Child Of The Lion

The rain attacked the roof with renewed frenzy, the pitter-patter of raindrops on the glass roof above almost drowning out the excited chatter around her as people made their way to their respective trains; some cursing, some giggling giddily, and some fighting back tears. This sea of emotion swept over the brunette teenager, causing her to blink rapidly and join those running late in swearing colourfully; her head was pounding and her vision blurring slightly. Hastily she created powerful shields around her mind and groaned: she hadn't expected the London train station to be quite so busy at this time of night.

But she had little time to curse her bad luck as her quarry was on the move again, dragging behind him a large trunk with the initials 'HP' carved clumsily into the wood. She wondered absently how the dark-haired boy was planning on getting the trunk through the narrow door leading into the train. Her question was answered when, as the boy realised the same problem, he glanced shiftily around him and, with the smallest of gestures, shrank the trunk to the size of a matchbox.

She blinked. So he'd already progressed to wandless magic ... he'd advanced more than expected. The girl made a decision there and then: it didn't matter what Dumbledore said, the boy needed to know who ... what he was. Before it was too late and the kid did something stupid ... more stupid than usual, anyway.

The boy was moving further into the belly of the Muggle beast, his eyes downcast and his features set in a heavy scowl. She felt a pang of sympathy; he'd had to grow up much faster than anyone should have to. She considered this for a moment, before she realised the irony of giving sympathy to someone just like her, when she resented any pity spared on her. For she'd matured quickly too, subject to discrimination and prejudice merely because of her blood ... and who her father was. Or rather, as was often the case, what he was.

"Cedric!" came a cry that shattered her thoughts, louder than the rest of the commotion around her. Her head snapped around in time to see a young Muggle father grab a small toddler who had, moments ago, been balancing precariously on the edge of the station, inches away from falling on the tracks.

She watched as the distraught man hugged his child tightly and, as she looked on, saw in her peripheral vision, the boy's stricken face. 'Cedric!' the young parent had cried ... 'Cedric!'.

"Shit."

She watched on with a feeling of growing helplessness as the fifteen-year-old boy's face fell, his lower lip quivering as he bit down on it with blunt teeth, a pointless attempt to stop the approaching tears. The brunette stood in the middle of the platform, watching awkwardly as he claimed a seat in the nearly completely empty carriage; torn between comforting him or doing as asked and keeping her distance. Apparently, she noted wryly, Dumbledore had suspected that even her, with her 'impenetrable' shields, would be drawn to the boy and fail to keep the professional objectivity she had promised.

By now the guy in the funny uniform - she never could remember his title - was calling for any remaining passengers. None came and he shrugged, indicating up to the driver. The doors began to slide shut and she made a decision. She sprinted forward and hurdled a suitcase in her way before throwing herself at the door and, twisting sideways, she slid through the tight space with milliseconds to spare.

She breathed deeply and, glancing down the carriage, quickly located the mop of jet-black hair she'd come to associate with her young friend. She sighed in relief and made her way down the empty train, noting that there was only one other passenger than Harry, a blond haired man who seemed to have an unhealthy fascination with upside down newspapers. She frowned, but resolved to keep an eye on the man; there wasn't much else she could do without first making her presence known to the boy.

Finally she drew level to him and spent a few moments merely staring, taking in the strong slope of his jaw and the glistening emeralds he claimed as eyes. His lips were full and soft, his skin unblemished but for the scar shaped as a lightening bolt that zigzagged its way across the right hand side of his forehead. She winced with sympathetic pain before once more catching herself.

"Is anyone sitting here?" she asked finally, her voice softer than she could ever remember it being.

His head snapped up in surprise and he blinked, for a moment looking like a deer caught in headlights. Finally he shook his head and shifted over slightly as he glanced around the train to discover that no, he hadn't missed a sudden influx of passengers.

They sat in awkward silence for a while, each of them staring directly ahead. Occasionally they would look at each other and open their mouths as though to speak before they would snap their mouths shut.

"Are you okay?" she asked finally, indicating his tear-stained cheeks.

He gazed at her in confusion for a moment before quickly nodding his head and reaching up to brush away the tears. "I'm fine." The staring contest started up again before he managed to croak, "Who are you?"

She considered her answer for a moment, tossing her shoulder-length chocolate brown hair over her shoulders as she bit her lip. "My name's Maia."

"Just Maia?" he teased softly, jade eyes flashing in what seemed to be reluctant mirth.

She nodded firmly. "Just Maia, Mr Potter, and for the moment that's all you need to know."

"You know my name," he breathed sadly, his head slumping as he added in a disappointed whisper, "You're a witch."

Maia nodded apologetically. "Yeah. But you might take some consolation in the fact that I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to help."

Harry sat up straighter in his seat. "And, of course, I'm just supposed to just believe that, am I?"

She shrugged and Harry's gaze was drawn to the gentle slope of her shoulders which tapered down to a sleek stomach and toned arms, by-passing firm yet supple ... he shook his head sharply. "It'd be easier if you did."

"Yeah. I bet it would."

She sighed, rolling warm green eyes in exasperation. "You don't need to believe me," she said quietly. "What you need to do is listen to me. Either way, you need to know -" She cut herself off, running her hands through her thick mane of hair with a sigh.

Harry blinked, his interest piqued, despite himself. He just felt as though this girl could be trusted ... on some instinctive, primal level. "What? What do I need to know?"

She shook her head in frustration. "I can't tell you. There's this spell - " Maia cast a sharp glance at the blond man who was now openly listening to their conversation. She glared at him and he hastily went back to his paper. His upside down paper.

Maia growled at the man, her eyes narrowing as she picked up on the darkness surrounding his aura. She sniffed the air delicately and the sharp, pungent odour of the dark mark assaulted her senses.

Death Eater ...

She launched herself to her feet, stalking towards the offending wizard with measured strides and a sleek, feline grace which betrayed the power hidden in her deceptively svelte form. She stopped in front of the Death Eater who had now risen to his feet and was watching the approaching girl with amused confidence, assured that he could out-match a delicate teenage girl in combat, magical or otherwise.

He chuckled and said coolly, "Petrificus Totalus."

He said the words slowly, the required wand motion slow and collected. It gave Maia all too much time. He'd barely formed the first syllable when she launched herself into motion. Her left foot snapped up to kick the wand out of his hand even as her fist ploughed into his face. She snatched the wand out of the air as the Death Eater fell backwards, momentarily unconscious. She tossed the wand into her left hand and slammed her right foot onto his chest, keeping the fully-grown man immobilised as he came to.

The man groaned as he struggled to sit up, succeeding in making it halfway before she pushed back, causing his head to slam against the floor. "Don't you just hate it when things get violent?"

He gave her no answer and she continued on.

"There's blood, cursing, adult content, lots of death. It's really not pretty." She paused as though considering something. "And, if you don't tell me what I need to know, it's not going to get any less painful."

The blond Death Eater gasped in pain as Maia pressed down slightly and there was a loud crack. "Oops," she said with feigned innocence. "There goes a rib. You really don't have many more left, you know."

The man spat blood and saliva at her left foot and she raised a brow. "I shall not tell you anything, wolf. I shall not betray my master."

Maia raised the other brow and it joined the other at her hairline. "Oh, don't worry, you don't need to tell me anything about your master. Though where he is, what he's planning and how to kill him would be nice, if overly optimistic. What I'd love to know, however, is what you're doing here."

He snorted, a disgusting gurgling sound; the Death Eater was choking on his own blood.

"Go to Hell, bitch."

"Charming. Really." Maia sighed and, as though just remembering they had company, she glanced at Harry who had shot out of seat and was now slowly advancing on the two. "You might not want to be around for the next bit. Dumbledore'd kill me if I scarred you for life."

Harry shook his head. "Too late," he said dryly.

Maia offered a weak smile of understanding before turning back to the fallen man. She reached down and grabbed the collar of his Muggle leather jacket with one hand. She carefully removed her boot and, with a small grunt of effort, hoisted the man to his feet. Almost immediately, she slammed him into the baggage compartments above their heads, plucking him cleanly off his feet.

"Who are you?"

"The Dark Lord's loyal servant," came the almost instantaneous reply. "He who shall - "

"Didn't I tell you?" Maia snapped back, pulling him forwards and slamming back against the wall. "I'm not interested in the business of your master, snivelling coward that he is, until he directly threatens the boy's life." She jerked her head in Harry's general direction and he frowned. What did Maia mean by that? "Who are you?"

The man merely sneered and Harry grimaced as Maia kneed the Death Eater between the legs as hard as she could, a grunt of exertion signifying the effort she'd put into the blow. The blond man yelped, his eyes tearing as he gasped, gaping at Maia in disbelief. She merely smiled sweetly and re-asked the question.

"Lestrange," he choked. "Rodolphus Lestrange."

Maia blinked and for a moment her hold slackened, dropping Rodolphus Lestrange on the floor of the carriage with a loud thump. "Lestrange ..." she paled.

"But you're supposed to be in Azkaban!" Harry protested, eyes wide as he stepped backwards. He could remember Voldemort's speech to the Death Eaters after the Third Task pretty much word for word. The Lestrange's had definitely been in Azkaban. "How -?"

It was Maia who answered, slowly shaking her head as though the facts would change any moment now. "The Dementors ... they've sided with Voldemort."

Harry paled even further and opened his mouth to protest when Maia shook her head. "We've got to go. I've got to get you somewhere safe and then Dumbledore ... he'll want to know about this, if he doesn't already."

Maia was already in motion, moving away from Rodolphus Lestrange. Harry blinked. "Maia, what about -?"

"Hmm?" Maia asked distractedly before she seemed to realise what Harry was talking about. "Oh," she whipped around and, with yet another grunt, her foot slammed into Lestrange's jaw, and a sickening crack sounded. Lestrange slumped to the floor, his neck broken. "And the wolf would be my father."

She paused for a moment to consider the corpse and then, as though the dead body had just insulted her greatly, she spat at his feet and wheeled around. "Now, we need to get you somewhere ... somewhere safe," she paused, grabbing him by the shoulder as she moved past, dragging him out after her, all previous affection forgotten. "I'm figuring you don't want to go back to the Dursleys' ... the Burrow is way too obvious ... and Hogwarts is temporarily not an option," she said, ignoring his curious expression. She thought for a moment before she sighed reluctantly. "Well, you can't stay with me ... there really is only one place you can go, unfortunately."

Harry frowned, halting and ripping his shoulder away from her tight grasp. "No. You're going to tell me what's going on," he demanded, eyes flashing in determination.

"I can't," she hissed, her eyes narrowed as she glared down at him. Harry realised suddenly, with a small hint of surprise, that the girl was a good few inches taller than him. Admittedly, it wasn't a difficult task but, still, for some reason he'd had the impression she was smaller, more delicate than she had proven she was. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part that he'd finally outgrown his midget phase, more likely it was due to the funny feeling of protectiveness he was currently experiencing. "All I can tell you is that I'm a good guy." She marched towards him and grabbed his right arm.

Suddenly her voice softened and she smiled down at him. "Trust me," she requested quietly.

Harry nodded slowly and she smiled tenderly. Suddenly there was a pop and darkness before the nauseating swirling stopped and with another loud pop the duo burst out into the illuminating glow of a single lamp glaring down at them from it's roost on the building's small porch.

His head whipped around as he took in his surroundings. They were in the driveway of an ordinary looking cottage, surrounded by fields and hedges. An owl hooted and Harry sighed, remembering his own snowy owl, Hedwig, who had been sent away by the Dursleys' to some wildlife reserve up north.

"This is where I leave you," Maia said with a small smile. "But, if you ever need me over the summer, just look behind you. If I'm doing my job, I should be there."

"And at school?" Harry asked.

She gave him a genuine smile and Harry blinked, a faint red tinge covering his cheeks. "I'm not quite sure. You should be safe enough at Hogwarts ... I won't be needed. Hopefully," she added, casting Harry a pointed glance as she reached forward to rap on the door.

They waited a few seconds before the hall light flickered on. They heard someone inside fumbling with keys and Maia smiled sadly. "Wait," Harry hissed suddenly. "Whose house is -?"

He turned and found that he was alone; Maia was gone.

The door swung open and Harry ceased his frantic visual search, turning back to smile sheepishly at whoever they had just woken. Instead he found a wand stuck in his face. It wavered there for a few moments before it's owner blinked and moved further out of the door, squinting at his face and asking incredulously, "Harry?"

Harry blinked in surprise. He'd recognise that voice anywhere, had listened to it often enough during his third year. He, too, squinted at the sandy haired man who was slowly lowering the offending wand, his eyes wide with surprise. The man was wearing torn robes, repaired with squares of fabric, predominantly tweed.

"Professor Lupin?"