Forever In Withdrawal

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In a way, we all have time machines. Those that take us backward are memories. Those that take us forward are dreams.

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December 1st, 1996

A sleepy Hermione Granger was rubbing her eyes with tiredness. It was nearly 10:30 and the last thing she wanted to be doing was an extra credit essay, but she had already promised the teacher that she'd get it done by tomorrow...
She smacked her forehead as a sudden unwelcome thought struck her head like a hammer. Duh, it said, it's not due until December 3rd, and it's the first.
Packing up her things, she remembered what else was to happen on the third. Professor McGonagall had pulled her aside after lunch and informed her, because she was the Head Girl, the first sixth year to be one in quite a few years.
An exchange student from The Salem Witches' Institute was going to come to Hogwarts for her last year of schooling. Her family had wanted her to come here to England instead of staying abroad for safety reasons.
And in these dark times, she understood them completely.
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December the 2nd, 1996

Ananda Black studied her face in her favorite possession before she packed it; a fairly small mirror, with stars, moons, and the sun carved into it. Though most people found it unattractive, the silver no longer shone as it did once, and it didn't even talk to you like most magical mirrors did, Ananda loved it. When she stared into it, she could imagine it was her mother's face staring back at her.
But the face in the mirror was her own. Most girls at her age were always looking at themselves, but this seventeen year old was not like most girls. Instead of blue or brown or green eyes, golden colored eyes stared back at her from behind thick lashes. Very dark hair and eyebrows that were thin and tilting upward and medium dark skin were normal, and Ananda was thankful for that. The less people knew about her heritage, the better.
As she finished packing and threw on some PJ's, she looked up at the moon. This time tomorrow she thought, smiling wistfully, I'll be looking up at that moon from Hogwarts.
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Ananda's dream, December the 3rd, 1996

"Can I come in?"
A muffled something came from the other side of the door, and assuming it was a yes, Sirius stepped into his best friend's home.
James was sipping tea and reading a book titled 'Protection Wards: You'll Never Know When You'll Need Them.'
"Hey Padfoot," said James, putting down the book and tea. " What's up?"
"The sky." replied Sirius, not amused or showing emotion.
"Okay, what's the matter?" he questioned, throwing up his hands. "Your never this serious, Sirius."
Twisting a small piece of paper in his hands, he looked nervously at his best friend for the moment. Taking a deep breath, he began.
"She's pregnant-"
He stopped short, because the pressure of James' hands on the mug had shattered it at that moment, sending tea everywhere.
"WHAT?!"
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December the 3rd, 1996

Ananda jerked awake, drenched in her own sweat, and looked around wildly in order to get her bearings. Her one and only friend, Bobby Wislowski, was looking at her with his creepy bright blue eyes like she had gotten up and done the hokey-poky in her sleep.
Ananda, on the other hand, felt like she had run a marathon through time and finished first with a large refreshing pool of pissed alligators awaiting her.
"Damn," she commented, massaging her nose bridge with her thumb and four finger. She knew she had dreamt, but her dreams weren't like other peoples dreams. There was always a voice, telling her things she'd rather not hear. They were memories of someone else. And it was never very pleasant.
"Not to sound stupid, but what happened?"
"You tell me," Bobby half shouted at his best friend as if as desperate for answers as she was. "Here's the time line; we took off, you fell asleep, I fell asleep, I woke up, cause you're screaming, you wake up."
Her 14 carrot gold eyes widened as she processed this new information. How much had he heard? What had she said? Mentally she was hitting herself over and over, punishing herself for a mistake as her mother had done to her as a child.
She asked the question as if she was a skater testing her wait on thin ice, the possibility of it breaking any moment. "What was I screaming?" she asked softly.
He frowned, his blue eyes crinkling as his brows met. " Some Spanish stuff like ' Salga de la cabeza'. What's that mean, anyhow?
"Salga de la cabeza," she muttered, "means 'get out of my head' in Spanish. How strange,"
Bobby shrugged. How wonderful, she thought, how wonderful it must be to be Bobby. To have pleasant dreams, to walk the streets of a wizard town and not be spat upon because of whose child you are, to be considered a waste or space, living on a hope of death...
She gave herself a mental shake. Self-pity never gets you anywhere, her mother used to say. Looking out the window, her eyes darted from the sapphire sky above to the sea of clouds below to the orange fireball hovering in the distance. Nothing but a flying car could give you this view. Some bloke in England invented them: got in loads of trouble at first. Then the what-do-ya-call-it, Ministry of Magic made the practice legal. Now he's rolling in money. Helps that he's minister of Magic, too.
Now back to the manner at hand... One question might just finalize the nightmare matter.
"How was I sleeping?"
"Pardon?" said Bobby, jerking out of deep thought.
Was the boy paying attention at all?
"In what position was I sleeping?" she repeated with patience few have.
"Oh." He looked thoughtful for a moment, as if trying to dig deep in his mind to find out what the question asked. He looks so cute, her mind thought, when he's thinking. Look at him, boyish and blue eyed and blond, like a doll. She wanted to preserve this mental picture, because this might be the last time she got the chance.
His voice jerked her out of her train of thought. "You were slumped against the window, looking as if you're the Coyote in a cartoon, after trying to use Acme bombs to kill roadrunner..."
He trailed off, remembering that she had never seen a cartoon. She had a feeling the look on her face was priceless. It pays to be Muggle-born sometimes.
"Er, sorry. What I was getting at was that you looked really bad. Anyhow, you had your left hand on your neck, if that is important. Hope that helps."
She smiled at him as he went back to staring out the window. Thanks, Bobby. I appreciate you more than you think.
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December the 3rd, 1996

Sirius Black. A name not unknown to all the prefects and Head Boy and Girl. A name not unknown to the teachers or students inside the castle, either.
It also happened to be the name of the great black dog sitting near the old gamekeeper's hut.
Even though his name had been cleared by the new Minister of Magic the previous year, not everyone had agreed with this decision. Even though most wizards on the street thought him innocent, his face was still unwelcome.
Now the great black dog turned his black face toward the Honda's graceful landing on the small concrete blotch staining the pearl white snow. From the air, Sirius thought, it would look like the colors of the story Snow White. The black of the patch, the blood red of the car, and the snow all seemed to fit.
But, said another voice, shouting over the wistful one in his mind, not dimmed at all by the fact that he was in the form of a canine, this is not a fairy tale my mother used to read to me when I was small. In real life no one comes to you rescue. Boy, do I know it.
And now a tall figure, almost a woman, but not quite, stepped out of the faithful red Honda. She was a woman in all respects, really, and she'd gone through everything a woman had and more. She'd had things done to her no woman should, things not even the wonderful Harry Potter had gone through. Harry was born on purpose. Harry wasn't a mistake. Ananda wasn't supposed to happen.
But somehow, even though Maira and Sirius had decided that they wouldn't have a child, and took all the necessary precautions, both magical and Muggle, she had gotten pregnant...
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December the 3rd, 1996

"Every guest in this Hall will be welcomed back here anytime, should they wish to come"
Those words seemed to echo in his mind, as if just to cause him more mock misery. Those words were the reason I freezing my arse of out here, thought Draco bitterly. If my father knew what I was subjected to, just because I'm dubbed vice Head Boy-
Ahem, said stronger, more realistic voice, dear old father is probably somewhere with old Voldie having strong alcoholic drinks, not giving a damn to his poor freezing boy. When has my health ever stopped him from having a good time? Never. As long as he's still got someone to tease the Mudbloods and half-breeds at Hogwarts, no worries.
After the rise of the Dark Lord, refugees from different schools that were being taken over had started flooding into the school. They'd gotten them from Europe, Asia, and Africa so far,and today was the first 'damn yank'.
The war had had other effects on the school as well. Gone were the Hogsmeade trips. Gone were the Quidditch games. Gone was Hagrid, and with him Care of Magical Creatures classes. Gone was Professor Snape, and hello Fleur Delacour as a Potions teacher.
This train of thought might have gone on for quite some time if Ananda hadn't gotten out of the car, causing Draco's jaw to drop.
The affect Ananda had on him was unique from the other boys present. They all did a double take; most likely from the beauty that seemed very similar to that of a veela. Draco didn't blame them. She was the opposite of a veela, but had the same powerful beauty. Where veelas had light skin and hair, she had cocoa. No one could see her eyes, because they were hidden by mirror-like sunglasses, never mind that it was a dark day. But also like the veela, there was a sense of forbidding, and more than a whiff of Dark Magic.
Draco saw past the looks and into the girl herself. He had always had the ability to dig deep into people, to poke and prod until he found there deepest fears, or darkest desire. Hence the ability to always find the most effective and insulting hex, or simply the most hurtful insult. He could have used these powers for good, his father had once pointed out, but if he did, it would be an abuse of the demonic powers. This is what caused his jaw to drop; he had never been able to not find anything at all. No thoughts, no fears no nothing. He was not stupid enough to think that the girl had no emotions, because then she wouldn't be human. He could all most sense a dam holding up a flood of human emotions somewhere in her mind.
He watched her as she shock hands with McGonagall and then nodded to a blond boy, perhaps her best friend, who she might never see again, in a nonchalant manner of one who was seeing you in a minute.
Then something very odd indeed happened, and when Draco looked back on it, he could never figure it out. There was a voice in the back of his mind the said very clearly in a pleasant soft voice with what he could only assume was an American accent, mixed with a hint of something else: Get out of my head, Draco. I possess the same skill as you do but I was able to restrain myself from reading your mind.
He looked up in a flash. Had he been able to see past her glasses he could have seen the wink that went with the smug look on her face.
What a puzzle, thought Draco, in utter disbelief, as he followed the movement of people back into the warmth of the castle. And as father said, all puzzles have a solution, and I'll find this one if it's the last thing I do.