The Psychic Runaway

Chapter One- The Visitors

Harry felt cold.

There was no warmth anywhere- not in his bones, not in his heart, not in his soul. Nowhere. And if there was, it would flicker there for a moment, a single moment, and be drawn out so quickly that Harry couldn't be sure if it was there to begin with.

Harry felt powerless.

Something kept Harry down on his knees. The more Harry struggled to be free, the more that something (or somethings) worked to kill him, drawing out more and more of his soul by the moment.

Harry felt pain.

Someone was screaming inside his ears. It started out as a dull, muffled buzzing, but as his soul was more and more drawn out Harry's eardrums grew to feel like they were going to burst. His whole body racked with exhaustion- if he or someone else didn't do something soon to stop it, Harry was going to die. As his last moments passed, his blood already starting to freeze with the nearing touch of death, Harry happened to glance upwards. To his horror there were thousands upon thousands of dementors swirling over him, their shadows grimly falling over his soon lifeless body. He reached for his wand, but his hand fumbled and let go of it. There was a flash of light, but it was too late. Harry slumped over and lost consciousness.

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"Harry!" There was a pause. "Harry!" There was another pause. "Oh bloody hell. Harry, wake up!" Someone gave him a vicious smack to the face, instantly waking Harry up.

"Ow! What the hell?" Harry groaned. He looked around to see his fat, stupid cousin standing by the side of his bed. This invasion of Harry's personal space made Harry very irritable.

"Dudley?! You blithering pillock- why didya hit me like that?!" Harry exclaimed, his cheek (and his nerves) now throbbing.

Normally he wouldn't dare to use that kind of language around Dudley, who had by now grown about as huge as a mammoth. But lately the blistering August heat had made Harry, the Dursleys, even Little Whinging itself grow rather short-fused. Petunia, who normally didn't create too much of a scene if someone accidentally tracked in dirt, almost blew to pieces whenever someone even opened the door. Dudley began throwing fits again, although because he was no longer able to be restrained by a booster seat or a high chair, he ended up causing lots more damage. For example, one time Petunia refused to let him go see an X-rated film with his friends, and he threw such a riot that ten minutes later saw the entire neighborhood's mailboxes littered on the street. Harry was still rather sore about Sirius's passing, which was in itself cause to be malcontent. However, Vernon was the worst basket-case, for the heat made his temper increase tenfold. He literally shoved Harry off of his chair during dinner when all Harry did was ask for a napkin. When Harry was patiently waiting to use the shower one morning Vernon very rudely cut in front of him and used up the rest of the cold water. He even laughed whenever Dudley (out of boredom) won a wrestling match with Harry, the latter not even agreeing to play the "game" in the first place.

Perhaps Dudley was hoping for a game right at that moment. For instead of taking a hint and immediately leaving before Harry could throw him out of the room, Dudley provoked Harry even farther.

"You effing plonker- why did you scream like that?!" Dudley retorted with a huff, glaring over his cousin as Harry groaned and got up. "You were yelling your head off for three minutes straight- something about 'dementors' attacking you. Your face was bloody white and everything.....are you under a spell?"

"Of course not," Harry quickly responded. Dudley was the last person to talk to about this sort of thing, and Harry knew that if Dudley had gotten a different answer he would've blabbed to his parents and thus give the Dursleys more reason to call Harry strange. Besides, Harry himself couldn't be sure what happened. Could it have been a spell? Or was it some terrible dream? Harry had no way of answering this, although he made a note to himself to have a discussion with Ron and Hermione. After all, they knew more about the wizarding world than he did, even though Harry was already in his sixth year at Hogwarts.

Dudley eyed Harry suspiciously, not sure whether to believe his cousin or not. Finally, after what seemed like forever to Harry, Dudley became satisfied.

"Good," said Dudley contentedly. "Wouldn't want you to be acting up when Auntie Marge comes around tonight, would we Harry?" Grinning with satisfaction at Harry's shock (characterized by a mouth now agape and eyes now the size of tennis balls), Dudley turned around and closed the door behind him.

No sooner had Dudley exited than Harry started to howl with rage. Kicking anything that happened to be there in his way- his bed, his wardrobe, and other things that helped him relieve his stress- Harry muttered an endless streak of curses under his breath. Harry hadn't forgotten the insults that Aunt Marge slapped on him three years ago, and he was sure that the only thing that would result from this visit would be even more embittered relations between the two of them (perhaps so much so that Harry'd escape on the Knight Bus again). So after a few more stress-filled moments, Harry got out his trunk from his closet, and started to pack his things just in case.

As Harry threw this little tantrum, a large storm began brewing downstairs. It started out as a rumble, but his aunt and uncle's voices grew so loud that Harry became distracted from his own troubles and tuned into the ones developing under him.

"Petunia, I understand!" Vernon stressed. "I'll do it as soon as the news is done."

"Right, Vernon. Then you'll be telling me 'I'll do it as soon as the wrestling match is done,' and 'when the football game is done,' and 'when the gardening channel's special on the twelve kinds of roots is done'!" Petunia replied with sarcastic anger. "We need that water now."

"Petunia, please! The Prime Minister is speaking!" Vernon shushed to Petunia, who apparently didn't give a hoot about the Minister.

"Oh, so that's how it is, Vernon," Petunia said. "You think the Minister and a speech that'll be replayed on tomorrow's news is more important than your sister coming to visit tonight. Well I've had it, Vernon. That water pipe had better be fixed by the time I pick Marge up at the airport, or else you'll be sleeping out in a tent in Mrs. Figg's yard!"

"All RIGHT, Petunia," Vernon growled. "I'll DO IT. Seeing as how you've made me miss the beginning of it anyway!" With that, there were sounds of stomping, the slamming of doors, and eventually squeaks as Vernon got his tools and used a wrench to unscrew the tap.

At the time, this little incident didn't seem very important, for Harry just shrugged his shoulders (like he did after all the other catfights between his relatives) and went back to his packing. But after possibly ten minutes, in which Petunia marched out the door and left to pick up their guest in a huff, Uncle Vernon let out a yell and forced him to refocus his attention back onto the scene downstairs.

"HARRY POTTER!" Uncle Vernon screamed, making Harry jump clear to the roof. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING UP THERE?! IF YOU DON'T GET DOWN HERE THIS BLOODY INSTANT AND FIX THIS PIPE, THEN SO HELP ME I'LL WRING YOUR NECK!" The tone of voice Vernon used naturally made Harry pissed off. Why did it have to be Harry that needed to do this repair job? Vernon had hands too, didn't he? Apparently both Dudley's and Vernon's hands liked to pull fast ones, because lately all the hard jobs around the house were in one way or another handed to Harry. Not once did Dudley volunteer to do any work, or if he did Dudley did such a poor job Harry was forced to go back and do it over again. Vernon was hardly any better- many times this summer (this instance no exception) he found ways to pass off the jobs normally blocked out to him to his nephew. These memories made Harry grow irritable again, and so instead of becoming Vernon's slave yet again, Harry gave a response expressing his discontent.

"Go clean it out your bloody self!" he yelled down to Vernon. "Or did you drop so early out of primary school that you don't know what a pipe looks like?" Naturally this made Vernon roar, making Harry grin ear to ear.

"YOU THINK THAT'S FUNNY, YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING BASTARD?!" Vernon yowled furiously. "STOP GIVING ME THAT SHIT AND GET TO WORK! OR I'LL GRIND YOUR FUNNY BONE SO FINELY YOU'LL NEVER EVEN SMILE AGAIN!" Harry instantly thought of a million responses to that, such as where Vernon could put his funny bone. However, Harry instantly became sober when he remembered Petunia's threat. He had always found entertainment in Petunia blowing up on Vernon, but considering how much the heat had affected Petunia's sense of self-control, the scene might conclude with Harry having to sleep outside as well. Since there was no way Harry was willing to share a smelly camping tent with his elephant-sized uncle, Harry (rather reluctantly) thought it'd be best to go ahead and do as Vernon said. At least when Harry got out of that roachnest the Dursleys could say Harry did something nice for them (if they ever bothered to thank him for it).

Since Harry knew that the water pipe ran behind the upper part of his wall, Harry got his desk chair and put it against the wall opposite his bed. Logic led him to believe that the blockage was going to be located wherever he heard the sound of straining pipe. But as he put his ear to the wall to investigate, Harry heard not a groaning pipe like he predicted, but something that would change his life forever.

"Someone help me! Please! I'm trapped and I can't get out!" A human voice, full of pain and distress, pleaded weakly to the world. Judging from the desperation in her voice, the person trapped within the pipe didn't have much more time to live.

This discovery made Harry incredulous. There was a person trapped in the pipe?! That was not possible, except by.......magic......But Harry's mind quickly shoved that thought aside, for Harry immediately began to focus on rescuing the poor soul. "Hello in there!" Harry called out. "Can you hear me? Can you hear my voice?"

"Oh my God- someone found me!" the frantic girl cried out. "Yes, mister- I can! Please help me- I can barely breathe!"

That made Harry more urgent in his mission. "Hang on, miss- I'll get you out," Harry assured, quickly digging around for his wand. Once it was retrieved, Harry backed away from the wall and pointed the wand at the spot. "How much air do you have left?" Harry asked hurriedly.

"Not that much," the voice replied worriedly. "A minute, at the most."

Harry resisted the temptation to panic. This was no time to act stupid- there was a life on the line that needed him to focus. "Good," he assured to the girl. "Hold on to it as long as you can- I'm going to blast you out!" With that, Harry racked his brain for a spell, and quickly found one. "Relashio!" he cried, a shoot of red sparks emerging from his wand as he did so. The sparks immediately exploded upon contact with the wall. Water rushed into the room, quickly rising higher and higher until it threatened to drown Harry in his own room. At least, until Harry pointed his wand at the now gaping hole and cried "Reparo!" This made time seem to reverse itself, for the water's flow changed course and went backwards into the pipe from whence it came. After the last drop had been returned, the hole then sealed itself back up, leaving the room as it previously looked except for Harry's now soggy belongings littering the floor.

Harry had to take a few moments to breathe. He had never attempted anything like that before, and so a renewed sense of vigor and spirit (or perhaps Harry's soaking wet T-shirt) made him shiver. It felt good to have defied the Ministry's rules yet again- after all, it wasn't like he did it to be rebellious or stupid. But as quickly as the newfound vigor appeared within Harry, it disappeared without a trace, for a bunch of shouting (as well as a strange hissing) instantly began to issue from the kitchen.

"HARRY! YOU BLUNDERING IDIOT! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO NOW?!" Vernon yowled.

"I should be asking you the same thing, you twit!" Harry responded. "I did absolutely nothing to you, and yet you're acting like I robbed the Queen or something!"

"HA! ARE YOU REALLY THAT MUCH OF A WALLY?" Vernon retorted with a mixture of disbelief and impatience resounding in his voice. "COME SCREW ON THAT DAMN NUTCASE OF A TAP AND MOP UP THE KITCHEN IMMEDIATELY!" Once again Harry became irritated. Vernon couldn't even lift up a fucking wrench by himself? If Harry didn't have a sour relationship with Vernon before, he certainly had one now. He started racking his brain for a good comeback to throw at Vernon; however, the sounds of something moving behind him quickly enraptured his attention. "Oh my God! (cough cough) Now I know what a (cough cough) sewer rat feels like," a drenched figure warbled as she struggled to get to her feet. Seeing this distress made Harry forget all about his near doom with Vernon, and go over and assist the person to stand up. "Are you allright?" Harry asked with genuine concern.

"Oh yes- I'm fine. Just got a lot of water in the lungs," the girl responded, smiling weakly with gratitude.

But Harry barely heard the girl, on account of being entranced by her beauty. Although she was soaking wet, Harry could see the girl had a slim, curvy figure, nicely outlined by a pair of denim shorts. Her flawless skin, even though blue and drenched from near-death, looked so soft and velvety it almost begged to be caressed. Luscious black waves of hair kissed her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face. But not even the girl's pretty face could've compared to her eyes. One look into them, and Harry got lost in a beautiful, sparkling-blue sky. The longer he let himself slip away, the less he cared about Vernon potentially coming to kick his ass. In fact, Harry wouldn't even care if Vernon gave him the worst, as long as he could just keep looking into her eyes.......her gorgeous, blue, endlessly beautiful eyes........

Suddenly, a snap of her fingers brought Harry down to earth again. "Um, excuse me," the girl asked shyly. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Harry instantly turned red. "Sorry," he said. "I do that a lot." Harry gave her a sheepish smile, but on the inside he was kicking himself. Bloody git, his Inner Voice told him, rumbling like a shock wave from the hidden folds of his consciousness. If you want to get this girl's attention, you have to play it cool, not stare at her like some brainless chimp. Harry became appalled at himself, and so he furiously replied You're the git! How dare you think you're smarter than me! I've been taking care of myself for 16 years- what makes you think I don't know more than some mannerless berk about the way my mind works?

Oh, I'm a mannerless berk? his Voice demanded to know. It wasn't me that dribbled pumpkin juice down his chin back when he was in love with Cho Chang, was it? It wasn't me that just drilled holes into a stranger's eyes, was it? If you don't want to settle down and get a woman, Casanova, then by all means keep losing sight of your brain and scaring away every female you see. Harry immediately thought of some choice words to say to his Inner Voice, but instead he decided to talk to the girl again and find out her name. "Erm, in case you still want to know the name of this horrendous dimwit, you can call him Harry. Harry Potter."

The girl giggled at Harry's joke, making Harry's knees buckle. He had never heard anyone laugh so prettily before. It was thus indeed a real pity when she cut it short to say "And I'm Emily D'Noir, the girl who wholeheartedly forgives the so-called 'dimwit'.......and who now owes you her life."

Harry became a little taken aback. "Oh no- you don't owe me anything. It was nothing more than doing the right thing at the right time- honest. Now, of course you could always- no, forget it. I don't need anything. Trust me." Harry tried to keep himself together, but secretly this new blunder made him about ready to physically kick himself. What the fuck was that?! he chastised himself.

As usual, his Voice cut in with a snide remark. I believe the word you're looking for, Mr. Potter, is "an attempt to ask Emily out on a coffee date."

Harry became both horrified and furious. I was not! And besides, if I was- which I wasn't, you sorry [insert your favorite words here] then I would never in a million years make an attempt that impulsively. I'd be totally cool and collected, unlike some kids.

Oh don't give me that, Mr. Cementheaded Jackass, the Voice responded tartly. I've seen this kind of ego in millions of guys before. They think that they've got a handle on their teenage emotions, that when the time comes to find a girlfriend they'll be smoother than their acne cream. Teenage guys don't realize that they're mentally still children until a female gets in the mix- that is, almost all guys. You are indeed fascinating. Even after you've met an absolute hottie and made a complete dick out of yourself trying to impress her you still refuse to think that maybe you're not as "experienced" in the dating world as you claim to be.

For once, Harry had no response to this. Perhaps it was because Harry was afraid that if he responded he'd get so worked up he'd start to actually voice his thoughts, thus further embarrassing himself in front of Emily. But in any case, his mind became free to focus on Emily's now noticeable shivers, which made him once again concerned. "Oh my God- you're still all wet," he realized worriedly. "Can I get you anything- a towel? A blanket of some sort?"

Emily turned a little pink. "Well, my clothes do feel a little soggy. Would it be too much trouble if I could get a towel and a bathroom?"

Harry felt a strange pleasure in being useful to his guest. "Of course- come on." With that, Harry got a large towel out of the linen closet and led Emily to the bathroom on the other side of the hallway.

Emily gave him a smile. "Thanks, Harry. I'll try to hurry out," she said gratefully. She then went inside, Harry noticing that she both retained eye contact with him and, as she did so, took a bit more time than most people to shut the door.

It was a good thing that she shut it when she did, else Emily might've seen the silly grin suddenly sweep across his face. At the most Harry had been talking to her for five minutes, yet Harry felt like he had known her for all his life. There was something utterly mystifying about Emily that made him both energized and full to bursting with anxiety to get to know her better. She was just so mysterious and gorgeous and modest and wonderful that there was one thing Harry was sure of- he wasn't going to let go of her that easily. Although as the stairs began to vibrate with the sound of Vernon's heavy footsteps, something else Harry was sure of came to mind- he hated the Dursleys (especially Vernon) with an unbridled passion.

Harry's first instinct was to run back to his bedroom, but for once he chose to ignore his instincts and instead, for time's sake, knocked on the bathroom door. "Erm, Emily, you have all your clothes on in there, right?" he asked rather worriedly, Vernon approaching closer and closer.

Emily became suspicious. "Yeah- but why the hell do you-"

Once Harry heard her affirmation, he wasted no time in explaining. "Then open up fast- Sergeant Prick is on his way, and he's not exactly coming to give me a medal."

That convinced Emily immediately, for she opened the door and let Harry in right as the sopping-wet Vernon arrived on the second floor. Vernon, however, had spotted his nephew going inside anyways. Thus he barged over to the bathroom door and began to pound heavily on it. "You think you're going to escape from me, Harry Potter?" he growled. "Open up the door right this minute, or else I'll give you a thumping good beating on your sorry hide!"

"Aw, go to hell, Vernon. Can't a man take care of his personal business without you blabbering your big fat lip outside the door?" Harry retorted with pretend irritation (an act which he through years of training had learned to develop quite convincingly). "Besides- why would I want to open up the door now that I know I'm going to get my ass kicked for it?" This threw Vernon into a rage, and as he rained some very foul things onto Harry's head Harry and Emily almost died from silent laughter. Harry had always taken much pleasure in mouthing off to Vernon, especially since a simple threat of casting a "dangerous" spell on Vernon always ensured Harry's not getting punished, but he had never had as much fun hearing Vernon's (predictably tempestuous) reaction as he did now. Plus Emily seemed to be having as much of a fun time as he was, which made Harry almost eager to entertain her more.

To Harry's chagrin, however, it soon grew quiet outside the door. "Damn," he said under his breath. "Where'd he go? Back to his precious TV, maybe?" Curiosity starting to grow within him, Harry reached out and slowly turned the doorknob to open the door.

Emily gave a small gasp. "Wait, Harry- I don't think you should be doing that," Emily warned, biting her lip.

"What are you talking about, Emily? I'll be okay," Harry promised, at the same time being a little more alert as he stepped out.

Or not- no sooner had Harry left the safety of the bathroom than Vernon emerged from behind the door and pounced onto his nephew, trapping him in a headlock.

"So you thought I wouldn't punish you, eh?" Vernon cackled as Harry flailed his legs about. "Well guess what you bloody ninny- I'm gonna beat you within an inch of your life!" He became so distracted on choking Harry to death that he didn't hear Harry croak "Emily.....I'll keep him busy....you get back.....to the room!" Harry then found an opening and ran downstairs to the safety of his old cupboard, with Vernon nipping at his heels. Harry sighed in relief as he heard Emily's footsteps scramble across the hall back to his room. But this small comfort was taken away as Harry focused on Vernon's attempts to break down his fortress.

"You think that just because you can run away from me you're not a soppy nutcase?" Vernon howled, trying to force open the door. "You should be lucky that I agreed to keep you for all this time, instead of dumping you off at some orphanage!"

"Oh yeah?" Harry shot back. "Well this place is worse than hell. At least at an orphanage I'd get treated like I'm actually worth something!"

This apparently was the last straw for Vernon. "That's it!" he roared. "I'm gonna throw you off the Thames and make sure nobody finds you- ever!" With that, Vernon prepared to kick down the door, except that the front door suddenly opened, and in stepped Petunia and Aunt Marge.

The former of the women grew pale and then red. "Vernon you ninny- why are you all wet? And why are you trying to break down that door?" Petunia demanded with cold fury.

Vernon turned a shade of red as well. "It's not my fault, Petunia," he explained. "Your lunatic of a nephew first floods the kitchen- which I took care of, dear," he added to erase the look of sore surprise on Petunia's face. "Then he insults my intelligence and is now barricading himself in his old cupboard."

This made Marge tisk with reproval. "What a pity. This sort of thing makes me glad I have my dogs- even they act better than the nits I have for a brother and nephew."

"You're right indeed," Petunia affirmed, "and I truly must apologize for their actions." This she said as she shot a rather venomous glance towards Vernon and Harry (who had by this time felt it safe to come out- Vernon wouldn't dare to fight with him with Vernon's own sister in full view).

"Oh don't apologize to me, Petunia," Marge shrugged off with a wave of her hand. "It wasn't either of our faults that my brother grew up a barbarian or that my nephew grew up insane......and very thin." Marge looked Harry up and down disapprovingly. "Harry dear, have you not eaten since the last time I saw you? You'd think in three years that someone'd at least get some more fat on their bones." His ears growing pink, Harry threw a murderous glance at the snickering Dudley (who had by this time forced himself to get away from the TV and into the circle).

After shaking her head at Harry, Marge turned back to Petunia. "If you do insist on making this up to me, Petunia, then I'm afraid you'll have to give me a cup of that famous tea of yours. This constant flux of heat in the daylight and chills in the evening has made me completely tired out." Petunia immediately obliged to Marge's request, she giving the troublemakers the evil eye as she helped remove Marge's coat and led their guest to the kitchen.

Once Marge's cup of tea (as well as four others) was prepared, the group sat around the fire and discussed such trivial things as Marge's dogs and local politics. Harry would've given anything to go back upstairs and talk to Emily, but judging by Petunia's rather raw nerves toward Vernon and Harry at the moment, Harry was forced to sit and pretend their discussion actually mattered. Unfortunately for him, Harry's attention span in this sort of situation could last for only a few minutes. Thus it wasn't long before Harry was looking out the window beyond Marge into the backyard, where he began to count the number of stars peeping out at him ever more brightly as the sky got darker. He had almost reached 100 when something rudely disrupted his daydream- the sound of police sirens, at first faint, grew louder and louder until they arrived at Harry's driveway.

Everyone in the circle became immediately curious. "My my- did we keep the blinkers on after that one turn?" Marge wondered.

Suddenly the house echoed with three heavy knocks. "I guess we'll find out in a minute," Harry said grimly, getting up to answer the door.

Or not quite that soon. Harry had barely any time to stand aside as a short, squat little woman with horn-rimmed glasses barged in, followed by several policemen. "Allright boys," she barked, the sharpness making up for her lack of height (and hair length, for her bob was so short her earlobes was clearly visible). "You know what to do. Search from top to bottom, and make sure you don't miss a thing- I'll take care of the bystanders." The police then spread themselves out and began to search the house.

Vernon, at first unable to speak with surprise, now came forward and demanded an explanation for the intrusion. "How dare you just waltz in here like you own the place!" he sputtered furiously. "Either you take your friends and get out or-"

"Or what?" the woman replied with equal animosity, throwing Vernon off balance. "If you wish to search for the convict yourself, then by all means go ahead, sir. But if you don't wish it like I expect, then please let me, Detective Forthright, and my cronies do our jobs and keep you safe." With that, she quickly flashed a badge in Vernon's direction, and would've given herself a tour if Harry didn't stop her.

"Wait a moment, 'Detective,' " Harry said, making Forthright stop in her tracks. "Who exactly is this convict you're looking for? There's been no news about any prison breaks lately."

All eyes turned to Forthright, who gave Harry a look. "Why can't something be confidential, boy?" she asked him. "Not all investigations make it onto Channel Five, you know."

"True, but not all detectives barge into someone's private residence without giving any real reason," Harry challenged. "If you're lying about a convict hiding here then you have no right to be on this property."

Once again all eyes were on Forthright. Her eyes narrowed, and her lip started to curl. Finally, after a moment, she said, "Allright, you nosy brat. There is no convict per se. However, there is someone that is as potentially dangerous as one, and that someone has stolen something very precious to me. I don't know why the person did it, but apparently the desire was so strong within her that she tried to murder me for it."

Upon the word "murder" a gasp rang out throughout the group. But before anyone could give any consolation (or, on Harry's part, any questioning) Forthright continued. "The shall-we-say delinquent then escaped from my mansion in what we think to be this direction. We consider her to be armed and dangerous, as well as mentally insane. The police are doing everything they can to not only keep the public from becoming alarmed, but to keep the delinquent from victimizing anyone else, lest someone actually turns up dead. There- now are you satisfied, you hormonally-imbalanced child?"

Harry's nerves smarted just a little from her insult, although he quickly brushed it aside to analyze what Forthright just revealed to him. His sixth sense was warning him that something wasn't right in this tale of hers, yet his common sense pointed out that Forthright's unwavering deliverance of said story seemed to be genuine. Perhaps someone really did try to kill this woman. But it was difficult to picture the scene in his head without an image of the suspect. Thus Harry plucked up a bit of nerve and asked "Almost, Detective. There's just one more thing that I need from you- is there any picture you have of this so-called public enemy?"

Once more Forthright's lip made a slight curl. "Allright, if you must," Forthright sighed exasperatedly. With that, she pulled out her wallet, extracting from it a folded piece of paper. She then proceeded to unfold it until no longer possible, and roughly shoved it into Harry's hands. Harry looked down at the picture, and became so taken aback he couldn't help gasping. The girl drawn onto the paper......the thief and almost-assassin Forthright was searching for........was Emily D'Noir!

*End Chapter 1*