Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the characters, the settings, or anything else that has come from JK Rowling's imagination.

A/N: Thank you sincerely to Fullmetal, who is the only person as of yet to write a review (and such a nice one, double thanks!) However, in response, I think I need to hang my head in shame – I didn't realize that the double character in my story's summary (Harry, Hermione) would be construed as a pariring, which is not what I meant for…I merely meant to say they were two main characters; along with Ron, Tonks, Lupin, Chantielle (OC), and many other characters. I apologize, I did not mean to falsify anything.

Pairings in this story will include, but not be limited to: Harry/Ginny, Remus/Tonks, Ron/Hermione, and Sirius/Chantielle(OC)

With all of that said, I would love is people would leave reviews, as it is what makes me even happier to write. :D Thanks for spending your time on this story.

Chapter 5: The Nature of Things


She leaned forward, a slight frown on her countenance. Had she let it get this far? How?

The storm brewed as a deep elixir, igniting the darkened sky in its path.

Nothing mattered now. Nothing but that –

A tiny blue jay tore through the sky, it feathers worn from the fighting wind. It was flying as fast its tiny, powerful wings could travel towards the only safe haven for miles – an old, unpolished cathedral not thirty paces in front of it.

As a lighting bolt flashed towards the earth, a sudden gust of wind picked up – throwing the petite bird straight into the jaws of an old stone gargoyle. The gusts whirled about the architecture and into the crevices, ruffling and then smoothing the birds' feathers, but that was the only movement to come from the animal.

And so the rains and winds that raged created the would-be safe haven into a stone coffin, the clouds continuing to tumble about, showing no reverence to the small life they had just taken.

But such is the nature of storms.

She moved her head deeper into the pillows, the thick, deep of the feathers engulfing her. It smelled slightly of mold – of years of mold that not even the surest of cleaners could fix.

Her eyes fluttered with sleep – of sun-light oceans, and clear skies, and…

Part of her brain registered someone propped next to her on the bed, looking down at her. She grunted and rolled onto her stomach, in hopes they would just leave her alone. She was sleeping.

Then a nip at her ear and a nuzzle at her neck.

"Go away," she mumbled to the intruder of her dreams, moving her head deeper into the pillows.

She should have known it was no use.

"But I'm bored," a voice answering, taking on a boyish whine.

"Go…go kick Kreacher," she returned, but realizing she should just give up.

Satin kisses at the nape of her neck, warm breath by her ear…

She flipped to her back, her thick, curling hair blocking her vision to the dark haired man above her. Batting her hair out of her face, she scowled (though the edges of her mouth dared to betray her – a smile was forming underneath her playful display).

"I've – I've been out all week, working, y'know! I'll be here for at least –"

But she was interrupted as he covered her mouth in a soft, gentle kiss.

"I know, but I've been here since this whole thing started – and Snivellus is the only one that's brought news this week…and Harry left two days ago, so it's been awful drab –"

But she didn't need his excuses; a pillow flew from behind them, smacking the man square on the head, feathers floating daintily around the room. Cheerful laughter crept from her throat as a look of surprise overcame him –

And then the deep, soul-searching kisses overcame her –

And as sure as she was that Dementors could suck out their victim's soul, she was sure that his kisses would devour her heart, her dreams, her wishes.

But such is the nature of love.

"The world isn't good or just or peaceful," a voice rang out.

"D'you think I don't know that already? Look at me! Don't you know what I've been doing, what I've been trying to –"

"I know, Chanti…God I know. Ian Astor was brilliant – and he must've seen it in you, too, when you just tried, but…"

Chantielle whipped around from the window she had been looking out of, her eyes blazing at her friend. "But what, Lil? I don't try bloody enough?"

"No," Lillian's voice became icy as she answered, "But why don't you try to use some of that bloody brilliance to figure out what type of situation you've put yourself into. D'you think that everybody you care about it just going to come out of this war doing jigs and donning stupid smiles? Get a grip..."

Anger flared in her, worse than anything she had felt in her years at Hogwarts. Her friend, one of her supposed best friends was telling her she was living some stupid fairy tale –

Didn't she know, didn't she know – didn't she know that Chanti was out almost everyday, trying to recruit? Risking her life so that the Order may have a fighting chance? Who the hell cared what she did at night, or the day or two that she took for rest…

"I thought you would understand," her voice calmed to a quieter, slippery volume.

"I understand that war isn't a time to go falling in love – even if you're keepin' it quiet from everyone else," was the similar, eerily quiet voice of Lillian Billings.

"Well then, I guess here's where we depart. Good-bye, Lil, and I hope to see you on the other side of this storm." Chantielle crossed the small flat, while white, calm anger flared in her wake.

As her friend left her home for good, Lillian sat down in a large, overstuffed armchair near where she was standing. A small crystal tear slid down her face as the destruction finally began to rain down on her. This friendship, this friendship that had withstanded years of the Forbidden Forest, of Peeves, of detentions….

She had only wanted what was right for her friend; Chantielle loved so carelessly and so often (it seemed) that it was only disaster for such an occurrence to happen in the midst of all of this….

If only, if only….if only they could just survive this one last obstacle, she knew they could be (would be) friends; she knew they would laugh and joke, and say how Lillian was always the rational one, while Chantielle cared only for her heart – and those in it.

But such is the nature of friendship.

Chantielle woke sweating, tangled in her deep, maroon sheets. From the window where she had left the curtains open, she could see the early morning stars – it was still an hour or two until sunrise.

Her breathing was ragged from her dreams (or were they nightmares?) Rolling to her side and trying to dislodge the clinging cotton sheets, her feet found the cold floor. She wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of the night, she knew.

Crossing the floor to her large, two-paneled window, she stared out of it into the now-quiet Carnaby Street. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cool glass, closing her eyes.

Now was not the time for regrets.