So! You've met the mysterious James! Please tell me what you think about him and if you want to, how all of you picture him as - I mean, which actor you think suits him more. Also, the poll about Marie's sorting is drawing to a close: just one more chapter (probably the next one) and we will see where she ends. If you haven't voted yet, do it now.

Shout-out to LionsWing, AmyRoxx123, and xenocanaan!

R & R please.

"Are you sure you are alright?" Hermione whispered as we made our way through the campsite.

"I'm sore, if that's what you're asking," I said, side-stepping a burnt flag of the Bulgarian team.

Hermione grabbed my arm, hissing, "You know that's not what I meant. Are you alright?" she repeated slowly, making sure to emphasize the last word.

I looked away from her calculating eyes, and instead slowed down as we passed by a small cottage. In front of the door, Mr. Roberts was sweeping the grass, holding the broom upside down. When he met my eyes, I winced, noticing how dazed and confused he looked.

"Merry Christmas!" he called, waving his hand. His head lolled to the side.

"No," I mumbled through gritted teeth. "Of course 'm not right."

"He'll be all right," said Mr. Weasley quietly when he saw where I was staring at. The rest had done the same. "Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes him a bit disorientated for a while… and that was a big thing they had to make him forget." I abruptly looked away, staring pointedly at my feet as we marched onto the moor.

Basil, the man who was in charge of the portkeys, was being harassed by many wizards who wanted nothing but to get away from here. Mr. Weasley made it to the front and hurriedly spoke to Basil, who nodded several times and handed him an old rubber tire. As Mr. Weasley ran toward us, we formed a circle and waited for him to catch up. By the time he arrived, we already had put our hands together and he quickly threw in the portkey. As the last time, I was jerked forward, and all of us were spinning around, yelling at the speed of it. When we landed, this time all of us were standing in wobbly knees.

We walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, barely talking because of exhaustion and our rumbling stomachs. As we rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, I caught sight of a tiny blue blur hurrying out the garden.

"Anya!"

The blur collided with me and with a loud "Oof!", I fell down on my rear.

"Marie," I breathed, and hugged her back, closing my eyes tightly and passing my hands through her mane of black hair.

"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!" I heard Mrs. Weasley shout. When I looked up, I saw she was still wearing a bathrobe and a pair of slippers, her pale face in tears, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.

"Arthur - I've been so worried - so worried-"

Mrs. Weasley flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Gently pushing Marie away, I looked down at the headline.

SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP. There was a black-and-white photo of the Dark Mark over the treetops.

"How did you get here?" I asked Marie. I pretended to not notice when she subtly reached to wipe at her eyes with her sleeve.

Sniffing, Marie reached inside the pocket of her pink hoodie and pulled out a familiar brown bag.

"You stole the floo powder from Natasha?" I hissed.

"No! I borrowed it!"

Scoffing, I swung an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. "You sneaky girl. You'll probably end up in Slytherin. Mind you, if you do, I'll disown you."

"You won't," she sniggered.

I sighed. "No, I won't."

"Ouch! Mum - you're strangling us -"

I looked over and snorted, smiling as Mrs. Weasley squeezed the life out of the twins.

"I shouted at you before you left!" she sobbed. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O.W.L.s? Oh Fred... George..."

"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," Mr. Weasley said soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says..."

When we were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.

"I knew it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders...culprits not apprehended...lax security...Dark wizards running unchecked...national disgrace...Who wrote this? Ah...of course...Rita Skeeter."

"That explains it all," Marie whispered. "She's usually a cow when she writes."

"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn'tspecifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans -"

"Do us a favor, Perce," Bill said, yawning, "and shut up."

We all nodded in agreement.

"I'm mentioned," said Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.

"Where?" spluttered Mrs. Weasley, choking on her tea and whiskey. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"

"She was too busy crying," Marie said from the corner of her mouth.

I stared at her in surprise. Marie usually didn't speak much in public, it seemed to bother her when Mrs. Darcy made her greet the rich snobs that came to the Orphanage. But now she was talking, her hands kept twisting on her lap - and she also hadn't separated from my side. Guilty, I pecked her on the forehead, ignoring the surprised looks I earned from my friends, except Harry, who already knew I had a soft spot for Marie.

"Not by name. Listen to this: 'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.' Oh really," Mr. Weasley said in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods...well, there certainly will be rumors now she's printed that."

He heaved a deep sigh. "Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over."

"I'll come with you, father," Percy said importantly. "Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person." And bustled out of the kitched.

Mrs. Weasley, upset, said, "Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?"

"I've got to go, Molly. I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off..."

Mr. Weasley scurried off.

"Mrs. Weasley," said Harry suddenly, "Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?" I looked at him curiously.

"Hedwig, dear?" said Mrs. Weasley distractedly. "No… no, there hasn't been any post at all."

"All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?" said Harry with a meaningful look.

"Yeah… think I will too," said Ron at once. "Hermione?"

"Of course!" she looked over at me.

I gently pried Marie off my side and grabbed her shoulders. "Marie, why don't you stay with Mrs. Weasley while I help these buttheads?"

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed.

Marie narrowed her eyes but then sighed loudly and whirled, marching stiffly to where Mrs. Weasley was sitting.

"Come on," I muttered, and the four of us walked out of the kitchen and upstairs.

"What's up, Harry?" Ron asked, the moment we had closed the door of the attic room behind us.

"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again."

I leaned my back on the door, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the knowing look Harry sent me as Hermione began to list from books to look at, and people who could know what it meant.

"But - he wasn't there, was he?" said Ron, pulling himself out of of his shock. "You-Know-Who? I mean - last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?"

I pursued my lips and closed my eyes.

"I'm sure he wasn't on Privet Drive," said Harry. "But I was dreaming about him… him and Peter - you know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill… someone."

He was trying to be nonchalant about it, I knew.

"It was only a dream," Ron said bracingly. "Just a nightmare."

"Yeah, but was it, though?" Harry said, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. "It's weird, isn't it…? My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again."

"Don't - say - his - name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth. I rolled my eyes at him.

"And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry went on, ignoring Ron. "At the end of last year?"

Professor Trelawney was our Divination teacher at Hogwarts. Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort.

"Oh Harry, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?"

"You weren't there," Harry said. "You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance - a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again… greater and more terrible than ever before… and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him… and that night Wormtail escaped."

I sighed and looked around the orangey room, counting the many posters Ron had glued on the walls.

"You knew, didn't you?" said Hermione with a gasp. It took me a moment to realize she was speaking to me.

"Oh... yes."

"Why didn't you say so?" she half-shrieked.

I shared a grimace with Harry. "Yeah, we haven't told you the best part of this. I - um, I dreamed the same thing as him...?"

There was silence. Then -

"And you two weren't going to tell us because," Hermione prompted.

"Ah, we're not sure if it really happened," said Harry. "I mean, it could have been a coincidence."

"Yes, Harry. A very big coincidence in which I dreamed of Voldemort planning to kill 'someone'," I said sarcastically, making sure to quote it in the air with my fingers.

"Can you explain how it happened then?" Harry snapped. "Because I'm pretty sure this has never even happened before!"

"Actually," Ron cut in, glancing at us. "I've heard of it from Dad. Its strange but not unheard. Ever read about the war with Grindelwald?"

"World War II," said Hermione, nodding. "It was said Gellert Grindelwald had joined forces with Adolf Hitler, who was registered as a squib."

Ron oogled at her and then shook his head. "Yeah, well, during the London Blitz, I think, some wizards found themselves psychically linked after a bomb hit nearby. They sort of got visions of each other - dad said it drove them mad and the link had to be forcefully broken... one of them died."

"The De Kretser syndrome," said Hermione. "Why didn't I think of that?" she asked herself in disbelief.

"Always the tone of surprise," said Ron grumpily.

Harry cleared his throat. "And this happened because of -"

"Stress, anxiety, you name it," Ron shrugged. "That lot was going barmy."

I slapped my thighs, jumping away from the door. "Isn't that swell? Either Harry and I die or we just get loopy."

Hermione frowned. She was tapping her fingers against her arm.

"But this isn't the first time is has happened," she muttered. "The first time was when you, Harry, confronted Professor Quirrell."

"Really?" said Harry, shooting me a quick glance. I shrugged.

"I kind of forgot."

"You said that whatever Harry was going to face down the chamber was worse than anything," said Hermione. "And you two saw You-Know-Who."

"Yah, I remember."

"Something must have triggered it," said Harry with sudden understanding. "Something before we even met."

"But what?" asked Ron.

I puffed out a cheek and let out a puff of air. The question lingered on the air, and we all wondered. I had an idea, but I didn't voice it aloud. For starters, it probably had happened when we were toddlers... when our parents were still alive, before Voldemort even decided to kill his.

No, I certainly wasn't going to talk about it, not even remotely mention this again. We had enough in our plates and for this to suddenly appear, it was just too much for the three of us. More garbage to carry with me.

"Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?" said Hermione at last. "Are you expecting a letter?"

"I told Sirius about my scar," said Harry, shrugging. "I'm waiting for his answer."

"Good thinking!" said Ron, his expression clearing. "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"

"I hoped he'd get back to me quickly," said Harry.

"But we don't know where Sirius is… he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?" said Hermione reasonably.

"Venice, actually," I said. They looked over at me. "He always sends a clue to where he is. If I'm not wrong, he was heading to Spain."

"See, Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days," Hermione sighed.

"Yeah, I know," Harry mumbled looking over the window.

"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry," said Ron. "Come on - three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play… You can try out the Wronski Feint… "

"Ron," said Hermione, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, "Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now… He's worried, and he's tired… We all need to go to bed…"

"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," said Harry suddenly. "Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt."

Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like, "Boys."

But when we went downstairs, I was stopped by Harry, who grabbed my wrist and told Hermione to go on. With annoying glint on her eye, she agreed and went to sit next to Marie, who looked nearly to burst out of the Burrow. Harry sat on the bottom of the stairs, and with a wiggle of his eyebrows, I sighed and sat next to him. Our knees were touching, just like that time in my secret spot when he told me about the Marauders' map, though this time, I couldn't help but shift uncomfortable.

"What really happened in the camp, Anya?" he asked softly, clasping his hands.

"Not you too," I groaned. "Nothing, nothing happened. I got separated from you lot, got a lot of bruises, was sort of lost, and then I found you. Nothing more, nothing less. Clear?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, looking amused. Irritated, I started to get up but he stopped me with a wave of his hand.

"If I told you I have something to make the bruising fade, will you let me help you?"

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. "And let you see me in my knickers?" He flushed. "I don't think so, wonder boy, but thanks for the offer. You know, you're getting cheesier every year that passes."

"I didn't know that worrying fell into that category."

"With the way you do?" I scoffed. "Of course it does."

I let out a loud squeak when a familiar voice spoke into my ear.

"Will you two stop flirting?" said Marie, holding on the stairs' railing. "Its getting boring."

Hermione, who I didn't notice was behind her too, hissed her name.

"We weren't -" Harry started to babble.

"Yeah, yeah, it doesn't matter," said Marie dismissively. "Ms. Rosenberg is here already though."

I jumped to my feet, all embarrassment forgotten. "What?!"

Indeed, when I entered the kitchen, I saw the familiar scarlet-colored hair of Natasha Rosenberg. She was talking quietly with Mrs. Weasley, who looked much better than before. They quieted down when they saw me standing in the doorway.

"Hey," said Natasha, standing up and greeting me with a hug. I stiffly patted her on the back. "You alright?" she asked, stepping back and taking hold of my face. Her fingernails, I noticed, had been painted purple, and her hands were warm.

I felt my eye twitch slightly as her eyes roamed all over me. Not only Hermione and Harry, but her, had noticed that this affected me more than I let on. Annoyed, I took her wrists and moved them away. She left them fall limply at her sides.

"Yeah," I muttered, ignoring the disappointed expression on her face.

"Thanks for the tea, Molly," said Natasha. "But I'm afraid we will have to leave."

"Oh dear, it was no trouble. I do hope we see each other soon."

"Oh?" Natasha smirked. "I think I will. And do remember, maroon clashes with red."

Furrowing my eyebrows, I turned to look at the others. They too, looked like they didn't understood.

"Bye guys," I said, waving, and we walked out of the house.

When we were ten meters away, Natasha said, a little bit rushed, "Grab my hands tightly."

Marie and I did as told and soon, the world was spinning and turning into blurs, with us being sucked into a tube. My feet slammed into solid ground and I swayed, but quickly held myself upright.

However, when I looked up I didn't recognize the place. There were no gates nor the opaque sign of the orphanage. Instead, we were standing at the top of a hill, the wind making my hair flew behind me. At the bottom of the hill, rested a two-story house, almost the size of a manor. It was painted in yellow and had a lot of square windows, the most prominent one being the one on top. Farther from it, was a tall willow tree with a swing attached to the largest branch. The leaves were turning yellow-ish.

"Where are we?" said Marie, also looking confused. She pulled her bangs out of her face.

For the first time in many years since I had known her, Natasha let herself grin widely and she turned to face us, spreading out her arms to the air.

"This is home!"

I was sort of worried about her mental state.

Link of the house is on my profile.