Getting Settled, Settling Vegeance

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the series characters or anything, I own NOTHING. Those rights go to JK Rowling and such.

Hey, sorry i haven't updated for awhile. I wasn't sure i was going to continue, I'm still not. I don't really know where its going or if even I find it interesting. Plus I'm moving in 4 days, and all sorts of stressful stuff like that. ANy ideas or suggestions would be great, like -- should i even bother trying to make this fic end/ make sense? SUggestions? ANyone? ANything? At all?

Ember was quite surprised at the lack of students as she marched determinedly through the entrance of the castle. They must all be at that Hogsmeade place, she thought bitterly. She had now been grabbed, forced-feed, shoved over a railing, fallen, been disgustingly hit on and attacked, and then stalked, all within the last hour. She was not a happy camper. She noticed nothing of the brightness of the day or the cool breeze, but rather marched determinedly down the halls without looking left or right. She didn't actually know where she was going, but somehow, she had great faith that she would get there. Down a winding staircase, around the corner, through a magnificent, towering door, she found herself in a great hall. The Great Hall, the voice corrected.She rolled her eyes and walked down the long rows of empty tables. The ceiling was as beautiful as anything she had ever seen; like a midday sky with sunlight and falling blossoms. The room was quite empty, she was sure—but wait—No! There, sitting at the end of one of the raised tables! It was a man, frail, one might think at first because of his age. One would be sorely mistaken upon closer examination though, as power and confidence, but also lightheartedness radiated from his being. He wore purple robes with gold embroidery….and she had seen him before. The man from the infirmary.

He rose as she approached him, spreading his arms out wide.

"So you are the enigma!" He stated rather jollily.

"Um…Excuse me?"
"The enigma. I knew that something was wrong, of course, one can be quite attune to this sort of thing, you know. So I decided to have a drink and wait for fate to find me. Biscuit?" He offered her a platter. She took one, "Thanks."

"Yet, my dear, I still must ask you who you are, and, more importantly, how you came about to find yourself in my school?"

There was a long silence before she explained the limited amount of knowledge she held, leaving out details such as the apparent amnesia, lack of magical-ness, and the strange voice in her head.

Dumbledore cocked his head at a strange angle when she finished. Fortunately for her, he had not asked her very many questions about herself once he had satisfied that she was, indeed, from the future. But he was not content with some aspect of her story, or he wouldn't have been looking at her like that. He began, "But you leave out…that you are a Muggle?"

Silence.

"Oh yeah. That."

He nodded, "That was part of the problem, wasn't it? They thought a Muggle could not handle such a gift –or curse, as a deflecting shield, and had hoped very much that you would die in your abnormally long trip through time."

"…I suppose."

Silence again.

"Well," Dumbledore clapped his hands together in an inappropriately peppy manner for such a somber development, "it seems as if you'll be staying for awhile! Follow me."

And with this, he was up with his robes fluttering about his ankles, leaving the girl trailing behind him.

"…And so she will be our guest, until such a time that….well, such a time that something happens to change…something. The situation is a bit vague, but we'll get used to it." Dumbledore grinned as if this were all a wonderful new adventure. His staff just sat in slightly disturbed awe, transfixed on the slight girl in front of them. The majority of Dumbledore's teaching staff had congregated within the teachers' chambers. They were gazing at the figure of the girl –well, young woman before them. She was practically smothered by the plush pillows of the couch upon which she sat, but even so, her discomfort was apparent. She had long, knotted dark hair, and was wearing what appeared to be rags over a hospital gown. Even so, her figure was apparent, yet she did seem in need of several hot meals and a bath. Weeks of hospital sponge baths could do that to you. As Dumbledore finished his announcement, questions began to come,

"How far, exactly, did she travel from the future?"

"A Muggle? An actual Muggle? But how?"

"That doesn't make sense, how could magic not work on her? It's unheard of, preposterous!"

"How will we ever explain the presence of a Muggle in our facility?"

Ember had zoned out for most of Dumbledore's speech, but now she was growing a little annoyed. In fact, all the annoyances of the past few hours, days, weeks, were now amounting to this. She took a deep breath, "IAM A MUGGLE, NOT DEAF! I AM SITTING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, AND YES, I WOULD APPRECIATE IT IF YOUR SLIGHTLY BELITTLING COMMENTS WERE ADDRESSED TO ME!" She paused, but Dumbledore interrupted, "We are all adults here. I'm sure we will be able to find a suitable explanation for Miss Cherrywood's appearance." Ember winced at the name, wishing she had been a little bit more clever when she was asked to provide one. In any case, Dumbledore continued, "She is a recent graduate from a prestigious school in…elsewhere. She needs practical experience in teaching, her chosen future occupation, and cannot very well teach her former peers in her old school. So she was sent here, to learn from the best. She will be an aide to various teachers and perform other such tasks." Ember looked straight into his eyes. Though his tone of voice was pleasant and calm, she could see that this was no mere suggestion" This was an order. Though she was in the past now, she no less a potential threat than she had been thirty years from now.

Ember was quite ambivalent in regards to her new situation. On the one hand, she was quite grateful that they had not decided to simply kill her. But on the other hand, she did not like being distrusted. She did not like being different. She did not like being thought of as weak because she was non-magic. And she did not like being locked up. She was in the castle 24/7, under the persistently watchful eyes of the staff. She was trying with all her will-power to ignore the warning voice in her head, and to avoid making any real relationships among the people she met: she knew how too many of them would die, how, why, when. Desensitized, she did not even realize how distant she was to th elife around her; always an outsider.

She did, however, find slight relief in the classes. Though certainly detested by the Slytherin teachers, the student population had no idea of her Muggleness and she often proved to liven up class to some degree. Even Professor Binn's lectures grew interesting as the class couldn't help but watch the young woman sitting at a desk in the back, Binn's facing away from her. She was juggling wadded up balls of paper. Clumisily at first, she grew better at it each day, finally managing to get 14 wads up in the air at once. All the while, the class pondered if she even knew she had a following, as she had never once acknowledged them as they watched her juggling attempts.

All of the Mauraders appreciated the diversion from studies, but Sirius in particular was captivated by the girl. She changed as the classes did; indifferent in Binns', hardworking in McGonagals', sarcastic and witty in the Slytherin Potion class, where she was most unappreciated by the teacher, Professor Donis. She was small, dark: piercing eyes, purple-black hair, and high-arching eyebrows. She dressed in dark colors, as if in hopes of blending in, though she never could. But more than that, she held herself…differently than other girls. Strong, thought Sirius, like she knew something no one else did, like she could take anything thrown at her. I will have to test that theory, he grinned.

Dumbledore watched as the darkened figure emerged from behind the door. The shadow is growing, the voice warned. Times are dark. In these troubled days, love, is needed most of all. But that can never be taught. The shadow is growing. The threat is imminent. Resources must be pooled, advantages must be taken: This shadow must come to pass.
Ember was shocked at Dumbledore's request. It was true that she did not value being a teacher's aide. She could seldom help student's in these subjects as she had never before known of their existence, and with her increasingly apparent ignorance in such matters, she was afraid that she would be spotted for what she was: A Muggle. Or so they thought.

Rumors had traveled around school about her being Squib. She had tried to deny it, but some interests were peaked, Malfoy's especially. He still wanted her, or his revenge. Or, preferably, both. He saw his opportunity in Potions: the teacher, bearing an ever present disgust at the "wall decoration" AKA Ember, had assigned her to test the student's potion's by taste. Ember dare not directly disobey the loathsome Donis for fear he would reveal her to the students and eventually, the entire wizarding world, which would put everyone at risk. But Donis wasn't truly trying to make her die, just perhaps cause her pain or fright. He really didn't care. But Malfoy was exhilarated, and dumped something additional into his own cauldron before grinning as she drank of it.

The love potion, with which he had hoped to humilate/take advantage of her with, did not act as he had expected. Yes, she instantly felt attracted to him, but then her speech slurred, her eyes glowed orange, she radiated heat until she collapsed on the cold, stone floor of the dungeons.

And there she lay for hours, for know wizard magic could heal heal: she resisted each spell, only being affected by other potions, whcih should not be mixed. And when she awkoe, eyes stined reddish-orange, she hunted Malfoy for three days straight. But it was a big castle, and he was a kniving little git, and managed to stay away from her.

So she was doubly surprised that Dumbledore trusted her enough to make her this offer. He wanted her to teach. WHat's more, he felt that in darkened times, a subject at which she excelled at would be appropriate: self-defense and personal combat. Muggle style. The strange martial art of which she mysteriously knew so much about would be introduced. And, she pondered, perhaps change history.