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Owana's stomach growled loudly. When had been the last time she had a proper meal? The Cattermoles? Had it really been that long? That was nearly a week ago. A week since she had last seen Harry, Ron and Hermione, when she had been separated from them at the Ministry …

Sometimes she almost wished she had just stayed with the Cattermoles. They provided food, warmth, and shelter for her. To this day Owana still wasn't quite sure what possessed Reginald to grab her from that pawing Death Eater, and floo with her to his house for safety.  He had explained that he couldn't very well just let one of the people who just saved his wife's life be handed over to Voldemort. But his eyes looked a bit odd when he said so and Mary had stilled slightly in embracing her children. But Owana couldn't think about that right now. She knew it was for the best, her leaving. By staying, she was putting them in far too much danger, harbouring a witch widely known for wanting to be captured by Voldemort. Owana would have been putting them in the spotlight.

Her stomach gave the loudest and most painful growl yet, insomuch as she had to lean against the rough wall of a crumbling old barber shop and take deep breaths. Her body had already broken into a sweat and was shaking slightly; it had gone into that self-preservation mode that people slip swiftly into when they don't eat as much as they're supposed to. Hermione had given each of them fifty pounds just to be safe before they headed down to the Weasley's wedding so long ago. For situations exactly like these (Hermione thought of everything, she did). And since then, Owana hadn't touched her pile; she had no reason to until she got separated. Even then, Owana spent them very sparingly, only stumbling into a small food store or fast food restaurant when she felt like she would collapse from starvation (such as now). Until she reached that point, she would hold off on food (spending more on water) and try to find edible things straight from nature. Berries, mushrooms and the like. But she savoured the money she had. It's better to be famished for a long time but to know you have the means to get a hold of more food, than to be close to eating yourself alive because you know you have no money on you whatsoever.

Getting rest was another matter entirely. It was perhaps even harder than trying to find food. Owana couldn't very well just pop into the Leaky Cauldron or the Three Broomsticks and ask for a room. That was equivalent to her bursting through Hogwarts' door and singing out "Hello all! Miss me?" Ironically, the Muggle world was safest for her right now. But she hadn't enough money for even the cheapest motel. She knew she couldn't just sleep on the open streets; she'd be a sitting duck for lucky, passing by Death Eaters. So she would just make do with her secluded surroundings: sleeping in an out-of-sight ladies washroom in the train stations, or on benches deep in a forest park, casting the concealment enchantments she and Hermione went over at The Burrow. It was a testament, really, to how desperate you become when you're homeless. Before, Owana would never have thought she'd allow herself to sleep on a public washroom floor, no doubt the thing being filthy beyond belief, but it's like the old saying goes, "Beggars can't be choosers."

Owana tried to swallow but her tongue and throat were dryer than parchment. There was a wide alleyway just in front of her and Owana could just see the flickering neon sign of a fast food restaurant winking at her in the distance. These days, she almost forgot about the Horcruxes. How would she even be able to find any without her friends, forget destroying them? She had a very vague idea of where the other Horcruxes might be, because of all her discussions with Harry, but it was far from her mind at the moment. Her main goal? Staying alive.

All she had to do was find a more or less stable place to stay in. Then she'd be back on track with the search. Sort of.

Owana pushed herself off the wall with her back and shuffled onto the road, not bothering to look right or left, she could hear no rumbles of cars. The alleyway was covered in overgrown ivy, its leaves and vines like large thin claws holding the walls apart in a tight grip. Houses were squashed together on either end. Owana's feet echoed slightly against the damp walls, but in the pressing silence, Owana could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up at attention. She couldn't shake off the familiar uneasy pressure resurfacing in her chest. The feeling that someone was watching her.

Owana hadn't even gotten a good hold on her wand before she felt something large and heavy slam into her lower back, sending her tumbling to the floor. She felt her jaw smack painfully on the wet gravel and she spat out blood, the iron taste coating her tongue. To the right she could see the boulder that had been thrown at her. Owana tried to get up but a foot came of nowhere and pressed her roughly to the ground.

"Look what we have 'ere, " said a horrible raspy female voice, but at the same time unfamiliar. Blessingly unfamiliar. The woman grasped both Owana's arms in a tight grip and lifted her up. Owana thrashed and struggled violently, using her legs to try and kick the woman, but she had more muscles than Owana did, and soon the woman had her pinned against the wall. Her left hand pressed Owana's right arm on the stone so hard, she could feel it going numb. The other arm was bent across her chest, holding Owana's upper body in place with her elbow. And at Owana's neck sat the sharp cool edge of a long knife.

The woman was at the very edge of the description "pretty". She had shoulder length, scraggly, mousy brown hair, her eyes wide, bloodshot and almost colourless. Heavy makeup surrounded those eyes and reddened her lips, which were curled up in a venomous smirk. Not even the most promiscuous teenaged girl would wear the clothes this woman was wearing; it was essentially glorified lingerie but accompanied with leather books and a tattered jacket.  The woman could hardly be any older than Owana, twenty-two at the most, but the makeup, lines on her face and general unkempt air about herself made her look so much older.

"Thought you'd go wanderin' the streets at night, eh girly?" she hissed softly at Owana who cringed as the stench of alcohol and weed met her nostrils. "Thought you'd go trespassin' on our territory?"

"I have the right to walk these streets as much as any of you low-life rejects" Owana snarled and she felt the edge of the knife press harder into her skin, a slight stinging sensation mixed with the feeling of starting to choke.

"You think you're funny, do ya?" the woman said, voice raspy no doubt from the amount she must smoke. "We'll see whose laffin when your blood paints these walls."

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?" Owana drawled. She knew it was dangerous to mock these kinds of people but by now, Owana could tell this woman was a muggle. Had she been a witch, she would have instantly recognized Owana Potter and dragged her to the ministry without a second thought. The woman may not know it, but Owana had won this battle before it had even started. Any able witch would have.

"Not to me," said the woman dangerously. Just as the knife sunk a little into Owana's skin, sending sharp pain up and down her body, Owana gathered as much saliva as she could in her mouth as fast as possible and spit in the woman's eye. She shrieked in disgust and recoiled. Not wasting a precious second, Owana raised her leg and kicked the woman hard in the stomach, causing her to fall backwards, screaming and cursing all the way. Owana thanked her body for hydrating her mouth when it got nervous.

Owana's wand had fallen away from her when she had been pinned against the wall, so she quickly snatched it up and turned to the woman. To her horror, she had gotten to her feet already, looking enraged, and brandishing the knife. Without thinking, Owana instantly pointed her wand at her. The woman stopped dead on her feet. And then suddenly she threw her head back and laughed.

"What you gonna with do with that there?" she cackled, "Hocus Pocus me to smithereens?"

I could if I wanted to, Owana thought viciously.

The woman kept laughing, and feeling the rage pounding through her, Owana yelled, "EXPELLIARMUS!"

The knife was sent spinning out of the woman's hand and disappeared over the left alley wall, into one of the houses' backyard. Thankfully, there came no cry of pain as it landed, only a dull, muffled thud. The woman had stopped laughing. Her eyes were wide once more but this time with shock. She stared at Owana with an odd look in her eyes before quickly pulling something black out of her jacket pocket and pointed it straight at Owana's heart. A gun.

"Drop that," she said loudly, trying to sound intimidating but failing to hide the quiver in her voice, the fear in her eyes and the slight shaking of the hand holding the gun. "Drop that- that thing! Or I swear, I'll shoot!"

For a moment, the two women just looked at each other, neither moving. One in a locked stance, eyes narrowed and weapon of choice gripped tight, the other looking like she had fallen into a nightmare.

"That was some voodoo shit wasn't it?!" the woman shrieked almost hysterically, her voice reaching higher decibels "I SAID DROP IT!"

But Owana didn't drop her wand. She knew the woman wouldn't shoot. Not now. Not when she saw just what Owana could do. And that was just the disarming spell. Even the stupid woman by now must have realized that this other young woman had powers that she herself did not have.

Owana looked over the woman's shoulder and saw a dark-skinned teenaged boy walk into the opening of the alleyway, clearly curious to see who was causing that entire ruckus. Owana's small intake of breath must have alerted the woman who spun around and relaxed when she saw that it wasn't the police. But then her face had taken on that sadistic smile again and she raised the gun. The boy froze, terrified and Owana knew what was going to happen a split second before it did.

"RUN!" Owana shouted at the boy, hoping he would-


Gunshots, already deafening as it is, sound absolutely cannon-like in the dead of the night. The shot rang in Owana's ears as she watched in horror as the boy fell to the ground like a plush dummy. It seems that whenever someone's life is wiped clean so close to you, you can almost feel that rush of death coming to take the unfortunate away. Because to Owana, the air appeared to have dropped ten degrees.

"Stupefy." Owana said, eerily calmly. It was too easy. The woman hadn't turned around from gloating at her latest kill. She hadn't seen the spell coming. She too fell to the ground like the boy, but Owana knew she was still alive. After all, Owana was not a killer. Besides, even if she did find enough hatred inside herself to kill her, it would be a hell of an investigation for the police: a young boy clearly killed by a bullet to the head and the woman…died in her sleep?

The woman appeared to be very scatterbrained, forgetting that Owana was in front of her, but Owana couldn't risk her remembering this incident. She had just horrendously breached the Statue of Secrecy law, but she was already in such deep shit with the Ministry, what did it matter anymore, really? But even so…she just didn't want the memory of her residing in this woman's mind. She didn't fancy this woman recognizing here if she ever had to return to Tottenham. She would talk, no doubt and Owana would become suspicious.  Walking up to the woman, she pointed her wand at her and closed her eyes, trying to remember the procedure of the spell…

Forget me, not the boy, forget me, not the boy, forget me, not the boy.

She repeated this mantra in her brain over and over until she could almost fell the magic coursing through her very veins and into the ebony wood of her wand. It had taken a while for her to do the spell properly, and Hermione could still do it better than her, but what other choice did she have? She opened her eyes and said very clearly, "Obliviate."

The woman didn't stir or open her eyes, but the muscles of her face relaxed and she looked like she was having a pleasant dream. Owana knew the spell had worked. There was a reason she had made the woman remember the boy. These types of people didn't know guilt but that boy deserved to be remembered. In this battle, he had been a civilian, an innocent. He had just been wondering what was going on, and for that he paid so terrible a price. If the police came to investigate, Owana didn't want the killer to have no recollection of taking his life away.

Acting upon impulse, Owana hurried to wear the boy was lying and her stomach twisted at the sight. The bullet had gone straight through his brain and he was laying there, in a pool of his own blood, his eyes half open and unseeing. Near his head and a little farther out, she could actually see bit of white scattered on the ground; parts of his brain. Owana almost retched. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she stood up and did something she had only done once before. She lifted her wand into the air and made the tip glow softly. It wasn't a spell, it was just light, just energy. It was a common gesture made in the Wizarding World during funerals. The only other time she had made it was for Dumbledore. Owana didn't care if a Muggle killed this boy, her sharp breath alerted the killer to his presence. It was only fair that she'd give him a wizard's send off.

"I'm sorry," Owana whispered hoarsely to the boy, who could not hear what she was saying. She lowered her wand and it distinguished. Owana wished she could carry the boy somewhere, but that would inevitably leave her fingerprints on him, which the police would soon discover and make a false assumption. It wasn't worth getting mixed up into pointless trouble.

Not wanting to gaze upon this scene anymore, Owana turned on her heel, strode past the unconscious woman and almost ran out of the alleyway. It seemed a miracle that no one else emerged from their homes to see what was going on. Had Tottenham gotten so used to these incidents they just didn't care anymore? Whatever the case may be, Owana decided to be safe and cast the Disillusionment spell on herself, just in case any curious people were peeking out their curtains. In the chaos that was the Wizarding World at the time, Owana had forgotten that the muggle world could be just as evil-ridden as well. If this hadn't been a sharp slap to reality what would be? Up ahead she could see the buzzing, flickering light of the fast food restaurant's sign. She thought of the boy's brains smeared across the ground.

Owana wasn't hungry anymore.
I'm in the process of planning out Owana's story throughout each Harry Potter book. I get the most creative freedom in Deathly Hallows because she gets separated from Harry, Ron, and Hermione right when they were about to escape the M.O.M.

This is just an excerpt of the time in which she was alone.

If you have any questions, ask!

I only put in the mature warning because there's a bit of violence and slight graphic description of a wound. And a tad bit of swearing.

Harry Potter (c) JK Rowling
Owana Potter (c) Me
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March 31, 2012
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