Okay, here it is. I know, I know, kill me now. Took forever, but it is here. Have no clue when the next will be out. Maybe next century. This is pre-HBP, by the way. Snape is considered loyal. Some definitions:

effluvium- a vapor, espeically or rot of decay

nidor- the smell of burning flesh

I know, pleasant, huh?

Crescendo

---

The caustic effluvium of nidor wafted over the formidable walls of Azkaban in blue-gray puffs. Cold drizzle dampened the billowing cloak, as the slits in the skin inhaled the fumes.

"A saccharine odor, is it not?" Spoke the mellifluous voice, sounding from beneath the hood of the covering. "From your injustice, you have received entertainment."

The Death Eater known as Lucius Malfoy was the only one out of the group to speak. "What entertainment it was," he murmured, twirling his new wand, in awe of his timely liberation. "My Lord," he added quickly, giving a suave, low bow. His platinum blond hair was stringy from the filthy cell, and the three days without bathing. It swept through the charred corpse of a Ministry Corrections Officer. "I thank you, and am most grateful."

Voldemort smirked in response, and turned his gaze upon the tossing sea, where the vicious, cold, silver waves were churning themselves into great arcs of foam. With deafening roars, and awe-inspiring vehemence, they rammed themselves into the sharp rocks below. Not unlike the force I used to seize this fortress, he thought to himself idly.

The Dark Lord made a striking image, in that instant, the overcast sky with its gigantic cloud formations as his background, erect, proud, his wand held loosely at his side, the stone wall perched on top of the rocks, with all the fury of the ocean spilling upon them below him. The great swirls and billows of his black cloak gave him a mighty silhouette, the remains of his adversaries scattered about him. "Gentlemen," his mesmerizing voice tolled clearly, "And lady," he added, meaning Bellatrix Lestrange, "remember this feeling of victory, for surely you will know it far more intimately in the near future. Your Lord will surely bring you conquest!"

"Give thanks to our Lord, for he has delivered us from captivity!" Called a freed Death Eater, in an awful fervor.

"Thanks be to the Dark Lord, for he has delivered us!" They cried collectively. "Thanks to the Dark Lord!"

The shrieks of the sea accented their cries, and so the volume rose, as their gratitude echoed stridently throughout the walls of Azkaban prison. On the ledge overlooking the storming ocean, they swelled with terrible nosism.

Albus Dumbledore sighed as he apparated in front of the gates of the towering spires of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Home sweet home. He spent most of his time here, even during the summer holidays. He even joked to Minerva sometimes that he forgot his real address, which was a charming (neglected) cottage in Bristol.

Taking out his wand, he murmured the password, and the ornate, iron gates swung open tentatively. He strolled through them and climbed a few steps to the courtyard, passing under the stone roof and to the front door, which opened to his incantation, a secret smuggled from headmaster to headmaster.

He took some shortcuts through the tapestries up to his office, which now had the password of "strawberry torte." Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he wasn't the least bit surprised to hear shuffling. He knew that Severus would be visiting his office some time that afternoon. Just yesterday, he had asked about getting some rather complicated books from Dumbledore's study, and Albus had agreed, knowing that he had given the Potions Master some difficult assignments lately. Being the brewer for the Order was no slight task—it was very involved and sometimes he felt guilty for pressing Snape to his limits, but he knew that the man could handle it. He had been through harder tests before.

"Good afternoon, Severus," Dumbledore said loudly, amicably.

"Headmaster?" The reply, or question, was barely audible. Professor Snape extended his head through the open study door, its stained walnut reflecting the noon sunlight.

"Good afternoon," Albus repeated, and gave him a gentle smile.

"I did not expect you back at Hogwarts until later."

"My plans have changed," Dumbledore replied, his intonation hinting that the Potions Master's plans should also have been amended. He decided to clarify verbally. "Were you notified that there will be an Order meeting in an hour?"

"Yes." Snape said, looking surly. "Is there an emergency of some sort?" His black eyes glittered nervously. Dumbledore knew that he didn't like not being in the know. Well, he could wait sixty minutes or so.

"The matters involving the Order will be discussed within the Order meeting," Dumbledore told him, choosing his words carefully.

Snape nodded, looking sourer, because he knew that this would be the answer that he would receive. Gripping the back of a plush, velvet winged-back chair near the desk, he cleared his throat and attempted to say casually, "So… Why are you back at Hogwarts?"

"I need to pick up a file," was the reply. Albus walked quickly around his large, oak desk, into the cutout are where his chair was currently situated. Pulling it out, and sinking into its welcoming embrace, he muttered another charm (confound it, could he do anything without his wand in hand?), and the bottom-most drawer sprung open with a deep-throated click.

"A file," repeated Severus, watching Dumbledore's movements with a calculating curiosity. He looked like he was positively itching to say 'what file', and that it was taking everything in his power, like a child trying to restrain his dog from chasing a cat, to hold back from probing more deeply into the Headmaster's business.

Which was rather pitiful, Albus acknowledged mentally, while his fingers, familiar with that drawer, raided its contents in rapid, flitting movements (Dumbledore had always regretted his inability to make fondue, but by God, he could navigate a file system!). If Severus had nothing better to do than to pry into Dumbledore's affairs, he must have very little life at all.

Dumbledore had always felt guilty about Snape's mental and emotional disposition. Though the scars that he had accumulated with his time with Voldemort were not the Headmaster's responsibility, he felt that he had some small connection to the naive, distraught disposition that had caused Severus to make the choice to join Voldemort. He wished that he had taken more notice of Sirius' and James' pestering of the unpopular crowd at Hogwarts, realizing that, as a staff member, he had failed in his duty to make everyone at Hogwarts feel accepted, and had turned a blind eye to the bullying of James and his crowd. He had always felt grateful that Harry had inherited his mother's sense of integrity instead of his father's insecurity that required him to build his own ego.

When James Potter was under his watch, he had always considered him in a "boys will be boys" setting, and thought, after he had saved Severus from Remus's transformation, that the situation between the group would diffuse, but to no avail. He figured it was something that everyone went through, and that the way that it was… something that he shouldn't interfere with.

It was Usagi who had persuaded him otherwise. One night, into her third year of Auror training, he had taken her out to dinner after she had passed the notoriously grueling Physical Endurance and Strength in Aggressive Situations exam. He had decided to treat her to a congratulatory dinner, a gesture that reflected their intimate friendship. They had always been close, even as Headmaster and student. Dumbledore had, after all, trained her, and Usagi had been under his constant tutelage ever since the Hogwarts staff had become aware of her extraordinary abilities. The bond was further sealed by the fact that they were so much alike—their blue eyes both shown with whimsical fancies and kindness, yet belied wisdom and power, they were both a bit absent-minded, both had extraordinary powers, and both were natural leaders. Within the Hogwarts community, Usagi had even become to known as "the Headmaster's little virtuoso" and "Dumbledore's protégé". Dumbledore at times worried over their closeness, wondering if the relationship was appropriate for that of a pupil and her professor, but realized that a professor was a mentor to a student, and that as Usagi grew, that mentorship waned in the presence of friendship, something that he deemed appropriate, and even encouraged his staff to participate in.

There was, perhaps, even a bit of a fatherly relationship involved too. Albus knew all too dearly that he wanted to be a father, but the circumstances of his life had never allowed for it. Though he held very discreet feelings for Minerva, he was a bachelor, and most likely would be for the rest of his life. His urge for a child to parent was partially satisfied by Usagi, who, for her younger years, had taken a slightly fatherly image to him as well, after Albus had indirectly disposed of her natural father—one of the best decisions he had ever made. His fist still clenched at the thought of Kenji Tsukino, who was rotting away in a prison somewhere in the Ukraine, which matched his sociopathical, cold visage.

Even for all of their closeness, while Usagi enrolled in Hogwarts, she was unable to convince him of the extent of emotional damage that James Potter was inflicting on Severus Snape and few other select students. While she successfully wielded the power of her Amazing Blue Eyes to induce him to write numerous detentions (and to get out of two or three herself; even Filch found it impossible to punish her when she raised her large, azure orbs, and pulled her lower lip down just slightly), her testimonies were not enough to prompt him to taken any more action than that.

After a filling meal of caramelized onions and tenderloin steak that night, they began to reminisce over Hogwarts memories, and the topic of Severus Snape came up. By then, he was a known close ally of Voldemort's.

"How strange, and how hard it must be for you, Usagi," Albus had said. "To have one of your best friends betray you and join forces with the Dark Lord."

Something mysterious, almost angry had flashed in her eyes at his words. Looking back, he realized how arrogant they must have sounded at the time.

"It's definitely not easy," she finally said slowly, "I think about him every day and hope that he's alright—and that he'll find a way out—a reason out. But no, not strange. I expected it for several years. And I understand completely why he did."

"That makes you more well-informed than me," Dumbledore replied, feeling slightly put out at her rebutting tone. "I don't think I shall ever understand why anyone would join forces with a cold-blooded murderer, instigate mass racial purging, and doing it for a place in a 'new' society and a fortune."

Usagi shook her head slightly as the waiter strolled suavely up to their table, and held out a wine bottle wrapped in a napkin for her to scrutinize the label of the bottle she had ordered for them. She nodded briskly; he uncorked it, and filled the tulip-shaped crystal glasses with the glimmering garnet liquid. She raised the opening, sniffed and smiled at the waiter. "This has an exquisite nose," she complimented, and the waiter smiled back, pleased with the patron's approval. Dumbledore took a small sniff, and had nodded as well. "Good choice."

Usagi had waited until the waiter was out of sight, and then leaned forward slightly. "Severus's reason for pledging allegiance to Voldemort was not the same as someone like Lucius Malfoy. None of those factors played a role in his decision. His father, the bastard, was a muggle, and you know the way he treated Severus."

Unlike with Usagi's father, Severus's parental problem was unable to be solved. Though Albus had not interfered much within the problems between Snape and his Gryffindor classmates, activities that he considered hurtful but benign, he had made several strident efforts at removing Severus from his father's care, attempts that had ended up fruitless.

"You had your own problems within your family," Dumbledore reminded her sharply, "and yet you are fighting against—" he lowered his voice "Voldemort, not for him."

"That is true," Usagi had conceded. "But I was fortunate to have Papa disappear after my second summer between Hogwarts terms. I was lucky enough to have approval and love. After his father beating him and denying him affection, having Voldemort come to him, offer him approval, and a fatherly affection… He was one of the few people to remember Severus, compliment him, take an interest in him."

"You showed him more love, approval, and affection before Voldemort ever spoke to him!" Albus shot back, feeling that she was making excuses for Severus's decisions.

"The love, approval, and affection of a friend," Usagi reminded him softly. "Not that of a father, or a mother. But the biggest factor in his decision was the behavior of Sirius and James. He thought, if humiliation and torment were going to be the face of the resistance against Voldemort, than a path for Voldemort would be more humane. He was conditioned since his childhood to think of muggles and those who were muggle born as less than human, and since many muggles and muggle-born treated him horribly, with the exception of Lily, it only served to amplify and prove his belief. Voldemort treated him like a human being—James and Sirius, people who believed that muggles and muggle-born were equal to pure-blooded wizards, treated him like he was less than them—for no other reason than that he did not fit into the clique-ish standards. Why would he join a resistance that would seem to preach the things he hates? Voldemort, as you know, is the true deliverer of hate, mortification, and cruelty. Sirius, James, and even Remus have finally grown up and have come back to earth—they are men of honor, integrity, and bravery—perhaps most importantly—humility as well. That doesn't rectify the fact that they behaved horribly—and they damaged someone's soul with their taunts." Usagi twirled the stem of the glass in her hand idly. "I wonder how many more they put off, by giving our mission a cruel and arrogant façade."

I wonder how many more they put off, by giving our mission a cruel and arrogant façade. Her words echoed in his head. He suddenly remembered all the times she had come storming into his office for a lesson, demanding that something be done to discipline James Potter and his fan club. He remembered all the times he had done nothing, told himself it was nothing. And his decisions had directly affected the flight of someone to Voldemort. Usagi was right all along. And Albus couldn't help but feel slightly sick—for he was partially responsible.

The memories of that night—and the terrible realization that it had brought—still brought a pang to his heart. After Usagi's supposed death, and the appearance of a distressed and dispirited Severus Snape, covered in mud and Usagi's blood, weeping brokenly in his pristine Hogwarts office, he had promised himself that he would do something to rectify his behavior. He would do his best, this time, for Severus Snape, and he would be the best friend that he could for him.

Unfortunately, Usagi's disappearance had changed him for the worst. It was an experience that Dumbledore hoped he'd never have to comprehend. To grow up, and see the grains of your life slip away into the void ceaselessly—maturing to the sights of your mother abused and beaten—finally until death—to leave and go to school and be tormented ceaselessly, and then promised all the love and truth in the world by a casual despotic whose only love was with his reflection—to be lead into murder, serenaded by decay, destruction, and stagnant dirges of war and evil—then come out of a gilded stupor and see grim and unforgiving reality for what it was—to seek a way out, see the smallest sliver of hope that was not there for years—then, to the end—to seeing the most important person—the one who was always supportive, always there—supposedly die—for your transgressions. It was unthinkable. Astounding. That kind of experience gave Severus a bit of vertigo—who was spiting him? Was it hell or heaven on Earth that he was living? Satan or God that hated him so? Who avenged what in his nightmarish existence? Was it Beelzebub or Lucifer or the powerful seraphims of heaven? Who knew? Certainly not Severus. For days after Usagi's disappearance, he was distraught, running about the forests of Scotland crying her name. This worried Albus, but other than with verbal dissuasion he didn't stop it. What could he do? What could he say? How do you approach a man who has lost everything—perhaps his own sanity? Dumbledore admitted to himself that Severus Snape could be very valuable to the order—and in all honesty, he thought that Snape owed his service to Usagi—or her memory, at that time. But the man was in pain. How could Dumbledore deny him his half-crazed, futile, infinitesimal hope that Usagi might still be out there somewhere?

He made his decision the night the Daily Prophet published Usagi's obituary—even though she was considered MIA. He was in Dumbledore's office—Albus had just called him up to tell him that Usagi's MIA debacle had just been released by the Ministry's PR person—in a list of names of KIA and MIA that were deemed suitable for release. Severus had worked himself up into an exhausted half-fury. He had just returned from a damp, fruitless search.

"A list!" Dumbledore remembered all too clearly his strident exclamation; the rivulets of raindrops that ran like streams down the curves of his sunken cheeks, and hit the plum carpet soundlessly, darkening the fibers. "A list!" His arms were raised in emphasis, and the wet black fabric clung to his arms, revealing their narrowness. "Crammed in with other people! Nothing done! No statements of remorse! Nothing! Blank! Cold! A LIST! Usagi…" He suddenly choked on his words, and spun away from Dumbledore to hide his emotions, something that would soon become habit. His worrying fingers found his dripping raven hair, and scrambled through it as if he'd a way to control his feelings by yanking on his scalp. "She sacrificed so much. She's worth more than the half-second it takes to say her name. She's not like others… So why should she be boxed in with them?" Severus spun around to face him again, the wildness in his melanic eyes matching the trembling and groaning storm clouds that flooded Dumbledore's window with grey. Dumbledore realized that this was the first time the man had been able to string together coherent and complete sentences. He raved on for a while, and Dumbledore got the impression that if the Ministry had Usagi's name painted in the sky and required everyone to wear mourning finery that he wouldn't be satisfied.

"Usagi was nothing if not human," Dumbledore remembered telling him. "She was your friend, not your saviour. It would not honour her to put her up on a pedestal."

Severus nodded, surprising Dumbledore, who expected him to protest. "But she deserves more, even so…"

Dumbledore had sighed, and folded his arms behind his head, reclining in his leather seat, which creaked with the pressure. "Yes… But this is war. And who really ever gets what they deserve, even in death?" Dumbledore exhaled heavily, and stared somberly at the shifting grey masses of storm clouds. "God help us all…"

Snape ignored the last comment, not sure if he believed in God anymore—or if he ever had. He sat down heavily in the velvet chair facing Dumbledore, and rubbed his tired face, feeling the prickly stubble of his unshaved face, and watched a drop fall from one of his growing whiskers. '…Even in death' Dumbledore had said. So the old man really thought Usagi was dead. Just like everyone else. And even though he never thought he'd admit it to himself, so did he. As soon as he saw Dumbledore's surprised face when Usagi had teleported him to the office, he felt a sinking in his heart. He was sure that he'd never see her again—alive—or maybe ever. If anything, he was too sure of it. And he didn't even want to think of what the Death Eaters had done with her corpse. It was orders for them to mutilate the corpses of the fallen dead—that or conduct experiments. If she had been taken alive…

Oh God, Severus, don't fucking think…

Dumbledore was speaking. Severus slowly tuned in.

"…But you might be placated somewhat by the evening edition of the Daily Prophet." Dumbledore slid the newspaper towards him. Severus would never forget the cover. The normal war stories where there, but in the center there was a photograph of Usagi, with the headline and short obituary simply titled: Missing Her. It was the photograph and this simple caption that captured Severus's attention. Usagi was kneeling, in her Auror uniform, which was tattered. Her face was smudged with soot and dirt. A babbling brook of tears spilled down her cheeks, yet she was smiling tenderly down at what she held in her arms, the limp corpse of a young child, probably three years old, whose features were bloodied and burnt. Severus's fist clenched in anger, crumpling the newsprint with a furious crackling. Voldemort's work. His eyes scanned the other headlines—all touted the atrocities that had recently been committed—atrocities that he had been blind or ambivilus towards.

"This wasn't what I signed on for," he had told Dumbledore. Albus nodded.

"I know," he said softly.

"Usagi didn't get what she deserved from me," Severus said brokenly. "My past, everything…!" He felt like throwing something. "I can't do anything! I can't take it back! I am what I hate the most… the end!" Snape stood, despising the world.

"No, not the end," Dumbledore replied quietly, yet firmly. "That is far too easy a declaration."

Severus's reply was forked and acidic. "Self-loathing is easy! I'm sorry I'm so weak as to admit guilt!"

"But you are not admitting guilt—you are admitting failure."

"Same bloody fucking thing," Severus bit back caustically.

"You are forgetting your English lessons," Dumbledore retorted sharply, "if they are the same thing there would not be two words, they are actually quite different. You feel guilty, good, you ought to. You admit fault for the decisions and choices you have made, yes?"

"I thought I made that clear."

"Being at fault, and failing are different. You have sinned, that much is clear. But you haven't failed." The headmaster narrowed his china-blue eyes. "Yet."

Severus didn't know how to reply. Of course he failed.

"You're not dead yet. You still breathe, and feel, and think."

Severus sank back down into the chair. "That doesn't make me worth anything…"

"Quite the contrary," Dumbledore replied, but Severus didn't respond. He softened his tone. "If it helps at all, you must know that no one, not even Usagi or myself, can avoid being contaminated by the world's evils. It's the actions—and attitudes we take towards them that define who are and whom we will be. You cannot change your past, but you must take responsibility for your future. You shape it—not your late father, or Voldemort, or Usagi, or myself… you. You can change your life. You can still succeed. You always have a choice."

But Snape was already shaking his head. "Impossible…" He murmured, staring far into himself.

"Then you accept failure, and not responsibility and fault, and you blaspheme Usagi by once again rejecting everything she stood and fought for! She believed in doing the right thing even when doing it meant death and worse—and though your previous master may not have believed it, there are far worse things than death—losing your integrity, for example. All the power in the world will not conquer death anymore than it will conquer life, for death is not an end to life but merely a stage of it. Fighting death is the same as fighting life, and Voldemort is essentially weak because he lives in fear of death and love, life and freedom. Every day that passed while you were with him on his trek to power, how strong did you feel when you killed men? You told yourself that you were all princes of men, but how low you are! You were told that destroying life and freedom made you powerful, but all killing did was remind you of your weakness. Isn't that why you're here now? Because you realized this weakness? Isn't that why you are denying the possibility of doing the right thing? Because of weakness. How much easier is for you to deny, to pretend that there is nothing you can do at all, than to accept the fact that you are still worth something and that you can still fight this? You see, Voldemort is essentially weak because it's so much easier for him to grasp power and deny truth than it is for him to face what is real and true and right. So look at your reflection, damn you, look yourself in the eye and realize that Usagi was right about believing in you because you are stronger than Voldemort and the rest of them. Because you looked at them and saw evil for what it was and you are abhorred, and because you looked at them and saw that their evil was weakness, and you left! You could not have done that if there were not some form of goodness in you, now you need to find it! Look! See! Either you're for Voldemort or against him; he has made that clear enough. You still have the ability to do something—choosing not to stop evil is helping it along. So where are you going?"

For the first time in his life, Severus Snape saw things clearly. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room from Dumbledore's words, and at one end, he saw Voldemort and his Death Eaters, radiated decay, reveling blindly… He'd been there before. He had walked that road, and it was a lonely path. It promised so many things, and the path was so smooth it was like walking on butter. But you were walking on yourself, snapping everything about yourself like twigs under your feet. And you just kept walking along, humming your own requiem, until eventually you stomped yourself to death. At the other end… There were no cherubs and hosts of angels, and that road too was lonely at times… But… You were standing for yourself… and for everyone else, too. And then he knew. That was the path he was going to take. Because it was right, because it was Usagi's path… And because it was strong.

He closed his eyes and let the finality of his choice wash over his psyche, and it was if a quiet flame had been lit within him.

Severus opened his lids and leveled his gaze at Dumbledore. "What do you want me to do?" He said simply.

"Go back to the Death Eaters, as our spy. Continue to advance within his circle. We'll contact you discreetly, arrange rendezvous."

The request was stated simply in three short sentences, but it could have not been more complex to Severus. His face dawned an expression of half-horror and half-disgust, betraying his thoughts. Surely Dumbledore couldn't expect him to return to that monster?

Dumbledore glanced down at the Daily Prophet, and it's picture of Usagi. Severus glanced down too, and felt a string of guilt plucked within him. Usagi had picked up after Voldemort's abominations every day as an Auror. Regardless of Voldemort's monstrosity, or perhaps because of it, she had fought everyday. He could do the same.

"All right. I'll do it."

Dumbledore stood. "We'll contact you by the end of the week. Be careful." He shook Severus's hand. "Oh, and Severus? Thank you."

Snape stared at him, a bit shocked for a moment, and said the Dumbledore, for the first and last time: "No, thank you."

And then he was gone.

"Headmaster?"

Dumbledore thought that it was odd that even though Snape had left, his disembodied voice would be calling him.

"Headmaster?"

Suddenly Dumbledore was pulled back from his memories and back into real life, 16 years later. An older, more lined Severus Snape stared back at him.

"My apologies!" Dumbledore said quickly, adopting his infamous twinkle and small grin. "I was having a particularly delectable thought about a cherry lollipop."

Snape rolled his eyes, and Dumbledore rose from his seat, and handed him a piece of paper. "Send mail to this address if it comes from the Ministry."

Severus nodded, pocketing the piece of paper. Dumbledore patted him firmly on the back and strolled out of the study, humming.

The dark-haired professor just shook his head and went back to his work, pulling a heavy tome from the top shelf, and wondering why Dumbledore was just so strange.

The bright sunlight of noon filtered through the vertical blinds, lighting up the cramped studio apartment, and filling it with uncomfortably warm, humid air. It caressed the pristinely made futon on the groddy linoleum floor, with its bright white, starched sheets, and hospital corners; habits engraved from years of Auror discipline training. One could bounce a galleon off of those sheets and the subsequent black goose down comforter, all pulled taunt over the stiff mattress. To the back of the room was a cluster of decrepit muggle kitchen appliances and an old, collapsible table. The only thing not outdated and cheap was the computer set up in the far corner, and her trunk full of clothing, equipment, and other miscellaneous artifacts.

Usagi gave a soft sigh as she paused for a minute to take it all in. For the past year, this had been her habitat. She could have afforded much better, but her fortune was deep underground London with a dank vault belonging to Gringotts, and she didn't want to arouse suspicions or even idle curiosity by going in and making a currency transaction. She had a small, muggle account, with a large amount of funds, but she had to be thrifty. So, thus the apartment and sparse furnishings. The rest of the money funded other things necessary for espionage, which included numerous wigs, clothes, airplane tickets, the computer and a digital camera, and other tools of the trade.

She wasn't going to miss it that was for sure. Usagi frowned. It was a lonely place, and the tap water was positively foul.

Having enough of the memories, Usagi picked up the trunk, and dragged it into the middle of the room, kicking the futon aside. The floorboards under the linoleum protested, and Usagi rolled her eyes in response. No, she certainly wasn't going to miss it one little bit. Reaching inside her white robes, she pulled out a long, thin silver chain, which held many odd keys, all of whose jangles gave off a cacophony. She carefully selected one, and inserted it into the corroded silver lock. With a swift movement, there was a satisfying click, and Usagi opened the second level of the trunk. She quickly began to strip the futon, and dumped the large tangle of bed coverings into it, throwing one leg over the side to stomp the mass down. She had never been one for neatness. It only applied when she had made her bed. Having sergeants yell at her on a daily basis about the neatness and timeliness of her linen arranging had made it an unbreakable habit.

Moving on, Usagi reached over and snatched up the notebook computer, though by the computer industry's standards, it was hardly a notebook in terms of bulk and weight. The GPS and satellite wireless Internet capabilities had added quite a bit of weight, but Usagi didn't mind. It was state-of-the-art, if not easy to carry. Checking to make sure that the encryption was still running (as if it wouldn't be, Usagi scolded herself), she shut it down, and threw it into the trunk, along with various books littering the floor. Using a computer was hardly a magical fad, nor was using firearms, but Usagi had found that it worked when she needed to keep her distance from the magical intelligence networks of the wizarding world. And guns were just plain useful—wizards and witches expected wands but not firearms, and it didn't take any energy to pull a trigger, while there was at least a nanosecond preparation to cast an incantation. She slipped in a few other scattered objects, such as her alarm clock, which had, amazingly, survived several collisions with the wall for interrupting her sleep. Remembering the food in the cabinets, she abandoned the mess, and threw open the plywood doors, gathering various boxes into her arms.

It was the noise that first alerted her of Dumbledore's presence. He had apparated on her futon, and the lack of ground support had made him stumble.

"Odd place for a futon," he merely commented dryly, once on his feet. Usagi glanced back at it. She had kicked it up against the wall, where the corner was hovering just under the doorknob. She shrugged, and tossed him a box. "Please throw that in," she instructed, and indicated the open trunk.

"Do you really need to take this?" He inquired, glancing down at it through his spectacles.

"It's Pocky," Usagi replied testily, as if the fact would justify a death sacrifice. "A muggle Japanese candy-snack sort of thing," she added, seeing his blank look.

Said look was replaced by a smile. "Candy?"

"You can have one," Usagi told him. "One." She went back to collecting items, and when had her arms full, ready to toss him some more, turned around to catch the Hogwarts headmaster red-handed, with three strawberry Pocky sticks in his fist.

"I said one!" Usagi exclaimed, rushing forward, and snatching the box from his hand, scowling.

"I gave you that lemon drop," was his petulant reply.

Usagi hid a smirk. "It had Veritaserum in it, so that doesn't count." Though it wore off after a minute or so…

"'It's Pocky,'" Dumbledore mocked her tone of voice.

Usagi couldn't hide her amusement any longer. "You learn quickly," she giggled.

Dumbledore just beamed back and snacked on his prize.

"Hey, pick up some books while you're there, and eating MY food," Usagi commanded, and let the boxes she was holding drop into her luggage before returning to the pantry for the last time.

"Mmmay!" Was Dumbledore's reply, and he bent down and picked up two items, a book and a periodical. Squinting through his glasses, he read the title on the book: The Anarchists' Cookbook, which he knew to be a book on how to make bombs, and the January issue of "Cat World", complete with a heart-rending image of a fuzzy, gray kitten on the cover.

Swallowing his food, he held the pair up for comparison. "Am I missing something here?" He asked Usagi.

Brushing her bangs out of her face, Usagi chucked a packet of Roman Noodles at him. "Shut up!" She growled playfully, and deposited the rest of her nonperishables into the trunk, before putting the rest of the books into it, and locking it shut.

"Took you long enough," the Headmaster chuckled lightly.

Usagi pursed her lips. "Hey! I've lived here for a year, so what if it took me twenty minutes or so?"

"I thought that you were in a hurry," he teased.

"You eat MY food, and you DARE to MOCK ME!" Usagi cried out in imitated outrage.

Dumbledore shook his head, from amusement or disbelief it was unclear. "You and your food!"

"You and your candy!" Usagi countered.

Albus paused as if to think of a retort, and then found one. "You and your food!" He repeated.

The pair stared at each other for a second or so, and then burst out into full-blown raspberries, complete with one eye closed, and a finger perched on the cheek. White spittle was seen, the sunlight highlighting it as it flew in the air.

This charade continued for half a minute or so, before neither of them could take it anymore, and burst into gales of laughter. Tears streamed down Usagi's cheeks, and she collapsed onto her mistreated futon, clutching her stomach.

"Oh, I missed that so much!" She gasped when she had the breath. "We haven't done that in years! It's one of things that I missed most."

"I think I missed our audiences just as much," Dumbledore smiled.

This sent Usagi into another fit of giggles. "Oh, Professor McGonagall's face was my favorite! Remember when that was part of our morning routine? I'd come up to the staff table, say good morning and other chitchat, and then we'd just bust out and do that! It was priceless! I can still remember what she'd say every time!" Here Usagi stood up and deadpanned a likeness. "'Usagi Tsukino, how dare you make such a face at the headmaster? You ought to be—Albus! Not you too? Stop it, both of you, it'll get stuck that way!'"

Dumbledore smiled at her impression. "After your year graduated, I got the distinct impression that she missed those daily exchanges. As did I,"

"Stop it!" Usagi said, stricken. "We're acting…" she made a retching noise, "nostalgic!"

Dumbledore laughed. "You're showing your age, Usagi. The other members of the Order would be more than happy to indulge with you." He winked at her.

"This whole day has been a tearjerker," Usagi sighed, but smiling slightly nonetheless. Her blue eyes glittered with a bittersweet joy; at finally meeting her loved ones again, only to realize that some of them had passed away.

She was opening her mouth to ask about how Dumbledore wanted to get out of the apartment—she wasn't in the mood to open a door she hadn't touched in year, when there was a quick rapping at the window—the way she went in and out.

Usagi hit the deck, and quickly pushed her back up against the wall that the window was situated in, whipping out her Berretta 9mm and releasing the safety with an alarming click. She then aimed her sights at the pane of glass, of which a charcoal gray owl was tapping its beak on.

"Get down!" She hissed at Dumbledore, who was in the middle of the room, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Paranoid much?" He chuckled slightly.

"This is no laughing matter!" She whispered fiercely at him, her eyes darting back and forth between the window and the Headmaster. "No owl, or other wizard besides you knows this address, thus no owl would come here unless I've been compromised! Owls are often used as sniper tools, as soon as you approach that window, someone just might take you out!"

"Usagi," Albus explained, taken aback by her earnestness, "I told your good friend Severus Snape that I would be here if he needed to contact me for an emergency from the Ministry, so I really must get that owl." He took a step towards the window, and the flapping owl, when Usagi interfered.

"Carpo!" She commanded, pulling out her wand with her left hand while still holding and sighting the pistol with her right.

Dumbledore felt the uncomfortable pull of magic as he was seized by the spell and pulled roughly against the wall.

"Don't even think about touching that owl!" Usagi snapped at him. "Did you look to see whether it had the pin?"

"Pin?"

"All Ministry owls have a pin clipped to their wings, with the seal of the ministry." She quickly stuck out her head to get a glimpse at the now annoyed owl, which was increasing the frequency of its taps. "It has it." She sounded almost disappointed.

Dumbledore sighed, exasperated. "You're just as bad as Alastor these days, Usagi." He started to rise. "May I now-?"

"No!" Usagi snapped, feeling slightly foolish. She put away the gun. "I'll do it." She felt a red flush rise to her cheeks. She did feel slightly paranoid, but then again, with her kind of work, it was a staple for living from day to day. Unlatching the window, she let the owl in, which squawked in irritation at the delay, and let the letter in its beak flutter haphazardly to the floor. With another indignant shriek, it flapped its wings and flew swiftly out.

Dumbledore picked up the letter, which was addressed to him in very untidy, tilted handwriting. The veering, uneven lettering that spelled out "Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland" was neatly crossed out, and in Severus Snape's orderly, tiny penmanship was written Usagi's address.

"His handwriting!" Usagi gasped slightly, and hugged the sealed parchment to her chest as one would a sacred jewel. "I've missed even that."

Trying not to roll his eyes, Albus pried the now-crinkled parchment from her roaming, adoring fingers. Shoving his knotted finger underneath the flap of parchment, he broke the Ministry seal, and hurriedly unfolded the note, scanning it quickly while an atmosphere of foreboding grew almost instantaneously. Usagi had moved past the brief joy of seeing something familiar and now realized that any letter sent to such an out of the way place had be urgent—and that urgency spoke of something dreadful.

Without a word, his expression guarded, Dumbledore passed it to Usagi, who snatched it from him, with the same vigor that she had used when first seizing it from the owl. The critical note barely held a few lines, and the spots of ink and hurried penmanship showed the great haste in which the writer had scribbled out his words.

Dumbledore,

Azkaban has been compromised. Lord Thingy takes responsibility. Full casualties reported. Emergency Wizengamot meeting behind closed doors. Your presence is requested.

Time is of the essence.

Godspeed,

Cornelius Fudge, MOM

Usagi folded the parchment and handed back to Dumbledore mechanically, who put it into a pocket. Her mind was focused on more imperative matters than the return of the letter; it raced instead with the swiftness and clarity that only came with an emergency. The train station of thought was running on urgent business—the steam that billowed from the engines of her synapses produced a locomotive of thought that dashed forward with the forceful momentum of adrenaline and logic.

"Voldemort is mobilizing," she snapped quickly, her tone rigid. The locomotive of thought tumbled out of her mouth, metamorphosing into the locomotive of words. "He doesn't want to hide anymore. He wants to move first; he doesn't want to wait for the Ministry to get their act together from those three days ago. The world knows he is back; he needs to strike quickly to ensure that he can get the assets he needs. Things are picking up. Attacks will start to happen, now. It's his typical pattern." She paced for a minute, tapping her index finger lightly on her lip. It was the idiosyncrasy that signaled that she was sucked as deep into her thoughts as a flailing animal was taken into quicksand. Only the blinding rays of the noon sun that filtered into the room and her rapid movements back and forth across the floor broke the thick atmosphere. Yet, even the sun's strong light didn't faze the dimness of the mood that now permeated the chamber.

Usagi abruptly stopped pacing, and did an about-face, like the recruit she was years ago. Those years did nothing to warp the training ground in her from the beginning. Despite her previous clumsiness, lessons on the piano and growing into her feet turned her into the graceful woman she was today. It appeared, to Dumbledore, that nothing about her, whether the way she walked, or her face, had changed since he had last seen her that fateful day sixteen years ago. Nothing about her had aged. This, perhaps, added to the reason that her cerulean eyes were like spears that poked into his brain. Their uncanny, vivid color and clarity unsettled him a bit, as she probed him unceasingly, driving her point home with the skill of an archer. "Don't let Cornelius send in forces," she said. "No kind of human force whatsoever."

Dumbledore looked slightly shocked. "Why in world would we do anything otherwise?"

Usagi shook her head slightly, and reflected back Dumbledore's look of slight impatience. Her eyes never left his, however. "Because, we have our military forces deployed in strategic locations already- locations that we know that Voldemort might try to get to. Azkaban is a deeply rooted, very intricate prison. It would take days to lay siege to- and for what? To take away our forces from areas that need our attention and have sixty percent plus casualties? We wouldn't get Voldemort, that's for sure. Not if it would take that long to lay siege to the place. That's what he probably wants, anyhow. If we're distracted, he could get what he wants in the places that we've just moved our forces from. Azkaban is not a very strategic location. If he wants it as his fortress, then so be it. Better leave him there than have disaster, say, in the Middle East, where his allies have already set up underground."

Dumbledore nodded, now comprehending and accepting her point-of-view, and wishing he had thought of those issues himself. "I understand, and agree. I'm sure Hongershure will as well."

"Yes," Usagi replied, slightly relieved at his agreement. "And get the Wizengamot to put a really nasty enchantment in the warhead. Or something. And for the love of God, keep Cornelius away from the booze!" She didn't bother to hide the scandalized look on her face. "Imagine if anyone else was caught drinking on the job."

Dumbledore's eyebrows came together to form a questioning glance. "If you have so much to say about these matters, why aren't you coming with me? I'd love for the Order to come together, and we will, but this does rearrange our plans."

Usagi met his gaze, and prepared to stare him down again. "Precisely. That's why I'm not coming." She hesitated. "Tell me where the Dursleys live."

"The Dursleys? What would-" Dumbledore suddenly grasped her meaning. "You want to pick up Harry and bring him to headquarters, is that right? Why? Usagi, he's safer with them, because of the blood charm between Lily and-"

"Or maybe he isn't so safe, Professor Dumbledore, even with that. That charm keeps him safe physically, yes, but is he safe mentally? You told me about his failed attempt to learn Occlumency, did you not? With everyone distracted, wouldn't this be the perfect time for Voldemort? Hadn't you mentioned an incident in which he had seen a vision of Voldemort's in that very place?"

"I had hoped that he would have learned his lesson," Dumbledore commented, cocking his head slightly. He tilted it away from the searing rays of sun that hit his face with the intensity of the hour, making his skin seem translucent. "Sirius's death, one would hope, would be enough to deter him from believing Voldemort on anything, though I understand your point that the Dark Lord can, indeed, reach him there."

"Maybe Harry wouldn't go on any rescue missions, but Voldemort is definitely still interested in the prophecy. He knows now that he can gain something useful from Harry's mind- a good deal many things, including that prophecy. He doesn't know that Harry knows now, but a little bit of searching- and he could pull up some serious stuff. And, I assume, if you learned your lesson, you will keep him more updated on matters involving Voldemort, since it affects his life so much?"

Dumbledore nodded, following the string of her logic. His hand flinched at his side, showing his eagerness to rush to the Ministry and get things untangled before Fudge could dig his grubby fingers into the mess too deeply. "Yes."

"Would you do that through the mail? Mail will be intercepted more often now, and since you don't care for codes too deeply, I don't suspect that that will be an option. And, anyway, what if Harry did have a problem with Voldemort probing his brain? Since he (hopefully) learned his lesson, like you said, he would owl someone right away- and with Voldemort being so active, a reply would take awhile- besides that fact that mail is going to be intercepted. Then — forget the mail and the possible attempt from Voldemort to make Harry do something — Voldemort could lay on the guilt trip… probe Harry's memory, inject feelings into him… Really, Dumbledore, this is Voldemort we're talking about. Over this summer, would the Dark Lord really forego an opportunity this rich? He knows Harry is grief-stricken — if he's been in his head before, he must have some notion of how that boy thinks! When you're that vulnerable, Albus..."

Dumbledore blinked. "You called me by my Christian name."

Usagi blushed, lowering her eyes, loosing all appearance of a pressing testimony. "Oh, sorry, don't know where that came from..."

Chuckling, Dumbledore smiled in her direction. "Don't be sorry, I was wondering how long it was going to take you... I'm your friend, Usagi, not your headmaster anymore. I really rather prefer it."

"Oh." Usagi was still trying to understand her sudden slip of tongue.

"And, anyway," Dumbledore pushed his glasses up slightly further on his crooked nose, "I understand completely what you are saying, now. Though it's a horrid thought to even have, with the Dursleys and so soon after Sirius's death, Harry is undoubtedly vulnerable, as you said, and I wouldn't put a suicide attempt past him at this point. If I was in that kind of position — well, to be honest, it would cross anyone's mind. He does desperately need Occlumency lessons, and not, as per example, from someone like Professor Snape, nor, now that I think on it, because of the circumstances, myself." Here he gave her a swift look, as if to impart a message. "You, Usagi, have the ability, as you have just proven within the past five minutes, to understand and assess a situation. Moreover, there are few people who dislike you for your personality alone, they just hate your for what you can do to them- even I understand that you have many enemies."

Usagi looked at him, slightly confused. Her blonde eyebrows contorted slightly. "...Okay. Well, thanks for the compliments, but I have the feeling that you want me to do something...?"

Dumbledore laughed. "Right you are! Haven't you figured it out yet? You are an excellent Occlumens, easy to get along with, and someone that Harry doesn't have conflict with. You'll take the job, I suppose?"

Usagi rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Of course, I will. Anyway, let's see how much he likes me after I tell him how much he'll have to practice."

"I'm glad that you accepted. Now, the Dursleys live on number four Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey. They might put up a gruff front, and they are the most peculiar, disagreeable muggles. Try not to loose your temper."

Usagi pulled out her key ring from inside a pocket in her gleaming white cloak. "I know just what to do for them. You'll send my trunk along to headquarters, I hope?"

"Yes. Though I expect that you now need some things from it?" Raising a wizened finger, he indicated her clanking keys.

Usagi nodded, and selected a key, the tarnished metal barely catching the sun's radiance. She inserted it into the first lock, and threw open the top, which slammed back on the silver and leather hinges, creaking, irritated at her mistreatment. Usagi paid the trunk's whining no mind, and leaned over the lip of rectangle opening, pushing aside the set of floating boxes. They parted easily, sliding around on the metal ledge that supported their bottoms, and Usagi stuck her hand beneath their depth, feeling around for the right things. She grinned when her fingers closed around the correct items, and tossed over her shoulder a canister of lipstick, a compact, a designer handbag and towering power stilettos, which smacked the wall behind her one-by-one. She grunted and arched her back further, slipping her blonde head underneath the floating nesting boxes, and finally pulled out a suit. Flinging the lid down again, she relocked it and kicked it over to Dumbldore, while putting her singing ring of key into the purse, which looked as disgruntled as the reptile it was made out of.

Dumbledore raised a confused eyebrow. "And that random burst of femininity was...?"

Usagi scowled slightly at him. "Stop talking as if I'm a tomboy. Anyway, to make this whole thing easier, I'm going to blind these muggles with blatant materialism, appease their sense of privilege, and then make a quick exit. Closed-mindedness makes me mad."

"I've noticed." Dumbledore grabbed a leather handle on the trunk, which made no protest at his easy grip. "Meet me outside of number 12, Grimmauld Place by four."

Usagi nodded. "Will do. Be safe."

"And you as well."

They nodded briskly at each other. Dumbledore and the trunk apparated, first, probably, to the headquarters, and then the Ministry of Magic.

Usagi sighed, and moved out of the line of sight from the window, pulling off her cloak and outfit underneath, donned the restricting designer suit, slipped her wand into a breast pocket, and looked at her reflection in the reflection of a cracked mirror leaning against the wall. She smoothed out her skirt, stepped into the painful, pointed shoes, and applied the lipstick. Undoing her trademark odangos, she used the bobby pins to coil her locks into a practical bun. "There! Fit for the muggle world, I think. Hope they're happy, 'cause my toes aren't anywhere near content." Usagi made a face at her reflection, wondering why she bothered with stilettos. She had a beauty complex, much like the next woman, and her pinched feet were a testament to that.

"Well!" Usagi rolled up her outfit in the cloak, and put her wallet and a few other items into the bag, before sliding out of the second story window onto the slanted, blue plastic lid of a dumpster. Pulling her white bundle out of the window, she wrinkled her nose at the pungent odor of decomposing refuse. Jumping off dumpster, and fighting to maintain her balance on the Shoes, Usagi took a deep breath, and tried to cool her inner aggravation with having to wait so long to see the rest of her friends and comrades from the Order. She contented herself with thinking; At least I get to see Harry. I haven't seen him since he was two weeks old- when I popped off to Panama. After all, he has been in my thoughts... Really, I don't think that he ever left them, poor guy...

Temporarily halting her train of thought, Usagi looked about, and, seeing no one, apparated to the closest rental agency. Deciding to blow off the rest of her muggle money, seeing as she was going back into the wizarding world, she got a luxury car and started the drive up to Little Whinging.

Harry lay. That was it. That was what he had spent the past three days doing since stepping off the whistling Hogwarts Express. Lying on his bed, staring at the dimpled, grimy ceiling of his room, and watching shapes and animals morph in the plaster.

That was a bit of a hyperbole, in all honesty, now that he thought about it. Harry swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and kicked off the ragged quilt, which now bore the dusty imprints of his sneakers. He had fired off a succinct letter to Moody, letting him know that the Dursleys were still quaking in fear every time they caught a glimpse of Harry. Moody had replied that he was delighted, and spent the next four paragraphs of his letter instructing Harry on how to make effective threats.

He had done other things as well. He had ignored the plethora of letters that Pig and Hedwig had brought him from his well-meaning but slightly irritating friends. He knew implicitly that those bits of parchment contained questions that he could not summon the strength to answer. He had made several futile attempts at his transfiguration assignments, but found that he had neither the focus nor the mental energy to even summon the amount of concentration it would take to even start on the coalescing gigantitude that was his summer homework.

But, other than those noble pursuits, he had spent his time flat on his back, trying not to think or feel. He was over guilt, over anger, over blame. He had had more than enough of that last summer; and in the few days after—Harry screwed up his eyes, and forced himself to it—Sirius had died—he had the excruciating hindsight to realize that those emotions, which had allowed himself to bottle up and boil inside of him, had lead to his rash actions. Those emotions had hurt the people that he had loved.

Sure, he had felt angry—furious at Dumbledore, enraged at Bellatrix Lestrange. But—he had left that at Hogwarts. There was none of that within him anymore. He was apathetic—emotionless. If that last summer had been full of emotion, then this one was devoid of it. It appeared that his demons were also a sort of personal Dementor—the seemed to pluck every emotion; including sorrow, from his grasp. It was like he was in a tunnel—and he could only see a very small amount of reality. Everything felt like a surreal dream.

There were times when grief hit him like an enormous tidal wave. It was so forceful that he could barely obtain a gasping breath. Then it would subside, and he would be dry again. Sometimes Harry was unsure if he'd really ever feel much again, aside from grief. Would rage, hate, bitterness return? He was certain, however, that there was something that he would never reclaim—happiness and love. It didn't seem within him. Losing Sirius had somehow made him less human.

Harry heard (without much interest) Uncle Vernon's fat, heavy feet stomping up the stairs. He slowly counted down from five, and waited. What had he done now? He was just lying here… How could he be in trouble?

The door flew open as soon as Harry had reached zero.

"Get that ruddy owl in!" Vernon snapped, as Harry slowly turned his head to take in the oversized man, whose face was quickly filling up with its typical reddish-purple color.

Uncle Vernon was talking about Hedwig, of course, who was flitting about the neighborhood, sunning her lustrous white wings.

Harry didn't have the strength to argue, even thought Hedwig was doing nothing wrong. He propped himself up on one elbow, preparing to climb off of the bed.

Vernon took Harry's lack of adequate response almost as a threat. As soon as it came, the blood fell from his face, and he looked oddly pale. "Of course, the owl really isn't ruddy…" He cleared his throat, gave a short, unconvincing little laugh and said: "'Ruddy owl', it's a term of affection… Er—" He racked his brain, "Hermig? No, uh, Hedwig! Hedwig does need to come in… er, now."

Harry couldn't help but raise his eyebrow at his uncle. He never thought he would see the day where Uncle Vernon would pretend to have some sort of affection for Hedwig. It was almost amusing. He nodded, to pacify his uncle, and whistled softly. Hedwig heard his call, and came swooping in, landing on her perch and hooting softly. Harry quickly shut the door to her cage, despite her indignant squawk and spoke to her under her breath. "Uncle Vernon is being difficult again, just humour me…"

Hearing the sound of a car, Harry leaned under the sash and stuck his head out of the window. No wonder Vernon wanted Hedwig in. A black porche was pulling into number 4's driveway. The Dursleys would be unable to stand it if they showed some kind of abnormality. But who was in the car? And what did they want? It was something out of the ordinary.

The engine shut off, and the driver door opened with a click. One stiletto-clad foot stepped out onto the driveway, followed by another. A smartly dressed woman appeared, and shut the door behind her. As she took a moment to gaze at the house, Harry looked at her. She looked about twenty-four years old, with golden blonde hair and almost wraith-like pale skin. Aunt Petunia would be beside herself at such a guest—she was dressed in Armani and drove a Porche.

The woman looked up quickly, and Harry felt himself blush slightly at being caught staring at her. She shielded her eyes from the sun and smiled up at him. For a second, Harry found himself without breath as her cerulean eyes lit up with greeting and basked him in their warmth, soothing his anguished soul for a moment. His scar prickled, but not in a bad way. She gave him a slow, lazy wink and continued to walk towards the front door, breaking eye contact.

Though he couldn't exactly explain why, Harry was intrigued. He knew that this person certainly wasn't bad. He rushed out of the room, and halfway down the stairwell, where the wall opened up and gave a view of the front door and living room. Harry crouched down on the step just as the doorbell rang.

"Coming!" Petunia sang out, strolling out of the kitchen and stopping for a moment to smooth her apron before opening the door, revealing the woman Harry had seen before. She opened her mouth to say something, but Aunt Petunia beat her to it.

"Welcome!" She cried with false enthusiasm, gesturing to the hall. "Come in, come in! My name is Petunia, can I get you anything to drink?"

The woman looked slightly startled at this greeting, but then smiled back and stepped in. Harry felt slightly sorry for her, because of her apparent high material status, she was going to be fawned over by the Dursleys.

"I don't need anything, thank you," she told Petunia politely. "My name is Usagi."

Petunia turned back to her and took a moment to scrutinize Usagi's face. Harry thought that she was slightly turned off by the unusual name, but she surprised him when she said: "You seem familiar, as if I've met you before."

The woman named Usagi opened her mouth once again, but Aunt Petunia was making a habit of cutting her off. "Oh, silly me," she tittered. "Come in to the living room, and please, make yourself at home. I'll go fetch my husband!" With another falsetto giggle, she trotted out of the living room and into the kitchen, her pumps clicking on the tile. Uncle Vernon and Dudley came back with her. Usagi stood, and offered her hand; Vernon pumped it happily.

"This is our son, Dudley," beamed Aunt Petunia, and Dudley stepped forward, giving her a cheeky, syrupy grin.

"Hello Dudley," Usagi greeted him, and gave the large adolescent a soft smile.

"Please, sit!" Boomed Vernon, with Petunia and Dudley nodding fervently behind him.

"If you so insist," Usagi replied gently, and sank into the chiffon couch.

The Dursleys sat down too, still smiling broadly.

Usagi once more parted her lips, but—

"Vernon works with drills," Petunia offered sweetly.

"Er—" Usagi looked taken aback, but then played along and gave him another smile, this one slightly forced. "How interesting. What kind of drills?"

"Drill bits, really," Grunted Uncle Vernon in reply. He puffed out his chest. "I manage sales—in a senior management position."

"I'm afraid that I can't converse with you on that," Usagi said, shaking her head slightly, the light from the window lighting up her golden hair. "I know nothing of drill bits."

"Most people don't," Uncle Vernon continued, preening. "It's a very specialized line of work."

Usagi nodded politely, "I would imagine so," She murmured.

"Dudley here is a champion boxer!" Petunia said proudly, placing her hands on Dudley's beefy shoulders. "We're so pleased. He's become a fighter, just like his father! We knew he'd go far!"

"You must feel pretty safe, having a trained champion at nights," Usagi offered cordially.

Petunia practically glowed with adoration for Dudley. "Oh, I do!" She chirped.

"Well," said Usagi, adopting a brisker tone, lest the Dursleys decide to make more small talk, "I am here for a reason, which I'm sure you must be curious about." She sat up straighter, as did the Dursleys. "I'm here… about your nephew."

There a moment of shocked, stilted silence as the Dursleys' smiles suddenly became unnatural.

"Our nephew?" Squeaked Petunia from between clenched teeth.

Usagi turned her head, looking through the living room opening and into the hallway, locking her eyes onto Harry where he sat, staring at her from behind the cream-painted posts of the banister. "Me?" He mouthed, surprised. She nodded slightly.

"Yes. Harry, you nephew. Why don't you come down?"

Shocked, Harry rose slowly to his feet, and drifted down the stairs into the living room, wondering what this woman wanted with him, and feeling slightly amused at the looks on the Dursleys' faces when they realized that this seemingly wealthy woman was here for him.

Usagi stood as he entered, and Harry noticed that he was several inches taller than her, even though she was wearing heels. But then he found himself unable to think as she looked him in the eyes again, captivating him with her leveled gaze. There was something about her that enraptured him, calming his ruffled conscience and soothing his ravaged brain. Her azure orbs seemed to penetrate into him, reaching parts that even he didn't know existed.

Suddenly, he found that he was shaking her hand.

"My name is Usagi Tsukino, Harry," She said, giving him a gentle smile that seemed to warm him. "I know this is probably unexpected, for both you and your relatives, but I am here to pick you up on behalf of Albus Dumbledore."

"You!" Roared Uncle Vernon, and Usagi broke eye contact, spinning to face Vernon as he rose from the couch, the blood rushing to his face. "Y-you're one of them!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're one of those… magic folk." Vernon spat.

Usagi raised an eyebrow, and Petunia and Dudley also jumped to their feet.

"If you mean that I am capable of doing magic, then you would be correct."

This made Vernon furious. "You deceived us!" He barked. "You seemed decent!"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Usagi replied indignantly. "I came here as a person—nothing more or less. People are people, whether they can do magic or not. Why should this change anything?"

Vernon didn't have a good reply to that, so he just turned more purple.

Something flashed within Petunia, however. "So it is you," she hissed. "You're not wearing that ridiculous hairstyle, and it's been almost 18 years, but I knew that I'd seen you somewhere!"

"What?" Uncle Vernon demanded.

"It was her, Vernon!" Petunia said, pointing at Usagi. "She was at my sister's wedding, remember? Her maid of honor! This is her, Usagi Tsukino."

"Yes, that's true," Usagi responded. "I agreed to be her maid of honor when you, Petunia, declined the position."

Harry, looking confusedly from Usagi to Petunia, said: "How can that be possible? I've seen the pictures of my parents wedding—she's not in any of them."

"The pictures with me were seized and classified by the Ministry of Magic," Usagi told him grimly.

Petunia, scowling, stalked over to the maple bookshelf and withdrew a photo album hidden in the back, covered by dust and smooshed between two other unread books. She tossed it to Harry, who caught it. "You can keep it," she sniffed. "I want nothing to do with my sister. We took some regular pictures that this fraudulent government knew nothing about."

"But—" Harry stuttered, feeling completely bewildered. "How do I know—that she's—" he pointed to Usagi. "—for real?" It was one thing to have Aunt Petunia mention her sister—his mother—for the third time in all of his 15 years, but to have one muggle-dressing and acting woman show up and tell him that she was taking him to Dumbledore, when almost a year before, he had been escorted by half of the Order of the Phoenix and their brooms…

Usagi was smiling at him again, seemingly in approval, as she leaned towards his ear and whispered in it, "Harry, first of all, I'd like to compliment you on being observant and careful about who you leave with. Second of all, I'd like to address your concerns by saying that the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London."

Harry could barely respond when Usagi was suddenly yanked back by her shoulders with a sudden yelp of pain—Uncle Vernon had his gigantic, meaty hand clamped firmly on her shoulder, his face scarlet with anger.

"DON'T TALK IN WHISPERS, CONSPIRING AGAINST US, IN MY HOUSE!" He roared.

"Get your hands off of me!" Usagi commanded angrily; her blue eyes flashed silver, and Harry shuddered slightly for no reason.

Petunia gave a low wail, her bony hands wringing the fabric of her beige, silk blouse. "Vernon, careful! She might have one—one of those stick things!"

"I do not have a wand on me, and I do not plan on hurting anyone with it—unless such an action is forced on me!" Usagi declared, snatching Vernon wrist. He gasped slightly as she pressed the muscles below his pulse, making his fingers release, and throwing his jiggling arm back at him.

"Then I'll do what I should have always done to your kind—what I should have done more with to him," Vernon snarled, thrusting out his fist haphazardly; whether he was aiming towards Harry or Usagi no one knew.

It happened very quickly; Usagi reached towards Harry and with a thrust pushed him behind her, she reached out her other arm, brushed Vernon's punch away, grabbed his forearm, and twisted it, forcing Vernon to his knees, then used his momentum against him. Harry watched incredousely along with Petunia and Dudley as his uncle made a soaring arc, slamming against the wall, and slumping down onto Petunia's prized sofa with it's cornflower blue slipcover and tasseled pillows, as the framed family portrait (excluding Harry), shattered from the impact, landed on his girth, shards of glass bouncing along the floor.

"VERNON!" Petunia screamed, and Dudley burst into tears, sinking down on the carpet to his knees.

"Harry, why don't you get your things?" Usagi told him, and Harry quickly scampered up the stairs, eager to heed her request.

It didn't take him long to pack; simply put, Harry really hadn't done much unpacking since arriving back with the Dursleys. He hadn't the desire or energy to do so. He quickly crammed the letters from his friends and one from Moody into the trunk, but took a minute to change his shirt, realizing, slightly embarrassed, that it was the same one who had been wearing for two days in a row. He had never been much of a stickler for appearances, but the arrival of Usagi made him aware of several facts, despite his emotional disposition. First, that he was male, second, that she was pretty, and third, that she didn't seem terribly older than him.

Finishing, Harry grabbed Hedwig's cage, taking a second to whisper to her: "Great news, Hedwig, we're leaving!" She hooted happily in reply.

Harry picked up the handle of his trunk and walked back down the stairs again, as it thumped behind him. He stopped at the opening to the living room. Usagi was in there, hands on her hips in a GI style, staring composedly at the Dursleys.

"You ready?" She asked him, not even looking behind. Harry was startled, wondering how she knew he was there when he hadn't said anything.

"Yeah," He said.

Usagi turned and gestured him out the door. Before she stepped out onto the porch, she turned once again to face the shocked family. "Regardless of whether or not one of your own is a boxing champion, the danger in this world is very real. The only way to stop your demise and that of everyone else is to set aside your bigotry and hate, for those very things are the weapons of the enemy, and it will consume you. I've seen it. I can guarantee it. It is through empathy, compassion, and cooperation that we will win this conflict. This is not just a 'magic' problem. This is a people problem. When there is someone out there who wants the destruction of everything, and everyone, to satify his cravings for malice, then it is everyone's problem. Yours' too. So look beyond yourselves."

With that, she stepped out and slammed the door behind her, and her demeanor immediately changed. She smiled again, and walked to the car, opening the passenger door for him. "Give me a second to pop the boot," was her instructions, as she climbed into the driver's section. Harry tugged his trunk and carried Hedwig's cage over, lifting the gleaming black tailgate up, and put both into the compartment before shutting the door. He walked back to the passenger side, buckled himself in and closed the door as Usagi turned the key and revved up the ignition.

"I'll turn the AC on to the boot so that your owl won't get too hot. What's his—or her, name?"

"Her name is Hedwig," Harry responded, slightly intrigued as she put the motorcar into reverse, and smoothly manuevered it out of the driveway. For a witch, this women was well-versed in how to run muggle objects.

"Were you muggle-born?" He asked, wondering if that explained her expertise.

"Well," Usagi said, as she shifted gears to 'drive', and pulled away from Number 4, "I honestly don't really know." Seeing Harry look of confusion, she decided to explain. "I never knew my mother, so I didn't know if she was muggle-born, a witch, or just plain muggle. I only knew my father, and he was a pure-blood, but he disappeared without a trace after my second year. I pretty much became an undeclared resident of Hogwarts after that, attending school there during most of the year, but remaining there during the summer. Professor Dumbledore took care of me. He was with me pretty much everyday anyway, since he was my primary teacher."

"I'm sorry," Harry replied cordially, recognizing that her situation was similar to his—an orphan.

"I'm not, why are you?" Usagi demanded. "I was very lucky, in fact. My father—" she gave an almost indistinct shudder, "—didn't love me at all." There was a moment of silence. "He was a terrible man, Harry," she continued awkwardly. "I was very blessed to never have to see him—be with him—for the rest of my life. He wasn't my real family, Professor Dumbledore and the staff, and my friends, they were my real family. It's not blood, you see, it's love—that's what a real family is, a circle of friends who love you. Sirius Black, with all of his inbred relatives, was more an orphan than I was—"

At Sirius' name, Harry jerked visibly, and turned away from her. He felt the vehicle slow and come to a stop. Looking out of the window, he saw that Usagi had pulled over next to a pharmacy.

Unexpectedly, he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, and turned to see Usagi smiling empatheticlly at him, her hand resting on his collarbone soothingly. "I'm sorry if mentioning him made you upset, Harry. But I won't stop saying his name—he's Sirius, he was my friend and your Godfather."

"I had forgotten about him for a moment," Harry admitted, trying not to tear up at the thought of Sirius and his fatal fall through the veil.

"That's not a crime Harry," Usagi responded softly, tilting her head so that she could look him in the eyes.

Harry squirmed under her gaze for some reason. "I should remember—it's what I have to do, for him, since—since," he finished lamely.

"Since it was your fault?" Usagi finished, with an edge to her voice.

Harry looked up at her, feeling his heart sink. So, someone finally said it out loud. It was his fault.

"I had hoped that you would have enough of a grip on youself to know better than that." There was definitely a hardness to her voice now, and her eyes were flashing in a way that almost expressed anger with his conviction.

"I don't understand," Harry replied.

"You're not a seer, Harry, nor did you wish Sirius any harm! You wanted to protect him. You made mistakes, but you didn't make them with the expectation that something like this would happen. You did your best, and there is nothing wrong with that. Voldemort and his cohort, that prissy bitch Bellatrix Lestrange, were the ones that really wished Sirius grave harm! If it wasn't for them, none of it would have happened. They are the ones that deserve the blame, not Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, or youself!"

Dumbledore must have told her everything that happened, Harry realized at her words. He must really trust her.

"Sirius made his own choice, he knew by coming there that he would be in danger, and he came to save you—to put up his life for your ransom. That's not your fault—that was a decision that he willingly and gladly made. He didn't resent you for his death when he made that decision, so why do you resent yourself? He saved your life, Harry, and the way to repay him is not to let it dribble away. It's to live it—happily, fully—and complete Sirius' unfinished business with Lestrange and Voldemort. So come off it! You're lucky. You're living, and that's more than many others can say. You're not alone in this, there were others that cared about Sirius, and are mourning him. So stop acting like you're the only one in pain; or who cared, or who's feeling guilty! Because you're not!"

Harry felt the jolt of fury clamp onto him, as he felt that Usagi was being insensitive, but he caught her captivating blue eyes again. The sympathy held there melted his anger, and he knew that she was right. It felt like a big burden had lifted off his sholders, and he sighed.

"Do you understand now?" She asked him, and he nodded.

"Yeah," he told her, and she smiled again, switching on the left turn signal and pulling out into left side of the road before accelerating up to speed again.

"…So," he said, watching the stores of suburbia rush by in a blur of color. "The reason I asked about you being muggle-born, is because I was wondering how you knew so much about muggle things."

"Well," Usagi said, as she looked in the rearview mirror, and then out the side, "Dumbledore was always interested in muggle things, and so was Arthur Weasley. I picked it up kind of from them, but I took muggle studies, and then as part of Auror training you have to live with muggles for a year, to understand and appreciate how they operate."

"Auror training?" Harry leaned in closer so that he could hear more. He always envisioned himself becoming an Auror. "You're an Auror?"

"I was," Usagi replied. "Now, Harry, I appreciate the compliment on that fact that I can successfully drive, but now I might make some sudden movements, turns, or sudden stops. Don't be alarmed, I haven't lost my head, but it's always a good thing to try and shake people who might be following you."

Was there someone following them? Harry shifted in his seat so he could look out the back.

"Don't look," Usagi said. He glanced at her questioningly. "It looks suspicious. Use the side mirror out your window. And, anyway, I don't think we're being followed right now, but I said just in case. I sincerely doubt that Voldemort has a tail on me, first of all, I take lots of security measures, secondly, his followers hate muggles and wouldn't suspect other competent wizards to go out of their way to use muggle transportation. They themselves would probably hate the thought of having to touch anything muggle, much less know how to operate it. So, thus, taking you in a car is a good security measure. Anyway, muggles are brillant, fascinating, in my opinion. Wizards are talk about them like they're mentally retarded or something, but they do better than us sometimes—I mean, wizards didn't even think about trying to go into space until the Soviet muggles sent up Sputnik, and even then the American muggles beat them to the moon. That's why, I guess, I take the time to know about them." She beamed at him.

"You were an Auror?" He asked. "You're a member of the Order, too, right? Since you know where it is?"

"Yes, I was an Auror. And no, I'm not a member of the Order, not really. I was a member of the last one, tonight I'm being sworn in."

"But-" Harry said, wondering again how old she was, "Wouldn't you have been too young?"

Usagi bit her lip slightly as she breaked for a red light. "Ah—my age. You see, I had this magical accident awhile back, and ever since I've never aged—not a single day, I don't know why."

"Oh," Harry said in response, rather generically. His small crush quickly deflated.

The car was silent for a few minutes, until Harry spoke again. "You say 'Voldemort', like I do."

Usagi laughed lightly. "Well, thank God you do. Seriously," she rolled her eyes, "I've never understood this 'You-Know-Who' and 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' business, it's simply idiotic in my opinion. I don't give a rip if someone's afraid of him, saying Voldemort isn't going to zap him over to the area to kill everybody, geez, get OVER it already. 'He-Must-Not-Be-Named' my ass, I have plenty of names for him. Asshole is the generic one, bastard is a close second. There are several that I'm not going to say, they're cruder than some of the others I've mention, but I've always had a fondness for Moldie Voldie and Voldie-poo." She grinned mischievously and glanced over at Harry. "My recent favorite, though, is The-Man-Who-Let-The-Boy-Live."

Harry snickered, laughing for the first time since Sirius had died. "That would piss him off," he commented.

"Yes, that's why the title of my list is: 50 things to call Lord Voldemort, or 50 things to say that will seriously shorten your lifespan."

"No kidding," Harry said, but he was laughing anyway.

All of the sudden, there was a weird grumbling noise. Usagi turned a shade of strawberry pink. "That's my stomach," she told him shyly, and looked at the clock while Harry tried to control his laughter so that he wouldn't appear to be rude. "I'm really hungry, I'm sure those bloody Dursleys didn't give you the best lunch, so why don't we stop somewhere? We don't need to be back at headquarters for another hour and a half."

"You don't have to, I mean," Harry stammered, not wanting her to feel obligated to buy him something, even though he felt just as hungry as she sounded all of sudden.

She had guessed his thoughts, though, because her response was "Nonsense!"

They drove on for a few minutes in silence, until Usagi exclaimed, "hey, that looks nice!" She turned into the paved parking lot and parked near the front of the restraunt, shutting off the ignition and removing the keys.

She was right, the restraunt did look nice. It also looked pretty expensive.

Harry stepped out of the car and shut the door, feeling apprehensive. He looked a bit grungy, so he wasn't sure how the staff would react, and one of the things he hated most in the world was being looked at like scum. After all, he had to deal with it from the Dursleys everyday until he had turned eleven.

But he followed Usagi in, squinting in the darkened light. A waiter stood by the register, impeccably dressed in a sharp cut dark suit.

"Table for two, please," Usagi requested brightly. The man turned to her, and in one, sweeping glance, took in her Manolo Blanc shoes, expensively cut suit, and crocodile skin handbag.

"Right this way, madam," he said without any hesitantion, grabbing two menus. They both followed him to a table. Harry sat down, and the waiter held out the chair for Usagi, who settled in, unfolding her cloth napkin. Harry copied her, and looked over the menu, failing to find anything that wasn't shockingly overpriced.

In the end, he let Usagi order for him, not wanting to let anyone part with the amount of money that was listed by the entrees. She therefore ordered the most expensive thing on there, a New York steak with a raspberry and coffee rub and some kind of vegetable dish that was undecipherable in it's french name, and had some turkey and snow peas dish for herself, along with a salad covered in bleu cheese and an oyseter shooter. They talked Hogwarts over their food, and Harry felt more comfortable in her company with each sentence exchanged. Though she ate like a pig, she was funny and caring. Sometimes she would seem like a complete ditz, and just when he was about to write her off as unintelligent she'd pop up and say something completely profound and wise that he'd feel stupid for ever thinking she might be.

"Ready?" She asked him, scooping out the last of fudge from her sundae from the dish, effectively polishing off the third one she'd had.

"Yes," Harry replied, careful not to add that he had been ready after finishing his huge meal. She was the one who had taken the extra time to stuff herself. How did she keep so thin? Her waist seemed smaller than the circumfrence of his leg, yet she could stuff more food down her throat at one sitting than he could probably do in a week.

"Great!" She responded brightly, throwing her hand up the air. "Check, please!"

She paid for the bill and they were walking out the restraunt, when she turned to him. "Mind if I change? These heels are killing me!" Harry gave her the go-ahead, and she scrambled back inside and came out later looking completely different from the precise business woman she had seemed when she drove up to the Durlseys'. Her hair was in what Petunia must have meant when she said 'ridiculous hairstyle', twin buns on her head along with incredibly long, streaming ribbons of golden hair. She was also wearing a white robe of some sort. It definitely looked cooler than the black-pinstripe suit, and she confirmed this by the relieved look that she shot towards him, while stepping out into the sun, the calf-length cotton robe blowing about her long legs.

"Thanks," She said, and she did look thankful.

Harry made the proper noise in response, and they both climbed in the car, taking off. There was minimal conversation, until Usagi asked if she could turn on the radio. He said yes, so she switched it onto a classical station. She didn't seem like the person who would listen to classical music, in fact, in all her quirkiness, he could see her rocking out with an air guitar. In fact, sometimes she seemed so much like Dumbledore that he invisioned the Headmaster perched behind her, wearing sunglasses and banging on a full set of drums.

"Oooh, Haydn's number 85!" She exclaimed happily and turned it up. "I love this. Okay, thinking, thinking… Yes, this is the Allegretto part, Romance section…"

Harry let her in peace with the symphony, which was sounding statefully from the speakers, and put his seat back. He felt like sleeping, and within a few minutes, Usagi and her ramblings about the second violins seemed very far away…

"Harry… Wake-up, please… Or I'll stick a newt down your shirt!"

Harry Potter opened one eye and scowled slightly at Usagi Tsukino, who was shaking his shoulder lightly. "Yeah, no thank you."

She only giggled, and opened the door. "We're here."

Harry nodded, and unbuckled himself, feeling rested. He watched her take out his trunk, and got out to help, opening the cage to let Hedwig out. She hooted gratefully, taking flight.

"So, this is it?" Usagi shut to door to the boot, and wrinkled her nose. "Suburbia paradise, huh?"

Harry's reply was drowned out as a clunky car roared past them, the radio on full-blast, the artist rapping about what he was going to do a hoe, but before Harry could find out his intentions, the car was out of sight, the sound fading away behind it. He could see, from this experience, what she meant.

"Bach is better!" She had called out after the car.

"I agree completely," came a pleasant voice, and Harry and Usagi turned to see Professor Dumbledore leaning against the car. "Nice ride," he said to Usagi. "I gave your recommendations to the Ministry. Fudge let me deal with it, because, as you expected, he was thoroughly smashed."

Usagi rolled her eyes and made a gagging noise. Harry silently echoed her sentiments.

"Well, let's go in. Of course, if we can still use it for the headquarters." Here, Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Sirius left everything to you, Harry."

"Yeah, you can have it, absolutely," Harry replied. "It's—it's what he would have wanted, what I want."

Dumbledore smiled faintly, and clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Thank you, Harry. The Order is very grateful. I'm happy to see you again. I take it you've met Usagi…?"

"Yes."

"Handful, isn't she? Regardless, I'd appreciate you not mentioning her prescence until I have a chance to do so to all of the Order."

Harry thought this was odd, but he agreed. With that, they all entered the house, Harry and Dumbledore first. No one was else was inside, so Dumbledore motioned to Usagi and she slipped in as well.

"Harry!" Someone squealed, and he turned to see Hermione running down the stairs, a look of joy on her face. "We didn't expect—I can't believe—I was so worried about—I'm so glad you're here!" She enveloped him in an oxygen-supply-destroying hug, and then pulled away. "Who are you?" She asked, turning towards Usagi.

"Is someone there?" Came Mrs. Weasley's voice.

Dumbledore shot Usagi a sharp look. "Parlor," he said.

How the heck am I supposed to know where that is? She wondered to herself, but rushed forward and grabbed the corroded handles on a set of double-doors that were peeling black paint. She yanked them opening with a tremendous groan from the wood, and then hurried into the dim room, closing them behind her.

"It's us, Molly," Came Dumbledore's voice through the wood. Outside, Mrs. Weasley had materialized in the foyer, drying her hands on a towel.

"Dumbledore! And Harry!" With a cry, she squeezed him ferociously. Harry was sure he was going to have bruises the next morning. "We didn't expect you here so soon! But nevertheless, I'm very pleased to see you!" She gave him another hug.

"I thought it better for all of us," Dumbledore told her, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and saving him from suffocation. "But we do need to keep quiet," he mentioned the portrait of Sirius' mother, "and go on with the meeting."

Behind the doors, Usagi silently thanked him for recognizing that she was getting anxious to meet everyone else.

"Of course," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Also," Dumbledore continued, "please fetch messrs. Fred, George, and Ron Wealsey, along with their sister. This really is a meeting that everyone should be in on."

"Of course," Mrs. Wealsey responded again, sounding surprised. She padded upstairs, and returned down the steps with her family. Dumbledore, motioned Harry and Hermione to come along. Harry was glad that he was going to see an Order meeting, and whispered to Hermione about not mentioning Usagi.

They shuffled down the staircase and into the basement kitchen area, where the room was stuffed with Order members.

"Harry!" Some of them exclaimed, including Hagrid. Harry nodded at them all, and saw Professor Snape somewhere to the right of the room, following him with his glittering eyes, looking displeased at having to Harry so soon after the term had ended. He looked away, and gave Dumbledore his attention as the man attempted to call to meeting into Order.

Swish, swish. Swish, swish.

Severus Snape frowned slightly, and stilled the nervous movement of his foot. Kicking his cloak around would only serve to make him look ridiculous to the other members of the Order, who, judging by the expressions on their faces, were just as anxious as he.

Why had Dumbledore called this meeting? If it were anything imperative with the Dark Lord, than he was sure that he would be the first to know about it. Unless, of course, the Dark Lord had deciphered that he was working for the Order istead of against it, as Dumbledore's double-agent instead of his. This seemed unlikely, for if he was found a traitor, he'd be killed on the spot, not allowed to return in safety. Perhaps it was on that bit of mail he had forwarded to the given address. It was sloppily addressed, showing that someone might have been in a hurry. Still, his curiosity was not easy to placate.

And what was Tonks so worked up about? She and that Arthur Weasley came in belatedly, and had taken their seats. Tonks was unusually bouncy. Perhaps she had received some good news, but this was an emergency meeting. Did the word tack have any meaning for her? He found her annoying a good deal of the time, but now she was really grating on his nerves. One look at her expression, and you could expect her to break out in song, the lyrics consisting of 'I know something you don't know'.

There was a slight click, and Severus turned to face the doorway. The Head master entered, and ushered in the Weasley twins, their younger brother and sister, Granger and Harry Potter himself. He sneered. Just what he wanted to see, Potter. Couldn't he be granted at least a few more days of relief before having to deal with that insufferable brat? The teenagers took their seats, and Dumbledore approached the front of the room, apparently ready to start the meeting. Unconsciously, he sat up a bit straighter in his chair, turning his full attention to the older wizard.

The mindless chatter of the other members quickly stilled. They were eager to hear what Dumbledore had to say as well.

Dumbledore raised his hands for silence, and was quickly accommodated.

"Now, I am sure that all of you are quite interested in what this meeting is about—"

Now, that's an understatement, Severus thought.

"—So I will tell you thus. We have some very good news and some very bad news. The very bad news is that Voldemort had attacked and overran Azkaban prison, freeing our captures of three days ago. Now, your next question will probably be what we are doing about it. The answer is nothing. We are needed in other areas; and there are other places where prisoners may be held. Voldemort can have Azkaban, because we do not want to lose the foothold we've gained in other areas by relocating our assets to deal with Voldemort there."

Severus scowled. What a waste of time! So, that was it? Easy to figure out. He rather agreed with the headmaster, but really, did something like this need everyone in the Order to come to the meeting? Couldn't they find out about it in the evening edition of the Prophet if they weren't going to do anything about it? And for the rest, good news, bah! He had to check up on OWL results for his dismally under talented students, start compiling grades, and compile several important potions. He was wasting this precious time for expected and good news? No news was good news, or so the saying went. He made a mental note to himself to remind the whimsical Headmaster of that.

"Some of you know that this very morning, I went into muggle London, to gather intelligence from an unnamed woman. For those who didn't, you have been told. This intelligence was very profitable."

Get on with it, Severus found himself thinking, and then turned to reprimand his impatience. The intelligence, if Dumbledore decided to divulge it, could be important and useful.

"Now, to move onto a different point, most, if not all of you, remember the MIAs from the old Order—"

Usagi, Severus found himself thinking, and immediately felt his heart sink. The woman who died while saving him. If she could see me now, she'd be so proud… His fist clenched, fingernails biting into the skin. He didn't deserve her pride. He let her down; he had joined Voldemort. And she gave her life so that he, a worthless Death Eater without morality could get away safely. He blinked back the tears that always seemed to find a way to come up at her name. Why? Why did Dumbledore have to mention the MIAs? Every time someone said that, he felt himself getting emotional about Usagi. It was harder to ignore the guilt when the subject of it was brought up.

Severus found the wizard looking at him with his probing blue eyes, and he moved his gaze shiftily, not willing to let anyone, much less Dumbledore, know that he was feeling anything but a sense of annoyance and urgency.

"—This morning, the intelligence that I received was that of good tidings. One of these MIAs is alive and well in London, waiting for a chance to join us again in the fight against Voldemort's forces."

No one in the room flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. They had all gotten used to Dumbledore using it, even if they did not use it themselves.

But, for the MIA who was alive, Severus already knew that it wasn't Usagi. He didn't allow himself to get his hopes up. After all, hadn't she been bleeding something awful when he left her? Hadn't she given him her energy to transport him? Weren't there ten Death Eaters, or a similarly large number? His fist clenched harder. Don't think about it, he told himself, turn it off…

But unlike his usual emotions, the ones that cropped up with Usagi weren't so easy to dismiss. Usagi herself was never one to take excuses, or to shirk from her problems or emotions, and so was his curse, to have his memories and feelings of her stick to him in a similar way.

"I know that this will be a great shock to some of you. It will be hard to believe, for we have had good intelligence that most of our MIAs are probably dead. I will tell you the name of this MIA. Her name is Usagi Tsukino."

Severus' heart seized immediately, denying the possibility. He reacted without thinking, the emotions that had been compelled at the thought of Usagi had roared into action, pushing past his logic.

"NO!" He found himself crying hoarsely, tears coursing down his cheeks. He barely realized that he was on his feet, his chair several yards away from him, fallen from his abrupt movement.

There was an unsettling silence in the room, broken only by his gasping, heaving breaths. Everyone else seemed to be holding theirs, looking at him with surprise and bewilderment.

"Severus—" Dumbledore was the first to react.

"NO!" Severus overrode him. "It's-it's not possible!"

"Sever—"

"I WAS THERE!" He screamed at the wizard. "I WAS THE LAST TO SEE HER! TARKUS, HE TORE HER UP! SHE WAS GUSHING BLOOD, AND THERE AT LEAST TEN OTHER COMING FOR US! IT'S NOT POSSIBLE! SHE CAN'T BE ALIVE!"

With a furious, desperate noise, he physically shirked from the sympathetic eyes of Dumbledore, wiping the mess of moisture from his face, the emotions overcoming him, not giving him a chance to be embarrassed at his behavior. Images flashed through his mind. Usagi, at their graduation, all smiles and laughter, Usagi, clutching his shoulder, giving him a dire warning about Voldemort, a warning that he ignored; Usagi, pale from blood loss, promising to return alive. He was tempted to laugh at this memory, almost hysterical. That was a promise that she never kept. Bitterness invaded his heart. The most important promise that she ever made, and she broke it. Immediately, the balloon of bitter feelings deflated as fast as they had come into being. Usagi had given her life for him. She made a promise that she knew she couldn't keep, because she knew that it was the only way that she would get him to leave. She was a good friend to the very end. And what was he? Betraying his best friend for a fellowship with the Dark Lord, and then leaving her in her hour of need, which was, coincidentally his own as well. And now, he was soiling her memory, feeling anger towards her, when she had been nothing but loyal to him; while he was being so angry at her unselflessness. Severus snorted. The story of my life.

"It is, indeed, Usagi, Severus, unless you doubt your own veritaserum. I will go get her."

Dumbledore opened the door and left. Slowly, people started chattering, expressing shock, while Mr. Wealsey, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt beamed knowingly.

"Woah, Snape just went off his rocker," George whispered, and Harry was inclined to agree. He had never seen Snape like this, his shoulders heaving with emotion, a twisted look of unidentified feelings playing over his face.

"He knew her? That girl?" Hermione asked no one in particular.

"Hey, Harry, is Snape crying?"

Harry looked towards him again, and saw the odd wetness to his cheeks. It seemed so odd to him that someone like Snape would know Usagi. They were like polar opposites.

"Just who is she, really?" Hermione was saying, again asking no one other than thin air. "And why's she so important? And what happened?" She paused and then repeated the last question. "What happened?"

"That's what everyone wants to know, lass," growled Moody from behind her. "Everyone wants to know how the hell Usagi Tsukino is still alive."

"We're ready for you now." Dumbledore was back, waiting at the door the parlor, with it's serpent fixtures and dreary, antiquated vestiges of a dark and deluded era. A fitting place for a bit of a time warp, really.

Even though Usagi had waited for years for this moment, her knees suddenly felt weak. She was really going to see them all—Severus and Mad-Eye and Professor McGonagall and Remus and… She was crying already! She didn't how she was going to walk into the room, since she could barely open to doors back out to the hallway, so Dumbledore did it for her.

"They're ready?" It came out like a squeak.

Dumbledore smiled. "Aren't you?"

Usagi gasped a bit, and took in several gulps of air. "Me?" She said faintly. "Of course I'm ready… Why wouldn't I be ready? I'm so ready for this, I'm so… Oh my God, oh my God…!"

"Breathe!" Dumbledore instructed her, looking slightly alarmed. "The last thing I want to experience is another one of your wailing sessions. Don't get me wrong, Usagi, I've missed you, but not your decibel levels."

Usagi didn't have the spirit or time to be insulted; Dumbledore propelled her forward down the steps. This definitely looks like a Black house, she thought to herself, noticing the dark furnishings and color palate. This observation was soon overtaken by the Oh my God, oh my God, I love them so much, I'm so excited, and I think I'm dying from anticipation…

Time seemed to slow down as she entered through the doorway, and watched several Order members rise from their seats, their mouths dangling open, a mixture of surprise and joy showing on their faces. She could identify each one—there was Mad-Eye Alastor Moody, right there, grinning at her (what happened to his nose?), and Minerva McGonagall, pursing her lips together into a tight-lipped smile that split half her face open with joy, and then there was Remus Lupin, with some grey in his hair, looking tired, and pained, and so very, very triumphant, so happy that it made her heart thump up in her throat…

And then there was Severus Snape. He was in the front of the group, and she couldn't quite read his expression. When she turned her eyes on him, it felt like the rest of the room came to a standstill. Even his black eyes, which so often glittered, were unusually bright. He was older, she could see, but still the same Severus she knew; he still stood the same way and still had that raven hair that fell to his chin. Suddenly, with his face in her vision, she knew, finally, truly, that she was home, really home, and that her best friend, her dearest, best friend was there… There to talk to, to hug again, to tease and to care about… How she had missed him! There, in that great silence, that large chasm that seemed between them even as they locked glances, the pain of her absence appeared more striking than ever, the fact at she had missed him, worried about him so terribly struck her with increasing acuteness. She drew an agonizing breath as neither of them moved. Finally, she couldn't hold out anymore. "Oh, Severus," she said thickly, feeling her tears rise up to choke her. "Severus…"

He couldn't help but inhale sharply as the sound of her voice, melodious and full of emotion echoed across the room, calling him. The sound matched the memories that had thundered around his skull when Dumbledore mentioned her name. Immediately, he found that he couldn't seem to find either the logic of strength of spirit to deny that this vivid woman before him was not Usagi Tsukino. Who had ever looked at him, talked to him the way she did? "It's you…," he said slowly, carefully. And then, with that verbal acknowledgement, the guilt that he had hidden within himself for so long sprung upon his psyche and overwhelmed him.

And then he did something that Usagi did not expect. At first it seemed that he had lost his footing, but he was walking towards her, his knees bent and his shoulders stooped. His head was bowed, so that all she saw was the shiny crown of his head, so neither his eyes nor his expression was visible to her. Before she could say his name again in questioning, he had laid his hands on her arms and pulled her closer to him. Almost whispering in his self-contempt, he continued to not meet her gaze, withholding a moment of silence before he began to speak.

"Usagi, forgive me…"

Usagi was completely nonplussed at this greeting. "Why, whatever for?" She inquired, completely surprised and bewildered. She gripped his forearms in return, trying to steer his body upwards so that he'd look her in the eyes.

"For… for everything. For leaving you there…"

"That!" Usagi exclaimed, brushing it away. "There's nothing to forgive for that! I asked you to go, I wanted you to—and anyway, if you didn't, I would have ordered you to go and you wouldn't have had a choice."

"Ordered me?" Forgetting himself, he finally looked up at her.

The slightest appearance of a smirk decorated the corner of her mouth as she smiled down at him. "Auror's privilege, Severus," she told him as Moody sniggered in the background.

"And anyway," she continued on lest he be offended, "I should apologize as well. I'm sorry that I took so long to come back to all of you, that I worried you so much… But I'm here. I kept my promise."

"It really is you," he said almost in wonderment.

"Yes," Usagi replied. "It really is me." She smiled and they both straightened their posture. She let go of his arm, and he of hers. She knew that when they spoke in private that there'd be a hug waiting for her (or, rather, she would pounce on him and deprive him of his oxygen supply until he did hug her back), but she wouldn't abuse his reputation as the unfeeling cynical type any further in front of the Order—well, at least not at the moment. There were other people to greet now.

Severus stepped aside and behind him Remus had materialized. "Oh, Remus!" She cried, not being able to control her tears any longer. When it came to crying, she never did have much self-control. "How are you?"

Remus stepped forward and enveloped her in a hug, embracing her so thoroughly that she was forced to balance on her tiptoes from the height difference. His greeting was so fierce that it felt like he was clinging to her like he had found a link to… To the past, she realized. She was the last Gryffindor of his class left. James, Lily, and Sirius were all gone, and Pettigrew was a bloody traitor. She was therefore a reminder of better times; of comradery.

He was laughing, now. "How am I? How are you, Usagi, that's what we've all been wondering!"

She blushed; now it seemed like a stupid question. "No, no, I really want to know, I really do."

Lupin only laughed at her more. He patted her left odango. "Of course you do. You're Usagi Tsukino."

Oh, she really had missed him! Usagi beamed back before turning to Mad-Eye, who was waiting his turn. She wasn't sure how he wanted to be greeted, when he raised his staff. "Everyone here owes me a lot of galleons!" He declared, then lowered the staff and shook it at Usagi. "Yes, I bet 16 years ago that it would take more than 10 pussy-wussy sissy-la-la Death Eaters to take out you, girl! So now I am a rich man!" He patted her on the back, his way of saying that he was glad she was there.

"Honestly, no one owes you anything! How could we ever bet on something so morbid?"

Usagi grinned in spite of her tears. She'd know that voice anywhere—it was the cutting tones of none other than Professor McGonagall, her former head of house.

"Professor," Usagi began, but she was cut off.

"Don't address me like that! I'm your friend, not your professor anymore, Usagi. We're practically family!"

With that, they embraced. It was true, Usagi thought, what McGonagall had said. They really were like family.

Usagi made her way to Hagrid, who was crying tears the size of goblets. She then continued to greet other people in the order, sharing tears, hugs, and memories. When she had finished the round, she felt a slight touch at her elbow, and turned to face Severus.

"Where were you, Usagi?" He asked.

There was a chorus of "yes, where?"s from various Order members. Usagi took a seat at one of the large wooden benches. "Well," she said, "It's a rather long story, and I've already told it once today so I'd rather not repeat it right now."

"What!" Snape looked indignant. "What do you mean, you don't feel like telling it? We've waited for years to hear what happened to you—we don't want to wait another night! That's that most pathetic excuse I've ever heard—just as pathetic as your potions skills and ability, or lack thereof, to cook." He finished off this insult with a sneer.

Back in the corner, the Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchanged looks. This was the Snape they were familiar with. He had seemed friendly with Usagi for a moment there, now he was insulting her. Back to normal.

Usagi raised a perfectly formed blonde eyebrow at his comment. "You are absolutely right, it is an incredibly pathetic excuse, nearly as pathetic as your social skills."

Severus sat down beside her. "Touché."

She gave him her most innocent smile. "And, anyway, my incredibly pathetic excuses, potions and cooking skills are all part the greater talent that I possess; an area where I am the best in the world!"

It was Snape's turn to raise an eyebrow. "And that would be…?"

Usagi smiled at him happily. "The amazing ability to drive you completely, and utterly insane."

Severus snickered. "Oh, yes, you've always been able to accomplish that very well for such a cheeky gryffindor."

Her expression softening, Usagi smiled at him again. He noticed how it gave a quiet light to her eyes that wasn't there before. They flashed at him merrily from beneath her gold-tinted fringe, sparkling with azure glints, like two jewels set inside her porcelain skin. He had forgotten the power of her smiles; one like this could lighten the room, and pass onto him a sense of peace in the most chaotic situations. A smile delivered in anger or displeasure would send chills dancing up his spine. He only had these smiles given to him twice in his life, and he considered both situations the most trying experiences of his life.

Usagi reached out and gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. She then stood up on the wooden bench, and put her index and middle fingers in her mouth, giving a shrill whistle. This quieted the chattering Order members, who looked up at her.

"I do have a question to ask, you know, on business."

"So ask it!" Someone called out, and Usagi laughed.

"All right. Raise your hand if you've been approached about watching certain people in the Order for Dumbledore."

Looking confused, three people raised their hands.

Usagi turned on the bench to face Dumbledore, who looked troubled. "And how many people have you actually had approached to do this?"

"None," he replied quietly, and it took all of Usagi's willpower not to put her head in her hands and sigh with frustration.

"So we have three false-flag agents here?" She said loudly. "Haven't, I mean, hasn't this been talked about?" She shook her head. "Nevermind, I guess not."

"So we'll talk about it now," Dumbledore said, clearly his throat. "Nobody has been approached for information, so you should all remember, if someone does approach you in my name, they are not coming from me."

"Well, you might not want to say that," Usagi told him, and he looked up at her in confusion. "We might need to do that someday—if we suspect a mole, and God I hope that day never comes. We should develop a password of sorts. Something random."

Dumbledore nodded. "All right, the passphrase is 'north the phoenix flies'. Can everyone remember that?"

"An' what should we do if it they ain't got the password?" Hagrid asked.

"Kill them," Usagi replied, and several people gasped. "I know it's morbid, a terrible thought, but they're a liability! They're obviously fishing for information; if they can't get it that way, they'll get it another way, and it won't be as pleasant."

Dumbledore sighed. "She's right," he said shortly. "As horrible as it is, if such a situation occurs it is the thing that must be done. And now, if those who raised their hands could follow me. You too," he told Usagi, and she jumped off the bench. Snape got up much more slowly.

"I think I need a pot of tea," Dumbledore said. He looked disturbed that there had been information leaks in the Order.

"Okay," Usagi responded cheerfully. A moment later, a teapot floated out of the kitchen, along with six teacups and a tray. Usagi grasped the handle of the teapot, and held her palm out flat as the tray settled itself on it, and the teacups on the tray.

"Telekinetic show-off," Severus commented, poking her in the back as they walked out of the room.

She grinned at him, flashing her teeth almost threateningly. "Never poke the one who holds a pot of scalding hot tea," She told him sagaciously. "Remember that."

"Good advice," He replied, and took the tray of teacups from her.

Usagi was about to thank him when he continued. "It would be disasterous if you were to klutz out like you so often do."

"You are so mean to me!" She cried, and swatted him on the shoulder.

"It's no more than you deserve, tormenting me all these years, missing you," He retorted softly, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

She gasped slightly, looking up at him, her blue eyes filling with tears. "You really mean that?"

"Don't cry," he said quickly. "You know I hate it when you cry."

Usagi, however, was too busy feeling touched to worry about such trivial things as not crying. Severus had never been one for verbal or physical signs of affection, so she had learned to take his teasing sarcastic remarks as such, and his fierce protectiveness of her at school for his ways of displaying tender feeling—as if he'd ever admit to that. So to have him say it out loud and with his body language let her know that he really did her miss, and she was overcome that she'd mean so much to… anybody.

"Oh, Severus," She said, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her head in his chest so that her voice was muffled. "You have no idea—no plausible idea—of how much that means to me!"

Instead of finding the contact unpleasant, Severus found himself patting her on the back rather naturally, feeling satified and wondering if he should do this touching thing more often.

"Come on, lovebirds!" Called Order member Deanna Ash from the top of stairwell, and Usagi and Severus leapt apart faster than a strike of lightning, standing on opposite sides of the stone step and making coughing and "ahem" noises.

They stayed at least three feet away from each as they finished climbing the steps, and raised voices echoed down the hallway. Words filtered through, venemous in origin.

"…I am prepared to die for my Lord…" Was spat scathingly, the echoes filled with menace and a hint of fear. Usagi glanced confusedly at Severus for a moment and before she could blink her wand was in her hand. Drawing it had been so automatic from Auror training years back that she didn't even have to think about it now.

"Your loyalty was sworn to the Order," Dumbledore's voice thundered through, arresting into it's icy tone, crystalline in clarity. "And bonded by magic. Unless you are possessed—"

Usagi rounded the corner that moment, and the frozen figures of the Order members in question were juxtaposed around the room, with Dumbledore and his white beard and glittering dangerous eyes in stark relief to the black and dusty surroundings. Martha, the Order member that he had been interrogating was transformed from moments ago, nearly down on all fours, her face paler, her pupils in her eyes split like a cat's instead of a regular human. Spittle was foaming from her mouth, and now that Dumbledore mentioned it, she did look possessed.

Martha's jaw elongated, and her canines extended past what was human. Her eyes rolling up so only the whites showed, she hissed long and hard.

"It's almost sundown," Severus remarked. It was such a normal thing to say that at first it was disarming. But Dumbledore caught on quicker than any of them.

"Indeed. What we have here is a newly awakened vampire; with a reformat of its identity—"

"—crossed over by a Master vamp who is loyal to Voldemort," Usagi finished for them, after Dumbledore had figured out what the creature hyperventilating before them was.

"Oh bugger," Deanna deadpanned from the corner, her wand out and the tip wavering slightly in the air.

As Usagi adjusted into a defensive position she thought that 'oh bugger' was precisely right.