Chapter Three

"Why the hell should we go?" he asked in outrage. Cassie was set on going to Hogwarts, she was packed and ready. Ron was dead set on not going, something Cassie would have none of.

"We are going," she stated and paused as if it were all she was going to say. The red head knew different, but it didn't stop him from getting the message. The message didn't stop him from disagreeing. "Because this is too good an opportunity to pass up. I have been saving newspaper clippings for far too long, to not take the chance to shove them in your family's face, Ronald Weasley!"

Ron cringed. It was when she used that tone of voice he worried that she might be more closely related to the Prewitts than the Zabini's as she claimed.

"And you're stubborn pride will most certainly not keep me from visiting the school I could never go to!" she added in a most frightening Molly-like voice. Cassie was a second generation squib whose mother had been covertly kicked out of a pureblood family because of her 'defect.' From what he had been able to gather, the family said that she was seriously ill to keep her from Hogwarts and then hired muggle tutors for a few years until she was deemed fit to live on her own in the muggle world. Having been surrounded by Hogwarts alumni she was full of fanciful stories about the school and for years, enjoyed spinning spectacular yarns for her only daughter, hoping against hope that Cassie would be blessed with magic of her own. When the girl's eleventh year came and went with out an invitation they were both crushed.

Harry'll have a fit about her, Ron thought as she twisted her slightly large (but still appealing) mouth into a Malfoy or Snape worthy sneer that would have anyone else running scared. But, being the Gryffindor he was, Ron growled merely and retrieved his own suitcase from the hall closet.

Angela sighed, contemplating the figure that was once again taking up her bed. Reluctant as she was to admit it, Harry Potter was one of the few people who had the ability to strike fear into her very bones. Not that it stopped her from seeing him as often as possible. It was no intent of Harry Potter's that he did this, and if he knew he would surely run out the door apologizing in less than a second, but the boy had the most unnerving eyes. They were his mother's, he said, in a joking voice whenever she laughed about it. Don't blame me! Harry's green orbs were sparkling and sad, yet open somehow – as if he had no secrets; unless one looked closely, that is, or made direct eye contact for more than a second. Then there was nothing but shadows. It was an unnerving trait to say the least.

Disregarding the overwhelming impression that the he could look directly through the eyes and into the soul of anyone who dared to make continued eye contact, the thought of complete openness and sparkling emeralds of innocence veiling a forest of shadows and knowledge almost entirely without a thought or intent to do so was terrifying.

For a more current idea, add to that veiled horrors, and still that odd sparkle of innocence (that, all things considered, really should have died years ago, she felt), all surrounded by thick eyeliner that only made the abnormally bright sheen more pronounced.

And that was all just in the eyes, she thought, slipping into what her friend Jasmine had deemed her Harry Monologues. Let's not mention the power that absolutely radiated from Harry Potter's small, lithe body. Whatever spells that group had performed on themselves before separating had caused at least his magic to grow wild. Nothing he did (or so he explained) had stopped that. Not even Occlumency (whatever that was). He had thought it might, considering how it shifted with his emotions, he said, but apparently the magic didn't care whether or not the emotions were shown. It still acted.

Then of course there were his looks. Angela smiled. People would be shocked, she thought. Hell, everyone would be terrified that they'd pushed him over the edge. With his piercing fetish, tattoos and wild hair, he looked a common delinquent. Her mother and step-father were terrified themselves, to say nothing of her three brothers, and none of them knew what the young man she had taken to sneaking into her room every few days had been through. They refused to talk to him civilly at all, yet alone get to actually know how kind and generous he was.

Sam looked about the Great Hall in glee. He couldn't believe that Hermione had brought him! A lowly muggle like him was being honored with the splendor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at what was apparently considered its best.

There were fairies, real fairies flitting about the Hall and perching on any of twelve Christmas trees. Candles floated in the air casting the room in an ethereal glow, and the ceiling was magnificent. There was a fire place on either side of the room, all ablaze, and the decorations! Oh, Sam was in heaven. The Grangers were in heaven, his parents were in heaven (if a bit out of place). Hermione was home, and if Sam weren't so dazzled he'd be in a rage of jealousy.

Instead of raging, Hermione's fiancé put his hand on her shoulder and was about to remind her that her parents were talking to her (though they knew she wasn't listening and didn't particularly mind), when the large doors burst open, slamming into the walls.

In strode two figures. Both wore long black robes with large shadowy hoods, and carried a suitcase. Without a second to spare, Hermione sprang from her seat.

"RON!" she screamed, tears coming to her eyes. The cloak hood threw the eyes and forehead of the young man into shadow, but, ever observant, Hermione had spotted the mass of freckles on her old friend's chin.

Without hesitation, although the two black clad figures absolutely reeked of anger and hot rage, the taller threw open his arms and embraced his much missed friend.

"Don't cry 'Mione. I hate it when you cry," he whined as she sobbed into his chest. The other figure, this one obviously female, watched the proceedings for a moment before turning to the one table in the center of the room. She continued forward with a single minded intensity that made Sam shiver and hope that it wasn't him she stopped at.

Thankfully, she strode straight to the Weasleys. Silently and menacingly, she surveyed the group, her glare (he could just feel it) landed on the matriarch, and again he shuddered.

Cassie paused as the bushy haired girl jumped from her seat and reined in the urge to close line the poor girl. Ron and told her about Hermione, and it wasn't Hermione she was here to scorch, she reminded her self. Her lips stretched into a smile when the other girl started to cry. She'd let Ron deal with that, and squashed the desire to watch him twitch. He had no idea how to deal with girls.

But, she thought, there was sure to be plenty of that in the days to come. Right now she had bigger fish to fry. And the tender smile transformed into a malevolent smirk as she turned to the one large table in the center of the room. She didn't take notice of the decorations just then. There would be time later.

The mass of red hair she spotted immediately and it didn't take long to find the plump woman with the few strands of gray hair. Cassie stood behind her for a moment, savoring the wariness that oozed from the woman. She supposed it was cruel, but she couldn't help it. It was in her nature to intimidate.

"Hello," she said sweetly. "Molly, I presume?"

"Y-yes?" The woman turned around and smiled. Despite the unease, it was a warm comforting smile that, did she not hate the woman already, would have instantly had Cassie proudly calling her 'mum.' As it was, the love and amiability present only caused her rage to boil. How could someone so obviously loving and tender turn on their own child so? It was outrageous!

"Pleasure to meet you," she continued, pulling down her hood, revealing the cornflower braids, brown eyes, and large mouth. "I'm Cassandra, Ron's girlfriend of six months."

Molly seemed to like this even more. Either she had pushed her own betrayal from her mind and was very pleased to meet one of her beloved son's girlfriends, or she was merely relieved that her son hadn't been completely alone after the world had turned on him. Cassie really didn't care which one it was, she was showing the clippings anyway.

"I have a scrapbook for you in here somewhere," she said, her voice becoming even sweeter and mocking. Molly was starting to look worried. "Let me get it," she finished.

And get it she did. She fished into her suitcase right there and then and handed the tatty binder to the older woman and turned back to her boyfriend. As much as she wanted to watch the Weasley's read the clippings and realize what pigs they'd been, it would hurt more if they were left with only that mocking tone and her retreating back.

She was the first to see the blonde wander into the room, looking as if she'd done it everyday for the last three years.

This time it was Lionel Lovegood who sprang from his seat. He however, didn't run, but take small hesitant steps towards his daughter. He'd taken five when she met him. Her blue eyes were clouded and glossy, she wasn't there, not really. And if she was she certainly wasn't seeing him, he thought.

Without a word, she shoved a book into his arms.

"Is there roast?" she asked, and took his seat without waiting for an answer. Oblivious, he looked at the book, and blinked back tears. It was an ancient book, given to Luna by her mother. The, then young girl had explicit instructions not to give the book to anyone, not even him, until she'd learned every spell, and every word it contained.

He wouldn't keep the book. He couldn't, it would return itself to her by midnight, he knew, but he would heed the warning. She was grown up now, and he couldn't keep her either.

It was a good twenty minutes after Luna's arrival and Molly's cry of anguish as she realized what the scrapbook was, when Neville walked into the Great Hall. So far Dumbledore and everyone else had been leaving the arrivals to do their own thing, as they had agreed upon the night before. Neville, however, would break the silence, and bring attention to the people the other two excommunicates had been steadfastly ignoring.

"Who the fuck are they?" He didn't exactly shout it, but after watching out for their friend in the common room for five years both Ron and Hermione's ears were attuned to his distressed voice. Following the duo's lead everybody's head turned towards Neville and then immediately to where his slightly shaking arm was pointing to. It was the Potters. Chaos reigned instantly.

Amid the shouts and angry accusations, Albus Dumbledore began to rise out of his seat arms raised in the customary 'settle-down, settle-down' pose. Thankfully, Remus beat him to it, and called for order.

"Everybody, settle down!" he shouted, "Sirius, James, and Lily's presence will be explained privately. Please, take my word that they are who they appear to be, for now."

Reluctantly, the commotion settled, but Lily, James, and Sirius received glares for the majority of dinner. Neville didn't sit down, nor lower his hand for about three minutes. Once his arm lost its strength he began tapping his foot nervously for another five minutes, before he mustered up the courage to stride up to Prof- Severus Snape, and choke out a few words.

"Professor Snape, Sir, I was wondering if you could look at something for me."

Snape appeared to be personally insulted by his former student's very presence (and indeed, he was), but raised a curious eyebrow. Perhaps time as a wanted criminal had done something for the boy. Severus had honestly believed that Neville would either be the first caught, or would die, lost in the Muggle World. Obviously, he'd been wrong, for the Longbottom was showing more courage than he ever had before.

"And what precisely would that be, Mister Longbottom?" While not exactly congenial, the Professor's tone was less than menacing. Neville took it for a good omen.

"These." With a flourish, Neville produced one of his journals, ratty, tatty, and filled with extra papers. "And a few others," he continued, his voice growing even faster with every word, "And a few potions, in my trunk." Snape raised another eyebrow, but only turned towards the notebook.

While Neville was communing with his former tormentor, Ron and Hermione were catching up. Or rather, Hermione was raving on and on about what things had been like, how much she had missed he and Harry, Sam, and how sorry she was, while Ron, tried valiantly (and, amazingly enough, successfully) to dodge any questions she might casually throw his way (there were quite a few) as Sam, his family, the Grangers, Cassandra, and the Weasley's watched on, smiling in nervous contentment. Remus and Sirius, who were halfway down the table, attempted to drop an ear in, but only picked up on a few words and phrases here and there.

They weren't terribly concerned with the other goings on in the room, anyway. They were waiting for Harry. They waited and picked at their food for a half an hour.

I have to say here and now, that I am fairly amazed. Never once have I been called a great person in a review before. It was astonishing. So thank you so much for saying so, and I hope you like this chapter. People are starting to arrive! I actually have the next chapter already typed out (like I said this fic has been sitting on my comp. for a while now) so I'm going to try and get one or two chapters ahead before I post #4. That way if things come up you people reading won't have to wait a month in between chapters.

With that in mind though, I have to say that chapter four won't be posted as quickly as 2 and 3 were. I'll try to type quickly though, I promise.