What do you want from my life, I ask myself.
Loading my questions like a shotgun.
You can fuck every chance with one shot,
you think that's the answer.
The cut that stings.
Look before you leap.
All blown apart.

December 19th 9PM, Monday
Charles Smith's cottage, Brazil

The night air was warm and damp. I took off my pale green sweater and tied it around my waist sloppily. Splinters from the wooden porch dug into my thighs as I swung my feet back and forth over the edge but I barely noticed, my mind was on other things. I was so lost in thought that I didn't even notice the brown-haired man walk up and sit down to my right.

"I'm sorry for shooting you," Smith stated apologetically, "I know that probably doesn't make up for it but in my defense I was rather frightened at the time."

His voice startled me out of my thoughts and I turned quickly toward him. The calculating look in his eyes forced me to instinctively lean to the left. His warm smile did nothing for my uneasiness.

"Don't worry about it," I replied numbly, "I'm used to near death experiences." Charles chuckled lightly and I allowed myself to shift into a more relaxed position.

Both of us were silent for a moment while we stared up at the stars. It was a beautiful night and with no city lights for miles the view was amazing. When Charles still remained silent I finally decided to voice a question that had been on my mind since I found out who the man was.

"How did you meet my father?" I asked curiously. Charles didn't seem phased by the question and I didn't doubt that he probably was expecting it sooner or later.

"I'd like to say it was in some thrilling battle," he began, "but that would be a lie. I actually met Harry in a park near his childhood home. He had snuck out of his protective prison and I just happened to be there at the same time that night doing some quiet contemplating of my own."

"It was odd how we struck up a friendship," he continued, "I suppose it proves that not all friendships need some sort of catalyst, there are some friendships that just happen. He saw me sitting on one of the swings reading a book and he just walked over and asked me what I was reading."

"I was so startled by his presence that I automatically told him it was a book on advanced potions, not even considering the fact that he might have been a muggle. Even when I looked up at him I couldn't place him because it was so dark. He told me his name was Harry, I gave him my name and the rest, as they say, is history."

The explanation seemed a little too simple and the story was nowhere near as fantastic as the others concerning my father. I couldn't help but smile at its simplicity. For some reason it reminded me of how Draco and I met.

"Sometimes you meet your best friend just by running into a stranger," I stated wistfully, remembering back to the first time I met Draco and ran right into him, knocking him to the sidewalk.

"I suppose a person could," Charles replied thoughtfully, "Harry and I certainly turned out to be good friends."

"We did have a few rules though. The first was that we never asked about the past. If one of us wanted to talk then that was fine, but no prying. Second, we agreed to be loyal to each other first and foremost."

"Loyal?" I asked in confusion.

"It was my idea," Charles explained, "Harry had so much going on in his life and he hardly knew who to trust as a friend and who was attempting to use him. So we came up with an agreement that no matter what happened or what we heard, we'd always know that we could trust each other and we'd always help each other."

His voice trailed off until it was barely a whisper and I had to strain to make out the words. It was evident that he cared for my father very much.

"It seems strange that the two of you became such good friends," I stated, "seeing as how you're so much younger than him."

Charles paused for a moment before his eyes widened in surprise. Then a soft chuckle escaped him, which quickly turned, into loud laughter. I gave him a confused look and he shook his head in amusement.

"Harry and I are practically the same age," Charles explained.

"No way!" I exclaimed, "You look so much younger than him. You barely look older than I am!" A pink tinge shaded his cheeks and he shook his head once again.

"I may look young but there is a reason for that. I suppose one could say youth runs in my bloodline."

"I don't understand."

Charles didn't reply immediately, instead he turned and studied my eyes closely, almost as if he was looking for something hidden behind the green orbs. I blinked once and then twice, which seemed to shake him out of his thoughts.

"I suppose I might as well tell you since my time in hiding will soon come to an end."

"What do you mean, "come to an end"?" I questioned.

"If you found me then it won't take long for others to find me as well," he replied with a shrug, "It's only a matter of time."

"Charles Smith doesn't exist," he stated simply and I gasped audibly in reply.

"Doesn't….exist?"

"Nope," he replied assuredly, "Charles Smith was someone I created. Actually, about twenty-five years ago, one could say I gave birth to Charles Smith."

"He was a disguise I created for myself," he continued, "My childhood was much like your father's, if anyone heard my name they instantly knew who I was. Unlike your father though, I could hide my identity by changing my name since hardly anyone knew what I even looked like."

"Then who are you really?" I asked curiously.

"My first name is Charles, that much is true. But my last name isn't Smith, it's Flamel."

"Flamel," I repeated slowly, rolling the name over a few times in my mind. I knew I had heard the name before but I couldn't remember when or where. It just seemed familiar.

"My great-great-great-grandfather was quite famous," he added.

"Flamel," I repeated once more before realization dawned on me, "You mean like Nicholas Flamel, the guy who made the Philosopher's Stone?"

"One in the same," Charles replied, "Nicholas was an incredible alchemist and I wished for nothing more than to follow in his footsteps."

"I wanted to create something as wonderful and groundbreaking as he had," Charles continued, "but I didn't want to be famous. Actually, I just wanted to invent something that would be beneficial to wizards and muggles alike."

"I suppose I'm a bit of a softy," he added ashamedly, "Harry always accused me of trying to save the world."

"As if he should talk," I snorted. I expected Charles to agree with me but instead he just gave me a puzzled look.

"You didn't know your father very well, did you?" he questioned.

"What do you mean?"

"Harry never wanted to save the world," he explained, "Sure he wanted to keep his friends safe but he never cared about saving the world. Revenge was always high on his list as well, more so toward the end of the war, but I have no doubt that it was always there in his mind."

"There were times I thought he might end up destroying the world," he added seriously, "but never saving it."

"Did you know my mother?" I asked quickly.

"I never met the woman," Charles replied with a small smile, "but Harry talked about her enough for me to get a good idea of what she was like." Suddenly his brow furrowed and his lips were set in a tight frown.

"Is something wrong?" I asked nervously. Charles shook his head and his features relaxed slightly.

"Just remembering," he stated in a light tone.

"I want you to know something Jenny," Charles continued as he turned to look at me, his voice becoming more serious than I had heard it all day.

"Oriel," he began, "your mother…she wasn't, this is hard for me to say, but she wasn't the woman you probably believe her to be."

"If I know Harry, I'm sure he gave you a very rose colored version of events concerning your mother, or perhaps he told you practically nothing at all. But I think you need to know that your mother was not as innocent as the image she portrayed."

"What are you saying?" I questioned angrily, "Are you saying just because she was Voldemort's daughter that she was somehow inherently evil?"

"No, no, no," Charles responded, waving his hands in front of him, "I'm merely saying that everyone makes mistakes and everyone is human, including Oriel."

"I know she wasn't perfect, if that's what you mean," I stated softly, "I barely know anything about her, other than the fact that she and my father had a son while they were still in London and then she died giving birth to me." Charles gave me a confused look.

"How old are you?" Charles questioned.

"Eighteen."

"And when was your birthday?"

"May 1st," I replied automatically.

"So that means you were born in 2000, correct?" he asked and I nodded in reply.

Charles thought about this for a moment before his eyes widened in surprise and his cheeks took on a pale, white hue. He raised shaky fingers to my cheek and brushed my skin softly, almost as if he was trying to convince himself that I was actually sitting there next to him.

"What's wrong?" I asked worriedly.

"I never thought…I don't know how…Jenny, I…."

"Just tell me," I pleaded, "Please don't keep secrets, I've had enough secrets kept from me to last a thousand lifetimes."

"Harry and I worked on projects together that most people, even wizarding folk, would think unbelievable," Charles said in a dull tone, "And just like all secrets, information about our work trickled out into the world where more than a few very powerful leaders would, even now, be willing to betray the very people they serve to get their hands on our findings."

"Why are you telling me this?" I interrupted.

"Because you need to know," he continued, "If something happens to me…if something happens to me then someone needs to know."

"There are two things that someone would need to continue our work," Charles explained, "besides money and manpower of course. The first is a collection of notes left by Nicholas and the second…"

"Is a small book that my father kept," I interrupted and Charles nodded in reply.

"I don't know what Harry did with the book, but the notes are in an unnamed vault at Gringotts, a vault that even I cannot enter."

"But why…"

"Because the projects Harry and I were working on should never be completed," Charles interrupted sharply, "Projects we should never have started in the first place. I locked them away so no one could get to them."

"Why didn't you just destroy them then?" I questioned, "What's the use in locking them in a vault if you never plan on taking them out?"

"I didn't have the heart to destroy all of my grandfather's work," Charles explained ashamedly, "And I hoped that in the future, when the world is at peace, it could be used for the good of mankind. I see now that day may never come to pass."

"So you want me to go to the vault and destroy them?"

"Not exactly," he replied, "I do want you to destroy them but you will not be able to get into the vault on your own. You need a certain person's blood to get into the vault."

"Who's?" I asked as my eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Harry's," Charles stated, "Only Harry can get into the vault."

"What!" I exclaimed loudly, "My father is at Hogwarts, how am I supposed to get him to Gringotts? I don't think he's even conscious yet."

"You don't need him to go to the vault with you," Charles explained, "You only need his blood and you should be able to get that at Hogwarts."

"But…but…" I stammered uselessly, "Why can't we just leave the notes at Gringotts? If my dad is the only one who can open it then what's the problem? No one else knows about this anyway so why not just keep them locked up?"

"That was my first idea," he admitted, "but there is another who would seek to enter the vault and I have no doubt that his intentions are not nearly as noble as mine."

"If you're talking about Voldemort then you've really lost me," I stated, "As far as I've heard the old snake-faced bastard is dead and gone. And how would he have access to my dad's blood anyway? And would he even know what was in the vault?"

"I thought he was dead as well," Charles explained, "but I overheard Khalida and Draco talking about some disturbing dreams you've been having."

"They're just dreams."

"Dreams of memories that aren't your own," he responded and my face paled considerably.

"Dreams can mean anything," I countered.

"They're his memories," Charles stated, "Along with a few of Harry's I would guess. It doesn't surprise me now that I've met you. Plus that scar pretty much says it all."

"What about my scar?" I asked as I unconsciously rubbed at my forehead.

"Harry's scar was a connection to Voldemort," he explained, "So one could deduce that the scar on your forehead is also a connection, most likely a connection to them both."

"That still doesn't explain how Voldemort would get into the vault," I replied with a scowl.

"Think back to what you've read about your father. Think about his past. When Voldemort was resurrected he took something from Harry."

"His blood," I replied mechanically, "but the vault…"

"It is unlikely that Voldemort would know about it," Charles replied, "Especially since I never let Harry in on the secret. But now that I've told you…"

"Then why did you tell me then! Are you mad!"

"He would have found out sooner or later," Charles responded with a sigh, "I decided it would be better if you had a head start." His statement caused a memory to surface in my mind.

I was walking through ashes again. I recognized the debris surrounding me. How could I not recognize the house I had lived in for eighteen years? Once again I was searching for something, but I didn't know what it was I searched for, or why I wanted it.

"Shit."

"What?" Charles questioned curiously.

"Voldemort," I stated plainly, "he's already looking for the book my dad had. I bet he was the one who robbed the house too. I don't understand why he would have burned the place down though.

"How do you know he's looking for it?"

"It was in my dream," I replied, "I dreamt that I was walking through the ashes of what used to be my house and I was searching for something."

"Do you know if he found it?"

"No, I don't think he has," I responded, "but he knows something about it because I think he forced me to dream of a time when I actually saw the book." Brown eyes widened in surprise at my response.

"What did you see in your dream?"

"Just one word," I stated, "Homunculus, does it mean anything to you?" His brown eyes widened even further and he mouthed a silent "no".

"Well, it must mean something to him because he did a little victory dance afterward," I continued with a small sigh.

"A victory dance?"

"Well, more like a victory shout I suppose."

"If he hasn't found the book yet then perhaps you should go after that first," Charles said thoughtfully.

"He's already ahead of me on that one though," I stated, "I think the vault's our best bet." Charles nodded in agreement.

"Now how in the hell am I going to get back into Hogwarts?"

"I would suggest sneaking in," Charles stated, "Perhaps you can get in and out without anyone knowing."

"Hopefully it will work," I responded dryly, "Last time I tried the direct route and it didn't work out very well."

oooooooooooooooooo

oooooooooooooooooo

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I wrote it all in one night and I think it came out pretty good. The plot seems to be thickening quite nicely and I hope some of you are observant enough to pick up a few of the clues I have left, they'll come in handy later.

Also, I did not make up the term "Homunculus", so go out on the net and do some sleuthing!

Sorry, in the first posting of this I had Charles stating 2018 as the year Jenny was born instead of the correct year of 2000. This story takes place in 2018 when Jenny is eighteen. Sorry again.