lifting an amber glass bottle toward her lips. "You seem lucid enough now, but you will find the racing thoughts return any time you try to rest. This will calm them."

She hesitated, and he sighed and rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I am the Potions Master at Hogwarts, which is why I am here in this room. I have been charged with reviving you. If I wanted to harm you, trust me, you would already be harmed. Do get on with it, girl."

Well, his voice may sound like liquid sex, but he wasn't particularly pleasant. Rhiannon downed the draught and settled back against the satin pillow of the settee as comfortably as she could. It was old and hard, not particularly conducive to resting, let alone resting while recovering from whatever fresh hell she had just suffered. She tried to remember how it all happened but was drawing a blank.

Just as she was about to take a risk asking questions of the cranky, voice-of-a-god Potions Master, a knock came at the door. The professor rose to answer, and two new figures entered the room. The first was a tall, regal, older woman with a dark red blouse, hair pulled back tightly in a bun. The second was a man about the same age as the potions professor, with soft-looking, curly dark brown hair and a well-groomed mustache and goatee. He was dressed in an expensive velvet jacket with a plaid shirt underneath. His face broke into a warm smile when he saw her. He had blue-grey eyes that had an instant calming effect on her, although perhaps it was the professor's calming draught beginning to work instead. Either way, her previous fears subsided.

"How are you feeling, dear?" the older woman asked her, placing a gentle hand on hers.

"Better, I suppose. But I have so many questions."

"Of course you do," the curly-haired man said eagerly as he pulled a stool up close to her. "Ask away."

At this, Professor Snape swiftly gathered his empty bottles. "My work here is done. I will see myself out," he said tersely.

"Thank you, Severus," the woman said. He nodded and exited without so much as a glance back in Rhiannon's direction. Rhiannon felt a surprising sting at his sudden absence. There was something about that initial connection that had been hanging in the air between them, and once severed it was noticeable. She didn't know what to make of it but didn't have time to dwell, as more figures began to pour into the room.

The young Thunderbird woman eventually learned all of their names and that together they formed the Order of the Phoenix, along with some others who were off on other tasks. They all seemed friendly enough— quirky, of course, as all magical beings seemed to be. The cheerful lady named Molly made sure she had a sandwich and some tea, along with a delicious slice of blackberry pie. Rhiannon could not remember the last time she had eaten.

All of them continued to gaze at her so curiously that she began to feel uneasy as she ate her last few bites. None of them had told her why she was there, only that they had rescued her from an emergency situation and healed her from a curse. She could guess it had something to do with her mysterious overseas benefactor. He must have somehow known she was in trouble. She had listened keenly to everyone as they had introduced themselves, and none of the voices sounded similar to the one she had heard converse with her mother on occasion over the years. The benefactor was definitely not the dark, dour wizard with the melodious voice, either. She was certain she would eventually find out and was positive it was all connected.

"Rhiannon," the one called Sirius spoke. The one with the curly brown hair and kind, strong eyes. He had remained at her side the entire evening, smiling at her as she ate, his eyes seeming to follow along with her every movement. "Do you want to know why you're here?"

"Sirius," Molly cautioned. "She needs rest and it's late. This can wait until morning."

"No," Rhiannon insisted quickly. "I need to know or I will never sleep."

Sirius exchanged glances with the one named Remus Lupin, who seemed just as kind, albeit more quiet and reserved. Next to Remus sat a girl who looked to be close to Rhiannon's age, with bright purple hair and a lighthearted air about her. The four of them were the only ones seated at the enormously long wooden table, with Molly washing dishes in the giant sink. The others had either left the house for the night or were retired to other rooms.

"Rhiannon," Sirius began again. "In America, do they ever speak of an evil wizard named...named Voldemort?" His voice quavered a little as if the word had serious consequences if uttered too loudly.

Rhiannon tried to remember. It seemed like he may have been mentioned at some point at Ilvermorny, but nothing more than a term she would have had to memorize for a history test and then easily forget. She had been removed from the wizarding world entirely for two years, so any recent rumblings would have gone unnoticed by her as she carried on with her new No-Maj life. She shook her head.

Remus took the lead, his tone professorial. "He is a terrible wizard. His goal is establishing pure blood dominance in the world, achieving immortality and ultimate power at any price. He has terrorized both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds for decades. He takes pleasure in inflicting mass amounts of pain on the innocent, and he has a violent band of followers who more or less share in those sadistic desires. In 1981 we thought he was destroyed, but recent events have proven that is not the case. You have been taken into the Order's custody for your protection now that he has returned."

Rhiannon saw the unease in Remus's eyes and could tell he knew that was an unsatisfactory answer. "Why me? Out of all the hundreds of Ilvermorny students, the thousands of witches and wizards in the United States. Why me?"

She felt Sirius' strong hand cover hers. She noticed a shiny antique watch on his wrist and caught a whiff of a spicy, expensive smelling cologne. "Albus Dumbledore, the leader of our Order, believes you to be the daughter of the Dark Lord," Sirius said gently.

And there it was. That adrenaline feeling was back in her veins again, and she could feel the calming draught battling with it internally. Her first thought was a certainty that this Dumbledore was the lifelong mystery figure. Her second thought was of her mother. She'd had many lovers, so it wasn't a complete surprise, but had she known? Had she cared? Had the Dark Lord harmed her? Forced her? Rhiannon was suddenly very sick.

"I think I may vomit," she whispered. Tonks jumped up from her chair and grabbed her arm, escorting her up to the nearest bathroom. The purple haired witch held Rhiannon's hair and rubbed her back comfortingly.

"We can give you something for the nausea, love. And for the taste," she laughed. "Oh, and I have something of yours!" She left the bathroom briefly and returned with Rhiannon's carpet bag. Rhiannon breathed a sigh of relief, never so happy to see her golden Thunderbird. She immediately reached in and withdrew her wand, twirling it lovingly in her right hand.

"So there's the wand," Tonks said happily. "Remus and I were worried. We looked all over with no luck. With a plane to catch and you in such bad shape, we couldn't afford to waste any more time. Thought you might kill us though once you realized it was gone." She winked and led Rhiannon back out into the hallway, but Rhiannon was immediately drawn to a wall in the opposite room — an elaborate tapestry on the wall with faces, names and twisted vines. She also heard thuds coming from a cabinet rocking back and forth, and a strange buzzing from the room's dusty green curtains.

"My illustrious, legendary family," Tonks said dryly, pointing with her wand at a burnt black smudge on the tapestry. "That's my mum."

Rhiannon followed the vines up to Sirius's name, his face also blacked out in disgrace.

"How do you get to live here, if...?"

"Oh, I don't, normally," Tonks replied. "Sirius does, as the natural heir. That's the beauty of magical families, I guess. Inheritance remains even if affection doesn't. Our family is one of the oldest and most influential wizarding families. But my father is a Muggle-born wizard, and Sirius ran away at 16, basically because he couldn't stand his parents' toxic pure-blood rhetoric, and he refused to entertain the notion of becoming a Death Eater. So of course the family hates us."

"Death Eater?"

"The Dark Lord's tribe of disgusting minions. Most of them are in Azkaban, including my lovely aunt, so don't let them worry you." Tonks waved her wand toward a deranged but beautiful witch with dark curls and blood red lips, named Bellatrix Lestrange.

Rhiannon scanned the tapestry for a trace of the dark-haired wizard with the silky voice, but saw none. She wanted to ask who he was in relation to the Blacks, the Order, Dumbledore, Death Eaters, and this whole confusing world, but she was a bit embarrassed to admit her preoccupation. Besides, the owner of the house she now found herself residing in was pretty interesting himself, and she had no doubt he was eagerly waiting for her to rejoin him in the kitchen.

As if Tonks read her mind, she instead suggested they go upstairs and settle for the night, before her once-removed cousin had a chance to "mark his territory."

"He spent 12 years in Azkaban and is a bit randy," Tonks apologized. Rhiannon must have looked shocked because she quickly added, "Falsely accused, I promise. It was a big mess. I'm sure you'll hear all about it. But now he's hiding out here, waiting for his name to be cleared, when the Dark Lord falls, so he can get back to normal again. I'm sure you can imagine how happy he was to see you show up on his doorstep." She winked and held open a door to one of the upstairs bedrooms, where an older house elf was placing the finishing touches on a cozy looking quilted bed.

"Hiya, Kreacher," Tonks greeted him.

Rhiannon heard him growl a response, the words "mudblood" and "scum" rising above the rest.

"Still loyal to the old guard." Tonks shrugged and opened her dresser drawer with her wand, removing a white cotton dressing gown and clean underthings. "We sent Molly Weasley to Diagon Alley to get you some clothes for your stay with us. Kreacher can mend them if the size is a bit off. I suspect they will take you shopping again before you go to Hogwarts."

Rhiannon felt a flutter in her belly. "I'm going to Hogwarts? How? I'm almost 19. Will they accept me?" The prospect of finishing her magical education was almost too much to hope for. She could feel tears well up in her eyes.

"Well, yes and no," Tonks said hesitantly. "Yes, you are going, but not in the traditional sense. They have a special plan for you. I think McGonagall or Dumbledore will want to tell you more about it. But for tonight let's just get you to bed. You need to rest, for a LONG time, after all you've been through."

Tonks quickly surveyed the room and seemed to be checking for anything suspicious or unsafe. Probably because of Kreacher and the unfriendly eyes from portraits on the walls.

"Thank you, for all your help, Rhiannon said. "It's all so overwhelming. It's good to have a friend."

"You're welcome, love." Tonks smiled. "Welcome home."