55Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and a few OCs. Everything belongs to J.K Rowling
The thunderstorm was growing violently over Grimuald Place that day. Harry sat in the living room at Grimuald Place with his friends, Ron and Hermione and now ex-girlfriend, Ginny. He fiddled with the insignificant locket that was a last reminder of his late headmaster and the task he had yet to fulfil.
It was so far the most miserable, depressing day of the summer and the only sound that could be heard over the rumbling of thunder, was an extremely panicked bride-to –be.
Fleur Delacour, or Fleur Weasley as she would be known as in 24 hours, was – to put it mildly – stressed. Mrs Weasly had brewed several calming draughts, trying in vein to relax her in time for her big day.
But it seemed that just as the potion started to kick in, something went wrong with the planning and Fleur would be off again, shrieking at anyone who got in the way of her wrath.
" I swear to Merlin," bellowed Ginny, "if she starts on a rampage about her stupid bouquet one more time I'm gonna-"
" Ginny…" warned Hermione.
"C'mon Gin, give Fleur a break." Ron advised, "I mean, she's getting married tomorrow! That would stress out even Hermione!"
Everyone looked at him, confused looks etched on their faces.
"Who are you and what have you done with Ron?" Harry asked, cautiously.
Ron pouted, "So it's ok when 'mione says something sensitive, but when I do, you question me?"
Harry thought for a bit. "Yeah. Pretty much."
Ron faked a hurt look and carried on doodling on a spare piece of parchment.
"Harry, not that watching you moping about and reading books isn't fun," commented Ginny, " But why are you reading about the Dark Arts?"
"He's just obsessed with the history of You-Know –" Ron paused when Harry gave him an impatient look, " Oh ok, V-Vol..demort."
"You'd think people would want to find out as much about him as possible, no one even knows that he went to Hogwarts." Harry moaned.
"Why don't you try Dumbledore's pensieve," Hermione suggested.
"I have. All I managed to get were the places where Tom stayed in his life. I figured we could make a stop at that orphanage he grew up in after we visit Godric's Hollow."
Ginny looked up from the bridal magazine she'd been reading, her face a cross between confusion and anger. "What do you mean 'we'? No one said anything about going to Godric's Hollow."
"Harry wanted to visit his parents' graves after Bill and Fleur's wedding and Ron and I offered to go with him." Hermione answered, quite calmly considering how red Ginny's face was. This was always a sign of danger.
Surprisingly, Ginny took a deep breath and relaxed. "Ok, I understand."
Just then, Fleur's high-pitched shriek could be heard all around the house. The four teenagers immediately locked the door shut until they were sure the danger had passed.
Two thousand miles away, the stormy wind continued to blow wildly. The residents of the village of Little Hangleton were smart enough to take refuge in their own homes, but one person remained outside.
It was a young woman, no older than seventeen. She wore a dark black coat made of leather; her jeans were drenched from the rainwater. Her trainers were barely recognisable as they were utterly covered in mud and the girl stank of wet grass.
There was an enormous backpack slung over her shoulder, it was exceedingly heavy, and she was so skinny anyone would wonder how she could walk under such a weight.
The girl eyed the town cautiously, searching for a place of refuge. Her dark, russet, haunted eyes found what appeared to be an abandoned building in the far corner of the street. After making sure that no one would notice her presence, she rushed along the street until she came upon the building. She pushed open the door and stumbled inside.
Brushing her long, thin black hair out of her face, she observed her surroundings.
The sooty, dark and unwelcoming building didn't bother her. She'd spent all her life feeling discarded.
She dumped herself and belongings in a far corner, not really troubling herself to be comfortable.
She felt her wet clothes clinging to her thin frame like a second skin, and the cold teasing her endlessly.
Without warning, she felt a dull pain in her forehead. This was nothing new, on instinct; she rubbed her temples and focused on the open area in front of her.
Instantly, the pain went away. Instead, a small flame had materialized onto the rotting wooden floor.
She silently cursed herself. 'No more magic.' She thought. 'I promised not to use my powers.'
However, she curled up next to the small flame and attempted to forget the long journey she had just struggled through.
She reached for her backpack and dug deep into the front pocket. She fished out a bruised apple and an old, crinkled photo.
A man and a woman stood in the picture, staring back at her. The girl bore a striking resemblance to the woman. The woman's name had been Bridget.
Bridget had had waist-length light brown hair and soft blue eyes. Despite the fact that she looked fragile, Bridget had been a strong woman. She had been strong-willed, fiercely loyal and a very powerful mage.
The girl looked at the man next to Bridget. Her father. He had slick, shoulder-length, black hair and his eyes were dreary and dark.
'I'll find you,' she promised him. 'I'll save you. I promise.'
A delicate, soft tear rolled down her cheek and wiping it away with her hand, she closed her eyes and fell to sleep.
AN/ I want to thank my friend Ha-Ha-Montana for helping me write this chapter. Feedback always appreciated.
This is my first fic so don't be too harsh with your reviews.