Disclaimer: Owning nothing. Again. Sadly. Anybody got a Tom Felton I could rent? ALSO! I know I write extravagantly. Like, instead of writing "Tom hit the ball," I would write, "The ball was hit by Tom." It's because I'm writing for Anni/Delaney. If you haven't noticed yet, I'm trying to create an extremely melodramatic character, a prima dona of the sorts... I'm having fun, too!

~Kim, the Authoress Formerly Known as Achicagoil

Melodrama at It's Finest

rated: PG-13

Chapter Two: Unjust Recognition

So, in asking for a list of my "Etre Monstres," I succumbed to a lengthy list of all the intelligent beasts I had ever heard of. When finished making this unfair (and iniquitous!) list, I turned to Snape, my eyes narrowed greatly. "You finished listing all the beasts from 'Magical Creatures and Where to Find Them'? Or shall I ready a new quill for you?" I questioned.

"I named all the intelligent creatures. We save talking to the flobber worms and such on for our games keeper. He can at least stay out of trouble that way, as he openly overlooks the 'boring' creatures as pets," was his snarky reply.

Next to me, Byron growled, the sound barely omitting from his throat it was so low. Dumbledore took his cue to cut into the two. "Children, kindly wait to murder each other until Voldemort is dead. Until then, both of you will be greatly needed in the assistance of his downfall. Childhood rivalries are to be forgotten until then," Dumbledore insisted.

Donovan raised one of his gorgeous eyebrows at the aspect of the two having known each other. "You were acquainted?" he asked in that wonderfully low Bulgarian accent of his.

Byron glared at Snape. "Haven't you ever wondered why Sbagliato always sent me off to American cults and Corbin to the British ones?" he wondered. "Because I could easily be recognized in this country, as could Corbin in the great US of A."

Donovan shook his head. "I've only ever noticed that Delaney gets sent to neither place," was his dark remark.

Wrinkling my nose at the mention of my whereabouts, I promptly changed the topic. "So, when do I get booted to such-n-so cults and when will the search parties be sent out to look for my body?" I wondered jokingly.

This time, the growl I heard came not from Byron, but behind me in the doorway. I swiveled around to be greeted by coal-black hair (Ooh! It was so wonderfully black it shone blue!) and overly-bright green eyes boring into my head. "If you leave with the intention of dying, I won't allow you to go. I'll do all in my power to keep you in this sodding house and chained up," boy-wonder Harry Potter stated in a deep, soft, and commanding voice. "I promised myself that I wouldn't let you get killed. Not after Hermione's death."

If my features darkened, I knew so by the backing-up of my colleagues. I wasn't to be tried-with when angered, and the subject of Hermione (I love her, I admit it, but I resent her just as greatly for having been perfect) surely brought along the change in my usually amiable attitude. "I do what I want with my life. I won't be weighed down by Mia's death or by her vengeful friends. I've gotten along far enough that I get thrown into the heart of battle. And I won't stop now. You are to understand that, Boy-Who-Lived," I spat.

"And I won't let you get killed, Anni," was his just reply. My shock, although masked, was more at being called by my real name than being recognized after... three? years. The potions master was just as surprised as I was, but he was also able to mask any and all emotions other than disgust.

"Are you stupid, you ignorant fool?" Corbin spat, pulling him into the room and slamming the door. "Are you trying to kill off her remaining family and all her former friends? Why do you suppose Hecate members are required to drop former lives and names when joining the Order?" she wanted to know.

"By using names, we put ourselves, our co-workers, even our families and friends, to risk. Upon joining the order, we merely 'disappear' from all the world but the one we live in until we retire and live in silence for the rest of our lives," Donovan recited through a monotonous voice. The Idiot Who Lived wasn't the first we had explained this to.

Prompt to this explanation, I turned on my heels to the door Harry had just come out of. "I'm off to the Vampyre cults. If I'm not back in a week, send inquiries, but don't send people. If I'm not back in two weeks, contact Sbagliato to send Darcie and Desdemona to Bulgaria. They know where the cults are, they know how to deal with the them, and they're better off with the vampires that the lot here," I gestured, nodding to Harry and Byron, whose extreme dislike for vampires was known.

Before even setting a foot past the doorframe, though, I ran into a solid (and well-built! w00t!) chest. Looking up (by a good FOOT or two; it bites being five foot two), I suppressed a groan. Maroon t-shirt led to a freckly neck, a chiseled face, and deep, RED hair. "Who're you?" Ron Weasley asked curiously.

Karma.

God DAMN you, karma.

------------

Isn't there some sort of law that goes, "Innocent until proven guilty?"

And is it just me, or is that a purely American concept?

Here I was, one of the top Hecate officials, being thoroughly cut, chewed, and SWALLOWED by these... aurors.

Don't get me wrong. Some aurors are absolutely dangerous. You wouldn't find ANY Hecate member in their right mind going after Mad-Eye Moody. He was as big of a legend in the US as he was in the UK.

But most aurors?

Hogwarts graduates who pulled an "O" in Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.Ls and went on to pass their N.E.W.Ts. Just because you have book-smarts doesn't mean you're cut out to be a savior. I mean, look at Hermione.

Back on topic! Aurors were more of a menace for my crew than a help. They, more than often, stuck their noses where certain snouts didn't belong. Like mysterious figures suddenly appearing in Bulgaria, questioning about the whereabouts of the Vampyre cults. Just because our ministry quietly funded us didn't mean EVERYBODY in the ministry business knew and approved of our order. The British ministry didn't even know about us, much to our founder's delight. Sadly, not even I knew who the person was. Sbagliato was ordered to follow the orders given by him. Or her.

Extraordinary Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley might have been in fighting against the dark arts, but my opinion, as stated above, is not too high of aurors. Too damn nosey! So, in the lecture I was getting... Let's just say it was rubbing me the wrong direction.

Between a pause for him to catch his breath, I smartly asked Ron, "Are you done lecturing me now? I have work to do?"

His already red face turned even redder. "Have you not been paying attention, you great prat? I'm not letting you leave this damn house!" he screamed, panting out of rage.

My eyes narrowed. "You and what army?"

Have I mentioned my extreme hate for karma?

---------------

Anti-apparation hexes aren't fun. My Hecate friends weren't helping. What help Corbin and Byron offered was turned down with vehemence by the Weasley clan. Almost immediately replying with "You and what army," several other Weasleys appeared. The twins and the eldest (Bob? Umm... Bert? Something like that) appeared out of thin air, having heard the dulcet tones of their youngest brother.

The closer of the twins poked my anchored shoulder and I growled deeply at him, much to his amusement. "She's got spunk," he suggested.

"She'll get MORE than that when you damn well let her free," I snarled, British accent giving way to the southern-America one that nine years of schooling in the south-east US bestowed upon me. Did I mention I was tied to a kitchen chair and forced to amuse myself by the twins' antics? They'd innocently sent a rocket off in the general direction of the potions master. Sadly, an incantation that hurt even MY ears sent it to an early demise. One I wouldn't wish to my enemies.

... Well... I had new enemies now. Ones that tied their prisoners to chairs and forced them to not complete their work because of past relations.

I resorted to dirty measures.

"Let me go."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Let me go."

This time, Harry replied. "Hardly."

"Let me go."

Brad (that's not it!) graced us with his pleasant voice (he's hot. He's allowed to have a pleasant voice...). "Sorry, Poppet. No can do."

"Let me go."

I think one of the twins was catching on. He started snickering.

"Letmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmego-" DEEP breath, "Letmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmego... I can continue," I offered.

Snape pulled out his wand. "Silencio."

I was offended, and glared darkly at him. Apparently, the man had never been to an American wizarding university. Or bothered to learn about their teaching methods. Corbin, Byron, and Donovan, on the other hand, did. And they all grinned wickedly.

"That won't stop her, mate," Byron muttered.

Closing my eyes, I starting chanting, though with the spell on me, none of my captors could hear.

Before long, a silent explosion filled the room, knocking things from their places on shelves and off the wall. A great screaming in the hallway was heard, and those in the kitchen looked greatly surprised. Even Byron, who had taught me the incantation to begin with.

I stood up shakily from the chair and brushed my hands off on my robe. "You going to throw anything else unexpected at me, or are you going to let me go?" I croaked. Wandless magic took more effort to perform than magic through a wand. With a wand, the ability to perform spells is taken out of its magical core and put into form of what certain incantations ordered it to. Wandless magic, however, had no phoenix-feather core or dragon heart string, or... any other magical beast memorabilia to perform the spells for you. It took That-Special-Energy out of your body. Using such a dark incantation wasn't highly advisable, either. The harder the spell, the more energy drained from your body.

Dumbledore looked severely at me. He had quietly observed all happenings with amusement until my incantation. "Such dark spells are not meant to be used without a wand, Miss Dimenticato. You are in no form to go anywhere at the moment. You are having trouble standing as it is."

Damn observational skills as much as karma. Byron noted my swaying condition and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, forcing me to lean against him.

"Bad girl, Deli. I'm going to stop teaching you spells if you continue to take advantage of them," he muttered into my ear. I swatted him sloppily with a hand.

"Save it for a secretary, Byron," I snorted, pushing away from him.

I turned to my audience, walking backwards out of the door. "You see? Perfectly capable of taking care of my-" I stumbled on my feet, knees buckling underneath me, to be caught by yet another pair of wonderfully strong arms. Maybe I'd enjoy this place much more than I thought, with all the strong and single men about.

"You weren't planning on going anywhere, Cherie, were you?" the person asked. I angled my head up (Again, I'm short) to see another mop of red hair. I groaned.

"I suppose not, not with all you Weasleys running about. How many more of you do I have to run into until I'm free to do what I want?" I whined. Secretly, I was enjoying the arms around me. So I could easily fall for a strong and handsome guy. Most girls do, you know?

He grinned at me, showing off his wonderfully white teeth. "You're missing a brother, a sister, and two parental units. Until then, you're free, darling." He looked up from my eyes. "Where do you want me to put this one?"

I snarled at him, clawing at his arms. "Lemme go," I slurred, jabbing him with my right index finger. Poking people. Such a fun habit. Poke, poke, poke, JAB, pokepokepokepokepo- "If you don't let me go, I'll bite you."

He grinned snarkily at me. "Great try, Poppet, but no cigar," he replied, lifting me off my feet (WHEEE!!!!) and cradling me in his arms.

"Careful, mate. She does bite," Byron warned.

"And I don't smoke. Screw the cigar," I muttered under my breath, reveling in my new position. Let it be known that although I try to avoid redheads at all costs (bad experiences with a few red-haired vampires. Do yourself a favor and don't ask), that when held by a redhead with an obvious six-pack (and boy, could I feel it, all pressed up to him and such), I'd sit back and enjoy the ride.

"Please be as so kind as to take Ms. Granger into one of the clean spare rooms, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore stated evenly. That's another thing I learned through my studies with the Hecate order. In life, you eventually run across one of those People whose orders are listened to (not to be mistaken with the type of People whose orders aren't listened to. That explains the Great Battle of Belanonadanona, a famous city in France. Or, it would have been a great battle and a famous city, had the Belanonadanonian Army's leading official been listened to). Dumbledore was one of those people. Kept a level head and such, I suppose. So, I wasn't surprised to find the Weasley-male pushing his way out of the kitchen and up a flight of stairs.

"Wake me at the next chance of escape," I muttered into his chest, closing my drooping eyes. He chuckled.

"I would, Love, but I'm afraid of Mum's reaction to finding out I let you escape. Feel assured one of us will be watching for your well-being. And Snape's got your wand."

My eyes snapped open at that. "How the hell did he get THAT?" I questioned, trying to sit up. I was rewarded by getting pressed up closer to his chest.

"Stop squirming, or I'll accidentally drop you. Wouldn't want that to happen, now would we?" he asked with a chuckle. I was beaming in my head; his chest rumbled when he chuckled. Fangirl, what? He continued. "Snape doesn't have to explain himself. Or reveal his little secrets. It's like... he's got permission to hex you if you even ask about them. Believe me, because we've tried. I've always wanted to know how he gets his robes to billow the way they do. And then there's a fear factor. Most of us are too afraid to ask of his secrets. Spent too many years having detention with him on Wednesday nights, scrubbing cauldrons with toothbrushes and such."

By this time, we had gone up two flights of stairs and he had stopped outside of a room. I snuggled back down in his arms and sighed. "Reminds me of Romulus. Except that I'd willingly spend time with Rommy. He's very random. You never know what you'll get out of one of his meetings, or whenever he'll show up. I like it when life's a continuous PLEASANT surprise." I don't know -how- I could have placed ANY more emphasis on "pleasant".

The Weasley laughed as he placed me down on a bed. "And when the surprises aren't too pleasant?" he wanted to know.

I turned to my side, digging my head down into the pillow provided for me. "Then I get testy. And nobody likes it when I'm testy. Ask Byron."

It's sad when you're asleep before you can hear a sarcastic reply. But that's me.

AN: Chapter two etait finir. *grins* I hope Anni didn't come across as "falling in love with a Weasley". Because she ISN'T. She's a fangirl. One of the people who'll fall for a chiseled face and a pair of abs. I have plans for who she falls in love with. *grins* But I'm sure we can all guess -who-, by how I ended up pairing this fic *Sighs*

-Achi-chan

PS: Wow... I never intended on going on with this story. Um... if I get good reviews, I might continue? hinthintnudgenudgeWHAPgiggle