Disclaimer: This will be the one and only disclaimer for this entire story. I DO NOT own either Harry Potter characters or its plot. Above all, the original characters belong to me as well as the original plot for this story. Please ask for permission before you borrow any of them.

Warnings: AU. Mentions of sexual behavior. Teenage humor. Mature themes. Violence in later chapters. Some foul language. Romance. Creature violence.

Bloodlines: Heritage Year

Chapter One & Two: What Happens in Paris

"YOU'RE NOT TAKING HER!"

The little girl's cries grew louder.

Sounds of clashing metal and bright lights filled her once peaceful nursery.

Muffled yells filled with pain echoed. He was pinned to a wall.

Fangs glistened.

The full moon shone.

Blood spilt.

Then, all the weeping child could hear was a siren's fading voice.

Hush now, my baby
Be still, love, don't cry…
Sleep like you're rocked by the stream
Sleep and remember this river lullaby-

"ARMANIUS BANISE!"

And I'll be with you when you dream…

"NO LILY!"

Dear Diary,

Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday, dear Lilyanna! Happy Birthday to me! Or, as they say in France, Joyeux Anniversaire…well, I think that's what they say. Maybe I should've paid more attention to McGonagall when she gave those French lessons last year instead of sleeping. Boy, did she give me a detention after that! I had to write 400 times: I will neither sleep in class nor blow Drooble's Best Blowing Blue Gum bubbles into my fellow classmate's hair. But, it was totally worth it. I think it took that forever-primping bitchy Madeline vonArrow a week to get all of it out of her (quote, unquote) "silky golden locks". My arse! The only thing golden about "Martyr Maddie" is her spray-tan. We'll talk more about that later. Actually…let's not.

Yes diary, the Evans have landed in Paris! We make quite the party. At least that's what mother says before she flies off into some one-word named boutique. Petunia makes sure to follow her around everywhere and, lately, has always been agreeing with her on every- bloody-thing! It's so annoying. Mother could say, "I think burning the Eiffel Tower to the ground would be quite a knee-slapper right about now! Don't you think?" And Petunia would probably say something like, "Ooooooooooooh, of course mummy-dearest! Can I help you carry the TNT?" Don't think I'm joking diary! It's the truth! You're only lucky that you don't have to hear Petunia's voice. When we were younger, it sounded really sweet. Now, it's a mix between an organ grinder's monkey and nails on a chalkboard. I SWEAR, we're only related through genetics. Funny thing is we don't even look alike! She's a horse. I'm a human being.

Daddy, of course, is always there to stop things from going too far. It's his gender role in a family of women. What would we do without him?

I guess I shouldn't complain. (Like that'll stop me.) What other teenage girls get to spend their 16th birthday in Par-ee? Well…I suppose Parisian teenage girls, but they don't count. This is my day and Dad is finally letting me go off on my own! Party! Hah! Before I left, I asked the woman who runs the bed-and-breakfast we're staying at if she knew any good pick-up lines. The look she gave me was hilarious and rather stuck-up. Oh well, I don't even remember half of what she said. It was all and I mean all in rapid French. Mum and Petunia know enough French to fill their size zero pockets. But, Dad's pretty fluent. He always changes the subject when I ask where he learned it from. Strange

Want to hear something really unusual? I had that dream again last night! Yes, that dream and for the hundredth time! Yet, what was different was that I actually remember what happens. There was a woman singing to a child, this shadowy figure that seems to be helping her, and some other man. He's always the last to walk into the room and it's never a pleasant reunion. All I see next is the shadow pouncing on him…then I hear someone yelling my name. Interesting? Yes. Très chic? Definitely not.

Oh well. All I can do is relax and enjoy Paris!

"FREAK!!!!!! It's time to gooooooooo!"

Agh! There's banshee flower now! How did the City of Lights suddenly become so dim?

Forever Your Flower,

"Do you have everything?"

"…Yes, daddy."

"You sound hesitant. Are you sure? What about your Metro pass?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Keys? Money? Guidebook?"

"Triple yes, dad. Look I'll be back by-,"

"7 o'clock tonight."

"What?!! That's not fair; I'm sixteen not seven!"

Sometimes, Lilyanna Evans wondered if her father would ever make it through his you're-still-my-little-girl phase. What respectable adolescent has a seven o'clock curfew?! It was like not seeing white on rice, Fred without Ginger, or London without Big Ben! It simply wasn't natural. Teenage girls like her needed to be out about town exploring new sights, flirting with cute blokes, hanging out with friends, and spreading their wings. But, her daddy, like always, never got the memo. He was acting particularly protective this afternoon. Maybe her ponytail reminded him of the curly pigtails she wore when she was six and stupid?

"Then, it looks like you'll be staying here with me."

"Are you kidding?! Daddy, it's too bloody hot…I bet if you cracked an egg on the pavement; it would boil!! Like my flesh is doing right now!"

Mr. Evans' eyes crinkled the way they always did when he stared at his daughter in disapproval. He'd brought his whole family to Paris with him while he attended a medical conference on genetics. He planned several hours of family bonding time. Mr. and Mrs. Evans were spending their vacation in Paris in pairs. Yesterday, he'd spent the day with his older daughter Petunia. Lily was his youngest and most free-spirited. Lately, it appeared as though nothing could put her in a good mood. Being a doctor, at first he tried to chalk it up to hormones. But, this was getting ridiculous. Lily'd been sulking and whining about going out on her own all day.

"Will anything put you in a better mood?"

"Yeah. Freedom."

"Other people have it worse off than you, darling," sighed Mr. Evans as he gazed up at the blazing blue sky. Mouthing words, it seemed as if Mr. Evans was praying for some great divine solution to teenage girls. A strong breath of wind blew across the 7th arrondissement. Pedestrians exhaled before muttering their relief in French. The great City of Lights was suffering a terrible heat stroke. Scorching hot temperatures were recorded throughout Western Europe and expected to rise. The weather was dreadful and almost a cruel unusual punishment, especially when you were standing in a never-ending queue to the famous Louvre Museum.

Lilly glared at her father in annoyance before turning it toward a young lad who happened to be inching toward her purse. "Come any closer and you'll feel what it's like to end up in blood pudding!"

Usually, her insults were far wittier and held no cannibalism. Today was just an exception. Lily had been having bizarre dreams for the last few nights…ever since she'd returned from school. In each dream, she heard a beautiful woman singing a spooky lullaby. There was always this shadowy figure next to her…a violent one. Whenever that poor man came into the room, the shadow would pounce on him…devour him whole. Lily shuddered. She could never see any of their faces. Yet last night, on the eve of her 16th birthday, the dream had been a whole lot clearer leaving Lily with frustration, irritability, and physical aching.

Everything hurt.

"Dad, can I please just go across the street? What's the point of keeping me a prisoner in Paris?"

"You have no idea what it's like to be a prisoner, Lilyanna Evans. Quit your whining."

She winced. He used her full first and last name. That was always the final warning. Deciding to keep quiet, Lily analyzed the street up then down in yearning. Even back home in London, she was never allowed to go anywhere! Was there a point in going on vacation?

"'Excusez-moi, monsieur? Etes-vous appelé par le nom de Dmitri Evans?"

The inquirer was the almost pickpocket. He was rather short with a red face and spoke with a rough accent. The boy stared up at Mr. Evans expectantly. Lily was certain by the glint in his dark eye, he already knew the answer. She watched her father straighten stiffly.

"Oui, je le suis. Comment peux-je vous aider?" responded the doctor. It happened in an instant. One moment the boy was standing in from of them. The next he pulled her father roughly down by the collar to his eye level.

Lily gasped in outrage. "Oy! Let go of my dad before I curse your balls inside out!"

The mysterious lad raised an eyebrow. "Curse me? Whatever do you mean, princess?"

So, he spoke English, huh? Lily growled angrily before flipping her red curls over her shoulder in contempt. To add to the effect, she made sure to give her best "asshole aristocrat" scowl. This only seemed to amuse the stranger even more. She stared down her nose at him. If she could fulfill both threats in public…

You have to understand that Lilyanna Evans was a witch. She was the wand-waving, spell-casting, broom-riding…well sorta, magical kind of witch. She went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before the acceptance letter came at age eleven, weird accidents frequently occurred. One time in grammar school Lily turned her least favorite teacher's hair electric blue. Then, another time when she was running from bullies trying to steal her lunch, she popped up in the cafeteria next to protective Headmistress Agatha. Weird things like that. When the messenger owl finally brought the answer, Lily wasn't too surprised. Now, five years later, the redhead would be attending her 6th year at beloved Hogwarts.

"Let him go!"

Magic was forbidden to be cast in front of muggles or non-magical folk. Lily attempted to make a grab at her father. "Stay out of this!" warned Mr. Evans. He focused his cobalt blue gaze on the other man. "Quel est votre message, monsieur?"

"C'est le temps pour payer vos péchés, votre traitre. Nous regardons. We are near."

The boy's smirk became so sinister with malice that the redhead trembled. She chastised herself. She was a Gryffindor! Lions don't cower during the heat of the moment…despite these mental repercussions; she could force neither her sore arms nor mouth to move.

"We are near," he repeated in English. "We are watching.

And Master is coming for you. Your flight has ended"

In that instant, he was gone! There was neither fleeing nor shoving. No gigantic light that swallowed him whole or crack of lightening. He was just gone…there wasn't even a "pop"! The pickpocket had literally disappeared into thin air. Lily's eyes blinked in amazement. Even with apparition…she didn't know of any transportation…especially without a sound! Impossible! Yet, bystanders in line seem to have neither noticed the assault nor mysterious exit or entrance. Strange.

"Daddy, what's going on-,"

"Lily," Mr. Evans fixed his tie with a nonchalant expression. His hands were shaking. "I think you should go back to the inn now."

"Bloody He-,"

"Lilyanna."

She huffed. "Please tell me you don't believe that thief, do you? It was probably just some practical joke or he thought you were someone el-,"

"Darling, I really want you to go back now. Here. I'll catch a cab for you."

"But you promised-,"

Mr. Evans roughly pulled his daughter's arm toward the curb before waving his own. "Of course, yes, but that was before…"

"Before what? It's my sixteenth birthday! We were going to spend the day together, remember?"

Cobalt orbs darkened. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?" cried Lily in frustration.

"Because you're in such a vexing mood! You're in no good humor to take anywhere today."

"I have plenty of good humor!"

"No you don't!" Mr. Evans' eyes met his daughter's. Lily was taken aback by the mixture of raw emotion in her father's cobalt eyes. Confusion, Determination, Fear, Sadness, Anger. She'd never seen him look like that. Though he might've been dressed in his normal pressed shirt and pants attire, Lily felt as if she was viewing a whole different person. Where was Dmitri Evans? Her loving father disappeared when he began to scan the streets as if looking for a criminal from a wanted poster.

"Darling, I promise we'll celebrate your birthday when I go back to the inn. I need to take care of some business. I'll even let you drink scotch."

Scotch…it wasn't a promise-it was just an excuse to get rid of her! Lily felt tears prickle before hurriedly wiping them away. Piggyback rides, playpens, and even shopping trips through consignment booths. They used to do everything together until he accepted that stupid administrator's job at the hospital. Now, they couldn't even stand in line without pushing each other's buttons. Lily realized she must've been a disappointment. Her older sister Petunia might be a banshee, but she wasn't near as flighty at sixteen. Mrs. Evans, even though Lily didn't see too much of her, was polite when she wasn't in a fit. Both could at least pretend to be dour or sweet. Fiery Lily could only explode. She was a daughter whose father didn't want to take her anywhere in Paris-much less back home in London.

"Here. You've always admired it. Why don't you wear my ring for safe-keeping? It'll bring you good luck being the person you are."

Lily's right hand felt lame as her father slipped the bejeweled object on. Forgetting the years of candid awe, she decided that instant the ring was terribly tacky. Before she'd wanted it but now it simply weighed her down. The ring was a glistening, despicable thing of blazing emeralds and sapphires around a gold band. The single remarkable quality about the piece was the tiny crest of a dark lunging wolf with little emeralds for eyes. Lily sneered ignoring the bubbling feeling of comfort within her chest.

Ugly.

"Don't you look beautiful… sixteen already …"

Mr. Evans gasped his daughter's hand and then cupped her left cheek as though quietly bidding a final farewell. A cab pulled up behind them. A miracle for there was few in Paris. "I'll see you soon, sweet pea."

Lily tried to not have him notice the pooling tears as she was pushed into the backseat. While Mr. Evans whispered directions in French to the driver, the redhead wiped her emerald green eyes, thinking of the wickedest thing to say for a distraction. She grasped the door before it closed.

"You know," whispered Lily, staring into her father's eyes, "sometimes I wish you would just disappear."

He grinned forlornly. "Be careful what you wish for. It's rather dangerous for you."

The cab's engine revved, took a right, and vanished around the corner. Lily didn't even bother to return his wave good-bye. He would come home tonight as usual; she could apologize later. Until then, the redhead would have to fight the aching in her womb and ignore his last words.

Life couldn't get any better for Madeline Stephanie vonArrow. First of all, she was in Paris! Très magnifique! Everything was beautiful! The lights were beautiful. The landmarks were beautiful. The streets, filled to the brim with bustling carriages, were beautiful. The people were beautiful. But, most importantly, she, Maddie vonArrow was gorgeous. The beautiful mark was passed a long time ago. She had proof as well. For three years running, she'd been voted the Daily Prophet's Most Stunning English Beauty. Men ogled at her hour-glass figure, full bosom, and the plunging necklines of her tailor-made gowns. Women sputtered jealous remarks behind fluttering fans as she stole their husbands and brothers' hearts. They only grew louder as Miss vonArrow spilled expensive champagne on their exported Persian rugs. That was her signature. And, Maddie left her signature inside the finest households in wizarding Britain. Pureblood households.

Pureblood families, like the vonArrows, had existed for centuries. Except for the rare few, all of them accumulated their vast fortunes of gold Galleons into financial bliss. Maddie's father, George vonArrow, owned the Silver Arrow broomstick factories. The chain produced top-quality racing broomsticks with maximum speeds up to 70 miles per hour. Every decent wizard desired one, which meant one thing for the vonArrows: money and lots of it. Besides their ancestral home in Wiltshire, they owned a residence in the Netherlands, Belgium, and of course Paris. Yet Maddie was not at the boring vonArrow fifteen-room apartment complex that held her own private suite. No, she was staying with the Potters in their fashionable first arrondissement mansion.

"Excuse me, missus. Master and Mistress were wondering if missus will come down for breakfast."

It was a servant. A house-elf to be more specific. With big tennis ball-shaped eyes, wrinkly brown skin and gigantic nose, the tiny creature wore a tea cozy with the Potter lion crest on the front. Maddie sniffed in approval. This one spoke proper English. Not that squeaky nonsense you hear from the Hogwarts kitchen elves.

"Very well. Let's proceed, shall we?" That was an order.

While the pathetic servant ran off whimpering, Miss vonArrow rose daintily from her vanity table. She beamed at perfection in the mirror. Her reflection. Straightening her ivory tea-length skirt, Maddie tossed herself a wink. She always looked like an angel in white from what her admirers gushed. The fine satin day gown was trimmed in multiple rows of delicate knife pleats. Large dangling pearl bead decorations sat on the bodice's shirred side opening. Her silky golden locks grew longer, paler over the summer. Her golden skin appeared unbelievably real and those blue eyes of hers (gorgeous!) were glowing more coyly than ever! She was the epitome of a pureblood society witch-in-training.

Grabbing an embroidered fan, Madeline exited the guest bedroom then made way gracefully down the marble staircase to the veranda. Yes, veranda. In the wizarding world, old families generally meant old money. The Potters were an exemplar of this equation. The blonde paused, fanning herself harder at the thought of their Gringotts vault. Gold. The sheer volume…couldn't even be described…mountains of gold! All of them stretched from the floor to the thirty-foot ceiling in pillars! Of course, there were copper Knuts and silver Sickles but the gold outbalanced them by thousands. Rumor said the Potters' India vault was even larger! Maddie regained her regal composure whilst trying to hide her excitement. Soon, if everything went according to plan, those vaults for her would go from UnPlottable to all-access!

"Madeline, darling, don't you look…dressed up…"

She plastered her most dazzling grin. "Thank you, my lady! I'm happy to say the same for you."

Lady Dorea Elaine Potter, The Countess of Elysian, was old in wizarding standards. Peculiarly enough, she was still a wispy, ethereal witch. You could also notice the sparks of ginger within the grey of her hair. Defined wrinkles were more evident when she smiled in that tired sort of way. Despite her husband's magnificent fortune, Mrs. Potter dressed rather plain. Today she wore a simple silk blue day gown with pearls that complimented her enormous hazel eyes.

"You flatter me," replied Mrs. Potter robotically, "Please sit down."

Maddie waited for the house-elf to pull out the offered chair before descending onto it. The blonde sat with a smiling princess's posture. Inside, she was seething. She'd put much work into her appearance this morning and all she got was a lousy "dressed up"! What happened to spectacular, marvelous, or beautiful beyond imagination?!

"Miss vonArrow, how is your family faring in this terrible heat?"

"Well enough, good sir. Mother sent me an owl last night. She said that the apartment is much cooler now thanks to the cooling charms you taught the house-elves. They were quite brilliant, sir!"

Lord Charlus Harold Potter, The Earl of Elysian, rumbled in content while flipping through Le Messager Magique-wizarding France's version of the Daily Prophet. It hadn't taken Madeline long to discover that Mr. Potter loved complements. His bespectacled violet eyes read through the French script without confusion. He was a genius notwithstanding celebrity in the Wizarding World. Mr. Potter had been the top Auror of his generation, successfully helping Albus Dumbledore bring down Grindelwald during Wizard World War I (WWWI). In his old age, he was still considered one of the most handsome men in England with his messy charcoal grey hair, strong voice, and wiry build. Unlike Mrs. Potter, Mr. Potter was dressed head to toe in top-of-the-line Gladrags navy blue robes and posh dragon-hide boots.

"Please call me Charlus. All of James' other friends do."

"Oh, Lord Potter, I couldn't! It would be too improper-,"

"Bustling Boggarts! We're on vacation Miss vonArrow," His eyes twinkled merrily. "No one is calling you to stand on ceremony."

The blonde's shoulders lifted in triumph. "Thank you…Charlus." Madeline glanced toward Lady Potter expectantly. She was stirring her tea daintily with a tiny silver spoon. Once done with that, the nonchalant wife reached for the weather pages of Le Messager Magique. Lady Potter preferred to read about the weather rather than discuss it. As a matter of fact, the older witch seldom discussed anything. At balls, she merely sat in the corner reading dusty novels instead of dancing or adding to the latest gossip.

Madeline frowned. She despised oddballs. They were just so…odd.

"Reading? Puh! I can't think of a more absurd way for a witch of your class to spend her time! It only leads to worse, I tell you. Better watch yourself Dorea or you'll end up thinking like those unmarried feminist writers from Witches Weekly! Can you imagine?" chastised scandalized Mr. Potter.

His wife smiled thinly. "There's no need to worry, dear. I read romance or mystery novels. Nothing too-,"

"That's how it starts! Listen Dorea, I only want what's best for you. An honorable lady of your age needn't stress herself with thinking so deeply. Leave that to the men." He patted her on the knee. "And it wouldn't hurt for you to be more sociable. Here's an idea: I'll schedule an appointment for you with Countess Yaxley! She's an amiable sort. Don't you agree, Maddie?"

"Oh, yes! My mother and she are the best of friends!"

The older witch stood abruptly. When she faced the blonde, her tone was ice. "Well, that's all dandy for your mother, isn't it? However, I'm afraid, dear husband, that the Countess is on vacation in Monte Carlo at the moment and unavailable for your call. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will retire to my room for rest. All of that bothersome reading must be catching up to me…"

Keeping a stony gaze on Maddie, Lady Potter left the veranda at a swift, elegant pace. The blonde glared at her back, muttering a curse behind the embroidered fan. That nasty spinster! One day…urgh! No matter what she did, that horrible woman would forever hate her. And for no reason either! Mother was right. Dorea Elaine Potter was a witch whom didn't deserve the privilege of being noble or pureblood!

"Please forgive my wife, Miss vonArrow. She has been having temper tantrums for the past while. I can't see why…perhaps I should arrange an appointment with our family physician. Right now, only our James can cure her of illness."

Forgetting her anger, Madeline spread jelly across her toast. "I'm sure that would be best for my lady. Dear Mrs. Potter…I do worry about her so sometimes. You can imagine how relieved I am to hear that James is an aid. He does possess such fine charm."

"Why yes, he does. Gets it from his old man!" Charlus brightened up instantly. "We'll be meeting him and the boys in Allée Impériale after breakfast."

The blonde quelled her excitement. Allée Impériale was the most opulent shopping center in wizarding Paris! Mrs. vonArrow, Madeline's mother, ordered her wardrobe from its fashion houses every season. All of the shops were glamorous, ridiculously expensive, and highly selective of their consumer market. For Madeline vonArrow, to be seen perusing Allée Impériale was to be seen.

"Is James preparing for school?"

"No. No. James is preparing for the Quidditch season. He is Gryffindor Captain this year. Heh…just like his old man…" Mr. Potter rambled off into a proud chuckle. His mustache twitched as he reopened the French news journal. The teenage heiress sipped her tea in near sluggish delight. Yep! Today was going to be absolutely marve-,

Suddenly, the elder wizard spit out his brandy with a cursing gasp. Pushing away the army of house-elves that tried to paw his costly robes clean, he attempted to keep calm. Maddie, however, noticed that Mr. Potter's face had turned a ghastly shade of white. He averted his eyes from her.

"Um, Charl-,"

"Excuse me. It'll take but a moment. Must contact Ministre Duclaires to confirm a meeting."

With that, the ex-Auror bowed and swept off the veranda. The blonde blinked stupidly at the house-elves whom in turn blinked stupidly back at her. Merlin's fingers…what was the rush about? Maddie picked up the discarded Le Messager Magique and read:

Russian Messenger Visits the Ministère: Possible Threat?

The English, French, German, and Italian wizarding monarchies have been disbanded or completely decimated by either the rapid revolutions of the 1800's or the Grindelwald Conflict. Though many aristocratic individuals still keep their titles, thrones have been replaced by democracies and authoritative Ministries of Magic. "Today's time could not handle a monarchy," advises Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "Our views are constantly changing, conflicting. Everyone wants their fair share of the game, especially our radical youth. As history has proven, monarchies inevitably lead to misfortune for the common people." Wizards from every corner of Europe agree with this sentiment. However, the exceptions can be found in Russia. The Imperial Empire of Wizarding Russia to be specific.

Yesterday morning at around 9 o'clock, an anonymous stranger mysteriously appeared in the atrium of Le Ministère de France. Witnesses say the male intruder can be described as short with pale blonde hair and amazingly blood red eyes. "I'll never forget those eyes," claims Andre Chalmers, Department of International Magical Relations. "Gave me shivers. He was wearing the IEWR emblem on his front jacket; I recognized it from my travels abroad. The boy didn't do anything bad, mind you. Not a spell or anything. He just stood and knocked on the Ministre's door until it opened." Officials report that the envoy left about twenty minutes later.

Should France and the International Confederation of Wizardry prepare for war? Le Ministre Duclaires doesn't believe so. "It was merely a diplomatic inquiry. The Russians aren't concerned with conquering France that I can assure you. The Grindelwald Conflict in Germany has taught us all a lesson in military greediness. People are getting worried over the smallest of inconveniences. France is alive and thriving. Let us enjoy her beauty." However, Le Ministre and his Council refused to expend upon what exactly happened behind his office door. Opponents of Duclaires claim that he is far too trusting. An anonymous wizard believes that our Ministre has become blinded by peace.

Russia is one-sixths of the Earth's landmasses. Tsar/Emperor Vladimir I of the Romankov Dynasty has been ruling for the past forty-three years and will soon be reaching his 81st birthday. Much of Wizarding Europe's platinum, lumber, and oil are shipped from Russia to our local businesses and homes. During the past wars against the IEWR, the empire has sent Nogtails and vicious Pogrebin to curse enemy lands. Tensions are high after the Grindelwald Conflict and war is definitely not a fair option for France. This diplomatic inquiry-,

"Oh, gag me!"

An irritated Madeline vonArrow ripped the article clean in half. She had more important things to worry about like the Sanguis Ball, what to wear to the Sanguis Ball, how to fix her hair for the Sanguis Ball…argh! Who cared about some wacko Russian crisis?! The blonde abandoned all protocol as she slinked lazily down in her seat. Her father expected her to look her absolute best for this party. It was totally exclusive and invitations were sent only to those of the most prestigious, Maddie smirked, bloodlines.

Special bloodlines, to be exact. She beckoned a frightful house-elf over while chuckling madly. Not even the Potters would be invited. Never mind the hoi polloi or nouveau riche.

"I want veal."

"Right away, mis-,"

"Let me finish! I want veal with extra garlic sauce and a side of pumpkin juice that better taste like it came straight from the patch…or else…" Madeline gave a wide grin.

The tiny creature squeaked as she covered her wide pregnant belly in terror. "O-of course!"

"Oh, make that veal rare, would you? I haven't eaten anything rare in a long time. I'm simply craving it."

The elf soon disappeared with a loud "POP" and terrible queasiness.

Maddie kept grinning while flipping through the society pages of Le Messager Magique. Normally, she was above cannablistic threats but today could be an exception. The blonde sighed in bliss as she noted the large picture of a champagne stain on a fine Persian rug. Colette's party had been fantastic, but her brother had been even better.

"What happens in Paris stays in Paris," giggled the pureblood heiress.

Life, for a vonArrow, was just too perfect for words.

CHAPTER TWO

"Père céleste!"

"Que sur la terre?!"

"Est-elle vivante? Impossible!"

Pain in life was like an opening door. You could easily run through or have it slam in your face just before you cross the threshold. Every human being born had felt some kind of pain, whether emotional or physical. A broken leg. Pain. Skinned knees. Pain. A broken heart. Terrible Pain. It was inevitable. That's what her father always said. And he was a doctor. There are only a rare few in the world that don't experience pain. The paralyzed…holders of a freaky ultra-rare disease…and corpses. Lily was none of the above. Well, she didn't think she was dead. No. Her green eyes were wide, moving, and observing her surroundings. But, a maddening little voice in the back of Lily's mind was whispering naughtily that she should've been dead.

After all, who survives jumping out of a cab during a traffic jam only to be hit by another?

"Déshonorer. ..elle était une jolie fille."

"Non, regarder! Elle se déplace!"

The crowd was thickening. Lily felt oxygen tighten in her lungs as it became harder to breathe. All of these people…she didn't know any of them! Garbled French passed into one ear and out the other. The witch thought of how she should've paid more attention to McGonagall's French lessons. Why couldn't she move?! Maybe Lily was paralyzed. No. She could still feel her wilds gasps of breath, constantly aching muscles, and the blood rushing throughout her veins. Yes, Lily could hear the curious pedestrians, too. She wasn't paralyzed. Just strangely overwhelmed and…frozen.

"Elle n'est pas morte. S'il vous plaît nous excuser."

Now that voice sounded familiar. Well, Lily hoped it did because the owner of that elderly voice picked her up by the waist. He (the tone was deep enough to be a he) threw Lily's left arm over his bony shoulder. The man spoke more soothing French upon the worried crowd. A dazed Lily managed to pick out the words "friend" and "hospital". Hmm…a hospital…that's where her father worked at in London…her stomach lurched unpleasantly. She was too angry (and unwell) to risk the chance at meeting her overprotective father so soon. Especially after what she'd said to him-

Be careful what you wish for…

Lily shook away the onslaught of guilty nausea. "N-no hospital. I-I-I'm fine." God, she sounded so pathetic! She felt pathetic, too.

"Vous remercier tout pour votre considération. Nous partirons maintenant. Come along, Miss Evans."

The crowd parted for the two. As they walked, Lily noticed they were going in the direction of a local hospital. Damn. Her dad wouldn't be happy to learn his daughter had almost killed herself. Bloody hell! There goes her birthday party…you know turning sixteen was supposed to be the best for young witches. Sixteen was the age of freedom in the wizarding world. You were allowed to complete your apparition license, perform complex magic, and beheld as a responsible teenager. Actually, most witches became engaged on their 16th birthday. Lily coughed. Thank God for being muggle-born! She couldn't even imagine a ring on her finger now, much less a fiancé.

"Ah! Here we are, La Toile de la Veuve! Better known to us British folk as The Widow's Web."

Lily's eyes brightened. Her "savior" had taken them down so many twists and turns she didn't even know if they were in Paris anymore. Ignoring the protesting ache, the redhead looked up to see a huge statue of an ugly witch before them. The artist must've had a seriously deranged sense of humor. His masterpiece possessed only one leg, crooked teeth, scraggly hair, and…was that a mustache?

"I thought French people only liked pretty things?" inquired Lily.

The man rumbled. "They do. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Miss Evans. And, this work of art here is one of the loveliest in the land."

"Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!"

The one-legged witch had come to life. Lily wasn't that surprised because this was the wizarding world and freakier things happened on a day-to-day basis. Like that time Peeves the Poltergeist threw hot bacon grease upon all the girls' hair during one breakfast at Hogwarts.

"My dear, I haven't blushed so much since your brother stopped by yesterday!" cried the statue in English.

He lightly frowned. "Aberforth came to Paris? I find that hard to believe. He absolutely despises traveling."

"Oh, I know. It was quite a shock for me. Haven't seen him in near fifty years! The gentleman said something about "replacing the gall bladder on Stevie goat". How pecu-,"

The old wizard released a hacking cough. "Y-yes. Yes, quite. La mouche innocente attendant l'entrée, if you please."

Her insane cackle chilled Lily to the bones. It was a high-pitched, throaty laughter similar to the kind you hear in old black-and-white horror movies.

"Now bumblebee, you know that entrance to the Black Widow is by membership on-,"

"Miss Evans here is a special guest of mine. As you may note lovely lady, she isn't feeling quite well at the moment-."

Lily winced in annoyance. Was it that noticeable that she looked like shit?

"Merely taking her up to a tea room for some brandy. Surely, an empathic woman such as yourself would understand?"

The witch flirtatiously fluttered her bulging eyelashes. "Please stop! I haven't-oh my-," She snickered in embarrassment. "very well. You may take Miss Levens inside."

"It's Evans." Lily imputed.

"Whatever. Have fun…but not too much fun!" Madame Widow eyed the redhead like a dog would a nasty bone. "You know you're rather scrawny for your age. Can't your parents afford to feed you?"

Growling, sassy Lily placed a hand on her right hip. "You know…you're rather hideous for a hunk of grey marble. But I suppose your creator simply couldn't afford the time to tell you. Poor thing."

She spluttered in indignation. Apparently, everyone that came before Lily was too nice to inform the statue of her "unique" physical attributes.

The wizard grinned enchantingly to soothe the ruffled artwork. "No need to worry, Madame Widow. Miss Evans is a bit too young for me."

"And, with the grace of goodness, she'll learn how to treat a real lady when she gets older! No respect from the underclass these days, I tell you!"

Madame Widow turned and muttered quiet phrases of French to the brick wall behind her. Each hard cube began to move away in big then small sections. This reminded Lily an awful lot of the entrance to Diagon Alley, wizarding Britain's shopping district. Yet over there, there was no need to host annoying chitchat to get in. The guardian was merely a taciturn brick wall.

"Do enjoy yourself, bumblebee!" pardoned Madame Widow.

"I will. Thank you for your assistance."

The corrupt statue from hell (as Lily deemed it in her mind) eyed the redhead in disdain. "You behave yourself! My suggestion is you don't waste your time shopping in Allée Impériale. I doubt you can afford even a quill feather."

The Evans' financial situation was a rather difficult and sensitive subject. Yes, Lily knew Dior. Prada. Chanel. Gucci. She was very well acquainted with designer labels and super expensive upper-class stores like Harrods or Bergdorf Goodman's. But only during certain periods of her youth. A H.C. Year, as the family called them. Herbert and Cornelia Evans made their fortune on gold mines in South Africa. From there, they created a lovely jewelry shop called the Golden Lily, which was named for its intricate ring designs in the shape of the mentioned flower. Cornelia Evans birthed two children: Herbert, Jr. and Gloria Nichole. Both were sent to New York City. There they attended the best single-sex private schools, lived in the family's penthouse apartment, in addition to being flown to and from London. To make a long story short, Gloria met Lily's handsome father-a poor immigrant doctor-in-training. Fell obsessively in love. Harassed him until he agreed to marriage. Became promptly disowned. Had two daughters…blah, blah, blah.

An H.C. year was when ol' Herbert and Cornelia appeared out-of-nowhere, lavished their poor pitiful granddaughters for about a month, and then randomly disappear again with an upturned nose for two or three more years. With them went the Prada. Dior. Gucci. Chanel.

Lily held back a laugh. The upturned nose had something to do with Dmitri Evans' detestation, which was very much returned. Whenever they sent a large "pity check", as he called them, the doctor would tear it to shreds replying he could provide for his family well enough, thank you. The one thing he did allow them to pay for was a good chunk of Lily's expensive Hogwarts tuition to "shut them up".

"Are you going to stand there all day Miss Livens or go in? Not all of us have time for barbarism."

The redhead growled once more before attempting to lunge at the snobbish figurine. Realizing that Madame Widow's point was being proved, her eyes instead settled into an ominous green glower. The ache in her stomach paused for a brief moment.

"Do us all a favor and just blow yourself up, you bloody bitch!!"

Taking pleasure in Madame Widow's revolted gasp, Lily let herself be steered by the mysterious wizard inside. The interior was a totally different spectrum from its marble bouncer. Every item could be described as luxuriously chic from the white leather couches to the diamond-encrusted fireplace mantle. Lily spotted out famous and insanely opulent (not to mention infamous) people that she'd seen pictured in the Daily Prophet or Witches Weekly gossiping. This was where the wizarding gods of celebrity moreover heroism converged in Paris. This was where a clientele of Europe's most beautiful, envied, notorious, and all-powerful magical citizens christened it to be their watering hole. To maintain the super-exclusivity, they paid exorbitant membership fees for the privilege of entrance and to keep out the common herd. On each wall, a dark spider made of onyx with a ruby hour-glass on its abdomen crawled up then down in a creepy parade.

This was the Black Widow-a place where Lily definitely didn't belong.

"Ah! We'll take those seats over by the window," replied her companion to a neatly dressed waiter. "A barbotage for the lady-,"

The redhead asked in excitement, "What's that?"

"Quiet. I'll have a Firewhiskey, if you please."

"Right away, sir."

The window seat was actually two ornate throne-like chairs facing toward each other against a large pane of velvet-stained glass. The wizard removed his wand and utilized a nifty charm that pulled the young witch's seat out. After gently placing her in it, he sat down opposite from her.

Lily grinned at her savior. Her guess had been proven correct. "Hello, Professor Dumbledore."

Professor Dumbledore, though old, constantly radiated an impression of great energy. He had several feet of long silver hair and beard, half-moon spectacles, and an exceedingly crooked nose. His blue eyes were light and sparkling bright. The purple robes he'd adorned were swept the ground alongside his buckled boots. He was often described as the greatest warlock of the era because he defeated the Dark Wizard Grindelwald. Today, Dumbledore was considered the best Headmaster Hogwarts ever had. You just couldn't help trusting him. He radiated an aura of grandfatherly security.

"Good afternoon, Miss Evans. Care for a lemon drop? A muggle sweet, you know. I find them quite delightful." The silver-haired wizard beamed cheerfully.

"Um, no thanks," declined Lily. She found it bizarre that a pureblood champion like Dumbledore ate muggle candy.

Though not as bizarre as jumping out of cab for no bloody reason, eh?

Shut up!

Great. Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world.

"Well, Miss Evans-,"

"Call me Lily."

He appeared rather flummoxed. It felt unusual to see bewilderment on wise Albus Dumbledore's wrinkled countenance.

"We're on summer vacation. And I don't feel like sticking to the obnoxious pomp we girls have to learn in class," explained Lily. "No offense. But, it's all dreadfully dull."

Their drinks arrived on a floating silver platter. As the headmaster reached to hand Lily hers, she promptly took it off, inserted a straw, and began to sip. Barbotage, whatever it was, wasn't that bad.

"Besides…I've been at Hogwarts for five years now. I don't see a reason why we can't drop the formalities."

The redhead flinched, cursing her uncontrollably rebellious tongue. It always got her in trouble at school with Professor McGonagall and the other Gryffindors. Not to mention Slytherins…Ravenclaws…Huffle-okay! It got her in trouble with everyone! But, she couldn't help that she'd been raised in the muggle world-where girls were allowed to attend university, speak their mind, and hold worthwhile jobs. Whenever Lily voiced these ideals, the witch was almost always sent to the library to copy line after line of 18th century poetry. Few other muggle-born or half-blood witches and wizards ever joined her.

Instead of scolding, however, Dumbledore threw back his head and laughed. Not in a mocking way, though. He sounded pleasantly surprised.

The teenager blinked. This was new.

"Very well then, Miss Lily. The pomp shall be dropped!" He chuckled at his near-rhyme.

"Tell me, Lily, the way you express yourself…do your parents ever hear you talk this way?"

"Hmph. They don't listen to me much because they say I complain too much. Specially lately."

"May I ask why lately?"

She wiggled in her cushiony seat. "Just a few aches that's all."

"Women's trouble?"

"No, this is different. Anyway," Lily decided to change the subject. "You can't tell them I was here with you. They mustn't know. Daddy says going out distracts one from more important matters."

The headmaster raised a silver eyebrow. "What's wrong with being with me?"

"Nothing! Nothing! It's more of being here. I told you this isn't an important matter! Come to think of it; we don't go out at all really."

"And why?"

Lily shrugged before tossing a wink. "I don't remember all the excuses Dad gives by heart."

Interesting. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he leaned forward in his seat. The recollection of an awkward eleven-year old entered his mind. It had been the annual Sorting of 1969. The end of a decade. The child stood out with her messy naturally red curls and untied boot laces that dragged across the Great Hall. Her uniform skirt was wrinkled. The shirt was on backwards. She slid her feet instead of regally shuffling like the other little girls. You could tell by her bent posture, skipping gait, and the brightness in her eyes that the girl was well meaning, but tended to let enthusiasm get the best of her. It was also proven, just before the Sorting Hat touched her head, that she can become quite fiery. A mischievous black-haired boy had been bouncing around a Quaffle brought from home. It'd "accidentally" hit the lass for about the second time when she turned around with blazing green orbs. "Stop throwing around that damned ball like you have no sense!"

Though her squeaky voice lessened the effect of the curse word, the boy indeed stopped.

Lilyanna Evans was the first and only first-year to have ever received a detention on Sorting Night.

A chortling Dumbledore took a small gulp of burning Firewhiskey. "Miss Evans-,"

"Lily."

"Lily," he agreed, "Let's get back to those aches of yours. Do they have something to do with our earlier taxi incident?"

"…I'm not sure."

The ice in her drink was melting. The witch took out the cubes, placing them on a napkin. How could she answer that? Lily didn't even know why she'd jumped out. It wasn't like she was suicidal or anything. Death, or the prospect of dying, frightened her. To know that one ill day she would stop breathing...turn cold…become worm food in the ground...Lily gulped down the barbotage. Her stomach grumbled. Now she was hungry.

"Professor," breathed Lily, "weird things have been happening to me. Specially today. It's my 16th birthday-,"

"Good for you! Happy Birthday!"

She exhaled. "Thanks. It's so bizarre. I've grown like five inches over a week! None of my clothes fit me anymore because my weight keeps fluctuating like crazy. And, I've been so hungry lately! I eat and eat and eat, but I don't gain an ounce. I'm craving something but I don't know exactly what. My dreams, too! Urgh! They're the worst because they make the pain keep coming back. Everywhere on my body hurts!"

"Specify everywhere."

"My legs, my arms, my gums, my chest, my breasts-,"

The wizarding hero blushed in embarrassment. "Thank you! Thank you. I understand. Probably feels like a lesser version of the Cruciatus, eh? Tell me about your dreams."

Lily relayed about the singing woman, the dangerous pouncing shadow, and the man who fought both of them. The clashing swords. The spilt blood. The full moon. The waning howl. She told him about the crying little girl. How the three argued about not taking her away. How Lily could never see their faces even if the darkness cleared some like it did last night.

Dumbledore's lips tilted into a frown. "Who is the little girl?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I think it's me because I feel like I know those people. But, I can't recall them for the life of me!" The witch felt so pathetic. "I don't know what to do."

A wrinkly hand went to comfortingly caress her smooth one. "Life, Miss Lily, is full of unexpected events. The best we can do is expect them and respect them for what they are. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. So with that, I want you to put these dreams out of your mind."

The advice was reassuring. Yet deep down, Lily had a feeling that getting these revelations out of her brain was easier said than done. Way easier. All she could do though was look on the bright side.

"Do you think I'll get back to normal, then?" She contemplated for a second. "Well as normal as I'm going to get?"

Not to Lily's surprise did Dumbledore laugh.

"There is no such thing as normal anymore, in my opinion." He replied. "Times are changing. Revolutions are occurring. What you or I consider normal is someone else's absurdity."

The Hogwarts Headmaster stood, cracking a few rigid old bones as he did. Emerald green orbs sparkled teasingly.

"How old are you, Professor?"

Dumbledore winked as he laid upon the table a handful of gold coins. "This is 1974. It is safe to assume I was born long before then. Take care, Miss Evans."

"You too, Professor! See ya at Hogwarts!"

Returning his pupil's energetic wave, the old wizard walked away humming toward the back exit. Toward the material haven of Allée Impériale.

Unmistakably alone, Lily spent time observing Black Widow's sumptuous French décor. That statue was right. She didn't belong here. Lily wiped the bubbling tears in her eyes away. She didn't fit in anywhere actually. Her indecisive mother of sixteen years didn't know what to make of her. Petunia believed she was a freak because she practiced magic. At school, she was considered the class oddball notwithstanding rebel. And, as much as Lily's dad loved her, she didn't feel like going there today. Teenage girls whether witches or muggles weren't supposed to have problems like Lily's. Bloody hell!

The redhead smacked her head down on the table. Ouch.

"M'excuser, mademoiselle. Peux-je vous acheter une boisson?"

She didn't bother to glance up. "Sorry. I don't speak Fre-,"

"I asked if I may buy you something to drink."

Lily's jaw dropped in quite an unladylike fashion. She'd know that snaky, aristocratic voice anywhere! The stranger's face was pale and pointed. His silver blonde hair was tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck by a black ribbon. He was decked out in olive green designer robes with expensive dark brown dragon-hide boots. She met an infamous pair of cold gray eyes. It was Lucius Malfoy, pureblood supremacist extraordinaire and owner of the vast Malfoy fortune.

Emerald orbs narrowed. That voice had called her "mudblood" more than enough times during their two coinciding years at Hogwarts. Didn't he recognize her?

"Miss? Please say you understand English. But, I doubt if it matters. I know Italian, German, Spanish, Dutch, Portug-,"

Lily interrupted quickly. "Nope. I'm good. Just finished off my barbotage or whatever it's called."

You'd think the gloating bastard would be clever enough to take that as a polite way of saying, "Get the hell away from me!" Instead, he slithered closer. The witch smiled uneasily, trying in vain to hide shivers. Those cold eyes were looking Lily's body up and down. Mentally undressing her.

Gross! She attempted to glance elsewhere, yet found other men's lustful stares were on her also. Hello…when did she turn into a veela?! Had they been doing that since she got here with Dumbledore? Some of those blokes looked older than Dumbledore! Lily made faces at them until they focused their attention back on their jealous wives or female companions. She tried to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the silver napkin holder. Besides growing taller, did she look any different from last year?

"You're in Paris for vacation." It wasn't a question. "So am I. My father is on business with the Prime Minister. His name is Abraxas Malfoy. You must be acquainted him surely. Everyone who's anyone is."

He thought she was pureblood! Was he daft?! She didn't dress or talk like one of those blubbering stuck-up porcelain dolls at school! Dolls with impeccable manners, who speak when spoken to, and tirelessly remind everyone of their high station above others…

Lily stood abruptly. Anger oozed out of each pore of her essence. "I'll be leaving now, you insufferable snake! Don't let a little "mudblood" like me ruin your precious evening!"

"What?!" Malfoy exclaimed in bewilderment. "You're a mud-,"

Out of nowhere, a loud explosion reverberated at the facade of the Black Widow. Bricks flew. Furniture flew. Even a few people flew across the room. Champagne bottles shattered in midair. Tiny poodles and crups wildly barked at the chaos. The heroes in the club rushed forward with their wands drawn. A horrible dying shriek echoed from the front. It made Lily's red hairs stand on end. Dread filled her as she followed the questioning crowd of socialites.

"Veuve de madame!"

"Oh, mes cheres étoiles!"

"Un vestige...destroyed! Qu'est-il arrivé?"

Lily pushed her way past a PlayWizard buddy-girl and an influential Floo factory owner to take a look at the damage. There, where the statue named Madame Widow once stood, was a pile of smoking rubble.

Do us all a favor and just blow yourself up, you bloody bitch!!

Her heart froze. There was no possible way…did she-

Piercing groans of pain resonated from victims that lay on the trashed ground. Lily gasped in horror as she noticed the bloodied face of a small boy. He wasn't moving.

"Call the Aurors! Call the Aurors! Get a medi-wizard pronto!" cried an attending Irishman.

A Frenchwoman called out, "Attente! Attente! Wait, mademoiselle! Wait! It might not be safe!"

She tried in vain to catch the attention of a fleeing redhead, who appeared to almost be flying rather than running. Toward Allée Impériale. It was if the girl was running for her life!

But, no. Lily was running from his words.

Be careful what you wish for… It's rather dangerous for you…

More like deadly.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: See! See! I told you this version would be better. Sorry it took so long! I'm actually very content and proud of it. This new angle will give me a lot more to work with and hopefully give my characters all those delicious traits that turn them into people! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! YES, YOU'LL SEE MORE OF THE MARUADERS. YES, THE WIZARDING WORLD IS DIFFERENT FROM THE NOVELS. BECAUSE IT'S IN THE PAST! PLEASE REVIEW WITH CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISISM AND COMMENTS! ALL FLAMES WILL BE DELETED!

Love Ya!

YinYangDreams