AN: So, hiya! This story's already been completed, so I'll be uploading chapters every couple of days if people are interested. Let me know what you think, and please enjoy!

Chapter One

Seventeen Years Ago:

Pogo heard the knock at the door, and with a furrowed brow, moved to answer it. No one came to call at the Academy, at least not someone without an appointment. He knew, for certain, that whoever stood on the other side of the door did not have an appointment.

Through the frosted glass emblazoned with the school's logo, Pogo spied a silhouette. It was little taller than he, and narrow in frame -a child, or an adult of diminutive size. He knew that Grace should perhaps answer the door, but that didn't stop him from doing it. With the release of the comic books, it'd become common knowledge that Pogo existed.

He stepped through the first set of doors in the vestibule, and then unlocked the outermost. When he opened it, he found that his previous assessment had been correct. It was a child that stood on the stoop. A young girl, perhaps twelve, maybe thirteen years old, stood before him with a shocked expression she tried to keep hidden. He wasn't surprised. A walking, talking chimp wearing clothes and glasses wasn't what people tended to expect.

The girl was ragged in appearance. Her clothes, which consisted of a t-shirt, jeans that bore holes and dirty stains, and an oversized jacket made for a man much larger than her had seen far better days. Her dark hair was tied up high in a bun, but had the dull sheen of something that hadn't been washed in some time. Her hands were dirty, and while her face was cleaner, he knew she hadn't bathed in a while. At least, not bathed fully and completely.

"May I help you, Miss?" He asked in his casually polite voice.

"I'd like to speak with Mr. Hargreeves, please." She replied, just as politely, and with a similar accent.

Pogo tiled his head marginally to the side. A pain began in his heart. It wasn't uncommon for children to appear at the door wanting to be invited in. More than once a poor soul had to be turned away, and it appeared he would have to do it again.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that's quite impossible." He told her. "Good day, Miss."

"No, please," She jammed her foot in the threshold before he had the chance to close the door. Pogo looked up at her staring at him with sad, ice-blue eyes on the verge of tears. "I have nowhere else to go. He's the only one that can help me control what's wrong with me."

Pogo's brows furrowed. He looked over the seemingly plain young girl again. "You've a power, child?"

Still bearing a fearful and depressed stare, she nodded. Pogo hesitated for a moment. He knew he shouldn't let the girl into the Academy, but, if she did indeed have a power, he couldn't very-well turn her away. Sir Hargreeves would want to meet her. Then again, that was another problem. Did Pogo truly want to give the old man another piece to further his collection? For a good few minutes Pogo thought before, against his better judgment, he stepped aside and motioned for her to follow him in.

"Follow me, Miss." He told her. She did as he said.

As he guided her through the palatial home and toward Sir Hargreeves' office, he would glance periodically at her. She hadn't set her eyes forward once. Ever since entering the building, her gaze darted over everything around her. He understood. It was a lot to take in all at once.

When they reached the office, Pogo brought her inside. Hargreeves was behind his desk with his nose down in his journal, scribbling away at any number of things. It was rare to see him otherwise unless in the middle of training the children.

"Sir," Pogo said, alerting the old man to his presence. "There is a young girl here to speak with you about attending the Academy."

"Send her away." Hargreeves said without bothering to glance up.

"But Sir,"

"I have no interest in speaking to another random urchin looking for a handout, or somewhere to belong."

Pogo sighed and his shoulders fell. He almost dreaded looking at the young girl, unwilling to see the crestfallen expression that undoubtedly took her face, but when he managed, he saw only anger.

"Then who's the old man who tried to buy me when I was little?" She asked with a stern edge. "He's the one I need to find."

Pogo was surprised by her words, but even more so by the fact that they roused Hargreeves from his work.

"When were you born, girl?" He asked, addressing her directly for the first time since she'd entered the room.

"October first, eighty-nine." She replied unsurely.

"What time?" Hargreeves didn't bother hiding his skepticism or annoyance with the situation.

"Noon, I think." Her face twisted with confusion. "What's that have to do with anything?"

He didn't answer her question, and instead asked another of his own.

"And what is this power you think you have?"

"Water."

He raised a single brow. "Water." He repeated in a deadpan tone. She nodded. "What about water?"

Pogo could tell his master wasn't entertained by the seemingly lackluster answers he was getting, and it worried him. He didn't wish to throw an obviously homeless little girl out onto the streets. If she truly was the same age as the others, she was only thirteen years old -far too young to be on her own.

"I can manipulate it." She told him plainly. "And I can sense it everywhere, in the air, in plants, people."

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Hargreeves looked interested. What followed was a brisk conversation and small demonstration of the young girl's gift. Pogo smiled to himself as she commanded a bit of water to undulate and shift within a glass. It was minimal, but promising. It meant that Hargreeves would keep her, and help hone her gift.

"Congratulations." Hargreeves said without any true emotion. "This is your new home. I will assign you the proper number later, and that shall be your name."

"But my name is-"

"Irrelevant." Hargreeves interrupted her, cutting short any explanation she might have had. "Pogo, take the child to one of the extra rooms and find her something appropriate to wear. Once that's been done, we shall introduce her to the others."

"Yes, Sir." Pogo nodded and motioned for her to follow him once again. As they made their way upstairs, he turned to her. "My name is Pogo, as I'm certain you heard. What is yours?"

"Andorra Croix." She replied.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Andorra." He smiled. "I hope you will enjoy your stay here."

She offered him a small, half-smile, which he expected.

Andorra felt uncomfortable in her clothes. She had never worn a uniform before, let alone one that looked as though it belonged in the nineteen-fifties. She hated the pleated shirt, the fitted blazer, and the knee-high socks. She hated that her hair was pulled back from her face, and that her only clothing was seven identical outfits. She was no longer permitted to wear anything else.

Pogo appeared in her doorway and smiled warmly. She wondered briefly if she'd ever be used to seeing him.

"Everyone is waiting in the library." He said. "This way."

Her introduction to the family was… well, there weren't really words to describe the horrible situation. Hargreeves introduced her as "the new Number Five". Andorra saw the shock and anger instantly take hold of the others' faces when he said so, but she was confused. When she tried to protest, stating that even she knew there was already a Number Five, Hargreeves ignored her and left.

The lingering six children eyed her angrily. Five of them did, at least. The girl introduced as Number Seven seemed too meek and mild to be angry. She simply looked hurt.

"You'll never be Number Five." The one introduced as Number Two snapped hatefully while he clutched a knife.

"I'm not trying to be." She snapped back. Just because she understood why they were mad didn't mean she liked it. Andorra was just as angry as them. "I only wanted to learn how to control my power, not…" She picked at her uniform and scowled. "Not be adopted by the Von Trapps."

Number Two scoffed and walked away, followed shortly by Number One. Number Three glanced her up and down before she left as well. Number Four and Number Six seemed annoyed, but disinterested in her, as though they felt the same as the others, but weren't going to put forth effort telling Andorra something she already knew. They disappeared as well, leaving her alone with the timid Number Seven.

"I'm not trying to replace your brother." Andorra mumbled. She felt, for some reason, that she had to explain. Screw the angry guy. If he wanted to be a jerk, she'd give as good as she got, but Andorra felt as though she had to sincerely tell Number Seven the truth. "I'm not."

Number Seven stepped forward, barely willing to meet Andorra's eye for long. She paused roughly arm's length away, and seemed to think something over before offering her hand.

"I'm Vanya." She said.

A small, relieved smile tugged at Andorra's lips. She took the offered appendage. "Andorra."

"We just lost Number Five." She explained. "He's been missing for a month, so everyone is still really upset."

"What happened to him?"

Andorra had read the comics like most everyone else, so she knew there was already a Number Five, but she had no idea he was missing.

Vanya shrugged. "We don't know. He just vanished."

"I'm sorry."

Vanya gave a short, small nod. That was the end of the conversation, and Andorra knew it. When Vanya looked up at her again, she smiled.

"Want a tour?" She asked with measured excitement.

"Yeah, sure." Andorra smiled in response. "Thanks."

"Come on,"

Together, the two made their way through the vast, winding halls of The Umbrella Academy.

Now:

Andorra walked down the street with a bag of groceries tucked in her arm. She glanced only briefly at the newspaper vendor as she did, scanning the headlines with mild interest at best. But one in particular caught her attention and held tight.

Eccentric Billionaire Reginald Hargreeves, Dead.

She found herself staring at the article for longer than she would have originally thought. She was happy for it, happy that the old bastard was dead. The news brought a very real smile to her face, actually. Who she'd initially thought was a Godsend, turned out to be the Devil in disguise. He deserved to be dead. All the same, Andorra felt the need to attend the memorial she knew would probably happen. Part of her would possibly mourn the old man, but a much larger part wanted to see his body. She wanted proof that he was no longer breathing because it would bring her untold joy.