A/N at end

Walk two moons

I freeze. I'm not exactly sure I heard him correctly. "W-What…?" I manage to stutter.

Dumbledore takes a deep breath and leans forward on the table, pushing his fingertips together in a steeple. "While Sirius was bringing you here, my colleague Alastor Moody and I ensured that your parents were safe. To completely protect them, it was necessary to remove all memories of your existence from their minds, and give them a sudden strong desire to go to what I believe is your usual family holiday house in South Carolina - indefinitely. This will remove them from harms way, as Voldemort will not dare to harm Muggles directly under the nose of the United States Ministry of Magic."

"How…" I begin lamely, my eyes as wide as saucers.

"We spoke to your father about the situation, and he agreed to allow us to alter both his and your mother's memories – "

That's it. The last feeble fibres holding my mind together against this onslaught of information have snapped, and I am overcome by rage. There is a high-pitched screaming in my mind like a kettle left on the stove for too long, and my face is hot. Almost unconsciously, I am suddenly on my feet and only become aware that I have thrown both my teacup and its saucer at the wall when I hear the tinkling of broken china.

"HOW DARE YOU?" I screech at Dumbledore, and there is something inside of me that wants to slap him, to shake him, to make him understand just how outraged and furious and sad and lost I am right now. My head is pounding and I am beginning to understand the true meaning of the phrase "seeing red".

My fist slams on the table top. "YOU BRAINWASHED MY PARENTS!" I continue to shout.

"Analeigh, you must calm down - please understand this is not a permanent arrangement – " Dumbledore begins, but it is nothing more than a whisper to my ears. I will not listen, this has gone too far.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS! I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL TELL THE POLICE AND YOU'LL ALL GO TO JAIL!" The building tension in my body makes me want to lash out - I have to hit something, someone, the frustration is killing me. I sweep my arm across the table, sending the rest of the china tea cups whizzing off the end, and am about to lunge at Dumbledore himself when I am jerked back by a tight grip on my shoulder.

"That's enough of that," says Sirius somewhere close to my ear. He doesn't sound angry or shocked at all – if anything, he's vaguely amused. I feel light-headed and dizzy, and black dots pop around across my vision. The rage is leaving me, and I can barely move my fingers from the exhaustion. Sirius eases me back in to the chair and returns to his seat. He's grinning like a Cheshire cat, but one stern look from Dumbledore wipes the smirk off his face. Molly is clearing up the mess I made and the cold fingers of guilt and embarrassment are beginning to creep up my spine. I look at Dumbledore, and see nothing in his face but sympathy and sadness.

"I understand your distress – were there any way to avoid this situation, we would have done it" he says.

"You spoke to my father?" My words are faint, as I'm still slightly light-headed.

"Yes. I told him everything that I told you moments ago, as well as the dangers that might befall himself and your mother should Voldemort attempt to use them as leverage against you."

"Why – " I start, but Dumbledore knows what I'm about to say.

"Why your father? The Ministry of Magic has long since had dealings with the muggle Prime Minister – it is necessary to inform each successive head of the country of our existence, for safety and security purposes. Your father is a member of the Prime Minister's cabinet, and it was easier to convince him of the truth with his Prime Minister in the room to support our claims."

I frown, trying to imagine two wizards, the Prime Minister of Great Britain and my father all sitting in the same room, discussing magic. The thought is too ludicrous to dwell on.

"We advised your father, and he agreed, eventually, to accept our protection."

"So you just went ahead and wiped his memories." I snarl, regaining some of the anger from earlier. Dumbledore holds up his hand.

"Analeigh, you must be fair. We told your father every detail that we have told you. He agreed to have his and his wife's memories altered, for both your safety and theirs. He agreed to allow us to plant the idea in his mind to spend the coming months in South Carolina. And ultimately, he agreed to allow us custody and protection of you."

This is too much. I can't control myself any longer, and I burst into tears. The anger and rage from earlier has completely deserted me, and all I feel is abandonment. My father didn't even insist on speaking to me before deciding. Molly is squeezing my hand again but I am too far down my spiral of despair to draw any comfort from it.

Dumbledore is not yet finished. "The memory alterations are not permanent, Analeigh. As soon as it is safe for you, we will restore them to your parents, and all will be as it was before. It is for their safety that they have left the country. And it is for your safety that your father agreed to temporarily lose precious memories of you – so that if they were ever to fall into the hands of the Death Eaters, they would be completely incapable of giving them any information about you. So you see, Analeigh. Your parents have not abandoned you – not truly."

He seems to guess my thoughts, but I cannot stop crying. All I can think of is my parents at our old holiday home on Folly Beach, enjoying the sun while having no recollection of their only daughter. The three people in the room seem to be waiting for my response. I close my eyes, and try to regain that sliver of rationality through all the horror and sadness.

I nod in acceptance, allowing my head to fall into my hands.

"It will become easier with time," says Dumbledore. Easy for you to say. I can't bear to look at anyone. My face is drenched with tears and I hate it. I look weak.

Dumbledore seems to sense my distress, as he says to Molly "Please take Analeigh back to her room, I imagine she could use some rest. Sirius, if I could have a word please. There's something I would like you to do…".

That's all I hear before Molly pulls me gently from the kitchen, and I am barely aware of climbing the stairs back to my room. Lying at the foot of the bed is the large suitcase I saw in the entrance hall when Sirius and I went down to the kitchen.

"Dumbledore had Mundungus – another of our members – bring a few of your things from your flat…thought it might help to make you more comfortable," explains Molly. I collapse seated on the side of the bed, hunched over with my hands folded in my lap, and try not to think of a stranger breaking in to my flat and rifling through my belongings. Molly is unpacking the suitcase, sending clothes and personal items soaring across the room, but I've had enough for today so I turn my head to face the wall, tears still streaming down my cheeks. I don't know how long I sit like this – long after Molly, having given up trying to talk to me, leaves the room, and long after I hear the door slam and a car pull away as someone leaves.

My parents don't remember me. It is this that hurts the most. Regardless of the Death Eaters and their supposedly terrifying leader, or the strangeness of my own blood – it is the sense of abandonment that sends shivers running up and down my spine, and keeps the tears pouring from my eyes. I try to motivate myself, to get some feeling back into my limp limbs. Dad knows. Or at least, he knew when he made the decision. This should comfort me, but instead I find myself lamenting that I couldn't have spoken to him just once before everything happened. And Ma. She doesn't know a thing. My mother, who has been my strongest source of support and guidance my whole life, is now completely out of reach. Knowing that I am in a situation beyond her help is the most terrifying thing I have felt so far. I cannot deal with these thoughts any longer, and collapse fully on the bed, crying myself to sleep.

The days and nights all blur together. I slip in and out of consciousness, barely distinguishing dreams from reality and wallowing in self-pity. There's an aching hole inside of me that gapes a little wider each time I remind myself there is no one coming to help you, there is no one you can talk to, there is nothing other than this house and these people to separate you from the horrors of that alleyway and worse. I cannot face those things, so I stay in my room, with the curtains drawn shut, and ignore everyone who tries to talk to me.

Molly came again, a bit later, and tried to get me to eat something, but I refused and eventually she went away. I think she has left the house now, but I'm not really sure. Someone always brings me food at meal times, but I don't always look to see who it is. Lily came yesterday, I think, and even James stuck his head round the door to say hi, but he left pretty quick when I told him to get out. I don't blame him, I probably look a fright. The rational part of me knows that I am wallowing in self-pity, and that the situation cannot be helped - my parents will be safer this way. But the irrational side of me cannot bear to be a prisoner in this house with these people any longer, and I know that I have to at least try to get away.

It is the sound of the motorcycle engine that finally gets me out of bed. I drag myself over to the doorway, and listen to the voices downstairs. I cannot make out individual words, but it seems that several people are leaving. I hear a car drive away, and the door slams shut. The house is suddenly quieter than it has been in days, and I realise that, once again, there is only one other person in the house with me. There'll always be someone here to keep an eye on you, he said. But the motorcycle that arrived did not leave, which means it's him that's still here.

I tip-toe back to my bed noiselessly. It's just Sirius now. You'll never have a better opportunity to escape. The possibility is invigorating, and I feel the hole in my chest fill with steel determination. I'm so light-headed though, having not eaten much for a couple of days. There's a sandwich from this morning sitting on the small writing-table that is still relatively fresh, and I wolf it down. Dusk is falling outside, and I rush to the closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and a dark tank top and sweatshirt. I came in white, I'll leave in black, I think, tossing the old sundress to floor. I emerge on to the landing, and suddenly realise that I have no plan to actually get outside without Sirius noticing, and that this is not very well thought out at all. But the determination forged back in my room refuses to give in to doubt, and I decide to use plain old-fashioned sneaking.

I descend slowly to the landing with Sirius' room. I can't hear anything from behind his door, so I move on past, being careful this time to avoid the creaking floorboard. As I descend further to the ground floor, I hear movement from inside the room opposite the kitchen entrance, on the other side of the entrance hallway. Flattening myself against the wall I pause, clenching my eyes shut and waiting to be discovered if he comes out of the room. But the door remains shut, and I hear the familiar sound of weight being thrown on an armchair or couch, and an accompanying satisfied sigh. I glare at the front door - chances are I could make it outside and down the drive a little ways before he caught up with me, but not much further. I'm thinking fast now. This is an old house, probably from before Edwardian times. The masters of the house wouldn't have wanted the servants using the main entrance…Back door. There must be a back door. Some way out that doesn't involve crossing in front of that room.

Glancing once behind me, I crouch down lower to the floor, edging my way to the side of the main staircase. And there it is. In the shadow of the stairs, I can just discern the outline of a narrow corridor, leading towards the back of the house. I'll take my chances. Hopefully it doesn't just end in a cellar or something. There is no background noise, so I cannot afford a single creak, a single misstep or loss of balance, but I make it through the corridor without incident. It's obviously rarely used – cobwebs are clinging to the low rafted ceiling, and there are no lights on the walls. But I allow myself a satisfied smirk when, reaching the end of the corridor, I find what I'm looking for. The back door is small and its hinges slightly rusted, but I ease it open inch by inch. I'm not too worried if it squeaks a bit – I'm far enough away from the main entrance for it not to be heard. It's a laborious process, but within two minutes I am out the door and standing barefoot on the grassy gardens of Denwood House.

The setting sun sets the sky aflame to the west, and casts a dusky light on the semi-wild gardens. Rose bushes and brambles are in flower and have long since climbed out of their allocated beds. The air is filled with their heady scent and it is beautiful but I'm too nervous to appreciate it - the enormity of what I'm attempting to do is just hitting me. I gulp, take a deep breath, and allow the remaining aftershocks of determination to propel me towards the woods at the far end of the gardens. I need to get out of sight of the house. I jog on the balls of my feet, making my way soundlessly, all the while trying to get my bearings. We drove west from Kendal to get here. Any further west and it's likely I'll hit the sea. Best bet is to head east, and see if I can find a village along the way.

The woods are very dark compared to the gardens, the dim light of the setting sun unable to reach through the thick foliage. There is a cool musty smell that suggests age, and as I continue east-wards I wonder vaguely how old this forest is.

That's when the footsteps start. They're faint and fairly distant, muffled by the dense trees, but it's obviously Sirius and he's making no attempt to be quiet.

"Analeigh! Come on this is – " I hear a crash and wonder if he fell over. I hope so. I hear his cursing and realise he's getting closer. I take off. The thought of being chased sends adrenaline pounding through my body, humming at the very tips of my fingers. It's something primal, and I dart through the trees no long caring which direction I'm going so long as it's away from the predator. My bare feet make just the slightest rustle in the grass and fallen leaves, softer than the pitter-patter of rain drops on a window, but it won't be my footsteps that give me away – my breathing is so loud it seems to echo off the old trunks of the close trees. The heavy sounds are further away now, and I pause to catch my breath. Looking around, I can see that the trees are thinning slightly, and I can make out a large body of water in the distance. A lake maybe?

The silence beats on my ears like a drum. I can no longer hear Sirius. This doesn't comfort me, because there is no chance that he would just give up. Then I hear it. It's so faint I almost didn't catch it but once I do it is evident it is nothing human. Something is growling, and it's close.

I start to run again, even more terrified. Who knows what monsters exist in this magical world of theirs? The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up and the lake is getting closer and closer and I can't hear the growling any more but I don't stop and –

Something slams into me hard from the side and I go down with an oof but I can't fight because I'm winded and there's a heavy weight on top of me.

"For fuck's sake, will you stop squirming!" Sirius glares down at me from inches away. He looks like he's not quite as nimble at moving through trees as I am – there are a few leaves in his hair and a scratch on his forearm where blood is just starting to surface. I've recovered my breath a bit and he's lying semi-ontop of me so I do the only thing I can think of.

I bring up my hand and smack him hard across the face.

I don't think he was expecting it, and the element of surprise works in my favour, allowing me to squirm out from under him as he loses his balance and falls to the side. I scoot back away on my forearms and almost make it to my feet before his hand shoots out and grabs my ankle, dragging me back towards him. I let out a little scream of frustration and aim a kick at his face with my free foot, but he's faster and is on his feet, away from my legs and moving towards me and my foot hits air. He grabs my arm in a vice-like grip, yanking me to my feet so abruptly that I feel my shoulder grate in its socket.

We're nose to nose now, and I can feel the fury emanating from him. The cheek where I slapped him seems to glow in the gathering darkness, and I feel myself cringing slightly. Our tussle has made me very aware of my physical disadvantage. We stand there for a moment, both breathing heavily, me avoiding his gaze as it burns into my face.

"What the hell was that?" he asks eventually, once his breathing has slowed.

I turn my head even further away. It's pretty obvious. I tried to get away. I failed. The end.

"Are you stupid or something? Dumbledore even sat down and explained the whole damn thing to you! Do you want to die? Is that it?" He's not exactly shouting, but it's still pretty scary. His tone is somewhere between exasperation and anger, but there's something laced in with it, something almost encouraging. He's baiting me, I realise. Trying to get a reaction. Like in the kitchen.

"Go on, say something." He shakes me a little by the arm he's still holding, and my resolve cracks. I don't fly in to a rage, but I feel hot tears running down my face.

"I've just had to leave behind my whole life for the sake of some magical world that I want nothing to do with!" I can't look at him, not with tears running down my face, so I direct my words at the ground between us. "My father has left me alone to deal with this – has willingly had his memories wiped – to protect us, yes, but it's still…hard. And you obviously have no idea how that feels, or else you wouldn't be standing there wondering why I tried to leave!"

I bring my hand up to wipe the tears from my eyes and feel his grip on my arm loosen. And then he laughs. It's a short, humourless sound, but enough to make my head snap up and look at him in confusion. How can he be so cruel? His eyes are narrowed and he's looking at me in contempt.

"You're right, I don't. You have a family that's willing to sacrifice everything to keep your stupid ass safe. Mine don't give a shit – my father's dead, my mother disowned me, and my brother…well I'm as good as dead to him as well. So dry your eyes, pull yourself together and just try to see the bigger picture here. At least you have family who cares – or doesn't their safety mean anything to you?"

I'm pretty sure my mouth has fallen open. What…His words are like a slap across the face, and for a moment I'm frozen, trying to make sense of them. "Don't judge your neighbour until you have walked two moons in his moccasins". The proverb springs into my head without warning. It's a favourite saying of my American grandfather's - he's got some Native American in him and is mighty proud of it, even though most people in that part of the world have some if you go back far enough. Easier said than done, Gramps. But I raise my gaze now to meet Sirius' eyes, and I see his resentment and the hardness that it has forged and I think that maybe, just maybe, I should cut him a little slack.

Sirius frowns at my expression, and seems to think he's said too much. "So are you coming back to the house, or do I have to drag you?"

Looking just over his shoulder, I can see the expanse of the lake and the sun setting beyond it. I imagine my gaze stretching further west, to the coast, across the Atlantic, and eventually reaching the eastern shore of the United States where my parents will be. It's not much but I draw strength from it, and realise that for the safety of those I love, I am strong enough to face this chapter of my life alone.

Looking back at him, I roll my eyes slightly and turn, walking slowly back in the direction of Denwood House, my mind feeling clearer than it has in days. The rude, enigmatic young man falls in to step beside me, running his hands through his hair to shake out the leaves, and a thought strikes me. "How did you realise I was gone?" I ask, curious.

He pauses in his haphazard grooming and replies with somewhat forced nonchalance, "Heard the back door creak open when you left. It wasn't hard to find you after that." Well that's embarrassing. Note to self – Sirius has ridiculously good hearing. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and rub the area on my arm where a bruise is coming up from his grip earlier. I'll cut him some slack, but family issues aside – he's still a jerk.

A/N: Almost 4000 words woo! Thank you to everyone reading this story - especially to new followers! And of course to the lovely rosegold1996 :D I should probably say - the chapter title and proverb both come from the book "Walk two moons" by Sharon Creech - I don't know if she came up with the quote herself, or whether it is originally Native American, but that's where I first read it so I'm just going to credit her haha

Also, I changed the title of this fic - sorry if that confused any one! "Blood Magic" was one I literally came up with on the spot when I was staring at the submission box realising that I totally forgot to come up with a title, and I think that shows haha. So this one's a little more subtle, but let me know if y'all hate it or anything :P

Loved it? Hated it? Review it! They are much appreciated!

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

BFxx