A/N: Thanks a bunch to Alexandria Fairchild for my first, and only review :-). I hope this one gets a lot more reviews; I have problems writing knowing that no one is reading. So if you want the story to keep going, review, review, review!
"I thought I told you to pack last night," snapped McGonagall to a very sleepy and groggy Jax.
She stirred, aimlessly staring in the general direction of the lady in front of her.
"Get up! Get dressed! I told her," mumbled McGonagall as she made her way out of Jax's room, her deep green robes snapping around the corner behind her.
Jax, who had retreated to her room, locked the door, and cried herself to sleep, hadn't been conscious since eight o' clock the previous night. She had once again fallen asleep in the clothes she had worn to school the day before, and was quite uncomfortable.
She grabbed old jeans and a green windbreaker. No need to dress up, right?
"Still not packed?" asked an agitated McGonagall. "Well, no, I suppose not…" she gave a wave of her wand, and in came a suitcase from the attic. Jax watched with a certain amazement as with another flick of the wand all her clothes folded themselves and were placed into the open trunk.
"I'm not a miracle worker with homely spells, but it'll do," said McGonagall, satisfied with her handiwork. "Brush your hair, girl, it's a mess." She began bustling around the room and throwing out orders for Jax to comply. "You won't be warm enough. Don't you have anything other that doesn't look so… mugglish? Well, I guess not… for heaven's sake, move quicker! We've got a lot to do!"
After twenty minutes of McGonagall nitpicking Jax at everything that appeared to be wrong with her, she was somewhat prepared for wherever they were going.
"Well, come on girl! You don't expect to stand there the entire day, do you?" Jax rolled her eyes and followed McGonagall out the door, her bulky suitcases making it a terrible inconvenience.
Jax thought about asking McGonagall to do something to her luggage so that she wouldn't have to carry them down the stairs – she usually kicked them down, explaining the dinged up leather – but she relented in her quest.
"Hello, darling," greeted Jax's mother at the bottom of the stairs. In her arms was a plate full of English muffins – Jax's favorite – and a glass of milk.
"Thanks, mom." The simple gesture of making her daughter breakfast made Jax want to break down and cry. She hadn't really thought of what this entire ordeal was supposed to mean, the only thing she had been concentrating on the night before was how horrible her parents were.
"Five minutes," said McGonagall with an easier tone than before. "Then, we need to go," she sharpened back up quickly. She exited through the Pierce's front door with a bang, causing a cold wind to drift through the front hallway.
Jax's lips quivered. Five minutes wasn't enough.
Her mother set the food on a small table below a mirror next to door, and both her parents swooped her into a huge hug. One minutes passed, then two, three, four…
"Keep yourself safe," her father insisted.
"Yes, please do," her mother drawled out in her distinct Irish accent, which was now distinguishable due to the withdrawal of constant tears. Now only a small trail flowed down her right cheek.
"I love you, and, uh…" Jax trailed off.
"We'll keep in touch," her mother completed silently.
"Bye."
Then she escaped through to the other side of the door. She hadn't even eaten any of the breakfast her mother had so lovingly made.
xxx
"Good morning, Jax," greeted a cheerful Dumbledore on the outside her front door.
"Uh… hi," she replied.
In front of her stood Dumbledore and McGonagall, and three other people she didn't recognize: a man with a worn out face and raggedy clothes, a witch with bright bubblegum pink hair, and another man with a scarred and pitted face and an eyeball three sizes too large for his head.
Her childhood books were right; witches and wizards were freak shows.
"Please meet Remus Lupin," Lupin took a small bow, removing his cap, "Nymphadora Tonks," Dumbledore ignored her scowl as she took Jax's wary hand and shook it, "and Alastor Moody." Moody's gnarled hand reached out and a reluctant Jax slowly took it.
"It's not contagious, girl," he instructed.
"Er… right." She had the sudden want for hand sanitizer.
"As Professor McGonagall might have informed you, you have a very busy day ahead of you," he handed Jax a small, velvet, maroon, pouch that jingled. "I need to be going now, but these three fine people," he motioned towards Lupin, Tonks, and Moody, "will be accompanying you.
Professors, Tonks, I've been assured you know what to do?"
Tonks and Lupin nodded; Moody's eye whizzed.
"I'll take that as a yes, Alastor," said Dumbledore.
Jax's face read that she was very, very scared. Here was a beggar, Mr. Hyde, and a woman who looked like she came out of Willy Wonka.
She began to have half the mind to run inside the door and never come out again, giving her all the more reason to when an owl swooped down upon them and dropped something into
"The car should be here any minute," said Tonks.
"Don't get used to it, girl," snarled Moody. "You'll have to learn to be one of us one of these days."
"Alastor!" scolded Tonks.
Moody's normal eye rolled as his unusually large one fell to the back of his head, causing Jax to gasp slightly.
"It's okay, that happens occasionally…" Tonks hit the side of Moody's head and the eye popped back into its proper place.
"Er… right," said a wary Jax.
A gasp next to Jax caught her attention. McGonagall and Dumbledore held a piece of parchment, reading it with lightning speed agility; McGonagall's mouth stood half-open.
"We have to go, now, Albus."
Dumbledore stood for a few seconds, as if McGonagall's proposal was a complex and intricate statement.
"Yes, I suppose we must."
"What's going on, Dumbledore?" growled Moody's low voice.
"Harry," Dumbledore simply replied and both McGonagall and he disappeared once again with a loud crack.
xxx
Harry blinked his eyes open to five pairs of concerned ones looking down upon him. There were Hermione's chocolate brown ones, Dumbledore's blue ones, Ron's bright red hair falling into his face, making it impossible to see his eyes…
What had happened?
"Oh Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, as she wrapped her arms around him.
"You gave us such a fright," exclaimed Mrs. Weasley.
"I knew you'd be okay, mate," said Ron, as he patted Harry on the shoulder. Harry noted that his face looked horrible, like he'd been up all night.
As if he had just realized his scar was throbbing with pain, Harry's hand flew to his forehead as he abruptly sat up in his bed, knocking a teary-eyed Hermione off of him.
"ARGH!" His second hand flew up to his first hand, applying more pressure to the aching area. His breathing quickened, white-hot pain seared throughout his entire body, sweat appeared all across his forehead. His eyes watered, blinding him to his surroundings.
"CRUCIO!" came the cry of a familiar voice, that of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Horrific laughter came from a far corner.
"Do you enjoy it, Master?" Her face filled with joy.
"Very entertaining, Bella," hissed a raspy, haunting voice, one that caused Harry to shake even harder.
"CRUICO!" Bellatrix shouted once more.
Shrieks of pain erupted in Harry's head.
"Yes, Bella, very nice. But in all that's fair, may we put them out of their misery?" came the haunting voice again.
"Right, Master. Of course." Bellatrix raised her wand high above her head and arched her arm.
"NO!" came another shriek.
"Avada Kedavra."
"Stop it… stop it, please," Harry cried out as the pain died down. The blurriness of the tears fell down his face, his scar only slightly tingling now.
There stood McGonagall, Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley, all looking frightened out of their wits.
But Dumbledore had a rare look to his face: angry. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at Harry's forehead.
"Legilimens," he muttered.
Realizing what Dumbledore was trying to do, Harry reached out and knocked the wand out of his hand.
"DON'T!" he yelled. "You don't want to see that," he warned. His body was shaking; his train of thought was a huge blur. He sank back into the bed he lay in, Hermione and Ron's eyes staring at him in shock.
Harry closed his eyes and shook his head in sorrow.
"Albus…" squeaked McGonagall. "Should we take him somewhere? St. Mungo's?" she said in a quiet, yet clearly audible voice.
"No," he whispered. "Molly," he called over a very, very scared Mrs. Weasley, "let him rest. No one is to bother him, not even Ron or Hermione."
Harry shifted in his bed and turned to his side, showing back to the rest of them.
"It's obvious we can't tell him anything. Not now, not anytime soon."