AN: Derisive here. Happy Birthday, here's some backstory. Reviews are gold! Even if you hate the story and want to tell me such, it lets me know that at least someone besides me is reading this! Next Chapter picks up a lot. I am currently 2.5 chapters ahead, hoping to upload weekly. If I get really far ahead, I will bless you with double posts like so. 3

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July 13, 1997

Andrael looked up from the lyre she was repairing as the doorbell to the shop tinkled pleasantly. Her wand was already in her hand and pointing at the doorway before her mind registered what was happening.

"Relax Andry, it's just me." Akira Ungaku closed the door, and stared at her, concerned. "Ever since you returned from that castle yesterday, your eyes have been on the door, waiting for the monsters you expect to come visit you."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ungaku," she said, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to do… that."

"It's alright my girl. It has been a rough month for all of us." He busied himself, straightening up the already immaculate shelves in the shop.

Mr. Ungaku towered over Andrael, his six feet dwarfing her five foot two statue. He was broad-chested with short black hair and a warm smile. But it was his stunning blue-grey eyes, surrounded by laugh lines, that drew attention. They quite simply seemed out of place on his face. When Andrael was younger, he used to make up all sorts of ridiculous stories to explain how his eyes had changed colour; a dragon had cursed them when he had tried to steal from its horde, Giant Storm Petrels had carried the originals off during the monsoon season, his grandfather had created him new ones for his birthday.

Mr. Ungaku had attended Mahoutokoro, the Japanese magic school, but emigrated to Britain upon his graduation twenty-two years ago. Fueled by a love of music, Ungaku often bragged about how he had risen to the top of his class in Transfiguration and Charms, and instead of being a magical master like his teachers had wanted, found his calling in creating enchanted instruments.

The craftsman loved telling stories, both fact and fiction. Regular customers would often look forward to asking him for a tale whenever they came in. Andrael could fondly remember days where Ungaku had entertained more than two dozen people, leaning on the doorframe and holding the broom he'd been sweeping his store-porch with.

"I'll be filling orders if you need me," he said, making eye contact with Andrael. That was the other thing about him, he always listened intently when you spoke to him, and made you feel as if you were the most important thing at the moment.

"Thanks." She smiled at the man as he returned to the back room.

It was Mr. Ungaku who had first taught Andrael about Songspells. She could still envision him gifting her that first small violin on her fifth birthday, her mother smiling in the background. Each week since, he had patiently taught her how to play the instrument, and eventually just before she turned eleven, she became good enough to learn about Songspells.

Mr. Ungaku was sitting backwards on the bench in front of his pet project, the giant grand piano. The sun streamed in through the windows as it often did in the warm days of late May. Andrael was standing in front of the music he was levitating for her, violin perched under her chin, looking at him expectantly.

"Andry," he said seriously, "That was magnificent. You have improved very greatly over the last six years. But soon you will be going off to school, and I will not be able to continue to teach you. So now I will give you the tools to teach yourself."

He stood and walked over to the engraved wooden cabinet that he had forbidden Andrael to touch without permission. Lifting his cherry wand, he cast an incantation in Japanese. It sprang open with a click. After flipping through its contents, Ungaku reverently lifted a scroll from the depths of the cabinet. Returning to where Andrael stood, he replaced her music with it. A second flick of his wand summoned his gifted orchid sprout that sat on the counter to him.

"This ancient piece is one of many like it called a Songspell. Songspells are originally a Japanese form of magic to be used by one who is both a skilled wizard and skilled musician. The pieces are often simple melodies, and while they are technically easy, they are magically hard. Each piece is to be played with the wizard visualising the effect of the magics happening. For example, the scroll in front of you holds a song of growth, so you would imagine the orchid growing taller and blooming.

"You should know that many wizards fail to produce a Songspell, because this is not magic with a wand. It is all about intent. The stronger the intent, the better the musician. And this you know." He nodded at her, and motioned for her to try.

Andrael studied the piece. It was extremely simple compared to the etude she had just been playing. She played through it a few times, getting a feel for the melody.

"Is this considered underage magic?" she asked.

"No. There is no ban on Songspells because they have never been widely used - your Ministry has never seen the need to limit our practice. Many wizards who can use this magic choose not to because it takes more time and energy to cast than a regular spell. It has generally become an art form for those who have not forgotten the power music can channel."

"Okay," she said, meeting his gaze.

"You can do this."

Andrael took a deep breath, and began to play the instrument. She imagined a stalk growing from the terracotta pot, a green shoot twisting and spiralling, higher and higher. Green leaves unfurled from the stalk, spreading around the base of the pot.

And slowly, in the small shop, the plant began to grow, inch by inch. Andrael was controlling the change, stunned at the power she wielded. Mr. Ungaku clapped his hands excitedly, beaming at her.

It was the first time Andrael had ever felt that now familiar rush of magic; it was the first time Andrael had ever felt alive.

Over the next few weeks, Andrael would raid the cabinet and play as many of the Songspells as Mr. Ungaku would let her. She would continue practising the only magic she could obsessively, until purchasing her wand a month and a half later. Eventually, Andrael learned a valuable lesson: the Songspells's melodies could easily be substituted for each other. It was all about intent.

She had been disappointed to learn that there had been no place for Songspells at Hogwarts. When she had written Mr. Ungaku about it, he had explained that since wands chose their wizards, they were uniquely suited to being used to channel magic, thus making it easier than attempting to channel an ambiguous force like music. But the magical experience had put Andrael well ahead of the rest of her classmates.

Akira Ungaku was perhaps one of the closest things to a father that Andrael had ever had. A good friend of her mother's, Ungaku rented the second flat above his shop to them as part of her salary. She had lived there nearly as long as she could remember. And even after Genevieve had passed away, he had let Andrael stay there. She repaid the shopkeeper by working for a half-salary and cooking for the both of them.

Ungaku was the only person besides her mother that could get away with calling her Andry. She had always introduced herself as Andrael to her classmates out of habit. The nickname was familiar, and brought her back to time when she was young.

In those glorious days, before she had received her Hogwarts letter, Diagon Alley was Andrael's playground. Skipping down the uneven cobblestone streets carrying deliveries to their destinations, eating gallons of Florean Fortescue's ice cream, trading small bits of labour for books at Flourish and Blotts, taking out the trash for Mr. Mulpepper, experimenting with old potions ingredients he gave in return, visiting the owls at the Magical Menagerie, learning bits and pieces of information about wands from Mr. Ollivander, and of course, the occasional foray of a curious girl into Knockturn Alley.

And Andrael had found trouble even back then. There was the incident with the snargaluff plant, the encounter with the goblins, and the yellow paint catastrophe… just to name a few.

But Andrael's mother was an intelligent woman, and often took her daughter into muggle London so that she would have an appreciation for the mundane in addition to the magical. Alongside Saint Mungo's and the Ministry of Magic, Andrael had visited the British museum, the London Eye, Big Ben, and the House of Parliament.

The door to the back room opened, and Andrael drew her wand instinctively, snapping out of her reverie. Mr. Ungaku lifted his hands in the air as if he was the prisoner of an auror. "Just me… again."

Andrael dropped her wand on the countertop and put her head in her hands. She really was exhausted.

He walked over and sat down across from her. "Clearly you are in distress, and I cannot have you drawing a wand on customers."

"I know."

"Are you ready to tell me what really happened at the castle, Andry?"

Andrael briefly toyed with the notion of telling the man about befriending a sixteen year old with the dark mark, duelling two of Voldemort's more powerful followers, listening to her ex-professor make a prophecy, watching her Head of House murder Albus Dumbledore, Bellatrix Lestrange burning Hagrid's hut to the ground, flying with a Phoenix, and watching the creation of the most recent Wizarding World security measures as a bird. And then of course, there was her resolution to become a Death Eater herself.

Ah yes, just a normal day. (Of course it sounded bad when she said it like that.)

Well it's obvious, we need to lie, Slytherin whispered in her mind.

Unfortunately, I concur, Rational agreed.

This idea crosses so many lines, that I'm not even sure how to respond. Morality was the part of Andrael's brain most akin to a conscience, and often was forced to stand against the combined forces of Slytherin and Rational.

We're seventeen, stupid, Slytherin hissed. Technically he's not even our guardian anymore.

Still, Morality was insistent.

Fine, we won't directly lie. We'll just skip over most of the sensitive bits.

"The funeral was terrible," the words came rushing out of her now that her mind was made up. "McGonagall was so appalled at the Master of Ceremonies's abysmal speech, that she covertly held a second wake in the staffroom, around a bottle of strong whiskey for the teachers. I snuck in and watched, and that provided a hell of a lot more closure than the farce outside."

Ungaku snorted. "Of course you did."

"That toad Umbridge was there, as well as Fudge, and more than half the ministry… after an entire year filled with defamation and discreditation of Dumbledore's name! Hogsmeade was booked full and it seemed that everyone who could showed up.

"When someone that's supposed to be immortal just suddenly dies like Dumbledore did, everything just feels wrong. I still can't believe that there was a battle in the school with honest-to-Godric Death Eaters. And honestly, my takeaway is fear for the fate of Slytherin House. You must remember it was one of my classmates who let them in, and our Head of House that killed him…"

Andrael took a deep breath. Snape's betrayal was still raw, and even if he wasn't evil, it would take a long time to get the image of the Avada Kedavra out of her mind.

"I feel on edge. As if Death Eaters are going to come blasting through the door, and come after our lives and the business. If they can attack Hogwarts, they can attack anywhere. Maybe it's paranoia, but you know as well as I do that it was Dumbledore who was stopping an open attack on Magical Britain."

Ungaku was silent for a moment. "That still does not explain your desire to hex everyone that enters into the shop."

She shrugged and looked at her toes.

"Andry… did you fight in the battle that night?"

"So what if I did?"
"This is not the war of schoolchildren." Ungaku cautioned her.

"Yet the great protector of our school is gone. We are involved, whether we want to be or not."

"That may be so, but you do not need to forcibly shatter your innocence with violence."

She pressed her lips together into a thin line. "As Dumbledore would have said, those who are children do not remain so for long. I'm seventeen, Ungaku. It's my decision what I choose to do with my life."

Akira Ungaku deflated immediately. After a long pause, he spoke again in a quiet voice. "You know how I feel… I rarely condone violence. War is dirty, war is cruel… but sometimes war is necessary. I will not hinder you as you move onto bigger and better things, but please remember for all your plotting that you have moral obligations as a human being. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Ungaku. I understand," she said. A small seed of guilt began to grow inside her as she contemplated her plan again.

"Good. Now I doubt that anyone will enter with the intention of attacking us here. Please do relax, Andry."

He disappeared back into the depths of the back room's workshop, leaving her to continue her work alone with her thoughts.

When did Slytherin become synonymous with blood purity? She couldn't remember there ever not being prejudice among the members of her house. Lineages like the Malfoys, Parkinsons, and other old families perpetuated the cycle. Even as a half-blood, there had been many who had looked down on Andrael. Until she had earned their respect. Then and only then had they feared her retribution.

Slytherin was not like the other houses. The fellowship observed in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff was absent among the serpents. The social climbers and blood purists sorted here would just as likely stab a knife in the backs of their friends as those of their enemies when it suited their purpose. So first years learned quickly; when to watch, when to fight, when to hide, when to lie, when to speak, and when to be silent.

And apparently, now, when to kill those that trusted you.

Andrael turned her thoughts to the Dark Lord, and wondered what Voldemort was doing now. Likely still rejoicing at Dumbledore's death. She wondered if he would see the red flags surrounding the entire incident. Of all people, Draco Malfoy had disarmed Dumbledore.

This did not sit well with Andrael. There was absolutely no world in which Dumbledore, who actively spied on his students, was blind to Draco Malfoy's scheme. She only hoped that Voldemort wasn't thinking similarly to her. Because if he was, Severus Snape needed to watch his back.

She carefully threaded the strings through the lyre, tightening them precisely, and calibrating their pitches to perfection. Stop thinking about things you cannot change. She wound the strings around their tuning pegs, mindful of the slow monotony. One, two, three, four, five. She set a heavy can onto the countertop in front of her. Dipping a paint brush into the thick liquid, she applied a coat of varnish to the exterior with gentle strokes.

She polished the intricate family crest etched into the wood, a clearer sign that the owner was pureblood. Flipping it over, she saw initials carved into the other side. T. R.

Slytherin smirked nastily in the depths of Andrael's mind. T. R… those are familiar initials. They almost remind me of our old friend, Tom Riddle. Wouldn't it be amusing if you were holding the Dark Lord's instrument right now?

Ungaku had told Andrael that the owner was coming into the shop to pick up the instrument in three weeks. She would be able to identify the customer's perfectly normal identity then. Shoving Slytherin out of her mind, she set the instrument off to the side, and picked up her next assignment, a dusty fiddle that had seen better days.

It would need an entire overhaul. The strings had been worn down, the chin rest had snapped off, the bridge was cracked, and the paint on the fingerboard was cracking. The body of the instrument was seemingly the only part intact.

Andrael sketched out her repair idea on a piece of parchment, deciding to replace the neck entirely. It had quickly become an overnight job. Perfect. She felt best when her hands were busy, and a large scale project like this would quell her overactive mind.

Andrael darted into the back, assembling the rest of the materials she would need that weren't stored under the encounter. She could hear Ungaku whistling in the back room, oblivious to the speculative machinations of her brain.

What she really needed was somewhere to store all her thoughts in one place. Her mind was chaotic, and the important bits of information had the potential to be buried. It was a pity that pensieves were so bloody expensive, or Andrael would have one already.

While she was sanding the wood fibres she would use to replace the neck of the instrument, inspiration struck. Andrael summoned a black notebook that she had kept in the shop for years. It was a gift she had bought for her mother for her final birthday before the woman's untimely death. There was one entry in it, and when Andry was younger, she would run her fingers over the beautiful script.

Cracking a fresh page, she levitated a quill and inkpot over the page. Using nothing but her magic, she began to write. It required intense concentration, especially since she was doing it wandlessly, and Andrael had to pause in her work for the first bit. But slowly, she gained the fine motor skills to write her name precisely. She moved onto the alphabet, returning to her work.

When she was satisfied that she could magically write the alphabet legibly enough for her standards, she flipped the page again, and began to write.

Andrael Cygnus Cassowary's

Journal of Knowledge and Schemes

This is your last warning.

Turning the page without permission will enact the Dark Magic protecting aforementioned Knowledge and Schemes.

Andrael admired her handiwork, and lifted her wand. A few spells in both Japanese and English were set upon the pages. The trespassers and snoops would find themselves with singed fingers if they tried to turn the page. If they started to read, their sight would be temporarily removed. If the words were read out loud, the listeners would temporarily have their ears removed. Quite simple, really. Andrael knew the counterspells, and thus she alone would be spared the fate.

Fiddle in hand, quill above parchment, and thoughts in mind, Andrael began to painstakingly write everything that she knew about the events at the castle. She dedicated four pages to the event itself before moving onto the background details.

Speculations on the horcruxes, allies of the Order, morality of Potions Masters. She left nothing out, no matter how insignificant, with particular detail to certain conversations. Finally, she scribbled down Sybill Trelawney's prophecy.

The fates begin to align for the Boy who Lived on the lightning-struck tower…the longer he persists on his course, the greater his power grows…the final confrontation grows nearer as the Phoenix is reborn after the passing of its old master…the boy finds strength only in the power he alone knows…The One with the Power to conquer the Dark Lord soon pushes destiny beyond a point of no return…

The words gave her chills. Her first conclusion? The longer the Dark Lord waited to act, the less likely he was to defeat Potter. Her second conclusion? Voldemort would realise this as well. Her third conclusion? He would act, and soon.

The prophecy was effectively forcing the Dark Lord's hand. And deep in her bones, Andrael knew that she would live to regret whatever action would come of this.