Third Life

Chapter one: The Past

Disclaimer: Only of the story so I'll make this clear, neither of these books belong to me.

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I've given a lot of thought to the idea of death. How I might die, how I would like to die, and how easy it would be for me to suddenly lose someone important to me. No, death has never been a stranger to me. Even growing up I was not immune to it's cold presence. I was never given the grace period most people fail to appreciate. I was never given the carefree childhood with an incomplete comprehension on the topic.

When I was eight my six year old sister, my best friend, died. In an attempt to save a stray ball she had been hit by a car under my father's supervision.

Death changes a family; it irrevocably and wholly changed ours. My father grew distant. He blamed himself and could hardly look at me. I think he believed he would inflict the same fate on me as he had on my sister. My mother grew protective; she hardly let me out of her sight. I understood why this was, but I had changed too. Like my father, I blamed myself for my sister's death. The responsibility of going after stray balls had always belonged to me, and had I not been being picked up from school both my mother and I would have been there. At the very least it would have been me who had died that October.

When I was eleven I met a boy named Harry Potter. As a baby he had escaped death but by doing so he had become a target. A big, red, flashing neon target for Voldemort and his twisted men. With the reality and understanding of death under my belt, I stood next to him. Year and year again I did what I could to keep him alive. By means of book work or dueling I provided what I could, even if it endangered my life. I had promised myself that I would never let a person close to me die, ever again as long as it was within my power to do so.

When I was fifteen I learned that death was not the only way you lose someone. In a divorce with anger and media coverage my parents finally separated. Like my mother, I was not sorry to see my father go. None of us had gotten over her death. None of us ever would. However, my father dwelled and he drank. I was only home for summers but the tension in the air would have been resilient to slicing hexes and I knew his departure would be the best thing for my mother.

When I was barely sixteen, not even an adult in the Wizarding World, death invaded my life for another personal strike. My caring, loving mother was the one hostage shot during a bank robbery. The police officer, in an attempt to comfort me, informed me that people tend to get desperate during the holiday season.

As a Christmas present to myself I got myself legally emancipated. My father was more than happy to be free of the responsibility of a daughter.

In the late months of my sixteenth year, the final battle hit. We had lost great men on the path to the battle, among them were the names of Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, and Albus Dumbledore. Many more that I couldn't name died on that same path and hundreds more in the final confrontation. Added to those numbers were the several dozen names that I had known.

I had failed. People important to me had fallen, even with my attempts to spare them. The most important of those whom I failed were Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Worse still was that I could have saved them. I had been faced with a choice and along with Remus Lupin, decided on the right one. Their lives insured that Voldemort was defeated.

I would have given my life in the place of any of the others. This was not because I don't value my life. I do value my life because I'm not diluted enough to think that I wont bring something positive to the world. Furthermore, I refuse to die without it being for something I believe in. Like saving someone I love. Even with that confessed, I'm not particularly fond of playing the hero. Being the hero was Harry's job. Not mine; not me, who has blood stained hands. The reason I would give my life for any of them was because they matter more to me than myself. The simplest reason in the world.

The war is over now and in a month or so I will be turning seventeen, a legal adult in the Wizarding world. Being a war hero, the restrictions on my magic have long since been removed, which makes my seventeenth birthday of very little importance to me.

The Wizarding world is in a state of construction and rehabilitation and the surviving Order members are leading the effort. I'm not among them. The public appearances and the 'thank you's are something I tend to avoid theses days. I am grateful that we have rid the world of Voldemort, but the price was to high for me to truly appreciate the victory. Besides, being a murderer makes the idea of being a hero a shallow thought. Or a wishful fancy.

I've graduated early. The Headmistress, in collaboration with the thankful Ministry, allowed me to take my N.E.W.T level examinations early. Going back to Hogwarts was not an option. To be honest, I most likely would not have returned even if it meant forgoing my exams. Hogwarts without Harry and Ron is not Hogwarts. Besides, I am not strong enough to return to the questions without my better two thirds.

Remus thinks that I should escape to the muggle world. With the war being a priority, I have let my muggle education drop, placing me at a junior level. He thinks that I should take the opportunity to study at a muggle school and, being sixteen, the opportunity is open to me. He believes that it would be an opportunity to heal. I think that it would be a good way to lick my wounds in private. We both agree that with my inheritance from my well-off mother I could spend time at a muggle high school and even go through collage before I would have to worry about financial issues.

The reading of the wills had been delayed until after the war, the first read belonged to Harry Potter. The vault, which had grown substantially after Sirius's passing, was not something that I wanted anything to do with. Therefore I was beyond relieved when a very large sum was left to the Weasley family. However, I underestimated the size of the vault and, apparently, an equally large sum was left for me.

I was angry at first; Harry had known that I did not need his money and that I wanted nothing to do with it. The gold was drenched in his blood, just like the money the ministry had given me, which I sent straight to Hogwarts.

A letter was what it took to change my mind.

Harry promised that he would do whatever he could to stay alive so that he could be there to make sure that I was always taken care of. He then wrote that if he wasn't there, then it was my responsibility to take the money. He said his spirit would know and that he would only feel like he was doing his job it I took it and did whatever I wanted. I was to never think of financial issues. He said that I had earned the right to live my life how ever I wished. He said that if I wanted to buy the largest island in the world and live in complete isolation, then he recommended investing in a good brand of sunscreen. Harry commented that he knew my library would be impressive. He told me that he only wanted to make sure that I was taken care of. He wrote that he needed me to know that no matter the outcome of the war, I was his sister and his angel. He signed with Xs and Os and all of his love.

We wired everything to muggle accounts and Remus helped me pack that night.

Death has always been a topic of thought for me. I've thought about my own death just as much as I have thought of my life. What I only briefly thought on, after a particularly nasty essay, was the third possibility: undead.

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