Just a quick note. I plannedthe wholeof this story before Half Blood Prince came out, so it is set directly after Order of the Phoenix and while I will try and incorporate some of HBP into the story, there will be variations. In other words - this story is not and will not be Half Blood Prince compliant.

I also want to give a shout out to my two reviewers from last chapter - sf-former-mk, and Lillian Rigual. Thank you for your kind words. I hope to live up to them.

The rest of the week progressed as usual. Snape was still horrible to Harry in potions, and from what Dawn said she wasn't any better off. Defense was going quite well, the new professor was well liked by all the students even the Slytherins were happy with the appointment. Pansy Parkinson had been overheard complimenting his technique, though Hermione seemed to think she liked him more for his looks than anything else. Overall Harry was enjoying his sixth year much more than he had his fifth.

He hadn't forgotten about the book Professor Snape had given him. It was full of meditation techniques and ways to clear your mind, and though Harry felt hokey doing some of them, he did try. The problem was that every time the instructions included "sit cross-legged and…" images of long-bearded Indian fellows wearing turbans popped into his head. By itself that wouldn't have been so bad, but the long beard reminded him of Dumbledore and his mind kept flashing him pictures of Dumbledore, bare chested and in a turban, sitting on a flying carpet like a genie in some bad Hanna-Barbera cartoon, and Harry would break up laughing at the thought.

There was one technique Harry was especially anxious to try. It had been developed by a French wizard named Cloutier and was more involved than many of the other techniques. It was calledtirer la couverture, which the book translated to 'pull the curtain back,' and it enabled the user to go to a higher plane of conciousness and "see" spells. Harry thought it could be used to tell if a vision was real or if it was one Voldemort had planted, and was quite excited about the technique, but when he mentioned it to Hermione she wasn't very keen on the idea.

"That's very advanced magic, Harry," she said. "Cloutier was a legend in his time. Besides, I don't know how helpful it would be even if you were able to pull it off. It creates an 'altered state,' so you can see things you wouldn't normally see, and a very specific ritual has to be performed. It's not the type of thing you can do all the time, or at a moment's notice."

"I still need to try," Harry insisted. "Anything that can help me keep Voldemort from planting visions in my head. I've been practicing concentration drills and I know I'm close. This might be just what I need. Please…"

They continued on in this vein for quite a while, Ron helping Harry where he could, and eventually Hermione did agree to help, although she had reservations.

"Well, you're obviously going to do it anyway and I might as well help you where I can," she said. "But you owe me."

"I know," Harry said, wondering just what she would want when she called in the favor.

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Hermione wasn't really needed, though. When it came right down to it, there was littleanyone could do to help. Sure, there were certain herbs to acquire, and there was the ritual pouring of red dragon sand, but the trance itself was something only Harry could perform. Ron insisted on staying in the room to make sure Harry would be okay, but Hermione explained that the presence of another person would make it more difficult for Harry to achieve the altered state. Eventually Ron gave in, but only after announcing that he would go no further than the common room. Harry was a little annoyed at Ron's reaction, didn't he think he could perform a spell by himself, but was glad for the support and felt a little more secure knowing he would be just downstairs.

Unfortunately, when Saturday came around and Harry finally had time to do the ritual, he found Neville, Dean, and Seamus already occupying the dorm room.

"Hey, Neville," Harry called. "Didn't you have something you wanted to show Dean and Seamus?"

Neville didn't get the hint. "No. Nothing."

"Remember? You were telling me this morning that you wanted to take them out and show them that… thing."

"What thing?" Harry visibly deflated. Neville could be rather thick sometimes. Luckily Seamus wasn't.

"What's going on, Harry?" he asked. "You got a girl coming over or something?"

A thread! Thank you, Seamus. "Er…," Harry said, not wanting to have to go into details and come up with a convincing lie.

"That's alright!" Seamus said as he rounded up Dean and Neville and started towards the door. "I've got an essay I need to finish, anyway. Just remember to return the favor sometime." He gave Harry a quick wink and dragged the other two Gryffindors out the door, leaving a thankful Harry in solitude.

"Okay, now what do I do," he asked himself aloud, though he already knew the answer. Ron had helped him memorize the steps to the ritual - he could not allow a single step to go wrong. The first thing Harry needed to do was clear a space on the floor. He then set up two platforms for burning herbs, one to the left of where he'd be sitting and one to the right, and placed the herb mixture on the pedestal. He then took the red dragon sand, thoughtfully procured for him by Hermione, and poured a circle around himself, being sure that he made only one complete circuit and left no gaps. He then lit the herbs, sat in the center of his creation, and, just like it said in the book, focused on his breathing.

Harry breathed, and waited, and waited, and waited. It seemed to take forever for the spell to kick in, and Harry at first feared it wouldn't work. Hermione had told him that if there was any part of him that didn't think it would work, it definitely wouldn't, so he banished those fears, ridiculing them out of himself. He continued to focus on his breathing, the feel of his skin, anything to keep his mind occupied on himself. Hours passed, and eventually Harry began to feel the ritual kicking in.

The first thing he noticed was that all sound had diminished. When the ritual started there had been the typical castle noises - people coming and going, games being played on the grounds, doors slamming and whatnot, but he no longer heard any of that. He opened his eyes and noticed for the first time that it was dark outside. It had been light when he started. How had he missed the sunset? Then, as he turned his head he noticed that his vision was distinctly different. It seemed that objects were out of focus, though they weren't exactly blurred, he could see them clearly enough, but objects seemed to trail behind themselves, like it took a moment for things to catch up to his perception of them. He began to walk around, slowly at first, but as he became used to the sensation he was able to walk somewhat normally.

The first place Harry went to was his nightside table. There was a picture of him, Hermione, and Ron, taken one day at the Burrow, and he picked it up to study it closer. It was his favorite photo of the three of them, taken just after the Quidditch World Cup before his fourth year. The three of them were sitting on a bench in front of the pond, smiling and waving inside the frame. He remembered Dawn being angry that he didn't want her in the picture, but wait… That's not right. Dawn wasn't there, then. Dawn was… Where was she?

Harry replaced the picture and went to his dresser where he kept a picture of Dawn. It was familiar to him, he was standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her, Sirius behind them, but the picture changed while he was holding it. Dawn faded, and left him holding a picture of only himself and Sirius. Slowly the picture changed again and it was back to the way he remembered it.

"What?" he said aloud. It was the first word he had spoken since the trance had taken effect, but he wasn't too surprised at the change to his voice. It was as if he was hearing it spoken from far away, and all he was able to pick up was the echo of his words. He focused on the picture again, and once more the image of Dawn flickered and disappeared before reoccupying its space in the frame.

Harry's heart started beating faster, partly in fear and partly in anger. What was going on? He dug out the photo album Hagrid had made for him after his first year. There were a couple of pictures in the very back that contained Dawn in them. Again, just like in the photo on his nightside table, Dawn's image faded before slowly reappearing again. It happened in every picture involving Dawn - a couple of them even showed a pregnant Lily Potter holding an infant Harry, and in these Lily was the one who changed, it was as if she had never been pregnant at all.

Harry slammed the book closed and bolted for the common room. He had to see Ron and Hermione. Maybe they would know what it meant.

As he walked the stairs with difficulty, because of the distortion in his vision, he saw that the common room was mostly empty except for a few second years and his friends. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting in the chairs in front of the fire, but it wasn't until he came up to them that he noticed Dawn there as well.

"Harry," she said, and again it was like hearing an echo, as if Dawn wasn't standing right in front of him. "Harry. You don't look right. What in the world have you been doing?" She asked it with a look of concern on her face, and a little bit of anger, but Harry could only watch as she herself faded in and out of his view. Her books, her bag, everything that belonged to her disappeared as well. Harry knew at once what was going on.

"You're not my sister," he said. Someone had changed his memories, made him think he had a sister, when really she was no more related to him than Voldemort. Voldemort! Of course. He was the one who had done it! That's why he hadn't attacked anything over the summer. This 'sister'… thisthing standing in front of him wasn't even real. It was all fake, his memories of her, his feelings for her, none of it was real. Hell, not even she was real. And Ron and Ginny, and Hermione? They had to be under the spell, too.

Suddenly the world snapped back into focus. The trance ended.

"Yeah," Dawn said. "Like I even wanted to be related to your nasty…" She was suddenly interrupted by Harry running forward and pinning her arms. "Ow! What are you doing?"

"What are you," he asked

"Get off me!"

"You want to hurt me?"

"Let go of me, you freak," she yelled. Ron and Hermione got up to help her, Ginny seemed to be too shocked by Harry's behavior to do much of anything.

"You deal with me," Harry said, shaking her as he did, and putting a bit of force behind it.

"Ron? Hermione?" Dawn pleaded for help.

"You stay away from my friends!" Harry shouted. He pushed her then, and she flipped over the edge of the chair, landing hard on her back. She appeared to be dazed, but Harry knew she would recover shortly. "Don't let her go," Harry ordered Ron and Hermione, before storming out the portrait hole.

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Once in the hall Harry was at a loss for what to do. Who could he go to? Dawn had everybody under her spell, even the headmaster. He started for the Entrance Hall, figuring it at least gave him someplace to go. Then he remembered the monk's parting words earlier that week. That man knew something! But how would he find him? Then faintly, from behind him, Harry heard his name being called. He ducked behind the nearest tapestry and watched as both Ron and Hermione went running by. They apparently had left Ginny alone with Dawn. Harry was thankful they hadn't apparently spotted him and he headed for the last place he had seen the monk - Hogsmeade Orchard.

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The tunnel behind the one-eyed witch had never served Harry better. Sneaking out of Honeyduke's was a bit of a challenge as there weren't the usual crowds of Hogwart's students to blend into, but Harry made it easily enough. He exited the store quickly and stayed off the main road of the village so he wouldn't be seen and recognized. His luck stayed with him and he made it to the orchard without incident. The next step was to find the monk.

How to reach that end Harry had no idea. It had seemed simple enough, go back to the orchard and find the guy, but Harry really didn't know that much about him. He only knew he had met him once here, and seen him in Diagon Alley. The first thing he decided to do was find the place he and the witch had had their duel earlier in the week.

It took Harry longer to find than he would have thought, and he wasn't helped by the fact it was dark and the trees let in very little light. He lit the end of his wand in exasperation, and just as quickly put it out. It wouldn't do good to advertise his presence when he didn't know who all was watching.

Harry looked for the better part of an hour and hadn't been able to find the place. He started his search by wandering aimlessly, but realizing this was getting him nowhere he started again and used a more methodical approach. Walking each row and peering between the trees, Harry kept his eyes open, both on the path ahead and the trees to the side. He was nearly two-thirds of the way through the orchard when he finally found something.

What he'd found he wasn't sure, but it was magical, of that he was certain. It was apparently some sort of ball, slightly larger than a bludger, though completely smooth, and seemingly made of glass of some type. From it's center came an eerie, yellow glow. Harry could actually feel the magic in it, it filled him with the same emotion of hope and sense of uplifting as phoenix song, though this was nowhere near as strong. Unsure what to do with the object, he stuffed it inside the inner pocket of his robes, which had the added bonus of hiding the light, and continued his search.

It wasn't until he started back up that same row that Harry realized there was more to be found than just the glowing ball. He had been so distracted by his find that he hadn't really looked at the area all that closely. Now that he did he wondered how he missed it. Some of the nearby trees were charred and a couple had limbs that were completely broken. A jolt of anticipation shot through him as he realized this was the place he and the witch had fought. He immediately lit his wand and for the first time surveyed the area clearly.

The first thing he noticed were the spots on the grass where stray spells had made contact, they were similar to the marks on the trees, and typical of the marks left behind by stray spells during a battle. He also noticed a few curious holes in the ground, and he knelt for a closer look. Each was approximately the size of a knut and most went less than half a centimeter into the ground, though some were deeper than others. The earth hadn't been removed from the holes, just compacted, as if something heavy was set on it and pushed its way into the soil. Unfortunately the grass appeared to have been trimmed recently and hadn't retained any other clues that Harry could ---

He quickly spun around and had his wand at the ready. Something was making noises behind him, the sounds were soft and wheezing, it almost sounded like Parseltongue, though Harry hadn't understood any of the words. He thought about sending a stunner into the darkness, but was saved the trouble when the very thing that had been making the noise walked into the light shed by the wand. And then collapsed.

It was the monk.

"My journey is over, I think," the man said as Harry rushed to his side, kneeling by his fallen body and helping to roll him onto his back. Harry got the man into a sitting position with his back against a tree, and it was only at this point that he got a clear view of the man's face. He had been beaten, and badly. The left eye was swollen completely shut, the right seemed to be swelling to match, but the man was able to keep it open and fixed on Harry. The right arm was twisted unnaturally and there wasn't a place on the man's body that wasn't covered with dried blood. The man needed help, and quickly.

"We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey. Come on!" Harry tried pulling the man to his feet, but wasn't strong enough to do it alone. The monk wasn't helping.

"You must protect the key," the monk said, evidently in great pain. The words were coming between short and raspy breaths.

"We can protect it together," Harry said, still trying to pull the man to his feet. "Come on!"

"No," the monk said. "I am finished." Harry gave up on his efforts to get the man to stand and instead listened to what he was trying to say. Before he spoke the man seemed to collapse even further. "You must protect it now."

"The key," Harry asked. He felt the panic rising up from within him. The last thing he needed was one more thing to protect. He was already suffering under the responsibility of being the only one who could stop Voldemort, why did the key have to come to him? "Why do I have to protect it?"

"The key is… important… powerful… a portal. My Order… my brethren. We were its only keepers. Then, the… the abomination," the monk's heavily accented English was beginning to falter along with his body. "The abomination found us. We had to protect it. Many more will die… if… she finds it. We needed you to protect it… with your life." The man's breathing was shallower and more raspy now. Harry would need to ask his questions quickly.

"The 'abomination,'" Harry said, quoting the man. "Who is it? What do they have to do with Voldemort? Why is this key so important to them?"

"The abomination…," the man started, but paused as his body was racked with a heavy fit of coughing. "Voldemort does not know of her. Only my brethren… and her followers… Not many know… She is powerful; the key will make her stronger. Many have died already; more will die if you cannot stop her." The man grew silent, apparently that was all Harry would be able to get on the subject. He changed the focus of his questions. What exactly was this key he kept hearing about?

"I found this," he said, pulling out the glowing ball, "Is this the key?"

"No, that is… protection. The key is… For centuries it had no form. Energy. Pure energy. We gave it form. We gave it life." The monk rested himself a moment and Harry's panic was getting the best of him.

"Why can'tyoutake care of it? Give it to the order. I'll-" He was interrupted.

"The order… My brethren… Dagon… is no more. I am the last." Harry knew his face was showing his surprise, but he didn't try to hide it. The Order this man had been referring to wasn't the Order of the Phoenix? Did that mean nobody else knew? He was the only one whocoulddo it then.

"You said you gave the key form. You gave it life," Harry said aloud. His panic had begun to subside, but was being replaced with a gnawing feeling coming from the pit of his stomach. He was beginning to understand something about the key, and this something was scarier than a thousand Voldemorts combined.

"We made it… We had to… We gave it form. Made it flesh. Sent it to you…"

"Dawn," Harry said finally. The monk nodded. When he resumed talking it was with a renewed vigor.

"We needed to know Harry Potter would protect it. We knew that what Harry Potter wanted more than anything was family. We gave her her memories, we remade yours. Everything had to be moved to fit the key into place. You wanted a family. You wished for a family. We gave you your wish."

The monk seemed to expect gratitude, but Harry gave him rage. "What is she," he yelled. "You put her next to me! To my friends! What does she do! What is she!" It was all Harry could do to hold himself back and not add to the man's injuries, but his fists were clenched in anticipation.

"She doesn't know," the monk answered weakly. "She remembers nothing. All that Dawn Potter knows is she was born, she will live her life, and she will die. She can not do that without you… She needs you… She's an innocent in this."

"What is she?" Harry asked again, his rage subsiding, leaving him with only a yearning for understanding. His question was more of a plea than anything else. He really didn't expect an answer.

The monk struggled to breathe. He made a great effort to speak, and Harry had to lean close to hear the words. "Your sister… she's human."

The man seemed about to say something more, but didn't. It took Harry a moment to realize there were no more breaths. The eyes were open, and still staring at something in the distance. Harry reached up with his fingers and slowly closed them. At a loss for what to do, Harry took out his wand, transfigured a nearby tree limb into a shovel, and began to dig.

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It was late when Harry walked into the common room that night. He expected it to be empty, however, Ron and Hermione were waiting up for him, and even worse, Dawn was with them. As soon as she saw him she stood up and headed for her dormitory. There was an angry look on her face, which Harry couldn't blame her for, and though he tried to catch her eye as she brushed past him she didn't even glance his way. Instead she muttered "I wasn't bothering them," before storming up the stairs. Harry could only watch helplessly as she disappeared around the curve.

Hermione was the first to speak. "What the hell happened, Harry?" She softened before adding "And what are you doing?"

"Nothing happened," Harry said. "Brother and sister stuff." His eyes were still on the girl's staircase where Dawn disappeared.

"I don't think so, mate," Ron said. "That's never happened with any my brothers or sisters… well sister," he added after a pause.

"Guys! Just…" Harry's temper was flaring again. It had been a long day, and he didn't think he could take their questioning again.

"Harry," Hermione said. "Does this have something to do with tirer la couverture?"

"No," Harry snapped at her, and immediately felt bad about it so he tried to pull his anger into check. "It didn't work. Look, I need to see Dawn. Can you go get her for me? You know I can't go up the girl's stairs."

"Yeah. No problem," Hermione said, somewhat taken aback, and hurried off toward the dormitory. Ron cleared his throat nervously.

"Umm… I'm going to bed," he added and took off in the opposite direction.

Harry remained standing while waiting for Dawn. He supposed Hermione must be having a bit of trouble with her, the wait seemed inordinately long, but eventually he saw Dawn's familiar form slowly walking down the stairs. She didn't look at him, and went straight to her favorite chair before slouching uncomfortably and staring into the fire.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, realizing how just how lame the words sounded. Dawn wasn't appeased and she actually scoffed at his words. She waited a moment as if debating whether to speak at all, and when she did, she didn't even turn to look at him.

"You hurt my arm."

"I know. I'm sorry." God! Wasn't there another way to say that?

"Did I ever tell you about my theory," she said after a moment, "It goes where you're not really my brother. I think Mom adopted you from a shoebox full of baby howler monkeys and never told you because she was afraid it would hurt your delicate baby feelings."

She was angry, obviously, and there was venom in her words, but Harry wasn't really that hurt. He had expected worse. "That's your theory, huh," he said, walking over to sit in the chair next to her.

"Explains your fashion sense," she answered. "And your smell. Not to mention your hair."

"And Aunt Petunia," Harry asked with a smile. He wanted to see just how far she would be willing to take it.

"She didn't know," Dawn said cuttingly. Harry let out a soft sigh; he would have his work cut out for him.

"I'm really sorry," he said, noticing again just how inadequate the words were. They apparently sounded the same way to Dawn.

"Broken record much," she said, not even trying to hide her anger.

"You always do that!" Harry snapped. "You can't even take an apology! You've always been that way, ever since…" He paused. He was about to say 'ever since we were little,' but Dawn wasn't really there when he was little. Then why did he remember it? The feelings were the same, whether they had actually happened or whether the memories had been created. He had hurt Dawn unbearably, something he had promised he would never do. He didn't know what he could say to make it better. "I had a really bad day."

"Yeah, well… Join the club."

"Can I be president," Harry asked, trying to coax a smile. It didn't work.

"I'm president!" Dawn said quickly. As an afterthought she added "You can be the janitor."

Well, at least it was some form of joke. "Okay," Harry said, willing to take whatever insults she was going to throw at him. He felt he deserved it.

Harry sat quietly another moment. He wanted to put his arm around her, to somehow comfort her, but he didn't know just how far he could push it. He settled instead for the uncomfortable silence, feeling some relief that she was at least accepting his presence. She was the one who eventually broke the silence.

"Harry," she said.

"Yeah," he asked back. He was going to give her permission to ask any question she wanted. And promised her silently that he would answer.

"What happens now?"

She was scared. Of what he wasn't sure. Voldemort? Or the witch? The monk? He couldn't honestly give her reassurance, not when he didn't have any himself. He settled for complete non-committance.

"I don't know."

And with that he reached across the arm of the chair and pulled her close, planting a chaste, brotherly kiss to the part of her hair.