Author's Note: Hello to anyone who may be reading this; I really appreciate it. I just wanted to take this author's note to explain briefly what is happening. Of course, I could have been creative and actually made it a part of the story, but I didn't. Why, you might ask? Because I didn't feel like it, and because I am the one writing it, I don't have to do anything that I don't want to. Okay? Okay. :D
I'm sure that everybody has already done the whole 'Harry-has-a-sister' thing, but guess what? I'm doing it again. Ha-ha. Suck it. Except in this story, she is separated from him until Harry's second year at Hogwarts. Annabelle (Harry's sister) is raised in France with another wizarding family, but when she finds out that she has a brother, she returns to England to help Dumbledore keep an eye on him. This story that I'm writing right here is only taking place in book two (Chamber of Secrets), so there will be several sequels.
I hope that everyone thoroughly enjoys reading this story (or series) and if anyone has any thoughts or ideas about my writing, whether good or bad, I would love to hear them. I just love having reviews and constructive criticism. Anyone who might have a flame for me, feel free, I'll read those as well, just to make you feel like you've achieved something with your day.
And as always, I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would not be sitting here on a dingy couch in my cousin's mini home writing fan fiction.
Annabelle Delacour stood with her sister as they waited in line at the fireplace in the Headmistress' Office. They, along with most of the other students at Beauxbatons, were going home for the Summer Break, and Annabelle was very excited. It had been several months since she had seen her parents and younger sister, and she missed them terribly. She was especially close to her father.
"Are you ready, Belle?" Fleur asked, turning to look at her sister. "We're next."
"Very ready," Annabelle grinned. "I was ready months ago."
Fleur shook out her head of silvery blonde hair and rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you hate it here so much. I love being at school."
"I just miss Mother and Papa," she replied. "And little Gabrielle, too, of course."
"Fleur, Annabelle," called the deep voice of the Headmistress. "Are you ready to go?"
"Yes, of course, Madame Maxime," Fleur replied, shooting her winning smile at the woman.
Both girls stepped forward and took a pinch of Floo Powder from the offered bowl, and stood side-by-side in the fireplace, their full trunks standing on their ends in front of them. Annabelle and Fleur, at the same time, threw the powder to the ground and shouted, "Chateau de Delacour!"
Annabelle's stomach clenched as it was assaulted with the familiar nausea as the room spun out of sight. She closed her eyes to make sure she didn't get sick. She had been traveling by Floo Powder all of her life, but she had never gotten over the sensation of it. As the spinning began to slow, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes; she needed to be able to see which grate to get out of.
Annabelle saw the familiar kitchen of home, and stepped forward, holding her hands out in front of her; she wasn't the most graceful person in the world, and she knew that falling on her face was inevitable. As she landed on the floor, Fleur stepped lithely out of the grate beside her, laughing.
"You are the clumsiest person that I have ever met, Belle," she chuckled, holding a hand out to help her sister to her feet. "You must be adopted."
Annabelle laughed and climbed to her feet, dusting off her clothes. It was a running joke between the two girls for years, as they were nothing alike. Fleur was tall, willowy, blonde and beautiful, and Annabelle was not. She was of average height and weight, her hips a little too wide for her liking. She had ivory skin that refused to tan, and her hair was a deep, coppery auburn colour. While she was not ugly by any means, she looked nothing like either of her sisters. Fleur had deep blue eyes and delicate features, a straight nose and perfectly bow-shaped lips; Annabelle had shockingly green, almond-shaped eyes, a nose that was tilted slightly at the end, and her lips were a little too full for her face. Fleur was a perfect French lady, enjoying dancing, music and gossiping, and Annabelle liked to be outside, watching the boys from school as they played Quidditch or studying all of the wild animals that she could find.
And then, they had found out that she was, indeed, adopted. Annabelle remembered the day as though it had happened yesterday:
In her first year at school, several people made the comment of how different Annabelle was from her sister. She had known all along that they were very different, but hearing it from other people felt different; it hurt. At Christmas Break, she had gone home and told her parents what people had said, and they reluctantly told her of how they had come to find her on their doorstep one November morning when she was just a baby.
Annabelle had felt as though her world had been ripped apart, but her parents and Fleur had eased her fears.
"We still love you, Annabelle," Madame Delacour had said softly, kneeling in front of her. "We always have."
"And you are always my sister," Fleur had told her, smiling. "Now we just know why you're so much different."
Fleur's teasing had done the trick, and Annabelle smiled. She knew that her family loved her, and now she knew that they wouldn't be treating her any different.
She opened her mouth to give a smart-aleck remark, but the sound of quick steps coming down the hall stopped her. Both girls looked toward the door as their mother entered the kitchen. They smiled brightly and hurried to hug her, but stopped half-way across the room when they realized that she was not smiling at them. Instead, her eyebrows were drawn together and she looked close to tears.
"Mama?" Fleur asked, sounding nervous. "What is the matter?"
Madame Delacour ignored her eldest daughter and looked directly at Annabelle. "There is someone here to see you, ma cherie," she said, her voice tight. "He is with your father, in the library."
"Who is it, Mama?" Annabelle asked, wondering who on Earth was here to see her. She didn't have any special friends that would make a special trip just to see her.
"A man from England," Madame Delacour replied, covering her mouth with her hand. "He wishes to speak with you immediately."
Annabelle felt her mouth go dry, but she nodded. Glancing sideways at her sister, Annabelle left the kitchen and made her way to the library, on the other side of the house. As she neared the tall oak doors to the library, her heart began to hammer in her chest.
Monsieur Delacour was seated at his desk with the visitor when Annabelle entered the room. He looked up at her and smiled despite his anxiety. He stood up to greet her.
"Annabelle, my sweet!" he cried, hugging her tightly. He was a little man, barely taller than his daughter, but to Annabelle, he had always seemed like a giant. She hugged him tightly, knowing that he would keep her safe from anything. Eventually, however, he pulled away from her. "Annabelle, this is Albus Dumbledore."
Mr. Dumbledore had stood and was holding his hand out to her. Annabelle shook his hand and frowned. His face seemed familiar to her somehow, but she was sure that she had never met him before.
"Hello, Anna," he said, smiling cheerfully at her. "Or, perhaps, it is Annabelle, now?"
"Either is fine, monsieur," she replied, frowning. "I'm sorry, but have we met before?"
"Several times," he assured her. "But you shall have my forgiveness if you don't remember me; you were quite young."
"Come and sit, Annabelle," Monsieur Delacour said, walking back to the desk and pulling a chair out for her. "There is much that we need to discuss."
Annabelle walked around the desk and sat in the chair next to her father's. Mr. Dumbledore's chair was across the desk from them, and he settled himself in it comfortably. She noticed that his cheerful smile had disappeared, and he now looked rather grave. He looked at her over the tops of his half-moon spectacles for several minutes as though studying her, and then sighed.
"I am very sorry for having to come here, my dear," he said gravely. "I had originally thought to leave you here in France, but there is much that you need to know."
Annabelle frowned. "I'm listening, monsieur."
"How much do you know about your parents, Annabelle?" Dumbledore asked.
Her frown deepened and she looked at her father curiously.
"No," Dumbledore amended. "I meant your real parents."
Annabelle's frown was immediately replaced by a look of curiosity. Ever since she had found out that she had been adopted, Annabelle had been curious about her birth family, but her parents had told her that they knew nothing about them, except that they were English.
"Do you know my parents?" Annabelle asked quickly, leaning forward in her chair.
"I did," Mr. Dumbledore replied. "I'm afraid that they have been dead for ten years now."
Annabelle's heart fell. She had so been hoping that she would finally get to meet her family, but now that hope had been crushed.
"Oh," she said softly, slumping back in the chair.
"I'm afraid that this is a rather sad and surprising tale," Mr. Dumbledore said, looking back and forth between the two people on the other side of the table. "Annabelle, have you heard of a wizard named Lord Voldemort?"
Annabelle thought hard; the name seemed familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. Her father apparently did, however.
"Now what is the meaning of this?" he cried, jumping to his feet. "Listen here, Monsieur Dumbledore, even after all this time, we do not speak of the man, so you had better have a very good reason for bringing this up."
"Of course, dear man," Dumbledore assured him. "I wouldn't dare bring up the man if I had no reason to."
"I'm not quite sure who he is, monsieur," Annabelle said slowly, "but I feel like I should."
"Perhaps I should start at the beginning," Mr. Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "To help you understand.
"About twenty years ago, Lord Voldemort began gathering followers and started taking over. They were very Dark times; people didn't know who to trust. There were those that fought against him, but he killed them. Your mother and father were among those he killed. But there is more to the story than that – are you alright, Annabelle?"
Annabelle sat in the chair, pale as a ghost, as she was assaulted by memories. She remembered screaming, a high, cold voice, a snake-like face, a flash of green light, and an explosion. And she also remembered…
"Harry!" she cried, covering her mouth. "Oh mon Dieu!"
Mr. Dumbledore looked at her curiously. "You remember Harry?"
Annabelle ignored his question. "Where is he? Is he okay? What happened to him? Is he – is he alive?" She could feel her hands shaking, and tried to still them by clenching them into tight fists.
"He is perfectly fine," Mr. Dumbledore assured her, smiling gently. "The night that your parents were murdered by Lord Voldemort was the night that he was destroyed, and Harry is the reason for his disappearance. Voldemort also tried to kill Harry -" Annabelle covered her mouth with both hands and gasped "but was unable to. His curse backfired, and Voldemort was destroyed. Harry is now, currently, in attendance at Hogwarts School, and doing completely fine."
"Excuse me," Monsieur Delacour interrupted, looking confused. "But who in the Devil is Harry?"
"He's my brother." Annabelle said, looking dazed. "My little brother." Her father didn't look any less confused.
"He is the reason that I am here," Mr. Dumbledore said. "There was a bit of an incident at the end of the year involving your brother."
"What happened?" Annabelle was immediately tensed.
"Lord Voldemort somehow made his way into the school," Mr. Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. He quickly filled Annabelle and her father in on the happenings of the past year at Hogwarts. "And Harry, once again, made a narrow escape from him."
"Sweet Jesu!" Annabelle gasped. "Why would he go looking for Voldemort?"
"He did not know that it was Lord Voldemort," Mr. Dumbledore explained.
"But he still went looking for trouble!" she cried, getting angry at her brother's idiocy. "Is he a moron?"
Mr. Dumbledore smiled gently and chuckled. "Young Harry is as like his father as you are like your mother."
Annabelle shook her head.
"What has this to do with my Annabelle?" Monsieur Delacour asked.
"Annabelle, do you remember much about your parents?" Mr. Dumbledore asked her, ignoring the other man's question.
"Not much," Annabelle replied. "But I do remember my mother telling me that it was my job to take care of my brother."
The three people at the table looked sharply at the door. Madame Delacour stood there, her eyes flashing in Mr. Dumbledore's direction.
"Ah, Madame -"
"You cannot take her!" Madame Delacour cried, storming across the room to stand beside her daughter. "She is mine!"
"Is that what you wanted?" Annabelle asked, looking straight into Mr. Dumbledore's eyes. "You want me to go to Harry?"
Mr. Dumbledore looked at her over the top of his glasses for a moment before replying. "Yes. Yes, that is what I want. I have a feeling that your brother is in for a lot to trouble in the coming years, and he will need someone there to keep an eye on him."
"I said no!" Madame Delacour snapped, gripping Annabelle's shoulder painfully hard. "You are not taking my daughter. She is only fourteen."
"My intention when sending Anna here to France those ten years ago," Mr. Dumbledore said softly, "was for her to stay here and live a normal life until such a time that her brother needed her to return. But, at that point, I believed that Harry wouldn't need her for a long time. I was wrong. I think that Harry will be in much danger in the next few years, and he will need his sister there to help him."
"And you are just planning to send my daughter along to Hell with him, are you?" Monsieur Delacour was also angry; his face was flushing and his mustache was bristling. "Well, you can plan again. She is not going."
"Yes, I am."
Both Monsieur and Madame Delacour turned to look at their daughter in shock, but Mr. Dumbledore smiled down at her in approval.
"Annabelle," Monsieur Delacour started, but Annabelle held a hand up to stop him.
"No, Papa; I need to go to Harry."
"You are not leaving!" Madame Delacour cried. "We are family, and family stays together."
"Is Harry not my family?" Annabelle shouted, jumping from her chair. "Is he not my brother? Do we not have the same parents? He needs me, Mama. My baby brother needs me, and I am going to him."
Madame Delacour sank into her daughter's vacated chair, speechless. Annabelle was usually an easy girl to get along with, and did all that her parents asked. She had never before yelled at them, for anything. And, although Madame Delacour wanted nothing more than to keep her child at home in France, she knew that the girl was right; she did need to go to her brother. She covered her face with her hands and began to weep.
Annabelle looked at her father, and he nodded. With a sad smile, she stepped forward to hug her parents.
"I am sorry, Mama," she whispered. "But Harry needs me."
"I know, mon amour," she whispered back. "But I will miss you."
"I will write," she promised. "Every day, I will write to you."
"Fleur, Gabrielle!" Monsieur Delacour called loudly.
A moment later, the door to the study opened and Fleur walked into the room, holding the hand of her little sister. Both girls looked worried.
"What is it, Papa?" Fleur asked, coming to stand with her family.
"Annabelle is leaving us," Madame Delacour said bitterly. "She is going to England."
"What?" Fleur snapped her gaze to her sister, who looked away quickly. "You're leaving us?"
"I have to," Annabelle said softly. "I have a little brother, and he needs me."
"So you're just going to leave us to go to him?" the taller blonde girl snapped. "What, you find your birth family, so we are suddenly not good enough for you anymore?"
"What?" Annabelle was so shocked that her head flew up and her jaw dropped open. "No, Fleur, it's not like that!"
"I do not care!" the blonde cried. "Leave; I will not miss you."
Without another word, Fleur turned on her heel and stormed from the room. With her exit, the room fell silent. Annabelle didn't know what to say.
Mr. Dumbledore sat silently for another couple of moments until he realized that the Delacours had finished with their good byes. He stood to his feet and looked at Annabelle.
"It is time for us to go, my dear," he said gently.
Annabelle nodded and followed him out of the room without looking back at her family.
"I trust your trunk is still packed?" Mr. Dumbledore asked and, again, she nodded wordlessly. "Alright, go and get your trunk, and then we'll leave."
Annabelle walked slowly into the kitchen to retrieve her trunk, which she had left by the fireplace when she'd arrived home. She picked it up, with difficulty, and then walked back to where Mr. Dumbledore was waiting for her in the entrance hall. He pointed his wand at it, and the trunk disappeared with a pop.
"Hold onto my arm, Annabelle," Mr. Dumbledore said, holding an arm out to her. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, monsieur," she replied.
"Good." Mr. Dumbledore spun on the spot, and the two of them disappeared with another small pop.
They appeared a moment later, hundreds of miles away.