A/N at end

Blood is thicker than water

I wake up slowly, climbing steadily from the world of dreams back to conciousness. Yawning, I roll myself tighter in the blankets and quilt, wishing to go back to sleep and not have to deal with the realities of my situation. Which are, as yet, unknown. This thought makes me look around, and it is the dress that finally makes me get out of bed. My white sundress is hanging from the armoire door, looking clean and freshly pressed. Lily must have returned it while I was sleeping, I think bleerily, stumbling out of bed, and to the mirror. It feels like something has died in my mouth. My hair, which has dried from the rain while I was sleeping, is falling in downy curls down my back, and my makeup has collected under my eyes giving me a panda look. I fling the curtains back from the window, and squint against the sunlight that streams in. Judging by the height of the sun it must be a few hours past noon. My stomach rumbles, and I decide that there is no putting it off any longer. You'll have to face them eventually. I grab my dress from the hanger and, pulling nervously at the hem of the giant T-shirt, step out onto the landing cautiously. I don't know what I was expecting, maybe a guard or something outside my door, but there is nothing. It's completely deserted, and the house is deathly silent. I narrow my eyes in suspicion, but continue to the bathroom next door. Locking myself in, I turn around. It's very much like my room – comfortable but not lavish; and I can see where Lily put the soaps and toothbrush. There's no shower, only a large bathtub with somewhat ornate taps and, remembering the chandeliers downstairs, I'm not surprised. It fits with the whole "Victorian" theme going on here.

Reluctant to have to deal with wet hair again, I decide on a quick freshen up, jumping into the bath and brushing my teeth. It almost makes me feel normal again, and I am once again infinitely grateful to Lily. I try not to think about how rapidly the bathtub filled up (within a minute it was brimming) and zip up my dress, wiping away the makeup gathered under my eyes. I stand at the door, collect my nerves, and then step out of the bathroom onto the landing once more.

The house is still quiet, and I am struggling to remember how to get to the kitchens (my sense of direction has never been very good). I feel like I'm in a church or something - where any noise you make echoes on and on embarrassingly - so I creep down the stairs as softly as I can. I'm not sure what to do – I'm starving hungry, but what if there's no one in the kitchens? Should I just help myself? But I'm uncomfortable – every etiquette my mother ever taught me dictates that would be rude. So when I emerge into the hallway of the floor directly below mine and hear soft plucking noises, I hesitate. If it's Lily, or Fabian, or even Gideon, it'll be fine, I think. The other two are a bit intimidating. I can hear that the noise is coming from the door second down the hall from the stairs, and I make my way over. As I approach, I realise that it is the sound of a guitar picking out a tune – imperfectly - but still recognisable. Stairway to Heaven. I pause just outside the door, and lean against the wall, closing my eyes, soothed by the steady tune. Dad used to play this all the time. The notes weave in and out of my mind, and I can't bring myself to interrupt.

Until the floorboard creaks.

I cringe but don't have time to run away as the guitar breaks off and a voice that is definitely not Lily or Fabian or Gideon says "Come in"

Eugh. It couldn't have been anyone else. This is going to be mortifying. So I push the door open and slip in, turning to face the room. And there he is, sitting in the middle of a bed, hair falling in his eyes and a cigarette dangling from his lips, body draped over the guitar that a moment ago was so soothing, but now makes me want to run. And he's looking at me.

"Sorry, I was just trying to find the kitchen…and I recognised the song," I say apologetically. Sirius just sits there, staring at me through his hair, a small grin pulling at his face.

"You know Led Zeppelin?" he finally says.

"Only a little bit, from my dad" I reply, by way of explanation. I'm still avoiding his gaze.

He makes a noise of understanding. Then nothing. I'm panicking a little bit. This is incredibly uncomfortable, and I scramble, trying to assemble my thoughts to make a go at conversation. The room smells vaguely of smoke, and could do with an airing, with a few clothes lying strewn around the floor and the bed unmade. But there's no pictures on the walls, nothing to suggest this is a permanent arrangement for him. The silence still presses on me, and I open my mouth to say something, anything, to break it, but he gets there first.

"Do I scare you?"

I can hear the humour in his voice, as if he's laughing at my discomfort. And I hate being laughed at.

"No, of course not" I say, raising my chin slightly and trying to sound a lot braver than I feel. Are you a man or a mouse, Analeigh? Pull yourself together.

In one swift movement, he sets the guitar aside and stubs out his cigarette in an ash tray to the side of his bed, rising to his feet. He stalks towards me, and I have to dig my bare toes into the floor to stop myself taking a step backwards, to preserve that all-important personal space. He stops, standing about a foot away from me, and bends down slightly to meet my eyes. I can see the amusement dancing in his grey ones. He's still laughing at me.

"You're a terrible liar," he says, barely more than a breath. I swallow nervously and decide that I've been brave enough for the time being.

"Kitchen" I announce, somewhat stupidly, and whirl around to leave the room. I hear him laugh, a bark like a dog, and follow me down the stairs. I'm feeling much more comfortable now that I don't have to look at him, and manage to ask "Where is everyone?"

"Out doing various things," is the mysterious response. There's a hint of bitterness to his tone. "This is headquarters, people come and go as they need to. But don't worry, there'll always be someone here to keep an eye on you"

Which is what he's doing right now, is what is unspoken in that statement. Great, so this is a kind of prison. I heave a sigh and roll my eyes, allowing him to overtake me as we reach the entrance hall. There's a giant suitcase sitting by the foot of the staircase, but Sirius doesn't remark upon it so I don't say anything.

The kitchen is dark and cold when we come in, but with a flick of his wand Sirius sets a roaring fire going in the hearth. It's the afternoon but the kitchen has the feel of a wine cellar and I rub my goosebumped arms subconsciously. Sirius is rummaging around in a cabinet to the right of the fireplace, and I start to look around for something to cook. Where's the fridge? Although, they probably have some magical solution for that as well.

Sirius seems to find what he is looking for, and emerges with a large frying pan, which he places on the stove, lighting a small flame under it as he goes. I'm feeling pretty useless at this point, unable to find anything and still feeling just a little bit uncomfortable from our previous conversation upstairs.

"What do you want to eat?" asks the man in question. He's holding his hand just over the frying pan, testing the heat. His hands are nice, I think, he has aristocratic fingers.

"Ummm…" I switch my attention back to him because he's staring at me like I'm an idiot. Unable to see a fridge or pantry and actually request something from its contents, I stay vague.

"Anything's good really"

Sirius rolls his eyes but smiles, and turns back to the cooker.

"I hope you like eggs, 'cause that's the only thing I know how to make"

With a wave of his wand, a door to the back of the kitchen flies open and food items literally start whizzing over to the frying pan, stopping only at the cutting board next to it to be chopped up by a knife that seems, somewhat alarmingly, to be working by itself. Oh my lord. I'm a little freaked out and feeling kind of light-headed and giggly, so I sit down at the long table to get myself out of the way. The way the ingredients hop along reminds me of that scene from Sleeping Beauty where the fairies are making Aurora a birthday cake. Then I imagine Sirius as a fairy, and almost can't contain my laughter.

Sirius, oblivious to my internal humour, waves his wand again and two bottles come soaring from the same cupboard. He catches one, and the other skids to a neat stop in front of me. An antique label on the side declares it to be Butterbeer and I am, once again, confused. It may be afternoon but this is functioning as my breakfast, and I'm not an alcoholic. Sirius is leaning lazily against the cooker, already sipping his and regarding me somewhat hautily through half-closed eyelids.

"Er…no thanks" I say, somewhat uncertainly. He cracks a grin.

"It's not actually alcoholic" he says, like he's stating the obvious.

Kinda like root beer then? Maybe this is magic-world soda pop. Oh what the hell.

I grab the bottle, unscrew the top and take a drink quickly, not pausing to second guess. The drink is rich and buttery, with a hint of honeycomb to it, and it fills me with warmth. Magic soda pop or not, this stuff is good.

Sirius has turned his attention back to the stove, and within a few minutes whirls around with a couple of plates in hand, hands one to me, and takes a seat opposite with his own. It's an omlette, with sausages and potatoes and I don't really know what else in it, but I'm starving and don't really believe he'd poison me, so I dig in. It's good comfort food, filling and not particularly healthy, but I think he's a pretty good cook – even if he can only make eggs. This feels so weird, I think, playing with my fork and eyeing Sirius through my lashes. Almost domestic. I repress a shudder. Ew no. He finishes his plate and does a huge stretch, bending slightly over the back of the chair, and his dark jumper to rides up, allowing a sliver of his stomach to show. I can feel my cheeks blush slightly and I look away. Jeez Analeigh, you're such a prude, I reprimand myself. But it's not just that he's attractive. It's more that he's attractive but I don't want to think of him that way. If I have to make an escape, I can't hesitate to punch him in the face (if I can) just because he's pretty. Hormones interfere with escape attempts. Keep it in check. And if there's one thing I'm good at, it's keeping my feelings in check.

At the sound of the door opening, he practically springs from his seat, and I hear voices in the corridor, male and female. Sirius gives a somewhat haphazard wave of his wand, causing our empty plates to careen rather viciously towards the sink. I think he's about to jump out into the hallway, but the new arrivals beat him to it, and enter the kitchen before he has the chance. I leap to my feet, not wanting to stay seated like a lemon, and stumble slightly as the room sways for a second around me. I'm not sure I completely believe him about it not being alcoholic, I think, glaring at my now-empty bottle of butterbeer.

As the new visitors enter the room, I switch my attention, trying to wipe away the slight fuzziness at the edges of my mind. Two people – a slightly plump woman, and an old man. They are both magical, that much is obvious, wearing what looks like very fancy bathrobes. The old man is tall and has that wizened look to him, like the shell of a walnut. His beard and hair are equally long and white, and even longer than my hair. He gives off a distinct impression of oddness – but seems to command respect by his very presence, exuding knowledge and wisdom through his bright and twinkling eyes from behind half-moon spectacles balancing on his hooked nose. Eyes that are now looking directly at me.

I am dumbstruck, and cannot do more than check that my mouth is closed before continuing to stare.

"Ah Miss Grayson, how fortunate we should find you in the first place we chose to look, rather than searching the house. Please, have a seat." His voice is kind, and I obey without question. I see Sirius do the same.

"Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and leader of the Order of the Phoenix"

This jumble of words makes absolutely no sense to me, but his eyes are still twinkling at me, and I am not alarmed. I will hear him out. He smiles with his eyes as well as his mouth. This is reassuring.

"I thought Mad-Eye was coming with you?"

Sirius' voice cuts through my musing, and Albus Dumbledore breaks his gaze to turn to Sirius, but it is his companion who answers.

"Well, we thought it best if he was absent during this explanation. Mad-Eye isn't the…easiest…company, and we didn't want to alarm her," the woman explains. She is around 30-something, with carrot-red hair and a motherly way about her that makes me long for home. She turns her brown eyes towards me, and says "I'm Molly Weasley. Don't worry dear, we'll help you sort things out in your head. But first, some tea I think," She pats my hand, almost absent-mindedly, and makes her way towards the fireplace.

I turn back to Dumbledore, who seems equally content to wait for tea.

"Firstly, Analeigh, I must apologise profusely for the method by which you were bought here," begins Dumbledore, as Molly pours us all tea in little china cups with saucers. I have no idea where she found them.

"It was not my intention to alarm you, but your safety is, of course, paramount.

"We intended to explain everything before bringing you to our headquarters, to allow you to make your own decision, but the other side moved sooner than we thought, and spontaneous plans had to be made." He smiles wistfully.

"As you have already seen, there are witches and wizards among us. Most British magical children are educated at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – the school over which I am fortunate enough to preside as headmaster. But the wizarding world is currently at war with itself. A group of wizards called the Death Eaters is attempting to take over the Ministry of Magic, the governing body of the wizarding world. We, the Order of the Phoenix, are attempting to prevent this. Do you understand so far?"

It's like blanks in the events of the past day are being steadily filled in, albeit with crazy explanations. But I get it. I nod.

Dumbledore continues, "The Death Eaters are led by a man called Lord Voldemort – " There is a gasp at the table from Molly as he says this, although Sirius looks fairly nonplussed. "Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," says Dumbledore, with only a hint of reprimand in his voice. Molly does not say anything, but she looks disturbed. I am shocked – how can anyone be so terrible that even the sound of their name is feared?

"The Death Eaters believe," continues Dumbledore, as if the interruption never happened, "that wizarding folk of 'pure' blood (that is, they have had only witches and wizards in their bloodline) are superior to wizards who have the blood of non-magical persons in their ancestry. And he most certainly believes them superior to Muggles – what we term non-magic folk such as yourself. He would see you all enslaved, and this is why he seeks control of the Ministry of Magic.

"For this reason, the Order of the Phoenix was created. We are a secret society that works with the Ministry and against the Death Eaters, to prevent Lord Voldemort from ever gaining sufficient power to accomplish his aims. Do you have any questions so far?"

He smiles kindly at me, and I try to overcome my muteness. It makes sense, kind of, so far. If I just go with it, maybe I can understand. Or maybe they're all insane – but any escape attempt will have to wait till later.

"No, please continue," I manage to croak out.

Dumbledore nods.

"Of course, you must wonder where you fit in to this, but I would ask you – did you notice anything strange in the alleyway, when the Death Eaters tried to abduct you, before James and Sirius arrived? Aside from the obvious."

I think of the two men shoving me against the wall, brandishing their wands, and think, a whole lot of weird happened that night, which part do you want me to pick? But then I remember the bandage that still glares on my arm, and I know that Dumbledore sees the flash of recognition in my eyes.

"One of the Death Eaters tasted your blood that night, didn't he?"

I nod again, biting my lip to keep it from shaking. Dumbledore takes a deep breath.

"And here is the crux of the matter. Your blood has the capacity to lend strength and invulnerability to anyone who ingests it – the potency of which depends on how much they drink. James had a much more difficult time dealing with that Death Eater than the one who did not drink you blood. It imparts limited immunity to most magic. So it is fortunate that Mulciber had only that one lick of your blood, or else James may not have made such a lucky escape. It is for this reason that the Death Eaters wish to have you under their control – your blood is a dramatic advantage to whichever side possesses it. We do not wish to use you for any reason, Analeigh, but you must understand that we cannot allow Lord Voldemort to gain this advantage. I do not believe it would be an exaggeration to say that with your blood, he and his followers would be invincible."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. The blood has drained from my face and there's a weird humming in my brain again like back in the alleyway, and I keep staring at Dumbledore but he seems very far away, like I'm looking at him from underwater. But underneath my panic there is a note of calm, an element of rationality that suggests well, you did suspect that this all came back to blood. And it is this pinch of consciousness that allow me to spit out:

"How is this possible? My blood's normal – well I'm a little anaemic but really, it's not super tonic or anything…"

I trail off. Dumbledore is doing that thing again where he manages to convey reassurance and understanding without even speaking. Sirius is looking kind of awkward and a bit impatient, which is aggravating because it's not like HE'S the one who Voldemure or whatever wants to use as a human blood bag. But it's Molly who speaks first, and her tone is what calms me.

"We're not absolutely certain yet, but we have people looking into it. I know it's difficult to come to terms with, dear, but you'll have to trust us for now. Besides, you saw it yourself in the alleyway – it's not safe for you."

In this moment she sounds just like a mother hen, and it's like a switch has flicked in my brain and I am immediately thrust back in to panic, this time for my family.

"Shit!" I exclaim, slamming my hands down flat on the table and causing my teacup to rattle ominously in its saucer. I catch Sirius smirk momentarily out of the corner of my eye, but Dumbledore seems unfazed by the expletive. "What about my parents? Are they in danger too? We're related, do they have…uh…weird blood too?" I'm struggling to find the right words, but I think they understand. Molly and Sirius exchange glances and can't seem to look at me, but Dumbledore holds my gaze and says at a measured pace,

"No, your parents are not in any immediate danger, and they do not share your blood's properties. We have, however, taken measures to protect them, just in case."

I relax back in to my chair slightly. "Can I talk to them?" I plead. "I need to warn them about this, I can't just disappear, they'll be really worried and I can't do that to them…"

Dumbledore allows me to burn my words out before replying. There's a certain sadness in his eyes.

"That will not be possible, I'm afraid," he says. "Your parents are no longer aware of your existence, and are leaving the country very soon"

A/N: Wow so this chapter was a really difficult one to write, and I'm pretty sure it shows :S Thank you so much to rosegold1996 for her support and patience - it really helped me get through the writer's block! Apologies for the long time it took to update, and for the general clumsiness of this chapter - hopefully the sheer length of it counts for something (it's a personal record :P )!

Reviews are loved and cherished and make my day :D

Disclaimer: J. owns everything except Analeigh and Analeigh-related things

BFxx