Eve: Heya! It's my birthday and I'm trying to update all my stories It's hard! But I hope you all appreciate it

"I Am An Illusion"
By: Rob Thomas.

Take this confusion
Runnin' round my head
Take back my unkind words
Lay that weight on me instead
I'm the place where everything turns sour
Where you gonna run to now

Wrong step
We got off track
We need someone to help us get back now
Worn thin
Awful state I was in
I believe I was losing me now I'm found
I am found

But I'm not real anymore
I am an illusion
But I'm not real anymore
I am an illusion

I am the damage
I am the relief
Sometimes I'm people
I never hoped that I would be
If I take in whatever they turn out
What's that gonna make me now
Don't you understand

I'm not real anymore
I am an illusion
Hell I'm not real anymore
I am an illusion.

Wrong step
We got off track
We need someone to help us get back now
Worn thin
Awful state I was in
I believe they were fooling me
Now I'm down
I am down

But I'm not real anymore
I am an illusion

Hell, I'm not real anymore
I am an illusion

Hell, I'm not real anymore!
I am an illusion!

--

Cota Lionsaber sat upon his horse and stared silently across the endless field of snow. His cloak billowed around him as the icy wind blew fiercely against his back. His mission was done, not that he found that to be very important. The frozen tundra did not have another soul for miles, save the group of bandits he had already dealt with. They were now marching back towards the settlement in thick binds. The deal was easy enough. He captured them and tied their hands behind their backs, then left. They could start marching towards a town and be thrown in jail, or die. He did not care either way.

With the slightest kick, Patrick charged across the frozen tundra with brilliant speed. The stallion charged through the icy wind and freezing sludge, ever thankful of the thermos boots his owner had equipped him with. That had been a while ago and they were worn and frayed, but in the unforgiving desert of ice every little bit helped. The journey was long, but over the years he had become strong enough to race through the deep snow without tiring. A talent that helped every day as Cota had a small shack in the middle of nowhere that he called home… no, actually he called it 'the shack', home did not exist.

The wind no longer stung, the light no longer shone, the fire no longer warmed, and the hunger could no longer be fed. He was shrouded in a blanket of pain and darkness, like the snow that never melted from his heart or his clothing. As he arrived, Cota saw smoke in the chimney and became suspicious. He dismounted and unsaddles Patrick. He held the saddle with one arm and took the bridle off, leaving only the boots and the blanket on the horse. He headed towards the shack and left Patrick to head for the stable or forage around for food- a scarce commodity. Attaching his sword and sheath to his belt, Cota deposited the saddle and bridle on a chair near the door to the shack and pondered what was on fire inside.

As he entered, though, he noticed the broken fireplace he'd never cared to fix was working and the beaten down room seemed to have been touched up. The curtains, if you could call them that, were thrown open allowing light into the moldy old shack and the leaky roof was patched; the bare floor decorated only with a cot and an old table was now swept and there was a rug laying over it. Upon that rug there was a large desk where the table had been, and a chair in the front near the fireplace, but the most notable addition was the man sitting in the chair.

"Ah, there you are," Master Clef greeted, returning the bow Cota greeted him with. "Come in come in, you're letting the cold in."

Clef watched patiently as Cota pushed the door shut, then eased his foot back to secure the door as it seemed to have problems locking unless he forced it. When the door was securely shut, or at least not threatening to fly open, Clef announced why he was there.

"I have a new mission for you," he stated abruptly. "…In England."

Cota stood at attention in front of the desk. He no longer maintained the eager look of one listening to every word, such as he had found so easy to do when he was younger. His features were expressionless, neutral, and cold. He listened to the assignment without attachment. His mind was a computer and the mission was ones and zeros; nothing else. Clef had not expected any different. Not from Cota. He remembered the eager teenager, running around the academy in a students' uniform, flashing a smile to everyone he passed. The student uniform was long gone, as was the graduate rider uniform. He now wore the attire of a full fledged Zagan Knight. Though it looked more like an assassin's costume, and his actions were done entirely as a mercenary, never as a person.

"Here is the order," Clef took the contract from his desk and handed it to Cota. "They look forward to seeing you."

Accepting the paper, Cota scanned it and found problem after problem. They were asking for aid, but there was no specific task. It simply said they needed someone to come. He read through it again and caught a line he did not like. Knight is to serve until the Order of the Phoenix completes their goal and/or releases him. He held out the order for Clef to take it. Surely this was not a real contract; no one hired a knight indefinitely. Clef shook his head.

"It's real," he stated.

Cota looked again to the contract. No details, no time period, and the pay the academy was getting for it was one worthy of a student! He was an important knight; all his cases had paid thousands and were all professional. Surely he could be making more money for the academy by working on a higher priority case. He set the paper down and waited to hear the real reason he was being visited. No one had come in years and the only contact he got were requests, payment deliveries, and the words of the criminals he arrested. Unless of course he counted all the monsters and demons he had battled, he had not engaged a living soul in… he could not even remember how long.

Clef shook his head again. "That's all I have for you and no, you can't turn it down. I know it shall be more social that the work you receive out here, but I think you have done all there is to do here."

Cota shifted his weight, something James would have killed him for. He was arguing the mission without verbally battling it. He did not want to return to England, he had come to the islands off Canada to be away from people. The only ones around were the Inuit. He had come across their igloos- common storage units- every now and then and had seen their dog sleds. They called him a ghost and left him alone. He respected them greatly for it. Clef picked the letter off the desk and grabbed Cota's hand, making the two meet.

"Lad, you're barely surviving out here," Clef began in a matter-of-fact tone. You have a bank account full of money and yet you live where it does you no good. My compliments to the shack, but it's time to leave. No arguing. The academy put too much time into training you to have you die out here. When's the last time you ate? That horse is healthier than you and he looks to be eating a bush."

Cota made no reaction; he did not need to as Clef took out a barley block from a pocket in his coat, though to Cota he offered a ship ticket.

"Can't apperate with a horse," Clef stated, driving in the point that this was not a request. "Boat leaves later tonight, you'll need to leave in an hour to catch it. Let your horse eat and then leave. He'll be well taken care of on the boat and… well I'd tell you to bring food but…" he gestured at the bare walls and empty cabinets. "You'll be alright for a few days." Truth was that Clef had worried about Cota ever since that night, but the boy simply was not to be reasoned with. He was almost robotic and sometimes blunt was all that got through.

If Clef expressed worry, Cota would ignore him. He felt he was nothing worth caring about, but if he was the academy's property then he had an obligation to follow the orders. He was intelligent enough to know he was not property, but the reminder of his responsibility to the academy would increase the odds of him complying. Without another word, Clef headed out the door and was gone.

Cota followed a few moments later and tossed the block to Patrick, figuring the horse could use the energy. He then headed back inside to pack what little he had, and then headed towards the east harbor. It was night by the time, Cota found himself on a boat headed for London. Patrick was well tended to and Cota was left to hope for a small meal a day as the ship usually only transported animals and only had food for the crew. It was not unusual for a rider to take such transport as their horses were their most prized possessions and a transport not suited for them simply would not do. Cota looked to the contract again. He had spent so many years away, taking the jobs no one wanted. They probably thought the time away would have fixed him. Truth was he was not proud of certain things he had done since that night.

He was not proud of anything really. He had not spoken to his friends in years and had been awful to them. It was as if nothing mattered anymore and he was only breathing because he couldn't seem to stop. He was walking around because his feet still moved and his heart kept beating, no matter how broken it was. He had become the thing James hated; a rider with no passion for the job, no spirit, no people skills, no personality at all. He hated himself for it, but just could not seem to recover.

The academy taught mental stability, but they could never seem to tell anyone how to pick up the pieces of their broken souls and put them together again. Cota knew the pieces existed, but there were so many missing. Some of them were so damaged they were barely recognizable. Now he had to face the people he had left behind. He figured they would be angry with him, or perhaps weird and distant. 'They'll hate what I've become,' he thought. Then it truly struck him how bad he felt about going back. His stomach churned and his heart felt like it was being crushed. He was used to that feeling, but now it nearly drove him to tears.

His psychiatrist would have wanted that. Dr. Knoweverything would have enjoyed the sign of emotion. What a useless thing. Cota folded the contract and put it inside the breast pocket of his cloak. With a deep breath he forced out the anxiety as he exhaled. Every trace of emotion vanished, replaced by the cold, placid look he had adapted over the years. Without another glance at his surroundings, Cota turned to go and find a place to sleep.

-

The ship moored in the harbor and the crew began unloading the cargo. Albus stood waiting with a pleasant smile. He was almost sure he had gotten the wrong boat as Cota had not ran to meet him. That was until he saw the men leading a fiery stallion out of the cargo hold. There was a golden four-leafed clover on his forehead that Albus recognized immediately. The steed stretched and fought his handler. He reared and let out a loud cry, but the moment the man released the lead he was still and walked forward at his own pace. There was dominance in his stride, a power and strength to it at well. The horse flicked its tail as if to tell the crew to piss off.

Then there came a sound Albus recognized. A sort of whistle that sounded like something an animal would make. Patrick turned and headed for the caller and Dumbledore's gaze followed. Onto the ramp the rider stepped and Dumbledore could not suppress a gasp. That… that wasn't Cota… was it? No- no it couldn't be him; and yet it was. He seemed like a phantom, a ghost… there was something terribly wrong about the way he moved and the way he traveled through the crowd. For a moment Dumbledore actually felt like turning and withdrawing his contract, and even pretending he had never even came. He thought Cota had looked tortured that terrible night fourteen years ago, but to look upon him now one would assume that had merely been the tip of the iceberg.

Resisting the almost overwhelming urge to flee, Albus stood his ground worked up the strength to approach the rider. Cota had turned to tighten the sheath on Patrick's saddle; he was giving Dumbledore the chance to run.

"Ah, young Mr. Lionsaber," Albus greeted warmly, having to prepare the words before they would come out as pleasantly as he wanted them to. "Thank you so much for coming on such short notice."

The pleasantry was not returned as Cota simply pulled the mission statement from his cloak and held it out. He was responding to orders. Albus nodded and found the contract that Master Clef had given him. He handed it to Cota, who read it as if he did not trust Albus, though when he was finished he nodded and bowed in a sign of servitude. Dumbledore merely smiled and continued as if he'd been greeted with a warm handshake and the famous smile he remembered so well.

"It's good to see you again," he beamed. "If you'll follow me I can take you to the meeting house. The school was closed for Christmas break, so sadly it shall be unavailable to us, but I am sure we can find a place for Patrick."

Cota only nodded and followed. He was an illusion. A trick of the light that resembled the memory of someone he had been once, though it did not mimic that person very well.

"I'll introduce you to the new members," Albus continued. Being a very tall man he had height going for him, helping him feel less threatened by the ghostly reminder of a soul that once was. "Then there are the kids you'll be running into, though Harry is not with us at the moment." He waited for a reaction and got none so he simply continued. "I suppose he is having fun with his aunt and uncle, at least I would if I was ignorant."

--

Indeed Harry was NOT having fun. He sat in the back seat of the Dursley car with his whale sized cousin sitting next to him and taking up three-fourths of the back seat. Dudley was slobbering over a nonfat yogurt pop and making grotesque slurping noises that churned Harry's stomach.

"Is my likle Duddeykins enjoying his popsicle?" Aunt Petunia asked, turning her crane like neck around to look at her fat tub of lard.

"Don't you mean Big D?" Harry muttered, receiving a piercing stare from Dudley. He was itching for a fight. Anything to end this nightmare.

"It doesn't taste right!" Dudley squealed, reminding Harry of a young pig.

Aunt Petunia gave Dudley a sympathetic smile and handed over her own popsicle- not needing it as it was WINTER. Dudley snatched it up, still glaring at his mother. He ate both pops… well, if you could call it eating; truth was he murdered both popsicles and their blood covered his bloated face. Harry stared out the window; the car in front of them was going terribly slow. Uncle Vernon began ramming his fist against the horn.

"If you don't know how to drive, get off the road. Idiot!" He shouted, sending spit up onto the windshield. Aunt Petunia quickly wiped the spit away with the napkin she had been trying to use to clean Dudley's face.

"How else are they supposed to learn to drive, other then being on the road?" Harry mumbled, watching the people on the street and wishing he could join them out there.

"What'd you say!" Uncle Vernon barked. Harry remained silent, knowing an answer could mean his death. Uncle Vernon grunted and went back to pounding on the horn.

"I'm still hungry!" Dudley whined, kicking his mother's seat.

"Yes, let's try and find some food," Aunt Petunia chirped. Harry smiled, he'd had an excellent breakfast of brownies, sent by Sirius, pot-roast sandwiches, compliments of Mrs.Weasley, and some butterbeer, given to him by Remus. The Dursely's had eaten grapefruit again.

"Let's go to that Japanese restaurant," Petunia nodded her head. She treasured hearing the gossip there; it was a real fancy restaurant and she loved that the waiters and waitresses dressed up. She found it extremely interesting and Vernon liked annoying the staff. Dudley pitched in on the annoying the staff. Making sure he got the seat closest to the front of the table. Petunia exclaimed that Dudley felt he was a 'big man' and therefore deserved the best seat. Harry, however, knew Dudley's habit of trying to see under the waitresses skirts. He was becoming a pig in more ways then Harry could count.

Vernon jerked the wheel and the car turned down a back alley. The car bounced along the cobblestone alley and then turned onto the main road. Vernon slammed his foot against the pedal and the car rocketed down the street. They arrived at the restaurant in a matter of fifteen minutes with Dudley complaining the whole way. Harry had never been allowed to go with them before to the restaurant. He figured they'd make him wait in the car so he prepared himself for the long, boring, wait. Then another thought crossed his mind.

"I don't think I've ever had Japanese food before," Harry uttered, still staring out the window.

"Okay, you're an uncultured swine, so?" Vernon sneered, sending Dudley into a fit of laughter. Harry was about to compliment Vernon's use of a word that big, but decided to continue his first approach.

"I'm just saying that I'll have to tell Sirius all about it," Harry answered blatantly.

There it was. The look. Uncle Vernon's look of hate, disgust, terror, and annoyance. Petunia was the first to speak, and she did so without thinking. "There'll be nothing to tell him," she stated, craning her neck around to give Harry a stuck up glare. "You aren't going to be eating with us."

"Oh," Harry replied in mock sadness. "Then I'll tell him I almost tried Japanese food."

The vein in Vernon's neck was pulsing, should he call Harry's bluff? Was it a bluff? He'd never seen this godfather, this Sirius. However, Vernon was not about to have a homicidal maniac walking down the street towards his house for a visit. He already knew that forbidding Harry to write to his God father would probably end in a confrontation with the man, wondering why he had not heard anything from Harry.

"What she meant," he growled, his face increasingly purple. "Is that you're going to sit at your own table. We don't want to be bothered by the likes of you," he added quickly.

Harry kept in a grin and stared at the street name as Vernon turned the car into the lot. 'Willowvein' Harry read the street address like a happy song. A singsong lyric that told of his control over the Dursleys and how he got to finally eat at the restaurant they always talked about. Vernon walked in the door, opening it for Petunia and Dudley, yet nearly knocking it into Harry. The concierge seated them at a booth and told them that a waitress would be with them shortly. He then led Harry across the restaurant and seated him at a table, confused by the seating arrangement, yet trying to please his customers. Harry grinned and looked over the menu.

"Are you working tonight, too?" Harry heard a male voice behind him ask someone.

"Yes," A female voice replied, dull and emotionless.

"Kiten, you're gonna work yourself to death," the male voice stated.

Harry looked over at menu, yet the name stuck in his head. Kiten? Key-ten? Harry shook his head; it was probably a Japanese name. All the servers had Japanese names, even when he knew they weren't Japanese. He had seen a guy with red hair and freckles walk by with a name tag that read: Kaouen.

"You're getting the number seven," Uncle Vernon barked. Harry jumped, he hadn't realized that the walrus was standing beside him.

"O-okay" Harry stuttered, heart still pounding in his chest. Uncle Vernon glared at him and then stalked away. Harry watched him go, almost smiling as a thought came to him. 'I'm all the way over here, you're all the way over there,' He liked that thought. Dudley tapped his fat fingers against the table and his eyes darted around for a waitress. The waitress, however, was behind the curtain that was behind Harry. Petunia was leaning back, her spine straight and her neck was back a few notches as she listened to the conversation going on in the booth behind them. Vernon reseated himself and picked up his menu. 'Or course' Harry thought. 'You looked for the cheapest thing, and forgot to find something for yourself.' Harry put down his menu and simply relaxed as a waiter brought him a glass of water. Harry drank the lemon water and wished Ron was there so he would have someone to talk to. He even would have liked Hermione to be there... maybe even Neville. Dudley groaned loudly and slapped down his menu as loudly as possible.

"You got table five, Kiten," the male voice sighed. "Watch out, brat alert." Harry heard light footsteps and someone came out. Another server came out and asked Harry for his order.

"Konichiwa. Have you decided what you would like?" She asked, bowing to him.

Harry looked over at his server, she was wearing a short, kimono style outfit. However, the skirt didn't even reach her knees, no wonder Dudley liked the restaurant. Yet everything else was kimono style, the sleeves, the way that the top was one side folded over the other, diagonally. Harry blinked and brought his attention back again.

"Number seven," He muttered.

"Ah, wonderful selection," She nodded her head and smiled. "Might I ask what you wish to drink?"

"Er…" Harry looked at the menu. There was a list of Japanese teas and different drinks. He wasn't sure what they were. "I, er, I don't know."

"That's okay. May I offer a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"For a number seven, I recommend you try this drink," she told him, tapping the drink. "It comes with two free candies." She added, seeming to know that he had to order on the cheap side, yet wanted to make this a good experience.

"Okay," Harry nodded with a smile.

"I'll be right back with your order" The girl nodded her head, as if bowing, and trotted off back behind the curtain. Harry looked back over at the Dursley table. Their waitress had silver-white hair that was loosely put up in two sticks; her hair was long and some of it was hanging down so Harry couldn't see her face. Her hair was beautiful, like a veela only... Harry shook his head. This was Muggle land, no veela here. He sighed, wishing he was back at Hogwarts, and then looked back over at the table. The girl wrote down their order and turned to leave, Dudley 'dropped' his chopstick on the ground in front of her.

"Oh, here," the male voice returned and Harry saw it belonged to a man of about thirty-six years. He picked up the chop stick. "Kiten, why don't you bring him a new one."

The girl nodded and took the chopstick, hurrying off back to the curtain. The male flashed a smile at the Dursleys and then went to another table. Harry lowered his head and put up his menu, suppressing a laugh as the waitress walked by him. He had seen Dudley shut down, and it felt good.

"Kitten! Kitten I want something else!" Dudley yelled, his voice sounding more and more like an infant pig with each yell.

"I hate pigs," came a soft voice from beyond the curtain. Harry chuckled and the waitress emerged again.

"I'm assuming you mean me," she stated, her voice softer then her words.

"Yeah, kitten, umm... I'd like a... err... I want... a side of..." Dudley mumbled, licking his pudgy lips as he tried to think. "Of..."

'Everything?' Harry thought.

"Of... I want a number twelve," Dudley spat out, Kiten nodded and wrote it down. She was smaller then any of the other waitresses and had a gentle way of moving, there wasn't any waste of movement at all. Kiten turned around, staying just out of reach, and Dudley quickly called her back, snapping his pudgy fingers. He could not think of a reason and admitting that he was trying to see more skin seemed inappropriate even for is mind.

"What kind of a name is Kitten anyway?" Petunia asked, glaring at the girl and pursing her lips. "It's not cute, if that's what you think. Makes you seem like a tramp."

"My name isn't Kitten, it's pronounced Key-ten, it's a nickname," Kiten stated, her voice was patient, but Harry knew she wanted to disappear... or hit Dudley.

"What is your real name, kitten?" Dudley asked, eyeing the teriyaki chicken that was being carried past him.

'Hit him! Hit him!' Harry mentally cheered. 'Please! Hit him and I die happy!'

Kiten paused, staring at Dudley with hidden disgust. "I'll go get your order, if you need anything you can address me by my correct nickname," she backed away and retreated out to another table.

Harry closed his eyes, letting the weight of the break wash over him. Why had he come back? He should have stayed at the school. Yet, the Dursley's wanted him to be miserable, so they 'allowed' him to come. And for what? Nothing! No presents, no food, no friends, no Sirius, no anything. Harry had waited for them for over three hours. Then they finally show up, yell at him for being asleep when they got there and say that the new headmaster told them to pick him up.

Vernon grunted loudly and Petunia made a loud comment about 'that rude little tramp.' Harry's thoughts were disturbed as his server set down his plate. He thanked her and she nod/bowed. He looked out at his food, it was all small portions of fancily decorated tidbits. Everything looked good and very oriental, yet soft... the colors were tranquil somehow. Harry decided against the chopsticks and used a fork to eat. Everything was delicious and seemed to melt away in his mouth. He grinned and noticed that Dudley was staring at him with hungry eyes. Harry, deciding to be Mike, (A.N. whoops, immature, I meant 'to be immature') stuck his tongue out and continued eating. After their meal Harry sat back and enjoyed the atmosphere, there were a few people, but not many as lunch passed.

The restaurant took on a bit more of a casual sense and Harry noticed that they had different meals for different times of the day. Casual breakfast, fancy lunch, casual lunch (two o'clock) then at five thirty they opened the bar, had tea ceremonies, then a fancy dinner, and then they closed at ten. Harry noticed that the Dursley's had already finished their meal a long time ago, wolfing it down like starving cattle. Kiten returned, hesitantly, and grabbed up the empty dished from the table. She managed to get them all rather quickly, spin around, and try for a dash back to the kitchen. Harry had to once again hide behind his menu as he was having a hard time containing his mood. He hated where he was, but was relieved to be away from Umbridge.

Ron and Hermione had told him to make the best of it and send them word from the 'outside world.' Dudley and Vernon were talking and Petunia was whipping her head around every which way to ease-drop as much as possible. After a few minutes Vernon got up and glared at Harry that it was time to go. Harry jumped to his feet and rammed his hands into his pockets, he'd gotten good service, but what could he leave for a tip? Shrugging, he put down some silver sickles and hoped Vernon took no notice; then ran to catch up with the Dursleys. They were at the front counter, paying. Kiten was sitting on a stool and Dudley was trying to lift up one of the server's skirts. She raised her hand to slap him and Vernon yelled at her. She turned, flicking her hair, and stormed off.

Kiten remained motionless. Harry walked out behind Vernon, he wanted to apologize to Kiten for Dudley, but Vernon had already pushed him out of sight. His server walked over to her with Harry's tip. Harry felt his stomach drop as he realized how stupid it was. However, Kiten took them and exchanged them for the tip she had gotten. 'That's strange.' Harry thought. They got in the car and Harry looked out the window, the door to the restaurant was still open and Kiten turned towards it... Harry's mouth flew open and his eyes grew extremely wide. It was her! The girl, the one that they thought they'd never find again! Nevina! And he now knew where she worked. The big amethyst eyes, platinum hair, how hadn't he noticed it before! Harry was about to jump out of the car when Uncle Vernon turned out of the driveway and began speeding towards home.