Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does. I am not J.K. Rowling.

"Despair is anger with no place to go" -Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

The triple-decker Knight Bus barreled on it's way. The passengers were jostled violently with every turn.

All the while, the two refused to look at each other, or pay the other any mind. Not that they were consciously aware of that, though.

"Hey, you," Worme called to him, "We'll be at the Leaky Cauldron soon."

Relief flooded him. The bus came to a screeching halt, throwing all of the passengers, including him, onto the floor. He stood up, regained his composure, and exited the death vehicle.

"Never again," he swore to himself, stepping onto the street.

He heard Worme give an indignant "Guffaw" behind him before slamming the doors shut.

The bus gave a deafening BANG before speeding out of sight. He ignored the crowd of oblivious muggles, and walked towards the Leaky Cauldron.

He pulled his hood over his head and stepped into the pub.

He had no intention of lingering in the overcrowded place. In the few times he'd been there, he'd hardly seen it so full. Tom the barkeep was bustling around, trying to manage all of the customers. Some were at the bar, drinking various unidentifiable liquids- there was one he could have sworn almost moved out of the glass on it's own. Others were seated at the tables, eating meals and chatting with friends or family. Several headed up to their rooms upstairs. A few were even conducting business; one, very short fellow was in the corner, exchanging items and bickering about what must've been price with someone.

And there were those, such as himself, who were trying to navigate through all the mess to Diagon Alley.

But then, a gruff man stopped abruptly, almost directly in front of him.

"Hey, I've been looking for you," he grunted.

The man held his hand out- he held his breath. Had he been caught?- and gently placed on the shoulder of the young woman next to him.

He let out a relieved sigh and brushed past the couple, who were embracing lovingly.

For a moment there, he thought that man had been looking for- and found- him. He did remind him of one of his father's cronies.

He made his way out to the back, only to be greeted by another sea of people. The barrier stood open, allowing free passage to those arriving and exiting the alley.

He entered the alley and walked to a dark corner along the side of a dingy, seldom-used broom shop.

The large crowed, he supposed, could work either to his advantage or against him. In a large crowd, when it took immense effort and concentration just to move forward, who would have time to notice one person? On the other hand, the more people there were, the more chance that at least one of them would be glad to sell him out.

Or, if they saw him, would they just assume he was there with his father?

His stomach gave a lurch at a sudden thought. What if his father was there and he saw him?

He had to reassure himself, "No one will recognize you if you keep your hood up," he thought to himself.

He adjusted his hood to further conceal his face. There were rumors at Hogwarts that Potter had an invisibility cloak. How he desperately needed one at that moment.

But, he was finally away from his blasted life. He might as well enjoy himself.

He doubted he would find anything of much interest to him in Diagon Alley. Turning on his heel, he headed down the street to Knockturn Alley.

The dark, almost gloomy alley was considerably less crowded than Diagon Alley. The only ones that were there had hoods, like him, and were intent on getting to their destinations without wasting time. In this setting, he thankfully did not look too inconspicuous.

The first shop that caught his eye was Borgin and Burkes. In the few times he had been to Knockturn Alley, Borgin and Burkes was where he had visited most often. As for the other shops, he could explore them later.

He stepped into the eerie, dusty shop, almost warily. Borgin stood at the counter, watching the newcomer intently. He walked over to one of the closer shelves. The shelves were littered with various crystal vials holding different potions and powders. A glowing red one caught his eye.

"Borgin, what is that?" he asked the shopkeeper.

Borgin walked over to him, "I'm sorry sir, but I have to see your face in order to conduct business. It's store protocol."

That made his spirits lower and he felt himself frown. But he could make Borgin keep quiet, right?

"Alright. But if you reveal my whereabouts to anyone- namely my father- I'll kill you," he warned in as dangerous a voice as he could. It was a completely empty threat, though. He'd never be able to kill anyone. He didn't have the wits for it, as he was reminded all too often. At any rate, he'd never want to, either. He didn't want to do anything that would make him like his father, seeing him as the man he was…

Borgin just nodded courteously. He acted as though he received that threat often enough. The only thing that betrayed him were his hands, as his fingers intertwined and fiddled nervously.

Slowly, he removed his hood, showing his pale complexion and steely gray eyes that closely monitored Borgin's reaction.

Borgin almost broke into a nasty- or amused- smile, "Ah, Mr. Draco Malfoy," he said, "I can see why you wouldn't want your father to know. Unaccompanied, then?"

Draco faked a smile, "That's hardly your concern, Mr. Borgin."

"Of course not," Borgin said with professional courtesy.

"So, this stays between us?" Draco tried adding additional threat to his tone.

"As with all my customers," said the shopkeeper, "Unless, of course, the law is involved, but," he gave a dry chuckle, though his eyes were still dead fixed on the teenager before him, "I doubt such will end up being the case with you, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco ignored Borgin's taunt, or whatever his comment was mean to be, "But, returning to my original question-"

"Ah, yes. Of course. My sincerest apologies," Borgin held the crystal vial, "An excellent eye you have, Mr. Malfoy. This," he held up the vial, "is fire acid. Though, I must warn you, it always comes very concentrated, very strong. I'd say a drop or two in about two liters is a safe amount."

"What exactly is this 'fire acid?'" the teenager asked him. He may have heard of it, but if he had, he'd never been told exactly what is was.

"Well, I assume you're familiar with firewhiskey, correct?" Borgin asked. Draco nodded his head a fraction. "Well, fire acid is the ingredient that gives firewhiskey it's 'kick,' so to speak. But, as I said, barely a drop is used in one large bottle. If a person were to consume too much- well, let's just say the effect wouldn't be… pleasant."

Draco regarded the little vial of glowing red liquid, "Dare I ask what it's made of?"

Borgin answered knowledgably, "Mostly, it is made from Phoenix blood. A very good buy, if I may say so."

Draco took the vial from Borgin and held it up to eye level. The crystal glittered and the fire acid glowed at him almost menacingly.

He could probably buy it. He might even force-feed it to Potter at Hogwarts, just so he could feel superior for once in his life. Who knows, his father might even applaud him for it- that would be the day.

The Knight Bus jerked to a halt in front of a row of sorry-looking houses. As she stepped out, she could feel the gloom seeping into her mind. She shook her head.

Her eyes scanned the street. Gloom was dominant, shabbiness was next. Most of the plants were wild an unkept. Ivy took over entire sides of houses and even climbed over to the next. The grass was overgrown in nearly every lawn.

The houses themselves looked old and worn. The paint on doors were peeling off, as well as the address numbers beside them.

The street itself seemed abandoned. She didn't see a single person there other than them.

Some people even had their battered windows open, but even they seemed oblivious to the family and Knight Bus screeching off. She saw one young man through one of the open windows making out with a girl his age. She abruptly turned away from the sight.

Her dad took a piece of parchment out of his cloak pocket. He handed it to her mother who looked at it tentatively. Her mother then handed it to her.

"Read it, honey," her mum said.

It was written in large, loopy handwriting:

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

"Is this where we are?" she asked her parents.

"Yes," her dad answered her.

He walked to the space between Number 11 and Number 13. She got confused. Where was Number 12? Wasn't the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters there?

She thought back to what she had read on the parchment. But as she did, a building squeezed and grew between the two others. The two others squished away, leaving room for Number 12.

Her mouth almost went ajar. How could muggles not notice that?

"Come on, now," her dad coaxed.

He stepped up to the door and his family followed. He tapped his wand against the door and stepped in.

He addressed his daughter, "You have to be very quiet while we're here."

"Why?"

"I'll explain later," he held up the piece of parchment, "I need to get this back to Alastor, and, Persephone," he addressed her mum, "We need to get to the meeting."

"Avy," her mum told her, "You're sharing a room with Hermione. Just go up those stairs, go right and take the second left, alright?"

"Yes, mum," she blankly.

"I'll be there after the meeting to explain, promise," her dad promised.

"Alright," she looked forward to an explanation.

A man clanked in on a wooden leg. He had a swiveling glass eye, darting between them all, "Thought I saw you lot come in," he flashed a glare at them, "I saw that stunt you pulled. Risky move, having the Knight Bus come all the way over here."

"Moody, please."

Moody grumbled something, "Meeting's on, it's important. Tonks said she would be late."

Her mother repeated the directions to her. She said goodbye to her parents, gave another glance at the strange man- Moody, she thought- and was left alone in the hall.

If she thought the outside was gloomy, it was nothing compared to this. The lighting was terrible. Wallpaper was peeling off. Dust covered most surfaces, while some of it floated in the air. The airborne dust she breathed kept her coughing. The wood on the floor creaked and some floorboards were out of place. A dusty, cobweb-covered chandelier hung above her.

It obviously used to be a grand house, but time and lack of care took it over.

She walked up the stairs, and they creaked with each step. Her hand ran along the dust-covered banister.

Walking, she noted the various wall coverings. Most were portraits, with their nasty eyes following her as she went past them. She glared back at them and ignored them thereafter. After she took the right, she got confused. Was she supposed to take the second left, or the second right? She glanced behind her, maybe she was supposed to have taken a left the first time.

She walked back and went down the other hallway. She was hoping she'd find someone along the way, but the only ones around that she could tell were the portraits, and she had a feeling that they wouldn't help.

By then, she was getting insecure and fidgety. It only got worse when she came across a series of plaques. Mounted on the plaques were the heads of heavily-aged house-elves, hung on the wall in a row in the same manner hunters hung deer heads.

Her breath caught in her chest and she took and involuntary step back. She jumped and scrambled away when she felt a fabric.

Heavy, blood-red curtains covered something. She moved closer to inspect it. It might be hiding a window, possibly. She reached out and felt the hard, course fabric. She could have sworn she heard hard breathing coming from behind.

She moved to tentatively open the curtain when-

CRASH! Crash!

She only heard the frantic shout of "Sorry!" before another screaming took over. High-pitched, earsplitting screaming from behind the curtain rang out.

The scarlet curtains flew open and knocked the shocked girl away. She covered her ears from the overwhelming screams.

"TRAITORS! FILTH! MUDBLOODS, BLOOD TRAITORS, AND HALF-BREEDS! SCUM IN MY NOBLE HOUSE!"

Apparently, behind the curtains had been a portrait. A woman with a gaunt face, black hair, and ruby-red lipstick was screaming in hate and rage.

With all the noise, she wasn't able to hear footsteps, so it took her by surprise when someone came to the scene.

She was a young adult, with pink spiky hair wearing shorts, boots, and a shirt displaying her favorite band. She tugged on the curtains, which refused to shut. She kept trying to no success, the woman's screams and rants still going on.

"I NEED SOME HELP HERE!" The pink-haired woman shouted.

Before long, two men showed up- her father and Sirius. Sirius only gave a short look, resentment-filled look at the portrait before shooting a spell at it. The curtains writhed- the screaming ceased- and abruptly shut closed.

Sirius spoke first, "Sorry about the scare, she has that effect on people," he said bitterly, "My mother, old hag- one of the reasons I left home." He sulked back downstairs.

Remus helped his daughter up from the floor, "I'm sorry, I should have realized you wouldn't be able to get around on your own the first time," he looked to the pink-haired woman, "Tonks, can you show her the way to her room. I need to get back to the meeting."

Tonks gave a shrug, "Sure, Lupin."

"Avy, this is Tonks- I need to go, I'll explain afterwards," he, too, walked back downstairs.

It was always explain later, wasn't it? And Sirius's mother's portrait? What was that doing here?

She turned to Tonks to see her examining her purple hair.

"You wouldn't happen to be a metamorphmagus, too, would you?" Tonks asked her.

She took note of Tonk's pink hair, "You're one, too?" she felt a small bit of excitement.

Metamorphmagi were quite rare. Neither of the two in the hall had met another besides them. They conversed as they walked, naturally getting along well.

"Purple, huh? Never really wore that color, gotta try it sometime," Tonks noted.

"What caused that crash earlier, anyway?" she asked her new-found friend.

"Uh," Tonks looked slightly embarrassed, "Well, that was me. I keep tripping over that blasted umbrella stand. Dead-clumsy, I am. Almost didn't pass the Auror test because of it. Though, I passed the disguises test with flying colors."

"It probably helped to be a metamorphmagus," she noted.

Tonks gave a laugh, "Loads."

They reached the room. Tonks also left for the meeting, leaving the purple-haired girl in front of the door. Without hesitating much- she didn't particularly want to be there alone very long- knocked on the door.

"Come in," she heard from inside.

She opened the door to find three beds fit in the room. The walls were thankfully free of any ominous portraits, though were still littered with various paintings. The environment matched that of the rest of the house, except there being more lamps, which caused considerably better lighting.

On one of the beds, a bushy-haired girl had been reading absentmindedly. She lowered her book to see the visitor.

She gave her a curious look, not recognizing her immediately, "Oh, hello," she greeted.

"Hi," she stumbled for her name, she remembered seeing her at Hogwarts when she briefly visited a few years back, "You're-" she couldn't remember her name.

"Hermione Granger," she finished. She squinted at her again, "Oh! You're Professor Lupin's daughter. Av-" she, too, stumbled over the other girl's name, "Avora?" she guessed, an embarrassed smile on her face.

"Avanne," she corrected, "Almost had it. I don't blame you for not remembering- it's not really a name you hear to often."

"Yeah," Hermione mused, "Same with mine. But I would think that would make it more recognizable, wouldn't you?"

Avanne shrugged, "You'd think, but add on the couple of years."

Hermione smiled understandably, "True."

Avanne thought getting to the point would be best, "Well, uh," she stumbled over how to say it, "I'm going to have to be staying here with my family, so-" she stopped, hoping that Hermione would pick up the rest.

Thankfully, she did.

"Oh, well," she ushered toward one of the beds, "That one would yours, Ginny sleeps in the other one."

Avanne put her trunk by the said bed, "Ginny?"

"Ron's little sister," Hermione explained patiently.

The young metamorphmagus thought again, "He was the one with the freckles and red hair, right?" she asked.

"The reddest hair I've seen," Hermione answered with a little glint in her eyes.

"Sounds like someone's got a crush," Avanne joked, taking out a few things from her trunk and laying them out on the end table.

Hermione flushed, "I do not!" she protested a little to quickly.

"Don't what, Herms?" said the red-haired boy, striding in. He stopped at the sight of the purple-haired girl, now sitting on her bed.

He glanced a questioning look at Hermione. A weird, almost embarrassed, look shown on his face- it was almost funny to look at.

"Avanne Lupin," she finally said after silence.

Ron scrunched his face up at that, as though trying to remember something.

"We met her during the holidays," Hermione helped.

Recognition still didn't reach the redhead's face.

"Third year, Ronald!" Hermione sighed exasperatingly.

Finally, the recognition gleamed on his face, "Ooh, Professor Lupin's daughter."

Avanne decided to pull off some sarcasm, "That's the new label, apparently."

Ron muttered a small, "Sorry."

"No matter, ought to get used to it," she rolled her eyes.

They were soon joined by Ron's little sister, Ginny. The introductions went by again. The four of them lapsed into conversation.

As Avanne laughed at one of Ron's classic jokes, the ever so cliché thought crossed her mind, "Maybe it won't be so bad."

As an afterthought, she cringed. She set the taboo. She expected the storm of misery to set in any moment because of her carelessness.

Finally, finished it! It ended up longer than I thought, and I still didn't get to the point that I had originally hoped. But, for the sake of consistency, I'll just put it in the next chapter. Tell me what you think.

The names have been revealed (not that you didn't know Draco's from the very beginning). Yes, she has a weird name, something you probably never have and never will hear anywhere else- judging from my own personal experience, anyway. I hope she doesn't get labeled as a Mary-Sue for that and that's she's a metamorphmagus. She's got flaws, trust me.

Oh, the joy of foreshadowing. I was hoping to do more in this chapter, but it'll just have to go into the next.

Reviews are most appreciated! I'm open to kind suggestions! Also, kindly point out any grammar, spelling, vocabulary, or plot errors I overlooked. It's best to know these things early-on.