Pretending To Live

by UrbanRosefall

Time and Fate are opposing forces, each seeking to usurp the other in their fight for dominance. Then Fate retaliates by forcing a new pawn into their game...

6. Death Eaters

Disclaimer: Meh.

A/N: Oh my gosh, 29 pages. I'll keep this short; don't wanna add to the word count.

Ollivander's alive and I suck for not updating.

---

Pretending To Live

Chapter 5: Death Eaters

'I'll do it.'

The words hung in the air, heavy with trepidation.

I'll do it.

Uttered almost against my will, against all sensible reason, I had said them.

I'll do it.

What the hell was I smoking?

'Thank you, Ari,' Dumbledore said quietly, drawing me out of my less than coherent thoughts. 'Thank you.'

Great, now I felt guilty.

'It's no problem,' I muttered, blood rushing to my cheeks as I felt the curious eyes of everyone at the table on me. Good God, I was embarrassing.

'And us, sir?' Malfoy inquired sharply, mouth forming a tight line of disapproval. 'Do we get a choice in this as well?'

'Shut it, Malfoy,' Harry said, glaring at him along with Ron and Hermione.

'No, he is quite right, it would be somewhat unfair if I only seek the consent of one person. Fortunately, though, with you it is a slightly different case as you have quite a while to think about it before make your final decision, so I will not pressure you.'

Oh gee, thanks.

'How is it a different case, sir?' Hermione asked.

'Well, you see Miss Granger, since Miss de Lioncourt has made her decision, then it is obvious that she will be staying with us for quite some time. Moreover, there is the fact that she may not be- ah, accustomed, to her surroundings as of yet, and we have to make the required arrangements for her to settle in.'

I winced at the phrase 'arrangements' and I looked up guiltily at the ancient wizard, my fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the underside of the table. 'Sir?'

'Yes, Ari?'

'What do you mean by 'arrangements'?'

'Well, assuming that you'll be finishing your sixth year at Hogwarts, then I believe that you will require a few revision lessons on your subjects...?'

My eyes all but fell out of my sockets and my fingers ceased their dramatic overture immediately at his last few words. No way...There was no way...

'…do you happen to know what subjects you have chosen for your sixth year?'

I blinked. 'Subjects…?'

Ignoring the others' surprised looks, Dumbledore smiled warmly at me, eyes twinkling merrily with amusement. 'I see we have a lot to get through then…

'Well, everyone, that is basically all I wanted to speak to you about. Please, let me know when you decide…though some of you, of course, might take a little longer than others.' I saw Harry send a frown towards Malfoy's direction. 'That, of course is fine. This is quite a considerable task. I am asking you to leave your family, your friends, and your life for the small window of opportunity we have in preventing the destruction of the world as we know it, and I know that it is unwise to make any hasty decisions when deciding.'

I watched the others out of the corner of my eye as he said this, and, to my surprise, it was only Harry and Malfoy who didn't have their heads bowed, in contemplation of what lay in store. In fact they were both staring straight ahead, wearing expressions so similar for such different personalities: determination.

Like they knew what their answer was, without even looking back.

'Harry? Could you please show Ari around, make sure she doesn't encounter anything…erm…unpleasant? I understand that although Mrs Weasley has tried her best to fully de-creature the house, some curses...can never fully be removed.'

Harry glanced at me, blinking bemusedly. 'Er, yeah, that's fine.'

Dumbledore's face split into a wide smile then, and he looked around at us happily over a deep purple bag filled with small yellow candies that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. 'Well that's all settled then!' he said cheerfully, which contrasted noticeably with his earlier seriousness. 'You may go!'

As everyone stood up awkwardly, preparing to shuffle out of the room (including myself), I heard Dumbledore call out again.

'Ari? Could you please stay behind?'

I stopped, looking over to where he sat at the head of the gleaming black table, the light from outside reflecting on its brightly polished surface. 'Uh…sure.'

I turned to Harry, who had been waiting for me at the doorway. 'See you at the kitchen?'

He nodded, green eyes flashing. 'Yeah, alright.'

Harry gave what appeared to be a cross between a half-hearted wave and a nose scratch and left the room, closing the door behind him.

I looked at Dumbledore, who was currently concerned with the demanding process of unsticking two lemon drops. He glanced up.

"Well, Ari. It's nice to see you again."

I felt uncertain, kinda fuzzy, and more than a little creeped out. "Well, sir…it's good to finally meet you."

"Ah, yes of course! The Harry Potter series, by that very talented young woman, er… Rowling, was it? Devilishly intriguing, although I must say, they were quite harsh in the portrayal of Professor Snape," His eyes twinkled mischievously, "although I do believe that my character was rather spot on."

I couldn't help it; I giggled, and Dumbledore smiled again. "Sir…can I ask you something? If you know all of this, then… you know I'm not supposed to be here, right?"

Dumbledore bridged his fingers. "You told me so yourself in your sixth year, but I continue to digress."

"Really? Why?" I asked, surprised.

The wizard sighed and an air of dreaminess fell over him as he pondered my question.

"Fate and Time are not something to be tampered with Ari," he murmured, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "Let's just say that I doubt you would be here if you weren't supposed to.

"I have seen your past, your future, and as of now your present… and I know that, here..."

My heart thumped painfully in my chest, and I felt my fingers resume a tap dance on the hard ebony table. "So I really went back in time?"

Dumbledore cocked a silvery grey eyebrow in my direction. "Why? Did you not think you would go through with your decision?"

"No…It's just that…" I trailed off, not knowing what to say. How could I put it?

"It's just that, as of yesterday, y'know, I was just Ari de Lioncourt, a Muggle kid failing French! And now…am I even still a Muggle? I can't do magic, right?"

Something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle escaped Dumbledore's lips, though when I narrowed my eyes at him, he had his features composed in a perfectly oblivious expression. 'No, you are no longer a Muggle. Not entirely, anyway. In fact, and I'm sure you'll recall, the incident this morning involving a certain Miss Weasley…?"

"Ginny? Yeah, she slammed into the w—holy crap custard, I did that?"

Dumbledore appeared to really be struggling to contain his amusement now; the corners of his mouth were twitching like there was no tomorrow and I watched exasperatedly as he coughed and scratched his nose a few dozen times.

"Yes, Ari," he finally managed to get out, his eyes looking slightly water, "you did that."

I was dumbstruck; how? "But sir, I don't even have a wand! How could I have possibly…"

"Well, I'm assuming your situation at the moment is quite similar to any eleven year old witch or wizard across the world—you simply haven't learned to develop you powers yet. That, of course, will improve by itself, once you start practicing. As for your wand problem, or lack thereof, I think we can remedy that quite easily…shall we say, a little detour into Diagon Alley tomorrow morning?"

The resulting sound that came out of my mouth sounded like a strange cross between "Yes of course I'd love to," and "Afgshsdgfjhdfagfuyegj!"

Thankfully, Dumbledore did not seem to be able to decipher any of what I had just said, and he took my donkey-bray in the affirmative.

"Excellent then, " he said happily, pushing his crescent- shaped glasses higher up his nose. "I can finally restock my lemon drops!"

Ignoring this, I gave voice to something that had been bugging at me since he had told me about it. "Professor? When you meant 'lessons'… did you mean like Defense Against The Dark Arts and stuff?"

"Oh yes," he said, bobbing his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps Charms and Transfiguration, too… whatever you wish to be your subjects in your sixth year."

"Are you serious? That's… that's so…great! That's so great! Sir!" I said, a massive grin stretching on my face, hardly daring to believe it.

Dumbledore seemed amused by my enthusiasm. "I'm glad you think so. I will be teaching most of your subjects myself; however…

"However, it is imperative that you be taught Occlumency as well."

The conga line in my head ceased abruptly, and I suddenly felt like I had just been dipped in ice water. "Occlumency? Taught by who?"

"Taught by me," came a cold, snide voice from behind me just as Dumbledore opened his mouth.

I suddenly felt the extreme urge to upchuck.

"Why, hello, Severus," Dumbledore said pleasantly to the sallow, disapproving man by the door and completely ignoring the slightly swaying, greenish girl in front of him. "You are well, I hope?"

"Yes," was the clipped reply. "I believe you required my presence?"

"Ah, yes! Well…

"Ari, this is Professor Snape, your Occlumency teacher."

---

I moved numbly towards the kitchen that Harry and I had passed on our way to Dumbledore's office, my mind heavily occupied.

So I was doing Occlumency.

My least favourite part of Harry Potter (and I mean the book, not the person), the most personal and intruding piece of magic there was, and I was going to study it.

With Snape.

Gah.

This was terrible. This was…completely…completely insane. I mean, there wasn't even a reason as to why I was even learning it!

Wait, scratch that.

There was a reason; essentially that running around in the past carrying secrets from the future around a brilliant, insane future Dark Lord wasn't such a great idea. And even more so for me, considering that I'd read the whole damn series and knew how everything would end.

Merlin's underpants (and that truly was a catchy phrase), things were getting tricky.

"Hang on—Ari!"

Startled, I whirled around, looking for the source of the voice that had called out my name. It was Harry, with Ron and Hermione, sitting around a smaller, burn stained wooden table in the kitchen. "Oh…hey."

Malfoy didn't seem to be there; he must've skulked off somewhere else.

I came over to join them, pulling up a chair gracelessly; Harry began to make the unnecessary introductions.

"This is Ron, and Hermione—Ron and Hermione, this is Ari."

Ron looked away from me awkwardly, but Hermione attempted a smile, and I was thankful for it. Not necessarily that she had a nice smile (although she did) but for the fact that she was, at least, trying.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger."

I tried to give her a friendly grin in return, but my cheek muscles felt stiff and unnatural, as if I wasn't used to the movement. "Hi. I guess you already know who I am…" I slipped a peek at Ron who appeared to be examining his nails meticulously "…and it's nice to meet you. Er, about earlier—I'm really sorry about that too, y'know, with Ginny. I didn't mean to—I mean I didn't even know it was me who did it so—but apparently it was…"

"Hang on—so you're not a Muggle?" that was Ron, looking up from his grooming with a surprised expression on his face. He wasn't the only one, believe me.

I sighed, running a hand through my bed hair tiredly, unintentionally making it wilder so that it bore a strong resemblance to Harry's. "Apparently, I'm not, according to Dumbledore. But I definitely used to be, until today—though as to how that possibly happened, I have absolutely no clue."

Hermione frowned in thought, tapping a finger absentmindedly on her chin. "Not a Muggle… and you didn't know, so… where are you from, Ari? I mean, if it's not to private or anything," she added hurriedly.

I hesitated. Dumbledore had said I could tell them the truth about where and when I was from, but he'd also warned me not to reveal too much, especially about...future events...

"Well, it's a little hard to say. Originally I'm from Heathrow, London, same as you. Except…

"Except I'm from the year 2010."

Almost simultaneously, everyone's eyes went wide at my little announcement and I wished I had a camera to take a photo of the moment. The looks on their face. Priceless.

'So it's true then? You're really from the future?" Ron asked, ginger eyebrows shooting upwards like a pair of demented caterpillars had started dancing on his face.

I considered the term for a second. Future? Maybe I was, but I lived in the real world too…

"Yes. I am."

Ron let out his breath in one single awed gasp. "Whoa."

I agreed with him.

"What did Dumbledore want to talk to you about?" questioned Harry, who seemed less affected by this piece of news than anyone else.

I winced. "Just about—what lessons I'll be doing this year, when I'm going to get wand, and I have to take a few private lessons with Dumbledore and Snape too, since I haven't been a witch for very long."

"Snape?" Harry caught the last part shrewdly, forehead crinkling. "What d'you have to take lessons with him for?"

I felt the bile rising in my throat again, and I fought it down. "Occlumency." I near hissed through gritted teeth. Ugh. Even the word made me feel disgusted.

Green, cobalt and honey eyes flashed with alarm and Harry's jaw dropped, causing his glasses to slide down of the bridge of his nose.

Hastily shoving them back up, he stared at me. "Occlumency? With Snape?" he asked sharply.

"Blimey, mate, she's almost got it as bad as you…" Ron said, shaking his head in near disbelief.

Harry ignored him. "Why do you have to take it?"

"You three, could you please set the table? I've enough things to do as there is, and Fred and George are simply not of any use—oh, who is this?" A kind faced, plumpish woman with long red hair—Weasley hair—was staring at me with a half anxious, half harassed look on her face.

"Hey, Mum, this is Ari—she's…a friend of Dumbledore's, and she'll be staying with us for a while." Ron said hastily, clearing his throat.

"Hello, Mrs Weasley," I said politely. "It's nice to meet you."

"Oh, hello, dear… you'll have to forgive the state of the place, it's rather cluttered at the moment."

"No, it's fine, actually."

Mrs Weasley beamed down at me. "Well, it certainly is nice to have someone who isn't picky for a change!" she said glancing down meaningfully at Ron. She looked back at me. "Oh my goodness—Ari, was it?—you look awfully hungry—has Dumbledore been feeding you enough?"

"Er…"
She tsked. "Well that can be fixed easily enough, it's nearly dinnertime, if you don't mind waiting for a few more minutes. You look awfully thin, dear, a nice hearty meal would do you some good—where did you say you were from again?"

"She's from Europe, Mum," Ron hurriedly supplied. "Dumbledore thinks that she should stay here so that she can finish school at Hogwarts."

What?

"Oh, really? What school did you attend before?"

Gah. I racked my brains. "Er…Beauxbatons."

"She speaks excellent French," Ron said helpfully.

"Uh…oui."

"Well that certainly would be helpful, especially considering…" Mrs Weasley trailed off thoughtfully, a glint in her eye and I saw Hermione cover her mouth to stifle a snort.

"Considering…?"

"Oh nothing, dear, nothing at all." Mrs Weasley said, the glint still remaining, as she turned away from the table distractedly. "Dinner will be in a few moments—Ron, please, the table?"

"Alright, alright!" Ron said, throwing up his hands in the air and standing up.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me Ronald Weasley—"

"Sorry, Mum."

"We'll help," Harry said, standing up quickly, and Mrs Weasley beamed at him, and the contrast between her previous sabre-toothed tiger and her now maternal aura was astounding.

"Thank you, dear, you've always been so helpful…"

She moved off, probably to continue whatever she had been doing before, and the four off us went in search of cutlery.

"What was all that about?" I asked them in a low undertone the moment I felt sure we were fully out of sight.

Hermione sighed. "Ron's brother, Bill and his fiancée, Fleur's wedding." She whispered back, rummaging through the drawers and pulling out a stack of silver forks. "She's French, and Mrs Weasley can't stand her."

Now this I remember.

"Ah… well what was all that stuff about 'finishing my schooling at Hogwarts', then?" I asked, opening and closing cupboards at random.

They paused in their work; for a fleeting moment nobody spoke.

Then:

"The others don't know about Dumbledore's task," Harry said quietly, not looking up from his goblet-filled drawer. "We…we haven't told them anything about it."

I stopped, looking at all of them. "They don't know? At all?"

Ron shook their heads. "Can you imagine their reactions, mate?" he said running a hand through his flaming hair. "We wouldn't hear the end of it."

I leaned back against one of the drawers behind me, folding my arms across my chest. "You've decided then?"

"Of course," Hermione said, resuming the arranging of cutlery and everyone else followed suit. "Maybe not initially, but it's…it's for the best. We have to do this."

"Yeah, well, tell that to Malfoy," Ron said, carrying a stack of plates back into the kitchen. I took half of what he was carrying from his arms and balanced them carefully on my own, following him.

"He's the other guy, right?" I said, getting into character."The blonde one?"

"The egotistical one, the pig headed one, the conceited, arrogant…"

"Ron!" was Hermione's reproachful reply.

"So I guess he's not coming." I mused out loud, mirroring the way Hermione was setting up the plates.

"Well, we don't actually know that," she replied, tucking a stray strand of brown curls behind her ear, as she straightened a few spoons. "Ron's just prejudiced…"

"I am not prejudiced! C'mon! The git wouldn't do anything for anyone if he didn't benefit from it! I'm just using simple logic!"

The bickering continued, and pretty soon I lost interest in the conversation, which had switched to some obscure topic involving the Chudley Cannons and Arithmancy. It was actually pretty cute, in an odd way.

I looked at Harry who was watching them too, a slight smile playing on his lips as he folded napkins. "Are they always like this?" I asked him.

He nodded, and he held up his index finger to his lips, indicating for us to keep our voices low. "Best not to get into it, or it'll go on for hours."

I chuckled softly under my breath but that stopped when I heard the sound of voices coming from the next room. The rest of the Order, probably.

I fiddled with the napkin in my hand nervously. More people…

"It'll be fine, you know."

I looked up at Harry who was watching me.

"I get the feeling that you aren't used to being around a lot of people…I should know, I'm the same," he said, with a small, shared smile. "But it'll be fine."

I glanced over to where Ron and Hermione were still arguing and back to the Boy-Who –Lived in front of me. His fringe had parted slightly, and I could make out the faint pink outline of his lightning scar beneath the strands. "Harry… thank you."

The corners of his mouth tilted upwards. "No problem."

---

I yawned again, walking down the hallway blearily blinking sleep from my eyes.

"You tired?"

I just gave a noncommittal grunt in Harry's direction. "Mm. Sleepy, and like I'm about to explode any second."

He grinned in response. "Liked the food, did you?"

"Best meal I'd ever had in my life." It was true. The orphanage had served such dull, bland food…the whole Oliver Twist thing really wasn't that far off. Even at the foster home I was—had been—living in, the food had a sort of 'artificial quality' to it, not like Mrs Weasley's cooking. God. Who even knew that amount of butter could even be ingested?

"Really?" Ron asked, not bothering to put up a hand to stifle a yawn, which earned him a disapproving glare from Hermione next to him. "That's Mum for you then, always about the food. What about yours?"

It was an innocent question, nothing malicious. But it still made my lungs close off and stomach turn to ice when I heard it.

"I…" I fumbled around for a second. "She's dead."

Harry stopped in his tracks and stared at me, but I continued walking, pretending to be oblivious of it. "Died around three years ago. Same as my dad."

"Oh…I'm sorry," Hermione said, and I could hear the sympathy in her voice, as well as the dull thud of an elbow being jammed into Ron' s ribs.

"Ow!"'

I shrugged. "It's alright. It's been a while, y'know? Time passes. People move on."

The rest of the walk was relatively quiet, and I felt more than a little tense during the trip. How could the subject have come up so soon, here? What happened that night...I couldn't even remember it.

'We're here."

I pulled myself from my thoughts and looked up.

"You'll be sharing a bedroom with Hermione and Luna—she wasn't at dinner, but I think you'll like her. Ron and I are just next door, and that's pretty much the same for everyone else here." Harry said, then added in an undertone, "Don't forget to keep the door closed. You remember Kreacher, right?"

I made a face and nodded, covering a yawn.

"Aw, don't do that," Ron groaned and he followed my example, stretching out his arms hugely as he did so. "Mm…well, g'night guys…c'mon Harry, mate, it's nearly midnight, and Mum's making us get up early tomorrow…"

"Yeah, okay. Night, you two," Harry said to us, following Ron through the door. "Sleep well."

The door shut and Hermione sighed.

"Boys," she muttered, yanking open the door to her—our —room. "Insensitive, dim witted, completely oblivious…"

I followed her into the room (which, like every other room in Grimmauld Place was massive)and looked around, blocking out her miniature rant for a second.

Three double beds were positioned against the wall, facing a wide, open window that showed the starry night outside, and on one of them was girl with long, dirty-blonde hair wearing pajamas that appeared to have small pictures of odd, contorted moving cows on them and was currently scanning a certain magazine quite interestedly.

She looked up.

"Oh, hello Hermione and Hermione's friend. I don't think I've met you before."

Although Hermione appeared to be rather uncomfortable at Luna's strange greeting, I felt a grin slowly make its way to my face as I regarded the girl on the bed.

After all, it wasn't every day one met their favourite fictional character now, was it?

"I'm Ari, nice to meet you. You must be Luna…?"

"Yes I am, actually." She stated matter-of-factly. "Did the Nargles tell you that?"

"Er…"

Hermione coughed ostentatiously and moved over to her bed, pulling out something from her suitcase that lay next to it. "Ari, your bed's over there, next to mine. I guess Dumbledore must've conjured it up or something when you arrived."

"Okay, thanks." I moved over towards the bed to the right of Hermione, the one closest to the window and peeped out at the perfect, summer night sky outside, its surface sprinkled with cold fire. Huh. It looked like the sky hadn't changed from back home—I could still spot Orion's belt glimmering faintly against the blue black velvet. It made me feel a little bit better.

That some things, never change.

'Probably Nargles...although I wouldn't put it past a Snorkalump to do something like that, they're awfully nosy...''

Despite myself, I snorted. 'What are you reading, Luna?' I asked her, not looking away from the view outside.

'Oh, a rather fascinating article in the Quibbler. Daddy's the editor, you see, and he recently commissioned a special discussion on Muggle superstitions. Have you heard of the term... 'hor-us-cope'? I much rather prefer pieces on the magical creatures that surround us, but this is quite intriguing...do you know when you were born, perhaps, Ari? I have a feeling you might be a Capricorn, but I'm not sure...'

Looking at Hermione, who was just as bemused as I was, I replied. 'December.'

'Hmm...as I thought, a Capricorn,' Luna said, her protuberant grey eyes scanning the colorful magazine. 'Let's see...

Capricorn: Will meet extraordinary changes in future, particularly in location. Relationships will develop, but you find yourself caught between a rock and a hard place as time passes by. The best thing to do is wait, listen and see- it will be your decision that matters most in the end.

You also have a fetish for fluffy woollen things. Interesting...'

I caught Hermione's eye, and she bit her lip worriedly, a little pale. 'Just superstition...' she muttered, turning away and pulling out a rather heavy looking textbook from her suitcase.

'I suppose so,' Luna replied, oblivious to the sudden tension in the room, twirling a piece of hair between her teeth. 'Hm, a rock and a hard place, what a lovely muggle euphemism.'

I turned away from the window and examined my bed. On it was a small, brown suitcase, barely large enough to fit three of my hand spans, and there was a small white envelop on top of it. Now that definitely wasn't there before...

Gingerly, I picked it up- this was Harry Potter Land, after all, who in hell knew what magic, unintentional or not was on it- and after flipping it over to see if there was a name or anything (there wasn't) I tore it open.

The thin, slanted handwriting seemed vaguely familiar.

Ari,

Since you will, in all likelihood, be staying with us for quite a while I have taken the liberty of providing you with a few essentials in the suitcase currently residing on your bed. Some of the items inside may seem...familiar, and if you happen to have any questions regarding the matter, please feel free to interrogate my person at any time.

A good night's sleep to you all.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Well, okay.

I put the letter carefully to the side and regarded the suitcase in front of me curiously. To be honest, it didn't look like it could hold much and I wasn't expecting anything special as I undid the polished brass claps on either side of the handle and lifted the lid open.

The first thing I saw were a pair of bright yellow pyjamas folded neatly on top of what seemed to be a pile of clothes; this too I tossed aside, deciding I would wear it later- somehow, Dumbledore had managed to guess my favourite color. Burying my hands again into the pile with complete and utter disregard for the amount of effort put into its organization, I sifted through its contents, throwing aside whatever happened to be in the way and expecting my fingers to encounter solid bottom any second.

I frowned sifting deeper. Dozens of pairs of jeans, shirts, robes, skirts came flying out of the piece of luggage- and possibly more than a hundred pairs of socks- but still, the suitcase was as full as I had initially opened it.

What on earth?

I figured that Dumbledore must've put a charm on it or something, so that it never ran out of room, but childishly, I refused to stop searching through it to find its bottom.

Millions of stuff was in there, and not just clothes, but such a random assortment of items- a battered hairbrush, a man's shoe, even a small pillow. But then my fingers encountered something small and thin, and I withdrew them to find a slip of paper the size of my palm, squarish in size and yellowed, as if it was very old. Sneaking a glance at the other two witches in the room, I examined it more closely, turning it over in my hands and liking the feel of its cold dry surface against my skin.

There was handwriting on the back, tiny and loopy and barely legible, squeezed into the space between the ruled horizontal lines of the paper.

Oddly enough, it resembled my own, from the heavy hand with which it was written, right down to the double crossed t's.

The Complete History of Wizarding Genealogy. A de L, 3rd September, 1944. Due 17th September, 1944.

Huh. It must've been a library card or something, an overdue one, judging by the second date.

I let my finger trace over the signature, running over the sharp indents of the letters. It was mine. My signature. This was...me.

'Ari, aren't you going to change?' Hermione asked, eyeing the various items of clothing piled sloppily on the covers around me. 'It's a little past twelve.'

'Yeah, you're probably right,' I said, tearing my eyes away from the note with reluctance. I grabbed the pair of sunshine-pyjamas, standing up.

'Which way to the bathroom?'

---

A few minutes later, I was tucked securely in my new bed, watching one of the cows on Luna's pyjamas attack another one in a vicious, gory battle with my hands behind my head.

'Luna? What exactly are those animals on your pyjamas?'

'Oh, they're Crumple- Horned Snorkacks!' she said brightly, straightening up a little in her bed. 'Daddy got these for me, he'd thought I'd like them...'

'Crumple-Horned Snorkacks don't exist, Luna,' Hermione muttered sleepily from the other side. 'Go to bed.'

'Oh, they exist of course,' Luna said, although she did follow Hermione, turning off the light and curling up in an extremely awkward position which I guessed must have been the norm for her, judging by contented expression on her heart shaped face. 'But it's awfully hard to do so, when everyone believes you don't.'

I raised my head a little at her last words, but she'd already closed her eyes, seeming to be already peacefully asleep.

And I? I wasn't about to work my fried brain any longer, and so I turned over, closed my eyes, and willed for unconsciousness to claim me.

---

'So, Ari, are you ready?'

I gulped, but attempted to nod bravely. 'Yes. Yes.'

Harry grinned at me, and I noticed that he had flattened his hair against his forehead again, probably because we'd be going somewhere where he'd be bombarded by Daily Prophet reporters and fangirls (who weren't me). 'Just remember to say where you're going clearly, and try not to inhale too much ash when you breathe in, because the taste doesn't wash off for ages. Other than that, you're good to go.'

'And...and you're sure they won't find my flaming carcass on the other end?'

He chuckled. 'I promise, I'll be right behind you.'.

That cheered me up, for some inexplicable reason, and hesistantly, I scooped a handful of the glittering powder from the flowerpot that Harry was holding out to me, and faced the roaring green fire in front of me.

Damn. Who knew that fire could look so...firey?

I took a deep breath and moved into the jade flames, wincing as I waited with baited breath for the unbearable agony to strike at any second.

It didn't, and suddenly, I giggled.

'It- It tickles!' I gasped out, half out of shock and half out of laughter. It was true.

Little tingles were spreading wherever the flames touched my skin, and pretty soon I was doing a sort of Irish jig in the fireplace, trying to control my laughter.

'See? I told you. Now, c'mon, or we'll be late.'

I held up the hand with the powder in it high above my head, just like he'd showed me and let it trickle through my fingers into the blazing flames.

'Diagon Alley,' I said clearly.

Arughh!

The entire fireplace seemed to be contorting, moving at high velocity in seemingly any direction available and I lost track of which way was up, down, any which way, basically.

I barely had time to catch my breath as I caught glimpses of random scenes- other people's living rooms, I assumed, if I was following JK's book correctly- and I held on the brick walls surrounding me for dear life, hoping that the 'ride' would end nownownownowno-

Thud.

I yelped as felt my head collide with the brick ceiling and even more so when I was thrown out of the fireplace suddenly, landing very painfully (and gracefully) on the hard wooden floor.

'Ow,' I muttered, and then I noticed the expensive looking onyx black shoes that were only inches away from my nose.

'My, my, what an elegant entrance.' The lazy drawl wasn't that hard to recognize, and I banged my head on the floor with sheer annoyance at my luck. Of all the people I could've faceplanted in front of!

'Oh piss off, Malfoy,' I heard Ron's voice say as I scrambled to my feet, coughing weakly and dusting myself off. The grey dust had completely covered my 'new' borrowed clothes with a thin layer of grime, and I hastily tried to wipe off any remnants of the ash of my jeans- I hadn't bothered to try wearing robes.

'Yeah, whatever you say, blood traitor,' Malfoy sneered, grey eyes like chips of ice. 'Got your filth-loving Mummy to protect you, do you?'

There was a violent cuss, and Ron launched himself at the blond, foregoing any use of his wand as they crashed together on the floor in front of me.

'-gonna kill you, I swear, Malfoy-'

'- I'd like to see you try, Weasley-'

I was standing with my mouth open, completely at loss for what to do (I had no idea where Hermione or Mrs Weasley had gone, even though they'd Flooed before me) and I probably would have continued in that position had I not noticed the rather conveniently placed jug of water within arm's reach on one of the shelves next to me.

Taking a firm hold of its handle I held it just above the two wrestling boys and tipped it.

'Argh!'

'What the-'

'For God's sake, woman, are you insane?'

'Probably,' I replied seriously to the now dripping wet Draco Malfoy who was at the moment glaring at me with cat-like vivacity. 'Could you please stop?'

He opened his mouth angrily, but his words were drowned out by the sudden re-ignition of the fireplace.

The emerald fire flickered again and Harry stumbled out, coughing and without his glasses.

'I still prefer brooms,' he muttered, almost to himself as he pulled out his glasses from his pocket and began to clean them with the tail of his shirt.

He straightened himself up, put them on, and blinked. 'What just happened?'

Thankfully the door nearby opened and Hermione and Mrs Weasley came in, both seeming out of breath and puffing rather heavily.

'So sorry we're late- the apothecary was closing early, we had to rush to get some of Hermione's potion ingredients, everyone's been so paranoid with You-Know-Who- what's going on?' Mrs Weasley's voice, which had been panting earlier suddenly took upon an air of confusion as she stared with a considerable amount of surprise at the scene that lay before her.

Malfoy was on top of Ron, on the floor and they were both completely soaked with the water I had thrown on them. Apparently they both realized their strange 'position' at the same time, and they both shoved themselves off each other scrambling backwards and shuddering, as if they had touched something unclean.

'Nothing,' they both muttered, though they still shot daggers at each other from opposite sides of the empty, almost bare room.

Which reminded me.

'Hey, er, Mrs Weasley? Where are we?'

'Oh, just a little storage room behind Madame Malkin's, dear. Speaking of which, do you five need any robes this year...?'

'Oh no,' Hermione said hurriedly, casting around a meaningful glance at the rest of us. 'Dumbledore said that he'll be taking care of it this year...sort of like a school project?'

Mrs Weasley frowned. 'Is that so? Well, if the man insists...goodness knows who am I to question his methods...'

She mumbled to herself, readjusting the parcels in her arms that were on the verge of falling off. She looked back up at us, noticing we weren't moving and said with her hands on her hips, 'Well come on! We don't have all day, you know, we still have to get your school things!'

Avoiding Malfoy, who had decided to switch his acid orbs on me now as he muttered a drying charm over himself, I followed Mrs Weasley out the door.

---

Diagon Alley was...

Amazing.

Unreal.

Breathtaking.

Magical.

Even with most of its shops closed and the streets probably less busy than it normally would have been and bright yellow Ministry flyers littering the street, it was still the most extraordinary place I'd ever seen.

I was so tempted to press my nose flat against every shop window that we went passed- it seemed everything and anything was on sale, from exquisite, jewel encrusted ornaments that seemed to have no use in particular to me to shrivelled, severed human appendages- and it was more than once that I nearly fell over the cobblestoned street in my complete distraction, so enamored was I in its splendor.

There didn't seem to be a single inch of free space left in the street we were currently walking (or in my case, stumbling) along now- it was either surrounded in higgledypiggeldy stores or shops or smothered with large groups of chattering, excited people.

But as entrancing as the overall image was, even I, a complete stranger to this world, couldn't ignore the chill that lay beneath the seemingly cheerful facade, couldn't help but notice how the smiles on peoples' faces were rather strained and how most people tended to band in groups, similar to ours rather than shop by themselves on the streets. It was like they were trying to resume their normal life, but something...something was preventing them from doing so.

'It's awfully depressing, isn't it?' Hermione whispered to me as we walked side by side together, observing the scenes we passed by. 'Normally it isn't like this, but ever since what happened at the Ministry last year- you've heard about it, haven't you?''

I nodded. 'Yeah, of course. Now that they know that Voldemort's back, everyone's been getting edgier…"

That was just something I'd remembered from the sixth book, and I suddenly felt disturbed as I realized that I was one of those people, or at least, had reason to be. I wasn't just a bystander anymore.

"Mrs Weasley? Dumbledore said for me to accompany Ari to Ollivander's to get her a new wand, he says she lost hers in France during a Death Eater raid.' Harry called out to her from behind me.

Mrs Weasley only nodded worriedly; she seemed a little preoccupied watching the other people on the street as if they were going to attack her at any second, her brown eyes darting around. 'Sure, we'll meet you at Flourish an- oh no, you don't need books, do you? Alright, we'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron. Stay close!'

She called out the last part to us as Harry steered me to the left, exiting the street. We both turned and waved, but she continued to watch our retreating figures anxiously until we were out of sight.

I nudged Harry with my elbow. ' 'Death Eater raid'?' I murmured out of the corner of my mouth.

He shook his head, glasses slipping a little down his nose. 'It's something that's been happening often everywhere lately, so I figured it wouldn't seem too out of place if you'd lost your wand then, rather than not ever having one at all.'

I was impressed. 'Good thinking.'

'Thanks.'

We continued walking, passing several people who stared at us curiously (Harry nervously flattened his fringe) until we reached a store with narrowed glass-panelled windows and the sign, 'Ollivander's: Maker of Fine Wands Since 382B.C.' on a gold plaque above its entrance.

I felt tingles of excitement begin to gather in my stomach at the thought of what I would find inside, but was all quelled by a sudden, icy cold lump of dread: what if a wand didn't pick me at all? What if, somehow, Dumbledore had made a mistake and I wasn't a witch, like he'd said? What if...what if Malfoy was right? What if my blood was too dirty, too contaminated that I could never be able to perform magic and never would?

My feet halted their steps, and I queasily held a hand over my stomach in a mild attempt to calm down the turmoil.

'Merlin's pants, this can't keep going on,' I muttered to myself angrily, the hand closing into a hard fist. 'I am not this insecure!'

Harry stopped a few feet away from me.

'Did you say something?' he said, one eyebrow going up quizically.

'Er, no, let's go inside!'

I grabbed his elbow, and dragged him through the glass paneled door, which opened with the gentle tinkle of a shop bell.

Inside was gently lit by the dim, yellow light of various candles that adorned the place, and once again, I was struck by the utter difference of the place; it was almost as if I had travelled back in time...again.

My senses were going into overdrive since my eyes were adjusting to the sudden absence of light.

The place smelled of beeswax and rosin and old wood, too and I could just barely make out the light top notes of vanilla on my tongue.

The sound of rustling paper also could be heard faintly, as a light breeze swept through the crevices of the tightly bolted glass windows and traced a circuit around the many bookpiles and parchments stacked around the cluttered room, a similar design to Grimmauld Place.

When I could finally make out a vague outline of where I was going, I watched as Harry walked up to the counter and rang the tarnished brass bell on its surface.

A few seconds passed, the tiny chime of the bell still resonating in the air until finally-

'Ah, back so soon, Mr Potter?'

I jumped at the unexpected presence and whirled around to see a tall, thin man with the most unnerving grey eyes observing the two of us from a shadowed corner between the tall shelves at the back of the room.

'I hope you are well? And your wand, too? Unless,' Ollivander said, and his ethereal eyes narrowed slightly, 'you have come to replace it, no?'

Harry shook his head, drawing his holly wand out of the pocket of his jeans. 'No, it's fine. It's just, ' he paused searching for the right words, it seemed, 'my friend, she needs one. Professor Dumbledore told me to give you this.'

He pulled out a small, sealed envelope and handed it to Ollivander, who accepted it delicately as if it would crumble to pieces in his palm.

I waited uncomfortably as his eagle eyes scanned the note quickly- had Dumbledore made plans for everything?- before folding it into half, then quarters, then eighths and slipping it into the pocket of his faded black velvet robes.

'Well, well, well,' he said quietly, training those pale orbs on me. "I was wondering when this would occur, though I must say I have had my doubts…." He stopped seeming to study me for moment which made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. "It is nice to finally meet you Miss de Lioncourt."

I stared back at him in wonder.

"I believe I have your wand right here." He moved to the shelves at opposite end of the room, running his long, spidery fingers across the numerous rectangular boxes that lay stacked until he came across a particular one.

He stopped, opened the box and examined its contents for a second, before putting it back in its place, muttering to himself.

Harry and I exchanged glances.

He continued to do this until it seemed he had found the box he had been looking for and removed its lid.

"Ah, here we are." Ollivander gently drew out something from the box, something small, gold and glittering which even I, with my limited magical experience, knew not to be a wand.

It was a key.

The wandmaker carefully brought it down and moved over to the desk that held the little brass bell and bent down, obviously searching for a compartment or something, and Harry and I watched in silence until we heard a small 'click'.

"Yes. I remember this."

Extending a hand into the crevice, he pulled out another long, thin box that seemed absolutely identical to the previous ones he had pulled out, except, perhaps, slightly dustier, and the color of its surface less potent.

"Eight and quarter inches. Alder. Quite rigid, but very loyal to its owner, and suited for defensive magic. And its core…"

He looked up at me sharply, eerie eyes penetrating. "Tempus."

I stared back, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Time," he said simply. "Within your wand is Time—or at least, a part of it."

He opened the box and drew out a slender piece of red-black wood, a few inches below the length of my forearm and examined it closely, searching for faults and imperfections in the grain.

"Perfectly preserved, exactly how it was the day I made it. Amazing…" he gave it a few trial flicks, measuring it against his own arm. "May I see your wand arm, Miss de Lioncourt?"

I offered him my right hand and he took it in his own, examining it thoroughly, much the same as a palm- reader would. My cheeks burned as he took in the two long, white scars that travelled across the diagonal of my palm and across the inside of my first three fingers, his eyes narrowing, and I pulled the appendage back, discomfited.

Ollivander surveyed me for a moment before extending the wand handle to me. "I believe this belongs to you, Miss de Lioncourt."

I stretched out my hand again, the tips of my fingers hovering hesitantly, just above the wand's polished surface.

An eternity seemed to pass, trapped there in that moment, both Ollivander and Harry watching me intently as I battled my uncertainty; then my fingers abruptly closed around the handle.

Whoa.

It was like the worst case of pins and needles I'd ever had—my whole arm seemed to be thrumming, vibrating with an unseen energy that burned like fire, in the best way possible.

The wand seemed to be glued to my hand and I felt pulse after pulse of sheer, raw, magical power flow through my veins as bright blue sparks began to shoot out of its tip, which I watched with wide eyed captivation.

It felt…good.

Mine. Not just an inanimate object I held in my hand, but like an extension of me, my body, my…magic.

The shockwaves began to subside a little and they gradually decreased in magnitude until the wand—my wand—became still, although I imagined I could detect small vibrations running along its length.

The shop was silent; all that could be heard was the quiet sound of my ragged, uneven breathing.

"Wow." I whispered.

"Yes. An unusual wand, that one." Ollivander said, surveying it carefully. "Chronologically unstable, with a core like that—I thought I'd never seen it again after it vanished out of my hands only a few minutes after I'd made it. Who knew, that more than a century later…" He trailed off, seemingly lost in memory.

I was ecstatic, absolutely euphoric about my wand until I realized something very important, and very disheartening.

"Mr Ollivander? How much is it?" I asked him dully, hand unconsciously tightening on my wand. I barely had an 'allowance' back home, what more here?

This seemed to snap Ollivander out of his nostalgia and he shook his grizzled head almost wearily, passing a hand over his eyes. "Nothing. It is yours. Dumbledore has simply asked me to keep hold of it from when you left it, until you returned."

When I left it…what did that mean?

I began to ask him what he meant by that, but then the door swung open to reveal a very harassed looking Mrs Weasley, accompanied by Hermione.

"Ah! Molly Weasley, willow and ashwinder wand, eleven inches, unyielding, am I correct?"

"Yes." She said shortly and then turned to Harry and I. "I know I told you to meet us at the Leaky Cauldron, but we really do have to get going if we're going to see Fred and George's shop and I want to be back home before twilight—do you mind, dears?"

We shook our heads simultaneously, a comical sight. "No, that's fine Mrs Weasley, I have my wand now anyway."

As I exited the shop door, I looked back at Ollivander, who was watching our departure intently with his probing eyes. "Mr Ollivander, thank you…for my wand."

He only nodded, a thin smile curving his mouth. "It is my pleasure, Miss de Lioncourt."

I managed a small grin in return and closed the door, the tiny bell jangling behind me and my wand clutched tightly in my hand.

---

"This," Dumbledore said, eyeing me carefully through his crescent shaped glasses, "is a feather."

I nodded, paying vital attention to every word. "Yes."

It had been a day since I'd gotten my alder wand, and to be honest, I hadn't done much with it. Mostly I just stared at it, admiring the red-black color, but I was too chicken to try it out for myself. For some reason I couldn't get what Professor Moody had said in the Order of the Phoenix about "hexing someone's buttocks off" if they weren't careful where they put it, so I made sure to leave it underneath my pillow, where it hopefully wouldn't do any damage—despite its close proximity to my head.

"Tell me, Ari, what are some of the properties of a feather?"

I thought for a moment. "It's…light?"

"Exactly!" Dumbledore clapped his hands happily in approval and I felt a sort of pathetic sense of achievement. "It is light. And because it has less mass, then less energy is required to move it, following Newton's First Law of Motion, correct?"

I was surprised. "You know the Muggle scientist?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Oh, he was never a Muggle, my dear."

"Moving on," he continued, ignoring the sight of my eyeballs rolling on the floor, "this energy is drawn from the wizard, or witch's, magical source, meaning that the lighter the object, the less effort is required to move it. So, we shall begin with a feather."

Dumbledore raised the Elder Wand and drew a pattern in the air, saying clearly, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
I watched in awe as the pristine, white feather began to rise slowly into the air, and as Dumbledore flicked his wrist, made it perform a cartwheel in midair.

"I believe you are familiar with that one," he said, smiling at my expression.

I nodded again, my grip on my wand tightening, like I now tended to do when I was nervous.

"Good. Then I understand you are aware of the wand movements?"

"Troll boogies tend to make an impression, sir," I muttered, eyes still trained on the floating feather.

The wizard chuckled. "Ah yes, of course. That was a rather spectacular Halloween feast, if I do say so myself."

"Now, do you have your wand?"

I gripped the item in question hard enough to make my knuckles turn white in response.

"Er…very good. Maybe loosening your hold would perhaps yield a more effective result, hmm?"

Reluctantly, I slackened the hand on my wand a little, feeling incredibly foolish. I couldn't help but notice the distinctive grace with which Dumbledore held his wand, like a conductor about to lead a waiting orchestra—in contrast to my own, like I was about to brandish a baseball bat at him.

"Better. Now the words, 'Wingardium Leviosa'—remember, in the words of Miss Granger, 'levi-o-sa'—and the wand movement."

Feeling more than a little dim witted, I twirled the wand at the second feather on the table half- heartedly. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

To my incredible surprise, nothing happened.

"Hmm, well, that was fairly good for a first try." Dumbledore tried to console me, and I winced. "Try again, and remember, a combination of words and movements do not produce magic, but rather, act as a channel for your internal magical force onto an object."

I flourished the wand at the feather again, trying to find my so-called 'internal magical force'. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The words felt awkward, stilted on my tongue like a foreign object and I fought to dispel my small disappointment when the feather did nothing yet again.

"Focus, Ari. Focus."

This time I waved the wand more aggressively at that aggravating feather (which by this time, I strongly expected to be made out of lead). "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The process continued repetitively for a solid hour, with my wand movements becoming more zealous with each try and Dumbledore exhausting every possible angle to approach the spell. I had to give the man some credit, though; not once did he ever give up on my lame attempts, even when the wand actually hit him in the nose after flying out of my wildly gesticulating hand.

"Hmm, maybe another approach then," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, rubbing his nose (I had made panicked apologies to him after I had hit him). "Your wand is quite hard to master, though, if I do recall, you were quite proficient in your spells when I first met you in 1944. Your technique was interesting, too—ah!"

Startled at the sudden outburst, I raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Sir?"

"I had never realized why—yes, of course, that would explain—I'd never asked you about it, you see, and now…"

"Sir?"

Dumbledore held up his wand carefully between blackened fingers, demonstrating. "Draw the wand in a sort of diagonal across your body, and then follow up with the correct wand movements, like so." He sliced his wand through the air, following it up with a swish and flick. The path the wand traced seemed sharper, more aggressive and decidedly less fluid than Dumbledore's first demonstration, but somehow…

"And I assume that you imagined your desired outcome, rather than speaking out loud—because the results...well they tend to be rather disastrous when you duel..."

"I did what?"

"Focus, Ari. The feather, lift it."

Turning back towards the newly found bane of my existence, I appraised its deceptively innocent form, raising my wand.

It was just a feather.

My wand slashed through the air and jerked back into a swish and flick. Wingardium Leviosa! I shouted in my head, imagining its ascent with as much force as I could muster.

Two things happened at once: the feather wobbled, and trembling, began to rise unsteadily into the air, and at the same time I felt a wave of déjà vu so overwhelming that my knees buckled heavily and I crashed back into my chair, effectively cutting off the flow of magic to the feather; it fell back down silently.

"—that so, yeah? I'd like to see you try—"

"—don't know how much longer you'll last—"

"—do that again and I promise, I will kill you—"

"—Tom!"

"Argh!"

My head snapped back with the force of that last cry and I clapped my hands over my ears in a pointless attempt to block the voices echoing in my mind.

My wand lay on the floor in front of me from when I must've dropped it, and it was a while before I finally removed my hands from my head, staring at the object with a feeling of panic.

"What was that?" I asked Dumbledore shakily, who had moved to my side. "I heard…voices…"

Dumbledore stood silent beside me as I clenched my hands tightly together, still shuddering slightly. "Whose voice did you hear?" he asked quietly, lowering down so that he was in level with my pallor-drained face.

I shook my head. "I don't know. I could barely make out anything… everything sounded sort of—staticky, I guess and there were so many—I think I heard my voice?"

Dumbledore locked eyes with me for a moment, his face unexpectedly serious, before nodding and standing up to move over back to the desk, where he lightly skimmed a withered hand over the feather, appearing to be deep in thought.

"Sir?" I asked him, after the silence had gone on for some time. "What did that mean? What just happened?"

He didn't reply for a while.

"Your wand," he said at last, and each word seemed like it cost him a considerable amount of effort to say, "do you know of its core?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Mr Ollivander said something about Time, or Tempus being it, but I didn't really understand what he meant by that."

Dumbledore stroked his long white beard gently. "He is quite correct. You see, Ari, there is no such thing as coincidence. We, all of us, are tied together by strands of Fate and Time, as directed, and within your wand is one of those Strands."

My eyebrows raised, and I cast a glance at the still piece of wood on the floor at my feet. "Then what about the voices?"

"Hmm, yes, well. I have come to the conclusion that because your wand is so closely linked with the Vicis elementum it would tend to remember the vibrations of certain events, memories, of your past much more than a wand with a core of, shall we say, dragon heartstring.

"Of course, all wands do this—the only difference with yours being the magnitude and potency of which these sudden relapses into the past occur."

"So the stuff I heard…that happened in my past? My future, I mean?"

Dumbledore watched me carefully for a second before answering. "Yes."

I remained silent, still pondering what Dumbledore had told me. Racking my brains, I could just make out some of the voices and conversations I'd heard, but none of it had contained enough clarity for me to actually understand what had been happening.

I leaned forward and swept the wand off the ground, this time taking a closer examination of it in its entirety rather than solely its color.

The wood was hard to the touch, and solid seeming, sturdy. I closed my palm around the handle and this time I noticed how it seemed to fit exactly into my palm, perfectly molded to suit my hand right down to the jagged scars. It felt familiar.

"I think that's enough for today," Dumbledore said at last. "I will see you here at the same time tomorrow, is that fine?"

I looked up and smiled unexpectedly. "Yes, that would be great!"

Already, I was excited. I mean, I'd just made a friggin' feather float (like, two millimeters above the ground)!

The tense atmosphere in the room melted suddenly; Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah, the willfulness of youth…"

"Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Ari."

---

My lessons with Dumbledore continued very much in the same fashion as the first, in the same manner. I normally turned up to them twice a day in the same room that I had landed myself in when I first arrived, once in the morning and one in the afternoon, staying for about two or three hours.

Dumbledore was a tough teacher. Brilliant, and incredibly animated about the subjects that he taught (which for me, was basically everything except Divination and History of Magic) but incredibly, incredibly uncompromising, especially where technique was concerned.

I learned faster by saying the spells in my head rather than out loud, as it tended to focus my concentration better on the actual task, and the funny wand movement I made at the beginning of each spell seemed to help also. When I'd asked Dumbledore about it, he'd told me that my sense of magical balance was slightly skewed (because I was truly that uncoordinated) and so I did that little flick to focus my magic in my center, where it was most potent.

And I never heard the voices again.

As the weeks passed, gradually drawing closer to the 1st of September, when we'd been informed we'd be 'leaving', I grew increasingly better at each spell I attempted. Granted, I probably held the skill of the average magical eight year old at that stage (though Dumbledore had assured me that this wasn't so) but I could perform most standard spells without too much effort on my part by the fifth week under Dumbledore's instruction.

And some spells...well...let's just say that I was a little too fond of a certain Hair-Loss Jinx.

Unfortunately, though, there were just some subjects that completely eluded my sane mind, despite Dumbledore's continual efforts- say hello, Potions.

'Do I really need this much powdered wartfrog?' I asked Dumbledore dubiously as I measured out the correct amount on the brass scales that he had conjured up at the beginning of the lesson.

He sighed, and continued to pick at his squeaking box of Ice Mice next to him. 'Yes, Ari. It balances the side effects of the Marphalogos liver you added in earlier.'

'But then,' I pressed, frowning at my cauldron, 'why do I need the masticated Unicorn dung, then?'

'Well, you see, that er, adds to the overall flavour.'

'And the walrus duodenum?'

'To be fair, you only need a pinch of that; it's to reduce the dizziness and lapses in concentration caused by the Ecto-Cabbage.'

I sighed frustratedly, slamming closed the textbook with a dull 'thud' on the table.

'This is so pointless!' I complained, glaring daggers at the dull brown mixture in front of me. 'If I wanted Pumpkin Juice, I would've just ordered it, not made it myself!'

Even Dumbledore had been at a complete loss of what to say and that particular Potions lesson not surprisingly ended quite soon after.

Whenever I had problems with in my lessons that even Dumbledore couldn't remedy (which was extremely rare but happened on occasion) I always asked Hermione for help about it; she was always all too willing to explain the theory to me. In. Great. Detail.

She and the others had warmed up to me a little more (with the exception being Malfoy of course, who we had found out had made the decision to leave with us also) and we managed to get along okay. I liked Harry best, though.

I couldn't quite explain it; his mere presence comforted me, and for that I just liked him inexplicably. I liked his face, liked his outstanding obliviousness and liked him, his character entirely.

So when Dumbledore decided that it was time for me to learn how to duel, he was the first person I panicked to.

'You'll do fine,' he reassured me in soothing tones after I had stopped hyperventilating, fanning myself with a purple Ministry flyer emblazoned with the words, 'HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?' on the chair next to him. 'Dumbledore'll go easy on you, you haven't been doing this for very long anyway so he won't expect you to really duel."

---

"I expect a real duel from you this time, Ari," Dumbledore told me seriously as we faced each other from opposite ends of the magically elongated hall.

I fingered the wand between my fingers nervously; this was only my seventh dueling lesson and he expected me to be able to fight already?

We both bowed to each other and Dumbledore counted off. "One…two…three…"

Averte statura! I shouted inside my head, drawing a zigzag through the air with my wand and sending a bright gold streak of light at the old man who dismissed it easily, barely flicking his wand and countering by transfiguring the various chairs and books scattered around the hall into bewitched, moving marionette dolls that moved jerkily and rapidly towards me.

My eyes widened as one of them—the one made out of a coatstand and a few candlesticks—took a swipe at my head, which I dodged quickly, sidestepping the enchanted figures that continued to follow me.

For some reason they reminded me irresistibly of the Inferi; this gave me an idea.

Incendio! I cried, stabbing my wand at the figures in a miniature circle and a thick stream of brilliant crimson and gold fire spurted out the end; it greedily devoured the dummies (they were made out of wood and paper, after all) and they crumbled into black ash before my eyes.

The fire hadn't gone out yet so I concentrated on directing it towards my dear sweet Professor, beads of sweat forming on my brow with the effort. It shot towards him, a bullet from a gun, incinerating any more of the dummies that happened to get in its way and blackening the floor in its wake; Dumbledore's eyes narrowed and he performed a complicated wand movement, effectively turning it into a light powdery snow.

My relief was short lived however, as the snow suddenly swept across the room towards me in a thick, substantial sheet of ice across the floor and climbed up my legs, trapping me firmly to the ground.

I noticed how my breath was forming mist in the air and my teeth chattered incessantly as the frost crept higher, towards my waist.

Making effective use of my sudden immobility, Dumbledore sent a flash of electric blue light in my direction—hot damn, the man could move.

My wand arm was still free though and I twirled it desperately in the air in front of me. Protego!

A wide, semi-opaque shield threw itself in front of me, just seconds before the light collided with my chest and they clashed together with a resounding gong, causing it to rebound back towards Dumbledore, who dodged out of the way.

While he was distracted, I focused on the steadily growing sheet of ice that was slowly encasing me, directing my wand at the hard transparent mass. Diffindo!

The ice at my feet split and while I managed to kick the rest off of myself, the deep crack I had made spread throughout the room, carving a surprisingly deep gorge in the floor that spanned across the marble floor, heading towards Dumbledore. Briefly I wondered whether the owners of Grimmauld Place had insurance, but I quickly dispelled that thought as Dumbledore stopped the chasm from spreading, inches from his feet and flicked his wand upwards, causing the ice to separate from the floor and move into jagged shards towards me.

I was really panicking now—oh my God, what did he think he was doing?—and the numerous list of spells I had memorized scrolled at top speed through my head, indecisively. I picked the first thing that came to mind, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.

Plurelanus volito!
The splinters of ice immediately transfigured into hundreds of indigo butterflies and I closed my eyes reflexively as they shot towards me, brushing across my face and body harmlessly before fluttering upwards around the hall.

Waving them off me with an arm, I brought my wand through the air again. Furunculus!

Dumbledore batted the scarlet beam I had sent his way as easily as if it were one of my butterflies and he countered with a jet of deep violet light that started off as a single beam, then split into three separate spells midway through its journey.

Oh crap.

I ducked as one shot past my head; the other two hit me in the chest and my stomach and I collapsed on the floor, struck breathless by the sudden fit of giggles from the crazy tickling sensations that were ravaging my entire body.

"Tickling Charm?" I choked out, snorting at Dumbledore who stood above me with a concerned expression on my face.

"Indeed," he said, eyes twinkling brighter. "One should never forget the basics. Would you like me to remove it?"

"I'm begging you!" I fell into fits of laughter once more as the charm grew in intensity, and I banged my fists on the floor, tears streaming down my face.

Dumbledore chuckled and waved his wand wordlessly; the sensations vanished in an instant and I slumped, breathing heavily.

He held out his undamaged hand to help me up and I accepted it gratefully, dusting the debris off the back of my jeans.

"So… er… how was that?" I asked him sheepishly, scratching my head.

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, his wand now carefully stowed in his robes. "Very impressive, Ari. You are definitely improving."

My face split into a wide, silly grin. "Really?"

"Mm. That trick with the butterflies…very creative, my dear, that was quite surprising…" Dumbledore looked at me. "I think we can finish here today."

"Oh?" Dumbledore's lessons, particularly the dueling ones, usually didn't finish until it was well past the three hour mark.

"Yes, you did quite well today, I am very impressed."

I punched the air with a fist. "Yes! Er, I mean—" I looked at Dumbledore sheepishly, but he appeared to chuckling, amused at my reaction. "Thanks, Professor."

"Not a problem. Now, to solve the issue of cleaning…" He looked around at the former dining room, which was littered with chunks of ice and small fires, not to mention the ten foot gaping crack in the floor. "Oh dear."

Within a few minutes (and with my help) though, the room was almost as spotless as it had been initially, and back to its normal size.

"Oh, Ari?" Dumbledore called out, just as I was exiting the room. "Don't forget, Professor Snape would like to add an extra hour to your lesson tonight."

I let out an inaudible mutter in reply and shut the door closed behind me.

I'd forgotten about my night class.

---

I scowled at the man in front of me, crossing my arms over my chest hotly. 'You can't expect me not to retaliate if you just go through my personal life like that!'

'For the last time, I saw nothing!' Snape snapped (haha, what a funny phrase) finally losing his patience and the bruise over his right eye swelling angrily. 'I have told you before, there already appears to be a sort of self induced mental block for memories concerning that particular area of your past, whatever that may be. Regardless, however, that does not give you permission to hurl any of the items in your possession at my person!'

'It's a reflex!' I argued. 'Excuse me if I happen to value my personal privacy!'

'When you are with the Dark Lord, there is no such thing!' he growled, slamming a veined hand on the desk in front of me. 'Again!'

I hissed in frustration and pinched the bridge of my nose, attempting to clear my mind, taking deep breaths in and out of my nose.

Think happy thoughts...think happy thoughts...

I concentrated, thinking of something solid and sturdy that would act as a barrier- in my case, it was a generic brick wall. Tonight I imagined a 'No Entrance' sign on it, just for Snape's benefit.

'Legilimens!'

The force against my mind was back again, pressing insistently on my barrier. A quiet chuckle left my lips as I heard Snape hiss angrily, probably at my sign, and I winced painfully as the mental probe became sharper, more intense.

By this time I was sweating heavily under the strain of keeping the shield in place- though apparently I was quite better at this 'keeping my mind blank thing' than Harry was (for obvious reasons), I still, well...sucked. Or as Snape liked to phrase it, 'had the concentration capacity of an underdeveloped baboon'.

The barriers around my mind trembled and I gripped a hand on the underside of the desk tightly, panting. Damn it, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer...

I forced myself to focus under the Potions professor's heavy attacks to invade my mind, pushing myself to keep my thoughts private for as long as possible.

Come...on...

Snape stabbed at a weak spot, and the shields crumbled to dust.

I was five, and it was my first ballet recital in front of everyone I knew and Mum and Dad were whispering reassuring words in my ear...

I was eleven and I had just punched a friend in the nose for copying my homework when I wasn't looking...

I was sixteen and I watched with an incredible thrill of excitement, my heart pounding as Ollivander finally laid the wand into my hands...

I was fifteen and Anna threw a dusty black book with the words 'Harry Potter' on its cover at me, screaming for me to read it...

I was thirteen and there was a flash of silver as...

'Argh!'

The tendrils of magic in my mind withdrew suddenly from my mind and my eyes flew open, blinking confusedly yet grateful for the unexpected ceasefire.

Snape was glaring at me lividly from the other side of the desk, one hand held up to his nose which was bleeding profusely, great drops of crimson landing on the table.

'What happened to y-' I glanced down at my hand, which I realized was curled into a tight fist, and its first two knuckles covered with blood. 'Oh. Oops.'

His glare only became more acidic at my less than helpful response, and I watched as his other hand fumbled for his wand in his robes, which he seemed to have trouble finding.

Feeling more than a little guilty, I waved my own at him, remembering a useful spell that Dumbledore had taught me a few days ago. Episkey!

As I watched with delight as his nose began to mend itself (this whole 'magic' thing was really, really cool), I shifted awkwardly in my seat, fully expecting a long and egotistic lecture about not "abusing your superiors" to come my way pretty much any moment now.

Snape coughed, wiping away the remnants of his blood with a slightly spotted grey handkerchief and I winced. Here we go…

"Better."

"Look, I'm really sorry—" I paused, frowning. "Pardon?"
Snape shot me a cold glance from beneath the greasy curtains surrounding his now blood-free face. "I said that was better," he repeated, as if he were talking to an abnormally thick person. "You managed to last at least a minute longer before reacting; that is an improvement."

I stared at him, stunned. Did Snape just…? I mean, did he just tell me…? No, seriously did I just hear…?

He rolled his eyes at my expression, Vanishing the handkerchief and raising his wand once more. "Enough. Again."

I managed to hold on one second longer before kicking him in the area that he really should have put above his mind in terms of 'protection'.

This time, there were no compliments.

---

I laughed at Ron's expression as I recounted my lesson with Professor Snape, approaching the black pot filled with Floo Powder next to the fireplace in the back room of Madam Malkin's.

"No—you're-you're serious?" he sputtered, staring at me with a mixture of shock and awe.

I nodded, scooping a handful of the black glittering powder—Harry had already gone before us. "Yep, completely. It was terrible, and I felt really guilty about it afterwards…"

Today was the penultimate day we had before leaving for 1944, and the four of us—Malfoy, of course, was absent—were making good use of the time, walking around Diagon Alley and showing the sights off to me now that we didn't have any errands to run.

I'd had my first taste of Florean Fortescue's famous double chocolate chip sundae—which was by far, the best thing I had ever tasted—buried my nose in the spellbooks and DIY guides at Flourish and Blott's, forcibly dragged the others for a quick peek at Knockturn Alley, much to Ron's displeasure and stood underneath the famous Gringotts arches, reading the ominous plaque that stood above its entrance.

It was completely fascinating, and I wished I had more time to remember it.

But Time is a fickle thing, and pretty soon it was nearing twilight, when Mrs Weasley had drilled into us to get back to Grimmauld Place, so we'd headed back to the Floo portal at Madam Malkin's, finishing up on some of the strange wizarding candies we'd bought earlier— to my immense shock, I found out that I liked the Cockroach Cluster the best, and that amused the others to no end.

I stepped into the grate filled with the usual emerald fire and flung the powder at my feet.

"No 12 Grimmauld Place!" I shouted, and immediately clutched at my stomach as Ron and Hermione's faces disappeared in a blur and I was taken through the increasingly familiar nauseating journey through the Floo Network once more.

"Mmph!"

I stumbled out of the fireplace back at Grimmauld Place and tripped over something, knocking it over.

"Shit," I muttered, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed, only to realize that I was surrounded in pitch black darkness. "What the…?"

Something cold and hard wrapped itself around my mouth and I yelped, though the thing muffled the noise.

Reacting on instinct and completely foregoing magic, I dug my elbow—hard—into the ribs of whoever it was behind me, and the person immediately withdrew, hissing a curse.

"Idiot! You need to shut up, or they'll find you!" the person spat at me, and I could dimly make out a figure rubbing his side gingerly.

My eyebrows raised; I recognized that voice. "Malfoy?"

"No, it's Sir Cadogan," Malfoy said irritably. "Of course it's me!"

"What happened? Where is everyone?" I asked him, lowering my voice to a whisper.

I could just make out him shaking his head slowly, platinum hair glimmering in the dark. "I don't know. I was…out, and when I got back they were here and the house was completely abandoned."

"They?"

He rolled his eyes. "Death Eaters, de Lioncourt. They're here, right outside that door."

The air seemed to turn to ice in the room and I stood stock still for a second, not daring to breathe. "Well crap," I muttered, drawing in a shaky breath and fumbling for my wand inside my jacket pocket. "Where's Harry?"

"Your boyfriend just went out a few minutes ago to check how many there were—it would be such a shame if he came back in one piece."

Despite the gravity of the situation, I still felt the blood rush up to my face and I was actually glad that it was dark. "He's not my boyfriend," I muttered.

My eyes had now adjusted enough to the dark to see Malfoy raise a pale eyebrow disbelievingly. "Is this really the time to be discussing your relationship status?" he drawled.

The sudden roar of the fireplace interrupted my angry reply and I saw Ron, followed quickly by Hermione stagger into the room, seeming just as confused by the lack of light as I had initially been.

"What in Merlin's teacu—" Ron began loudly, and Malfoy, who apparently decided it would've been useless to even try to quiet him down cast a muttered Silencing Charm at his shadowed form and he was cut off mid-sentence.

"Death Eaters are outside." He stated bluntly. "They'll hear you."

At the same time, the door suddenly opened—everyone in the room tensed visibly, expecting the worst—but it shut quickly and Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak, panting.

"At least seven of them," he informed us, breathing heavily. "The Carrows, Dolohov and Yaxley were the only ones I could recognize."

We stood in silence, the sound of Harry's labored breathing the only thing audible. The others shuffled in the dark and I waved my wand wordlessly at Ron, removing Malfoy's Charm. I was really getting better at my spells, but it seemed like there wouldn't be any time left for me to find out…

I stifled a cry of alarm as something brushed past my elbow and I jumped back into the wall behind me.

The thing was an eerie, glowing silver and it swept around us gracefully, its phoenix form gliding once around the room before perching on a table. Dumbledore's Patronus.

It opened its beak and the voice of the old wizard echoed softly in the silence.

"Mundungus has betrayed us. Your parents and friends are in a safe location. Use the Portkey. We leave tonight. Good luck."

We stared at the Patronus as it let something glittering fall from its taloned claws before giving a final, low musical cry and dissolving back into darkness.

Harry darted forwards, snatching the object from off the floor and holding it up for us to see. It was Regulus' locket.

" 'We leave tonight,' " Harry repeated in a whisper, staring at it. "Blimey, do you reckon…?"

The locket began to glow a bright, dizzy blue.

"Yeah, I do." I responded. "This is it."

Suddenly the door burst open with a bang and someone wearing a mask shaped like a skull stood in the doorway, laughing hysterically.

"Oh, so this is where the little kiddies are, eh?" the person leered, leaning against the door as he dragged his wand lazily across the air. "Now now, it's not nice to hide from the grown-ups…"

"Stupefy!" Harry yelled, and the dark red beam of light hit the Death eater square in the chest, causing him to fall down with a grunt. "Run! The Portkey hasn't been fully activated yet, so run!"

There were more of the black-robed figures in the hallway outside, and I watched, adrenalin rushing through my veins, as the others began to send flashing curses and hexes at them as if they had been doing it all their lives.

One of them caught me by the elbow and I jerked back, slashing my wand through the air. Reducto! I screamed mentally, and I saw them crash backwards with a loud bang.

"Potter, is the locket activated yet?" Malfoy yelled, as he sent a Death Eater flying across the room with the Averte Jinx.

"Hang on!" Harry yelled back, confronted with a figure of his own. "Expelliarmus!"
The wand flew out of the Death Eater's hand and I heard the man curse, lunging towards Harry who dodged him neatly, sending another Stunner at him.

The blue light in Harry's closed fist was glowing brighter now, almost white and I felt my eyes water just looking at it.

"How about now?" Malfoy shouted, struggling with another of the masked people and I aimed my wand at him. Incarcerous!
Ropes sprung from the wand and shot towards the man who fell on the floor, cussing violently as he fought to stop the binds from strangling him.

"Alright!" Harry bellowed, waving his arms at us. "Now!"

I lunged forward, grabbing the chain of the locket at the same time as the others; its light seared my eyes and I closed them as I felt the jerk behind my navel dragging me forward before we disappeared.

The remaining Death Eaters screamed in frustration; the resounding crack!s were heard as they Disapparated.

And the quiet tick of the grandfather clock upstairs continued.

A/N: Yes, finally finished this chap! Really, really, enjoyed writing this, but I'm glad it's finally over! *Sweatdrop* Long, wasn't it?

Anyway I think it's already been acknowledged to never listen to a word I say concerning updates so…:P

One more thing, the reason why I chose alder wood for Ari's wand (excerpt from Bardwood (.) com ):

"...It can protect one from the emotions of others, especially warlike anger or bloodlust. It is particularly potent for protection against drowning or disaster by storm or flood. Its use in bridges, half submerged, symbolizes not only its power as a bridge between worlds, but its mentality, amphibiously aware of the conscious and unconscious worlds, the above and below, the overt and the hidden. Magical operations most applicable to Alder include: protection against drowning and death; death curses and shielding against them; shielding against all ill- omens and destructive emotions; cultivation of the vision of inner and outer worlds; bridging of the above and below; preparation for conflict; shielding against unwanted intrusions from beyond."

Thought it'd suit, considering Tom and all that shizz.

Review, please?

Seriously. Like, my creative "genius" (ahem, coughs, vomits) is dying here.

Thanks for all the support!

N

(Also: The wand-lesson is important.)