Disclaimer: Gah...only 50 cents in my piggy bank...curse that JK Rowling...

A/N: Edited, yet again. It seems I'll never be happy with my old chapters...

Enjoy!

Pretending To Live

Chapter 3: Realizations

The seconds ticked by as I lay in the bed, pondering Hermione's words.

'...brought her here...for a reason..."

What reason? And why me?

"Yeah, Herm...but why her?" Apparently Ginny was thinking along the same lines that I was. "I mean, come on, if someone were to go through all that trouble to send someone here, don't you think they'd send someone...well, a little more interesting?"

That must hurt your feelings, Ari.

My eyes flew open; that voice...!

I heard a loud bang and I sat up in bed just in time to see Ginny collapse against the ugly, old fashioned wallpaper covered wall on the other side of the room, her limbs sprawled out and her vivid red hair hanging about her face, like a marionette doll with broken strings.

What the...?

I searched my mind; there was no trace of those strange, hissing words that had echoed in my head. Had I imagined it?

"Wh-What just happened?" I asked Hermione, my voice a little hoarse from sleep. I cleared my throat. "What happened to her?" I jerked my head towards Ginny's slumped form.

The bushy haired witch's eyes were wide as she stared at me, her mouth open in a perfect 'O' and it was only then that I noticed she was holding a long, thin, piece of light brown wood shakily between her slender fingers, and that it was pointed directly at me.

A wand.

I froze.

Sugarhoneyicedtea, I cursed in my mind, but before I could've done anything that would've most likely have ended up with me having some pretty interesting appendages, the heavy wooden door next to Hermione burst open with a bang.

"Hermione!"
Someone with wild, untidy jet-black black hair, similar to my own, actually, entered through the door, acid green eyes a-blazing, whipping out a wand similar to Hermione's, except darker in color.

"I heard a noise upstairs, what happened?" Harry Potter asked urgently, his attention focused entirely on her.

Hermione gulped, lowering her wand slightly. "She- ah, the girl, erm- Ginny..."

That was all Harry need to whip around to point the wand at me. "Where's Ginny?" he thundered, and I could feel something- something wild, I don't know how to explain it- crackling throughout the room.

Wordlessly, I pointed towards the corner in which Ginny was sprawled.

Harry's eyes widened when he saw her, and he moved quickly towards her still form, stowing away his wand in his pocket.

"Gin?" he asked her quietly. "Gin, you okay?"

'Cleansweep 407' was her only reply and she rolled over on to her side, snoring lightly.

I watched as Harry's shoulders seemed to slump with relief and I bit my lip. Damn. What an impression to make.

I must have made some sort of noise because he turned towards me then, emerald eyes betraying that all too familiar look of wariness once more.

"What spell did you use? " he asked me, and his hand drifted towards his pocket.

My eyebrows shot up past my hairline.

"Ah, what?" I elucidated articulately. "Um, I'm not a wizard..."

Harry blinked, his eyes widening as he realized the truth of my words.

"You're...you're a Muggle?" he asked me uncertainly, his wand hand lowering.

"Yeah..." I replied slowly, considering. "...or at least that's what I thought, before I heard..." I trailed off, looking meaningfully at the startled witch next to him.

"You heard that?" she asked incredulously, and I nodded.

A long silence followed.

"I think," Harry said, breaking the resulting silence, "that we should see Dumbledore."

The air was less musty in the hallways, and I breathed a relatively less dusty sigh of relief as I walked.

I still had no clue where I was, and I didn't think that Harry or Hermione would've told me anything about it if I asked, but I was content just examining the place.

It was definitely bigger than your average apartment studio, or building for that matter, and it was surprisingly cluttered, as if someone had taken a great deal of trouble to display their wealth for everyone to see. Slightly moth eaten antique furniture, heavy brass candlesticks, coatstands, tarnished silver goblets and platters, thick, dusty, book volumes stacked around every free corner, large, heavy looking ornate rugs strewn across the creaky wooden floor- all of these things just screamed money, and yet, they all held a feeling of age and weariness...as if Time itself, as well as their previous owners, had forgotten them.

I saw a sudden flurry of movement out of the corner of my right eye, behind one of the bookstacks, and I whipped around instinctively, accidentally running backwards into Harry who had been trailing behind me as I walked.

"Oof!"

"What is that?" I asked him, a little insensitive to the fact that he was rubbing his shin with a pained expression on his face.

"What's what?" he said, confused.

"Harry?" called Hermione's voice somewhere ahead of us- I couldn't see over yet another stack of books.

I gestured frantically towards the shadowy pile of objects in the corner.

"That!"

His brow furrowed as he followed the direction of my wildly gesticulating hands.

"Huh? Wha- Oh!" His brow cleared as he finally understood what I was referring to, and he straightened up abruptly. "Kreacher!" he called out.

My mouth fell open as there was a loud crack! and something that resembled a large leathery pig with wings landed at my feet with a thud.

"Master called...?" It leered lecherously and then under its breath muttered something about not being worthy enough to 'massage the bunions of my Mistress'.

The gears whirred in my head at an alarming rate before sliding into place with a final 'click'.

I was, almost certainly, in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the house belonging to Potter's godfather, Sirius Black. That would explain the wealth, and the amount of it, the musty odor that permeated the place as if it hadn't been used in a long time, and the stern warning that Potter had given me just before we left to see Dumbledore- 'whatever you do, don't touch anything'.

A sudden thrill of adrenaline passed through me as I suddenly realized that at least half the stuff- or most likely all the stuff- was probably cursed and enchanted in some way.

I shuddered.

And I bet most of those curses were set up to ensure that any Muggle who touched them would have a pretty 'interesting' reaction, I thought gravely.

So, if I were in Grimmauld Place, home of 'The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black', where most likely every Pureblood has walked through at one time or other, including Sirius' mother, then the thing speaking in low gravelly tones in front of me wearing what looked like to be a moldy grey washcloth was-

"Kreacher! What were you doing?" Harry asked the thing, scratching the back of his head.

Kreacher bowed deeply so that the wing-like growths protruding from the sides of his head (which I had figured out were in fact, not wings, but ears) brushed the floor.

"Kreacher is sorry for spying on Master," it croaked raspily, and I just barely caught the word, 'not', "but Kreacher is wondering who is this person who is coming out of the magic room?"

I noticed throughout his speech that Kreacher's bulbous, bloodshot eyes seemed to return to me at every second word he uttered and I felt distinctly unnerved.

A crease formed between Harry's brows yet again as he regarded the creature in front of him with something close to disgust. "What're you talking about?" he asked the elf. "What room?"

Kreacher bowed deeply yet again. "Kreacher is meaning the sealed room at the back of this noble house of Kreacher's mistress, yes he is," he replied, nose still touching the floor.

"Sealed room? D'you mean the one at the back, the one that was opened yesterday?"

Kreacher didn't reply.

"Kreacher?"

"Perhaps Master does not know," Kreacher said finally, coming up from his bow (I noticed his face was now slightly pink, as if all the blood had flowed there after being in that position for an extended period of time). "Kreacher will leave now."

"Don't you dare-"

He made a move as if to grab the elf before he Disapparated, but he was too late.

Crack.

Harry swore loudly, and caught himself before he fell.

"-that son of a-"
I cleared my throat awkwardly and he stopped in the middle of what I was sure was a very informative description of Kreacher's heritage.

"Er," I said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable when he turned his blazing viridian eyes to me. "Was that...not a friend of yours?"

Harry snorted and stared at me, an expression of bitterness twisting his well formed features. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

A heavy silence fell once more and my brain whirred as we stood there.

If I was truly in this...Harry Potter world, and if I wasn't dreaming...then...where was I?

I mean, which part of the book?

I held a guess between either the fifth or the sixth, judging by the current environment, but...Harry normally didn't hate Kreacher this much, did he?

Unless...

I blinked as a wave of pity hit me like a slap in the face.

Unless his godfather had already fallen through the Veil.

"What-What's your name?" he asked, after a time, obviously trying to distract himself from his less... pleasant memories. If I remembered correctly, this was also around the time his nightmares started happening again.

I actually wasn't expecting the question, though, and there was a slight pause before I answered as I tried to reassemble my thoughts.

"Ariadne," I said, meeting his eyes uncertainly. "But call me Ari."

"Ari," he said slowly, as if he was testing out the name. "My name's Harry." He smiled at the similar sound and held out his hand to me.

I know! I wanted to tell him, but instead I just took his hand and shook it.

I was itching to look, to really stare at him, to see if he really did have the famous lightning bolt scar, but his forehead was still carefully hidden by his slightly mussed fringe. Mentally, I shook my head. Who am I kidding? This can't be happening. It's probably just the punch, or something.

"Er, so, we should probably head over to where Dumbledore is, Hermione- that's the girl who was with us earlier- is probably waiting for us up ahead." he said, beginning to pick his way around all the old junk around us once more.

I followed him, feeling a little unsure of what to say.

"D'you...d'you know Dumbledore? Well, I mean? He seems to know you," Harry said, as we neared a long hallway whose walls were covered with portraits- moving portraits.

"Ah...No, not really," I said, not taking my eyes off a painting of an old, portly looking man who was rubbing his eyes irritably. "I'd never met him before, actually."

A slight crease formed between Harry's ink-dark eyebrows, and his expression turned into one of slight confusion.

"But...he knew your name?"

I turned away from the painting to look at him; he had voiced one of most pressing questions. "Yeah. I was hoping he'd explain that, when we talk to him."

We were now standing directly in front of a slightly worn mahogany door that was similar to the one Harry had burst through earlier, and I wondered if this is where Dumbledore was. If I listened carefully, I could just make out the sound of muffled voices, and with a sense of dread rising in my stomach, I wondered what lay in store for me now.

"Okay. This is it," Harry raised a closed fist to knock on the door, but he glanced at my face and the hand fell. "Ari?"

I flinched at the use of my name, and anxiously, I twisted my fingers together, not knowing what to say.

What would I find in there? Would I like what I found?

Briefly, I considered walking away, or faking illness to get out of it, but...

I have to know.

" Yeah," I said to Harry, releasing the breath I'd unconsciously been holding. "I'm here."

He gave me a surveying stare that, ridiculously, made the blood rush to my face, as if to make sure I was telling the truth, before he raised his hand yet again and lightly rapped the door.

Instantly, the voices on the other side went silent.

My panic rose.

"Enter," a light voice called out, and Harry pushed open the door.

The room was essentially the same as all the others; exquisitely grand, with heavy drapery (which was left open to let the weak morning sunlight stream in the room), musty, of course, and was as large as five of my bedrooms put together. In the middle, though, was a long oval table made of hard black wood, which made me suspect that this place was formerly used as a dining room, and around it were four people, Dumbledore included. The other three consisted of Hermione, the ginger haired guy who I now recognized to be Ron Weasley, and another person, a tall, pale skinned platinum-blonde boy who I'd never seen before.

His cold, silvery eyes seemed to watch me with distaste bordering on disgust, and my small panic attack was quickly diminished by my sudden flare of irritation.

I felt Harry stiffen beside me, and when I chanced a glance at his face, I saw that it mirrored the expression of the blonde boy, except it was directed at him.

The blonde raised an eyebrow; a challenge.

Before I could ponder on this any longer however, Dumbledore's calming, gentle voice cut into my mental detour.

'Ah, it's nice to see you are up gain, Ari!" he said happily, twiddling his thumbs at the head of the table. "You've rested well, I hope?"

I was more than a little unnerved with the unexpected familiarity evident in his voice and I simply nodded, my throat suddenly dry.

Dumbledore just smiled understandingly.

"Have a seat, you two. Lemon drop?"

After declining the small yellow candies Dumbledore kept in a bag next to him on the table, I followed Harry to a seat and sat down tentatively, clasping my hands underneath the table.

I squirmed when I realized that the arrogant boy sat directly across from me and I resisted the urge to flip him the bird.

"Now we can begin to discuss things in more detail; all of you need to know this." Dumbledore said, gazing over at everyone sternly, the light in his eyes dimming somewhat. "The situation at hand, of course, is quite unusual, but it is vital for you to listen, as it is more than possible that all your lives will depend on this someday."

I flinched at this, and I wasn't the only one. Across from me, the pale boy had frowned, drawing closer to the table.

"Sir, our lives? As in... Aside from the Dark Lord's attempts to murder us every few hours or so, there will be more reasons to fear for our protection?" The boy asked incredulously, the blonde eyebrow going up again.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes, Mr Malfoy," he said, and my brain exploded for the fifth time that day. "But only for you five."

Okay, now I was really starting to panic.

"Um, professor?" Hermione squeaked next to Ron, the taut line of her body every bit as tense as I was feeling, "what do you mean by that?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly at her, steepling his long fingers together on the table. "I'm just getting to that, Miss Granger. But first, of course, I have to address another issue at hand, and that is of the reason why Miss de Lioncourt is currently here with us today."

I started at my name, and I saw that the eyes of every person at the table, including Dumbledore, were directed at me.

"Ari, I understand you must be extremely confused about what is going on at the moment," he said, surveying me seriously, that look of concern flickering through his blue eyes yet again.

I looked down. "That's a bit of an understatement, sir," I mumbled, fiddling with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

"Yes," he chuckled softly, and my eyes flickered towards him. "But finally, all will be explained.

"Tell me, my dear, do you remember what date it was when you...left?"

"Yeah," I said, a little puzzled at the question. "August 23rd. Yesterday."

How could I possibly forget that date?

Across from me, Malfoy rolled his eyes, and began to look around at the room boredly.

"Hmm...yes, but could you specify on what year it was?" Dumbledore clarified the question, his gaze becoming more piercing with every passing second.

This was really weird, I decided, and I answered the question. "2010," I said noncommittally.

Malfoy's head suddenly whipped sharply towards me; Harry's eyes widened, Hermione let out a gasp and Ron emitted that increasingly familiar shout of "Merlin's bloomers!"

I was confused. "Huh? What?"

"Did you say...2010?" Harry asked me slowly, his jade eyes glimmering with a strange light.

"Yes, so what?" I asked him, feeling slightly defensive.

"That's..." he trailed off, and he looked at Dumbledore, who was simply nodding his head, a thoughtful expression on his face."Hang on, you knew this, sir?"

"I did not know it; I was simply expecting it," was the reply and Harry stared, crestfallen, at the old man.

"Wait, what is it?" I said, looking around at everyone in the room, feeling completely out of it. "What was so wrong about what I just said?"

Silence fell across the room, and as Dumbledore was about to reply, a cold, slightly haughty voice beat him to the punch.

"It's 'wrong'," drawled Draco Malfoy, his stormy grey eyes suddenly very cold as he looked at me, "because, to my knowledge, the date currently is the 24th of August, 1997."

Time paused for me, halted in its tracks.

My mind was strangely blank, and a sense of numbness stole over my body as his words finally registered in my head.

19...97.

"Excuse me?" I said to him, my voice sounding strangely detached, alien, even to me. "What was that, sorry?"

Malfoy watched me warily as my eyes became slightly unfocused; I was just a tad bit preoccupied with the repetitive exclamations of 'ohmyfreakingGod' in my mind. "The year is 1997." he stated again slowly, almost exaggeratedly, and clearly, the way someone would address a particularly dimwitted person. I probably would've been offended, too, had my current situation been completely different.

"Ah," I said, my mind still whirring disjointedly. "I see."

My face, had I seen it, was as blank as a sheet of white paper- inside, though, wave after wave of hysteria rose and fell until my mind became foggy and clouded with panic, and, underneath the table, my hands began to shake quietly in my lap.

Though the tremors were small, however, Harry, who was sitting beside me at the time, noticed them, and he began to subtly extend an arm towards me, as if to offer comfort- that is, until he remembered my reaction the last time he had tried to do that, and the arm fell.

My gratitude calmed me down somewhat.

"What does this mean, then, Professor?" I heard the anxious voice of Hermione ask, somewhere off to my left.

"It means, Miss Granger, that your theory is, in fact correct." Dumbledore said, offering her a reassuring smile. "Although, it is not a question of who sent her here, but what.

"I have lived for many years, Miss Granger, and yet, I do not recall a situation quite as unusual as this in my memory- with the exception perhaps, of Buglebert's invention of self-washing underwear- and I have pondered this many times over the years, searching for any clues, any signs..."

"But Professor, how did you know? That this would happen, I mean?"

Dumbledore hummed quietly. "Well, you see... Miss de Lioncourt and I have known each other for quite a while now, Hermione."

I looked up suddenly, startled. "Sir?"

"In fact, my dear," he said, now looking straight at me, "since 1944."

The breath fell out of me, flat. Since when...? "Sir?" I asked again, my voice becoming slightly more strained.

He nodded gravely at me. "Yes, that is the truth, Ari. I first met you fifty-three years ago, when you burst dishevelledly through my classroom door, completely demolishing it in the process, might I add.

"In fact," he said, completely ignoring the looks of stunned disbelief I was giving him, "that was also when I first met everyone else in this room."

There was a silence, then voices ranging from confused to angry began to fill up the room and Dumbledore silenced us all with a burned and blackened hand.

"I ask you now not to interrupt me as I tell you this. It is a long story, and as I have said earlier, vital to your knowledge, should you choose to undertake the task I am about to give you. I also ask your word not to divulge any of the information mentioned in this room to anyone, no matter how trustworthy you think they might be. Is that clear?" Dumbledore asked us, light facade gone, and expression of utter solemnity evident on his suddenly weary face.

He took the resulting silence we gave him as a yes, and he leaned forward, his cobalt blue eyes piercing into each and every one of us.

"I need you to go back in time."

A/N: Hah, hope you liked that. Working on the next chap now, so review! Did you know that FF accepts Anonymous reviews? I didn't, so anyone, click that button! They give me inspiration...