-1Disclaimer: Don't recognize something? Guess what! It's mine! Mine! MINE I TELL YOU! Everything else belongs to JK Rowling, and more power to her.

Author's Note: This chapter jumps around a lot I had to give each main character a turn but I will not play hot potato with the point of views in chapters to come, I promise you that.

Chapter 1

"The Bottom Line"

Sixteen years after the-boy-who-lived was victorious…

Said boy was pacing his room, his jet black hair messier than ever and his green eyes clouded in fierce concentration. Back and forth, weave in and out, again and again. It was quite clear our dynamic Harry Potter was agitated, to say the least. An opened and battered looking copy of the Daily Prophet lay upon his bed where he had hastily thrown it down. The cover headline read in bold caps "MINISTRY AUROR MIA: DEATHEATER ACTIVITY SUSPECTED".

Nymphadora Tonks was missing.

----Same day, same country.----

Neville Longbottom did not consider himself outstanding in the very least of quantities, nor did anyone else. He grimaced in the mocking mirror at his rarely acceptable appearance. Visible ankles were evidence that he had grown many inches in height over the summer and his ramrod strait hair begged for.. something. Anything, He thought. Rapidly, he changed his mind when a recent memory came to mind. The Weasley twins had played another mostly wicked but partly good-natured prank on him the following year that had turned his hair into a huge curly rainbow.. Somehow the hairstyle was popular in the muggle world. Something to do with clocks? Erm.. Closets? Shrugging, Neville decided maybe he did like the color and texture of his hair just fine and he left it at that.

Neville hastily pulled on a jumper and ran down the stairs to find Gram reading the Daily Prophet at the small kitchen table. Neville grabbed a bowl and some milk for his favorite cereal, Coco Pops. They were very much like a chocolate cereal version of the muggle's Pop Rocks, though Neville would not be aware of this. While his tongue was literally dancing, Neville closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the morning.

Without lowering her paper, Gram addressed Neville very formally. "Go upstairs after breakfast and change into something more presentable. We are going to visit your mum and dad this afternoon." "Yes'm." "And please try to do something with that hair of yours." Nodding into his cereal, Neville contemplated the impossibility of her request. After he had consumed the last of the Coco Pops, Neville jumped the stairs two at a time, and came to a sliding stop at the doorway to his room. With a soulful sigh, he gently opened the door that had once been his fathers.

----The same day, halfway around the world..----

"You insolent little wretch!" Father's fist connected with my jaw with a sickening CRACK! and in spite of my best efforts to hold myself up, I fell to the floor. No tears came. Instead of giving into the burning in my eyes, I forced myself to glare at Father with all of the hatred I had built up after all these years. I refuse to let my spirit be broken! One thing was as sure as the dawn every morning…

I hate my Father.

And so, my spirit was bleeding to death with hate, but it was still intact. After five years of living with an alcoholic, abusive father, I still refused to roll over and play dead. My name is Morli Cooke and I am not your average teenage witch. I am not your average anything. I may only be seventeen but I know deep within I have lived a hundred years.

"One more thing," my Father sneered at me, where I lay seething on the ground with as much dignity as I could manage, "No more home schooling for you." "I'm to go to Salem?" "No. Hogwarts." Father turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door. Gingerly, I sat up with an uneasy feeling spreading down my spine. Harry Potter goes to Hogwarts. Biting my lip, I pushed my long Auburn braid back over my shoulder and grabbed the counter. I wonder what Father is up to now.

----Same day, late afternoon, Italy.----

"Papa, may I ask you an impertinent question?" They paused their intense non-vocal shield training and he looked at her for a moment with a gentle smile. "When have you ever asked permission?" "Papa!" Cami giggled in spite of herself, and asked the questioned that had been burning in her mind for some time now. "How come you never told Tomas and I that we have an uncle?" Papa visibly froze and the joyful air evaporated, replaced at once by fear. "…Papa?" "Who… who told you Camilla?"

Cami inwardly shook at the fierce look upon her Papa's face and his stern tone as he said her given name. He saved 'Camilla' for when he was most disappointed in her but yet… What is wrong with writing family? Years of training was all that could keep her standing tall (figure of speech only, as she was an even 5') and resolute under his accusing and slightly dangerous gaze. Awkwardly, she answered, "Uncle Monte wrote to me two fortnights ago, we have been corresponding ever since. Papa, I… Did I do something wrong?"

And so innocently does betrayal spark and their story truly begins.