Never have I written a whole Harry Potter story, but I thought I'd have a crack at it. I hope I do this story justice. It's an amazing series, and I recommend both the stories and the movies. Srsly. JK Rowling is the epitome of badassery, and I bow to her writing skills. That is all.

This story takes place after the war

"So what you're trying to tell me is that, I'm some kind of, what was it? A witch?"

All I received in return were the complacent nods of the remaining members of the apparent "Zabini" and "Malfoy" clan, minus their son's, Blaise and Draco, who couldn't be here at the moment, for some unexplained reason. Valencia Zabini was a tall, stunning, curvaceous brunette, with an softly-curved nose, and a fair smile gracing her lips. Her inky hair was pulled to the side, showing off the flawless skin of her neck, and if I looked closely, I could see the outline of a deep set semi-circle shaped scar of sorts.

Narcissa Malfoy was a regal beauty; her blonde hair, falling gracefully between her shoulder blades, half tied up and curled at the ends, and her deep blue-grey eyes igniting playfully as she took in my fairly generous-in-size living room. Lucius Malfoy started as he meant to go on; business-like and very professional, yet his ethereal beauty shining behind his aristocratic features and a small smirk framing his lips.

"And, I.. What was it? I'm not human? Like, at all?"

They nodded once more, and I added, confusedly, "And, your sons are.. My mates?"

A final nod was my answer, and I sighed heavily, and reclined in my living room sofa, tucked my feet under myself.

I chuckled, mirthlessly, and asked, incredulously, "And you're expecting me to buy this?"

I only received eye rolls, from my parents, and a deep, resigned sigh, from the two families, in return. But really? Did they expect me to believe them this?

Lucius Malfoy, the head of the Malfoy household apparently, was the first to speak, and he said, "Yes, we do. We are telling you the truth. Nothing but it, in fact."

His heavy British twang threw me for a moment, and I couldn't help but smile, internally, as it was something new, and fresh to hear. I had always loved the English accent; it tickled me pink every time I heard it. Narcissa, his beautiful blonde, continued after her husband, "Sweetheart, we wouldn't lie to you about this. Our son, Draco, he wants to meet you so badly, it's driving us crazy."

I raised an incredulous eyebrow at this, and I smiled, half-heartedly, only because I didn't know how to feel in this situation. How would you react? Really? I glanced at my father, or, well, my adopted father, and he nodded, affirmatively, confirming what I currently feared the most.

They weren't lying. My dad wouldn't lie to me - not about this. His face was far too serious for this to be a joke. He was a terrible liar.

I twiddled my thumbs a little, and I asked, quietly, yet politely, "So, sorry for how this sounds, but what exactly do you want me to do about that?"

Narcissa smiled, her eyes crinkling slightly at the edges, and Lucius rubbed a hand along her own, lovingly, as he stared down at his wife, as if she was the only woman in his world.

She glanced back at him, before addressing me, and said, somewhat begrudgingly, "It sounds a little unorthodox, but sweetie, you're going to have to come with us."

I felt the air literally whoosh from my lungs, and I felt my body concave in on itself. Leave New York? My home? Oh no, that's not happening. I shook my head, a clear sense of denial, and they all shared a tight look.

Valencia Zabini then chose that moment to speak up, and stated, rather charmingly, and a heavy, Italian accent bounded through the air as she spoke, "I know it's a tough situation, but it's hard on both ends. My son, Blaise, he's in a.. difficult situation, and he needs you. Please.."

I noted the shaking in her tone, and somehow, I felt the weight of guilt settle in my stomach, and I couldn't help but bristle uncomfortably under her pleading stare. Her eyes a profound, yet strong navy, and her skin tanned from years of relaxing under the sun in the hills of Italy. I loved the colour of her eyes, and a flash of cavernous indigo pulsed through my mind, and the shiver of something akin to pleasure ran down my spine, and established itself in my abdomen, blossoming brightly.

I paused for a moment, and tentatively asked, "Why do your sons need me?"

I glanced upward, and saw that they, once more, shared an lengthy stare, and I felt a cleft form between my eyebrows, confused at why my parents looked so guilty all of a sudden.

"Mom? What's going on?"

She flinched at my lost tone, and she couldn't meet my eyes. I tried

"Daddy?"

His toned jaw was tense and his eyes firmly fixed on the glass table in the centre of the methodically decorated living room. The other three occupants of the room probably could taste the tension in the air, but I paid them little mind. I couldn't believe my parents were staying so silent, especially when I needed them to help me out so badly right now.

"Fine," and I turned my attentions to Valencia, and continued, "What exactly do I need to do, for us all to be happy in this situation?"

She looked around once more, and after what seemed to be her confirming something with the other occupants of the room, she finished, resolutely, "You need to come with us."

I deflated, and without meeting the eyes of either of my parents, I bid a solemn adieu to the other inhabitants of the living room, and, instead of going back to my bedroom, I slipped on my Converse, and, after picking up my board, which lay at a precarious angle against the laminated floorboards and the cream coloured wall of the foyer, I stepped out of my front door, locking it behind me.

Taking those first few steps from my home, I could barely breathe. Even though I was in such an open area, I felt enclosed and uptight in my own skin and I scratched at my bare arms, wishing that I had brought out a coat of some kind with me, but knowing that if I had spent another moment around them, I would have broken down. I would always go for a quiet jog around the neighbourhood if I ever felt unhappy or discomforted, but that wouldn't do today. I needed to skate. I needed to feel the hardwood beneath my feet, and the wind sailing through my dull, dark brown hair. I blinked my blue eyes once, twice, and set off, without a second thought as to what lay ahead of me.

When I returned home from my skateboarding session, I would feel much more open to the idea of leaving. I just wouldn't know what to say to Dyl and Jase. They were my lifelines. They were my brothers. What was I going to do without them? I could barely make it through a normal day without seeing their smiling faces, or hearing their corny jokes. What would I do for however long they expected me to stay away? Why did it have to be so difficult? Why couldn't I have just stayed ignorant to whatever nonsense is happening to me?

With every angry passing thought, I pushed harder and harder against the gravel, propelling both myself and my streamlined skateboard further and further through the still, night air. I lived in a suburban area of New York, so there was little to no traffic around at this time.

The night sky was glittering brightly, dotted with twinkling stars, acting as a soft blanket, covering all of the Earth's inhabitants in a soft, dewy glow of darkness. The moon stood out and contrasted deliciously, with its sullen toned face, similar to my own pale skin, and I couldn't stop the sigh of calm that was ripped from my chest at the sight.

No matter how badly my day could have gotten; the moon, the sun, the sky - it was all the same. That consistency surrounded me, daily, and it reminded me that everything moved on. No matter how life changing, or depressing, or outrageous an occurrence may be, in comparison, it is nothing more than a spec on the face of the Universe. And for that I should be thankful.