Author's Note: I have just a question. Is Landon…boyish enough? I don't know if you could tell by my penname, and I feel sorry if you can't, because it's rather obvious, I'm a girl, and I'm not exactly a genius on a guy's psyche. It wouldn't make a big deal about it, usually, but since he's narrating, I'd hate for him to come out sounding like a "mama's boy", or girlish. He most definitely isn't, and I don't want to be giving you readers that impression. Feedback, please, on this matter, as it is greatly distressing me (I usually revise two or three times on my original to take out all form of femininity). I'm wagering that there should be another four or five chapters before I conclude this story. Also, sorry if this chapter's a little intense. I was listening to Gustav Holst's "The Planets" to get into the mood as I was writing this, and just happened to be listening to the "Mars- The God of War" movement as this chapter was finished.

Cheers!

We were all sitting around the dinner table the next night, Mum's empty seat leaving a profound absence. Uncle George had finally announced his engagement to a Muggle by the name of Annabelle Smith. He wanted to know what 'Bella' meant in Italian, but Mum wasn't there to answer it. All right, so maybe it wasn't profound, but he really wanted to know.

"'Beautiful'!" I said, finally. "'Bella' means beautiful."

Everyone stared at me like I'd sprouted a third nostril for a while, before Dad said, "How the bloody hell'd you know that?" I shrugged, and Dad laughed at me, shaking his head. I don't understand what was so funny about it, really. Honestly, who hasn't heard the song Bella Notte? Everyone then started pumping me about what other words I knew in Italian, and no matter how many times I insisted that I didn't speak it, they still kept asking. I mean, really, I had been so entirely attention starved lately that if I had wanted more attention, and I spoke Italian, how stupid would it have been not to start talking in Italian when I could, thus getting attention? Wait, I've just confused myself…

Christiana was clearing the leftovers of our crème Brule dessert, and we walked back into the living room. We were just settling in, us children on the floor with new gifts, when there was a pop! in the living room and Mum appeared in the hallway, hanging her coat and scarf. It was evident that something was wrong; merely by the way that she was holding herself.

"Mama! Mama! Mama!" Jack called toddling over to meet her with arms outstretched. She smiled slightly, but her eyes were still sad as she lifted him from the chair and held him close.

"Something is wrong," Emily surmised for everyone.

Mum gave a watery smile, and softly said, "Yes, darling, there is." She and Dad made it a point never to lie to us about trivial little things, such as being bothered by something (unless it had to do with each other).

The adults looked from each other to the kids. Kate noticed this.

"Hey, kids," she said, standing up. "Why don't we leave the grown ups to talk and go do something else?"

"Like what?" asked Rachel.

"How about we…just play with our toys in another room?"

The little kids consented, and us older children stayed. Dad gave me one of those looks that said, 'you too', so I stood up, followed by James and Charlotte. One by one, the rest of the kids were shooed out of the room. Like any self-respecting "trouble makers" we listened at the door after Aunt Angelina closed it.

"How is he?" Uncle Harry asked.

Mum took awhile to answer. I supposed that meant that she was trying to compose herself, for when she finally spoke, her voice was raspy and quiet with intermittent little sobs. "He's…he's dying," she managed to croak out. A hush came over the room, everyone as shocked as she was, apparently.

Who was 'he'? I wondered. I would not realize the implications of that night, nor the severity of the day's happenings until much later, upon discovering how much this 'he' meant to the world.

"How long?" we finally heard grandfather say.

"Two weeks, maybe three," Mum said. "I'm taking over, effective as of next week."

The realization hit me like a punch in the stomach. Things suddenly began falling into place in the effect of a snowball. I suddenly understood things that I wasn't ever supposed to know, and now that I did, it felt as if a piece of my innocence had been stripped away, never to return. I glanced down at James and Charlotte. James' face was entirely too white and his jaw was hanging open slightly. He looked as I felt. Charlotte had her hand to her mouth with tears streaming down her cheeks. They both understood as well.

They looked up and met my eyes. All three of us were thinking the same thing. I nodded and they followed me to the library, heads bowed and hearts heavy. For the 'most wonderful time of the year', it was sure turning out pretty sucky for me.

Inside the library, we sat silently in the overstuffed leather chairs. Charlotte was still crying, and I hated crying girls. I put my arm around her (platonic!) and she cried into my shoulder.

Think, Weasley, think…I remember, was racing through my mind. You brought us into this mess…get us out of it…

I looked up and saw James, with his head in his hands. I would have to be the strong one; there was no other way around it. My eyes moved from James to a plaque on the wall that was given to Mum when she graduated head of her class at WUM (Wizarding University of Merlin) from one of her professors. There were many Latin words and phrases that I didn't recognize, but underneath the foreign words was the translation, which read:

Knowledge is Power. With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility.

*

If it's possible to have a bad Christmas holiday, the holiday of my first year was it. I don't know how I got through it; I was almost walking in a daze the entirety of the time off. When we went back to school, everyone was going on as if things were happy-go-lucky-oh-look-bluebirds-are-singing-Disney-style, and nothing was wrong. I couldn't stand to see my fellow students, namely, fellow Gryffindors acting with such a naivety, oblivious that our very own Headmaster was dying as we spoke.

The day after we returned from holidays, Professor Dumbledore feebly attempted to come to breakfast with the students. Mum looked worried. So did I, I'm sure. Mum took one look at my face when the Headmaster walked in, and an understanding passed between the two of us. She knew that I knew what she knew. The look that she gave me was sympathetic, like she didn't want me to have to bare the pain of knowing what I did on my shoulders. She seemed to understand that my best friends knew of the Headmaster's condition as well, and she understood that we were commiserating together. She understood that I didn't want to be reminded that my heart was breaking. She didn't speak of it to me, because the look that passed between us said it all.

To this day, I still have a strange connection/ mental telepathy with my mother that way. It seems odd that a son would be close to his mother like that, as usually the daughter is the one who gets all the female bonding time. Mum understands me better than anyone, it seems. Perhaps, though, that was simply because she was just my mother; I was her own flesh and blood. But, no, I like to believe that it's more than that. I have a special bond with Mum that I don't have with Dad (I think he's still rather miffed that I never played Quidditch).

Charlotte was, once again, putting catsup and marmalade on her scrambled eggs. Honestly, the girl was (and still is) a walking mystery to me. I don't understand why she does what she does. Girls will always be a mystery to me, but Charlotte will always be a mystery to everyone. She saw Professor Dumbledore come in and gasped, nearly dropping the jar of marmalade. Oh, no, typical girl reaction. I was just waiting for her to put her hand to her forehead and faint dead on the ground and need to be revived with smelling salts, but then I followed her gaze.

Professor Delacour was pouring the Headmaster a goblet of pumpkin juice. But that wasn't all that she was pouring. It seemed as if there was a vile underneath the sleeve of her robes, pouring out a white powder simultaneously with the juice.

I did a double take, trying to see if I had actually seen correctly. When I looked for the second time, there was no vile and no white powder. I was just seeing things, I suppose, and Charlotte had only been gasping at the frailty of the Headmaster.

I ducked out of sight to pick up my novel, hoping to finish the next chapter. It was entirely too suspenseful, and I found myself reading more often than studying these days. My parents shouldn't buy me books anymore. I might get B's.

This chapter of my book was very interesting. The main character had just unearthed a conspiracy against the Prime Minister, Tony Blair. It was now up to him to stop it without any magic at all (he had lost his powers, if you recall). He was just about to hack into the government's computer system when a sound of shattering glass could be heard in the Great Hall.

Professor Dumbledore had dropped his glass on the stone floor, and had gone rigid and whiter than he previously was. The teachers were rushing to his aid, and Professor Snape conjured a stretcher to rush the Headmaster to the hospital wing.

*

The snow outside was beckoning us, so Charlotte, James and I put on heavy clothes and winter cloaks and went outside to play in the fluffy white blanket that covered the grounds. An all-out snowball fight broke out around the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and soon, we were all soaked to the bone, absolutely freezing, and shaking to the point of being Weasley/Bronte/Potter Frappes.

It was about the time when James said, "I'm freezing my arse off!" when I saw the footprints. Something was strange about them. They were of human footprints, too big to be a student's. They were set at a stride that appeared to be running, and appeared to be leading towards the Forbidden Forest, and curiosity beckoned me.

"Why don't we go inside, then?" I suggested, with no intention of going inside at all. I took off one of my gloves and dropped it inconspicuously on the ground behind me, following my friends up the steps of the school. "Bugger," I said, causing them to look at me. "I've dropped one of my gloves. I'll meet you two for dinner." I turned back to 'get my glove' before either of them could protest or ask a question. I was never a good liar, and my face would have given everything away. I picked up my glove and cast a drying spell on it before slipping my entirely too cold hand inside. I began to follow the footprints. It was then that I noticed something that I hadn't before. There was red snow along one pair of footprints, the pair that seemed to be ahead, that I could only assume was the prey. I looked along the tree line, but couldn't see any sparks coming from the forest, or anything that might be construed as curses, spells or hexes. Nothing. That was even worse.

I walked forward, looking around to see if anyone was watching. There was no one in sight, so I continued on. The forest was dense and thick around me, and the footprints were going deeper and deeper into the forest. At one point, they stopped and continued in no definite pattern, but scattered everywhere. Spatters of blood were in other places now. I assumed that a skirmish of sorts must have taken place here. Now, the predator and prey could no longer be distinguished. Blood was everywhere, in larger spurts, and the footprints seemed to have hit an even pace, as if they were striving for a common goal. What the hell? I walked back the clearing where the fight took place. Whatever had made them stop? I noticed another set of footprints, then. They weren't mine, for I had been careful to step in the ready made larger footprints. These prints were close together. It seemed as if whatever it was took small, quick steps. I wondered how tracks this small, belonging to an obviously small creature, could have scared off two full-grown wizards.  I continued looking around the clearing, but couldn't see anything except small tracks leading towards where I stood. I could only assume that this…thing… had approached, and scared off the two fighters. I went back to following footsteps, and stumbled upon something that was quite disturbing.

A body was lying directly in my path.

I bit back the yell that was threatening to escape my throat, and stepped closer. It was cloaked in purple, and a white mask covered its' face. I wasn't stupid; I knew what this person was. My curiosity was piqued, and I meticulously lifted the mask from his face, trying not to disturb the body, praying that it was actually dead. When its' face was visible, I gasped.

I recognized him clearly as Dr. Lucien Curtis, one of my dad's partners. He was on the Board of Executives, as well as the Board of Trustees. He was a multibillionaire, who had helped fund their project back when it was merely a half-developed thought in Uncle Charlie's mind. His brilliant insight and keen financial prowess landed him the position as CFO without question when he requested it, and the project depended on his judgment immensely.   Dr. Curtis, a Death Eater? I think not…or at least, I had until now. I lifted his left arm, and was repulsed to find that I had interrupted the stages of rigor mortis at their peak. I nearly gagged at the purplish blue hue that his cold skin had taken as I lifted the sleeve of his robe to reveal the Dark Mark tattooed there on his arm.

I noticed that he was lying on his side. Just from this angle, seeing the front of his body, I had no idea what killed him, or by what means. I circled around to get a view of the back of his body, and, once more, bit my tongue so hard that it bled in order to keep from yelling. From the front, it merely looked as if he had been lying in the fetal position. But from the back, I saw that I was dead wrong (no pun intended). His spinal column had been snapped in half by something huge and terrible that I surmised, belonged to the footprints.

I heard the sound of hissing behind me and gasped. Before I had time to turn around, someone had hurled a spell at whatever it was, grabbed me roughly by the arm, and began running at full speed away from that…thing. I turned around to see a gigantic spider. It dawned on me, then, that it wasn't one set of footprints, but eight. I hate spiders, and seeing one that was the size of my bedroom made me run even faster. I looked up at my saviour's face, trying to find out if I was being saved only to be killed by another Dark Wizard, or if it were Uncle Harry, Uncle Sirius or Dad, an occasion that would be ending in surefire punishment. But his face was masked, not by the mask of a Death Eater. It was covered with the same black cloak he wore that was covering his entire body. He dragged me out of the forest, turning occasionally to cast a hex at the spider-thing, which was still in hot-pursuit.

I could see the edge of the forest approaching, and the light grew from thinning of trees. I had a terrible cramp in my side, and was breathing hard. But one look behind me at the spider-thing gave me an energy boost, and I wasn't tired for long. The man still had a steady and rather painful grip on my arm, and as far as I could tell, he wasn't showing any sign of loosening up or slowing down. I turned around again, and saw the spider was gaining on us. I pumped my legs harder, not wanting to face death by spider. Finally, we had broken through the trees. The spider was following. There was no way that we'd reach the school in time, and there was no way that this man, whoever he was, would let the killer spider reach the school. He changed directions. We were now headed towards Hagrid's hut. The spider followed.

The man flung open the door and threw me inside before slamming the door abruptly. I glanced at the clock on the wall, and saw that the rest of the student body would be in dinner. The Great Hall faced opposite Hagrid's hut; so hopefully, no one would be watching the attack of the giant spider. I was so relieved that it was warm, but couldn't waste time basking in the warmth of the fire. I pressed my face to the window to see the man driving the spider back further into the forest. He finally sent one last curse at him, and the thing scuttled away.

The man was walking back towards the hut, and so I figured it best to stay put. I took off my gloves, cloak, and a Weasley jumper, still wearing another underneath. The man walked in, still not revealing his face. I sat on one of Hagrid's large chairs, watching as the man poured himself a cup of tea. I could see from his nose down, and noticed when he visibly grimaced at the taste, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and threw the cup to the ground, where it shattered. He couldn't do that; it wasn't his property- it was Hagrid's. What gave him the right to do that? Hagrid would come back after dinner to find his hut vandalized. The man was staring at me, a smile playing about his lips, as if just daring me to fix it. I stared back at where his eyes would be underneath the cloak, not intimidated. My conscience gave in, however, and I stooped down to where the shattered cup was.

"Reparo," I muttered. The cup drew back together, and I placed it on the crude wooden table. A cruel smile was playing at the man's lips. I suddenly felt as if I was in danger.

"Typical," he muttered.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Just like a Weasley," he said, standing up and facing away from me. "Always meddling where they don't belong." He removed his cloak, revealing a head of platinum blond hair. I still hadn't seen his face, and for all I knew, this man could kill me at any second.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He spun around.

My mouth dropped open as I gaped at him. He smiled cruelly at the sheer irony of it all.

"Draco Malfoy. Pleased to meet you."