Oh, god. I inhaled. Such a fucking mistake.

Mad-Eye is pounding me on the back while I effectively cough my lungs out. Hunched over, hands on my knees, I try very, very hard to not accidentally throw up my flapjacks.

My tongue tastes like soot. Gasping, I straighten and look at Moody with watery eyes. His mouth is set in a grim line, and he keeps his large, scarred hand at the nape of my neck – just in case I resume, I suppose. I notice then that his other hand is actually holding a glass of water under my nose. He must have conjured it at some point.

"Thanks," I gasp, and I chug the whole thing. Moody moves away from me then, and stumps over to a window, mumbling, "God damn werewolf was supposed t'bring yeh. Bloody muggle, thinks she knows what from what…"

I concede this point, silently, and take a good gander at the rest of the room we're in: a large, oval, many-windowed space. It's full of trinkets and do-dads aplenty, resting on every surface, in every cabinet, and on every bookshelf. There are portraits covering the walls between the windows, and above them. This is my first encounter with the moving-portraits of Harry Potter, and I find them oddly creepy. They move between their frames, as though playing telephone, and every now and then I can see them whispering behind their hands or glancing at me surreptitiously.

Ignoring their rather blatant regard, I carefully step around my drool marks on the rich, red carpet and walk to the desk and chairs on the far side of the space. Moody, I notice, is the only other occupant. Dumbledore is surprisingly absent.

"Take a seat," Moody growls, his back to me, "he'll be here soon."

I do as he says and sit in one of the plush, high-backed chairs facing the headmaster's desk. I pick up a quill pen and fiddle with it. Using the capped tip to sneakily pick up edges of the documents on the desk, I try peeking beneath them to see the writing on the ones underneath. "Mind your damn business," Mad-Eye snaps suddenly. He must have been watching with his all-seeing-eye.

Other than that, he continues to ignore me. So, I hold up two fingers on my left hand, and hide them behind my crossed knees. "How many fingers am I holding up?" I ask the back of his head.

Moody starts to turn, but I say, "NO! Use the magic eye, duh." He exhales a great, frustrated gust of air.

"Two, you cheeky twit," He snaps. He then fully turns to glare at me, both eyes on my face, and he crosses his arms. "If yeh can't hold your tongue for a mere five minutes, I'll curse it to the roof of your mouth." He spins back around to face the window, muttering "Blast, you're an annoying chit."

Moody is moody.

I snort. I'm hilarious.

Mad-Eye's shoulders tighten just a hair. I rest my chin on my closed fist and begin jiggling my foot up and down. Still bored, I make a snake face with my fingers and pretend to have it hissing at his back. I turn the snake-face back to my own face and feign surprise when, suddenly, my finger puppet turns on me and begins mauling my cheeks and nose at my command. In my silent kabuki theater, I scream and fight, thrashing with no noise in my chair. In the throes of death, I reach a silent, begging hand out to Moody for help and compassion.

He ignores me.

I narrow my eyes and drum the tips of my fingers on the arm of the chair. I wince as I encounter my fucked-up fingernails. After about 90 seconds, with a façade of relaxed poise, I re-cross my legs and face forward, as though calmly awaiting Dumbledore. I wait 30 more seconds until I begin to hum a familiar tune.

Another 30 seconds passes, and I start singing softly under my breath.

"I met her in a club, down in old So-Ho
Where we drank champagne, and it tastes just like cherry co-la
C-O-L-A, co-la…"

Moody's back is stiff. His paws are fisted at his sides, but he's resolutely ignoring me, still.

"She walked up to me, and she asked me to dance
I asked her her name, and in a dark brown voice she said Lo-la
L-O-L-A, Lo-la…"

"THA'S ENOUGH," Moody booms, suddenly. Spinning to face me, he takes two long, stumping strides until he's towering over my chair, wand in hand.

"What's the matter?" I ask innocently, eyes wide, "I thought you liked that song?"

Mad-Eye looks fit to be tied, "YOU KNOW DAMN WELL-"

The fire across the room suddenly roars with the arrival of the Headmaster. Wearing royal blue robes of satin, trimmed with sky blue and a matching hat, Dumbledore straightens and takes in our current positions: Moody bearing down on my smug ass, wand raised. Dumbledore allows his eyebrows to inch up on his face, "I see you've continued honing your talent for angering volatile wizards, Sjofn."

A small smile emerges on my lips against my will, "There's that lack of personal-responsibility that I've come to know and…know."

Moody backs up toward his favored window once more. Dumbledore walks deliberately to me, an inscrutable expression dominating his features. Once he arrives directly beside my chair, he very suddenly drops to his knees and grasps one of my hands in both of his long-fingered ones. Shocked, I dart my eyes all over his face, but still nothing.

"Dear girl," he says in a somber tone, "There is no possible way for me to…" he pauses, seeming unsure, "to fully convey to you the gravity of my regret for my actions against you yesterday evening." His blank expression flinches just enough for me to glimpse the shame he seems unable express. "You were quite right," he grinds out, sounding pained, "For everything you're doing for us, it was positively unforgiveable for me to insinuate that the health of your abandoned family members should be anything but a top priority." My heart squeezes at the memory, and the fire in my belly churns at the hateful reminder. "I fully apologize, and would like to assure you that my promise to you will be upheld at the earliest opportunity," he finishes, his eyes searching mine.

Call me cold, callous – ruthless, even – but I am unmoved.

However, no one is better fit to hold him to his promise than I am. I can do what he needs me to do well, or I can do it shitty, depending on my motivation. There is no way he does not realize this.

My heartbeat slows and I calm a little. I expected this confrontation to be harder. "Of course you will," I say softly, but offering no kindness if I can help it, "because if you don't, I can make sure that you lose."

Dumbledore bows his head in recognition, even while Moody starts in surprise. The grizzled Order member apparently didn't suss that out of my head with his magical eye.

Do not fuck with me, assholes.

But Dumbledore, it seems, did not need to be reminded. He appears to be genuinely contrite. "It will be done as I say," he swears, his eyes imploring mine, "at the earliest opportunity." He rises after this, and makes to move toward his personal chair on the other side of the desk. A knot I hadn't even realized was living in my chest eases itself loose, allowing the sensation of relief to overwhelm me for just a moment.

Once seated, he steeples his fingers in the familiar habit of his. "If we may…" he asks with an almost exaggerated respect, "…move on, then?"

I nod once. Taking the initiative, I dive right in, "I've mentally compiled everything I consider crucially relevant to the outcome of the war. If I give you what is essentially a plot summary," I pause, preparing him, "including events which occurred after your death, I think we can theorize how to best tackle the essentials and get the outcome we want." I had prepared this speech last night, even practiced saying it to my wine bottle, I think.

Dumbledore takes a bracingly deep breath, "Yes, I imagine you would be right. It would be unrealistic of us to attempt to replicate the events as precisely as you know them, but perhaps if we can pinpoint the key pieces, they can be effectively accomplished, as you say."

Moody takes this moment to come fully back to the desk, rounding behind my chair in order to fall ungracefully into the matching one. It appears he trusts that we are actually ready to get down to business, and will no longer be simpering or apologizing to one another.

"Time is of the essence," Moody growls. "The sooner we can end this war, the less damage You-Know-Who can inflict with the knowledge he gained from Gringotts."

I nod. The strategic war-center of my brain which had activated the minute I was bird-napped is now operating at full capacity. "Especially if we do what needs to be done in ways which he wouldn't have read about," I remind them.

I hold up my hand, three fingers raised, and drop each finger one at a time to illustrate the main points I wish to convey to them, "One: who can we save? Not everyone who was supposed to die has to die anymore, if anything we can save more lives." Moody doesn't look convinced, but I carry on, "Two: the horcruxes. I know what they are, and theoretically where they are. That may have changed depending on what he read, but it's a better starting place than you would have had a year from now."

Dumbledore's eyes light up with questions already, but he lets me finish. I drop my final finger, "And lastly, three: Harry. Harry is six-fucking-teen years old." Both of my audience members open their mouths as if to argue, but I don't let them start, "Yes, he is 'Chosen' because of Voldemort's own flawed self-preservation tactics, but ultimately you have an Order full of adults who are potentially just as capable of accomplishing some of the tasks which were put on Harry's shoulders during the final two years of the war." I take a deep breath, "Some of the tragedies which shaped him are no longer happening, I'm not certain he's in as good a position as he would have been to be the sole war-hero anymore."

"Such as Sirius' death, and my death," Dumbledore states calmly.

"Yes," I confirm with a nod. I can feel my demeanor growing more serious, "I notice your hand is fine, which leads me to believe that you never retrieved the Gaunt ring at the beginning of this summer and cursed yourself like before." Dumbledore balks and looks down at his hand. I continue, unflinching, "Yes, it is a horcrux. Yes, it is a Deathly Hallow. Do not fucking wear it, swear to god."

A stunned silence follows. Moody turns to Dumbledore and growls, "What does she mean, a bloody horcrux? You-Know-Who has horcruxes?"

Dumbledore clears his throat and seems to shake off the remnants of his shock, "I think, my dear," he says in a voice that is weaker than before, "that you had best start from the beginning. And leave out no detail."

It takes over two hours. Ten minutes in, Mad-Eye withdrew a notepad from the inside of his overcoat and began feverishly scribbling my words. After the first half-hour they even stopped asking questions, intent simply on getting the information. Moody took the news of his own death without breaking stride, but he did briefly give pause twice: once when I described the death of Fred Weasley, and again when I told of Harry's discovery of Tonks' demise.

I finish my tale, and see that Moody has provided another glass of water. I thankfully begin to chug it, my throat dry. "Is that the end?" Dumbledore asks, "The final battle at Hogwarts is the end of what was published to your knowledge?"

"Oh no," I wheeze out gracefully, "There's an epilogue of sorts, detailing the Trio's present-day situations. Plus the author of the series has released extra information about the plot and characters even after publication-"

"For fucks' sake," Moody interrupts, sounding exasperated. He's begun flipping back through his now-full notebook, skimming over the mass of information, "This is bloody ridiculous. How on Earth are we to make of all of these events reoccur? It's impossible."

"I agree," Dumbledore says solemnly, nodding. His fingers are steepled once more and he looks contemplative, "I know we discussed it just hours ago, but the full extent of deviation from our original timeline is incredible. We will need to accomplish all that was accomplished before, but with more skill and tact than was even managed then."

"Good. Fucking. Luck," I say cheerfully, now slouched in my chair. This entire meeting has made me pretty damn depressed. I just want to go buy new underwear. And maybe some speakers.

"The horcruxes are priority, surely," Dumbledore continues, ignoring me, "and keeping Hogwarts secure for the continued education of our incoming generation. We will want them as clear-headed and skilled as possible depending on how the tide of this war turns, or occurs later in their lives…"

"We gotta keep 'em from getting the Ministry," Moody growls, "It sounds as though that was when things really went to hell. If we can get Scrimgeour in on this, we may be able to hold 'em off longer than before."

Dumbledore nods again, his gaze is distant, "Yes, yes, that does seem inevitable now."

"You will need to tell Harry, Ron, and Hermione as much as you can as soon as possible," I say firmly, looking directly at Dumbledore. "Fate," I nearly spit out the word, "seems to have a rather fucking uncanny way of dragging them into the front lines even when everyone does everything in their power to keep that from happening." Dumbledore and Moody look uneasy, but there's no way they can deny this to be the case. "Arm them with as much knowledge as possible," I say in a hard voice, "Do not allow them to stumble around blindly as they did before."

Dumbledore and Moody exchange a glance. Clearly, it goes against the grain for them to not be grossly negligent with their secret-keeping, but they have to understand.

"Yes, my dear," Dumbledore finally verbally agrees, "From the sound of it, you would be correct."

I relax in my seat, my major take-home point finally acknowledged.

Moody shifts in his chair until he's facing me. One of his arms is braced on the desk in front of us, and he's twisted at the waist with his magical eye frozen still in its socket. "We ought to discuss now," he begins, "How it is you will be helping us."

I raise a sarcastic eyebrow at him and scoff, "Was that your way of saying 'thank you so much for the info, Finnie, you're a real stone-cold fox and a lifesaver'? Because that was fucking terrible."

Moody cracks a rather ugly smile, extremely foreign-looking on his scarred face. "Don't play dumb, girlie," he says with unhidden amusement, "You're a soldier in this war now, just like me. And we will need to discuss what that position holds for you."

My heart sinks at the reminder.

Ah, yes. Of course.

If he sees my deflation he ignores it, and Moody shifts just slightly to include Dumbledore. "What do you think, Headmaster?" he asks.

Dumbledore's face is still distant. He's begun stroking his long-as-shit beard in his contemplative state. "I think, my friend," he says softly, "That you and I are of the same mind regarding how best to implement young Sjofn's…talents."

Moody nods, and turns back to me with a scary excited gleam in his normal eye. I am thoroughly confused. Were they telepathically communicating or something? Assholes.

"We'll need to get her a fake wand, I think..," Moody pulls out another notebook from his jacket, and begins making a list, "An easily-donned disguise…protective charms which will blend…my Aurors usually use jewelry…" He pauses, and glances at my ears which hold about a half-dozen earrings between them, "…shouldn't be too difficult."

Dumbledore points to Moody's list and adds, "Include any weaponry she needs, we will need to get what we can goblin-made so that it will deflect spells, but we will likely need to acquire and charm muggle weapons she prefers." He then turns to me and keeps speaking, "We will connect the fireplace in your bedroom to the Floo Network, my dear, so that you may move about more freely and collect necessary information between us senior Order officials." He pauses, then adds as an afterthought, "I'll make sure Sirius provides you with a desk and study space in your living quarters, which we can charm for secrecy so that you have room to work."

The two of them are on a roll now, but I'm so irritated I can't help but blurt, "Wait just a damn minute, aren't you forgetting something?"

This stops their chattering dead. They both look at me with confusion. "What exactly am I fucking doing?" I snap at them.

"Well," Dumbledore stumbles, clearly off-guard, "I thought it was obvious…we will use your particular talents and training to… well…"

"Thin their ranks," Moody growls, finishing.

We all take a pause while I absorb those three words.

Ah, it clicks for me then. "You want me to assassinate Death Eaters?" I ask, for clarity's sake.

Moody nods, the excited gleam in his good eye shifting and shining even brighter than before, "We want you to go on the offensive," he says, "in ways we haven't been able to do since we're so well-known. Our tactics and potential magical approaches are second-nature to them, unlike you. We want you to find them, infiltrate when necessary, or just monitor their activity and strike when there's an opportunity."

Dumbledore captures my eyes and adds, "His followers are his power, Sjofn. If we can lessen his numbers, dispatch his generals, or even frighten people away from joining his cause, we will be that much closer to stopping him and his whole movement."

My mind is racing faster than I can keep up with it, it seems. But I force it to slow, and the vision that emerges to the forefront asks my question for me.

"You want me to become the Death Eaters' version of the boogie-man?"

Dumbledore's eyes are twinkling, not with kindness, when he breathes his reply, "Precisely."

Despite my reservations, and the increased amount of risk to my person that they're suggesting, my pulse quickens. Pure, undiluted power surges through my veins, my eyes glaze over with their trademark inky sheen, and I smile.

[MAD-EYE MOODY]

Alastor Moody watches disinterestedly from his seat as Finnie the muggle-girl-wonder practically skips to Dumbledore's fireplace in order to floo back to headquarters. Her bare feet do a little dance as she waits for the Headmaster to join her.

Dumbledore lifts an ornate claw-footed china box from the mantelpiece and opens the lid for her to take a pinch of the powder inside. Suddenly though, he snaps the lid shut and her fingers leap back in surprise, as she was just an inch from complying. She narrows her green gaze up at him in silent question, but Dumbledore does not delay. Using the wizened hand not holding the floo powder, he digs into the pocket of his robes until he withdraws what looks like a shiny black rectangle.

"I nearly forgot, my dear," Dumbledore holds the rectangle out to her by the tips of his fingers. The girl's eyes have gone as wide as possible as she stares at it. "Are– are you sure…?" She stutters excitedly.

Moody furrows his brow in confusion. What are they on about?

"Yes, of course," the Headmaster responds airily, "I think you'll find it most difficult to push my account to its limits, but I trust you to do your best. This card has never before been used, so you will need to sign it and activate it appropriately."

Finnie's pale mass of waves and curls bounces as she nods almost violently. She snatches the card and begins chattering in that obnoxious way of hers, nearly nonstop. "I'll have to bug Mr. Weasley about getting into his stash of electronics so I can MacGyver a new charger for my phone. If possible can you make sure that the 9mms I need have their own silencers? I know it's atypical to use more than one, but if I'm double-fisting it wouldn't technically be gratuitous. Plus I know we didn't talk much about it but the sniper rifle really should be in the same league as the M14 Crazyhorse by SEI, because they definitely had detachable silencers in my day so if anything it's likely that an earlier version would either have a prototype already or I would pretty easily be able to modify it to include that component. TOOLS! I need tools! Well, ok, I'll get the tools since you gave me a credit card. I'll also get the outfit I'd want to use as my quick-change whatchamacallit, have you thought about having me wear a mask? I don't want to sound too full of myself when I say I think I would be particularly fucking intimidating if I had a mask, and–,"

"Everything in due time," Dumbledore interrupts her ranting firmly, "For now, get your basic necessities with Molly and the kids. We will be in constant correspondence, Sjofn, nothing will be forgotten."

The insane little sprite looks slightly abashed, but nods, "Yes. Right. Okey-dokey." And she reaches into the delicate box of powder, tosses some into the fire, and is gone in seconds.

Moody stands then, in preparation to also depart. "She's mad," he grunts to Dumbledore, as though this hadn't been overtly clear for the past three hours. Dumbledore is still looking into the fire as he responds. "It would seem," he observes quietly, "that her rather…unique way of moving about in the world is only heightened by what I assume is experience with extremely high-stress situations, yes."

"Mad," Moody growls once more. "Eccentric," Dumbledore corrects, softly, and he pivots from his position next to the fire in order to face the auror. "I must ask something of you though, my friend," he says, quietly.

Moody only grunts in acknowledgement. They've both a lot to do, Mad-Eye needs to meet with Minerva and Kingsley to bring them up to speed, preferably with other Order members in attendance. But, they had decided amongst themselves that they would only disclose Finnie's true purpose to Minerva and Kingsley for now. The less who know, the less opportunity the dark side has to find out.

Dumbledore takes a step or two closer as he begins, "I need you to keep an eye on her." The Headmaster inclines his head just barely towards Moody's magical eye, "I need you to pass along to the others to keep an eye on her, but in particular I need you to keep an eye on any magic or unusual power you see or sense around her person."

As though on cue, the magical eye spins backwards; the Minister of Magic has just arrived at the edge of the Hogwarts property. They will need to be quick.

"Wha' exactly am I looking for?" Moody growls, "I can see the demon power you described, when she calls on it, but other than tha'-"

"When I lost control yesterday, I used a spell that should have caused far more damage than was actually done," Dumbledore speaks calmly, but his face looks pained. It's clear that the incident has left its mark on his soul. "Our young muggle has extensive protective enchantments upon her being, placed there by someone from her time."

Moody took pause at this information. If this is true, then…

"Sjofn is of an acquaintance with a witch or wizard in her time, but I don't believe she knows it. And based on the magnitude of the protective enchantments my own considerable power met during our unfortunate confrontation yesterday evening, he or she is very powerful indeed-"

"And they must care a great deal for the lass if they placed all tha' protection on her without her knowledge," Moody growls, understanding.

Dumbledore nods solemnly, "So you see, my friend," his voice lowers, for he hears the Minister ascend the staircase behind him, "we must be extremely careful with how we proceed. I imagine that by tearing her away from her time, we've made someone 20 years from now very, very angry."