I Do Not Own.

"So they sent their savior." Anastasia spits in the newest mercenary's face, enlarging the knife on her charm bracelet, pushing it between the third and fourth ribs, remembering her old trainers advice, from before the war had ended.

"Potter! What are you doing? Why haven't you killed him yet?"

"I was giving him a chance to repent."

"Would you give someone who killed your family a chance to repent?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then try it again. Between the third and fourth ribs."

His grip turns limp, blood covering his lips, and Aidy twists out of the dying mans grip.

He is foolish to attack her physically. Truth be told, he is suicidal to attack her at all, let alone in broad daylight, but oh well. She wraps herself in a sheild of her magic. It shimmers just above her skin, stopping the bullets the lesser mercenaries let fly.

Ana stops for a moment, her hands on her knees, panting. It has been a while, after all, since she has truly fought for her life. Almost five years.

She had been only seventeen, when she had defeated her first. She had spent much of her life being hunted by that man, just for the scar on her forehead, until she finally realized Dumbledore wasn't going to be any help. So she searched for help, both muggle and magical.

She got herself a muggle trainer named Melinda May, who told her Ana reminded her of someone. It was another year after she killed Tom Riddle before she finally discovered what May had meant. On her eighteenth birthday, the glamours Lily Evans had cast on her fell.

Anastasia went straight to the goblins. They told her she wasn't the child of Lily Evans and James Potter originally, but they blood-adopted her. She was meant to be a genetic experiment, and Lily found her on the doorstep. That was all they would tell her about how she came about.

However, Ana's blood test revealed that her parents were Steven G. Rogers and Natasha A. Romanoff, along with the expected James and Lily Potter Even she knows their names, and that they died. She knew why she was a genetic experiment now. Hydra must have made her to be a weapon.

Anastasia's sobs do not stop for an hour. Not because she knew them, but because this was another lost chance at a who would truely care for her, and she for them.

She had no one left to be loyal to, except the memories of her four parents. Her loyalty to family was one of the reasons she fought against Voldemort. It was the reason that not one death eater was left alive, after she killed the Dark Lord.

Ana didn't tolerate those that harmed her family, and Bellatrix had killed Hermione and Ron. She could still their blood-spattered faces, how Ron's was nearly unrecognizable. She could still smell the blood, the feces, could still hear the dying screams of everyone she knew.

Anastasia didn't like to dwell on those memories, though. She didn't dwell on the past in general. She went to her flat after her mini breakdown, more specifically her computer, to print out little locket size pictures of her parents. That was the day Aidy got her charm bracelet.

Lily had told her, just before she would go to die, that if she survived this, to be as safe as possible. So she would be. Well, as safe as she could be when she was the daughter of a famous assassin and a enhanced war hero.

She kept herself safe. As safe as someone who saw the way the world was going could, anyway. Umbridge had taken control of the Ministry last year. Fudge had nominated her as his sucessor.

No one wanted to get on the bad side of those two. They had tried to send Anastasia through the veil, but no one could prove that she caused the deaths of powerful pureblood families like the Malfoys and Parkinsons.

When that failed, he tried to enroll her as an Auror Cadet.

As if she'd trust anything that he or Umbridge did.

She enlarges her gun, taking aim at the remaining mercenaries. Breathe. Aim. Fire. Take cover. Stab, twist out of the way. A kick to the temple, and ten bodies lay bleeding out or tied up around her.

One of them needed to remain alve, to bring to the Aurors. She grabs onto the woman's hand, turning on her heel and preparing herself for the sensation of being squeezed through a tube.

She blinks as her eyes adjust to the dim light of the Auror department.

"Ah. Ms. Potter. What can I help you with?"

Ana tenses, old school rivalries at the front of her mind, before she relaxes, reminding herself that this isn't Hogwarts, they are on the same side, Malfoy won't hurt her, can't, actually, they are in front of dozens of people who predictiably stop to stare at her. "Mr. Malfoy." She tosses the women at his feet. "This woman and several others attacked me. I am just reporting it."

Malfoy's smirk fades, and he looks at her in resignation. "When are you going to loosen up a bit Potter, It has been six years since the battle."

Anastasia blinks, barely holding back a wince. He reminds her of her old trainer. Always telling her to ignore the formalities but punishing her when she did. He never had a name except Sir.

Separate, Ana. This is Malfoy, not Sir. He is serious, he doesn't like formalities anymore.

Unlike her, who clung to them like a lifeline, a separation between her and everyone around her. That way no one could hurt her, like the Weasleys had. After Ron and Fred's deaths, they had separated themselves from her. That hadn't been so bad, and Anastasia had almost expected it.

She hadn't expected Mrs. Weasley to seek her out, accusing her of purposefully getting Ron and Fred killed, and holding a gun to her head. Mr. Weasley, when questioned about it, said his wife found them fascinating, so he loaned her one.

He was devastated, and Ana can still feel tears stinging the backs of her eyelids whenever she thought about that day.

She'd killed Mrs. Weasley, there was no other choice. Of all those she'd killed, Molly's death haunted her the most, though she had betrayed Anastasia's trust in the end, she was still family.

"Ms. Potter!"

Ana starts at the hand on her shoulder, twisting around and putting Malfoy on the ground, sweeping his feet out from under him before she realizes she's in the Auror's office, and Malfoy definately not hurt her. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" Malfoy sneers, but she can see the glimmer of concern in his eyes.

"I've been calling you for the past five minutes, Potter. Where'd you go off to?" Anastasia smirks. "Nowhere. You know me. Always off in my own head." She swallows, chills running down her spine, but fakes a smile.

No! You've got to sell it, Potter! Now do the exercise again, this time with emotion.

I'm tired, Sir.

Do I look like I give a rats arse? Run it till you get it right!

Yes, Sir.

Ana can tell Malfoy buys it, from his cocky smirk. "As I was saying, Potter, the Unspeakables wish for you to take a look at the Veil." He holds his hand up as she goes to speak, reminding him that she just doesnt do that anymore.

"I know you are a healer now, but you spent all that time researching it, because of Sirius." She flinches. Its been years, shouldn't that instinctal response have faded by now? He stops there, running a hand through his hair.

"Shit Potter. I'm sorry."

Anastasia waves her hand. She should be fine. "I'm fine, Malfoy. Whats this about the veil?" His expression clears, relived to gety back to the subject at hand. The safe subject.

"The Veil has been acting weird lately."

Her brow furrows. "Weird?" Malfoy sighs. "Yeah. Everyone who goes down there says the Veil is restless. Honestly, it gets like this every hundred years or so."

Ana tilts her head. What could cause that?

"Well, what are you waiting for, Potter? Permission?"

"Course not."

Ana fights back the urge to salute, something drilled into her from her old trainer, as she backs out of the room.

She doesn't turn around anymore, her old trainer beat that out of her.

Anastasia doesn't care if her habits are rude. Better rude than dead.

"Ms Potter." the Unspeakable is looking at the other person in the elevator, the one with black hair. Ana isn't surprised, people have been doing that for six years. As soon as she steps out of the elevator, she hears the low buzz that she has long since come to recognize as the sound of the Veil.

The woman flushes, but points to her. "I'm not Healer Potter, Unspeakable Croaker, she is." In typical Unspeakable fashion, Croaker doesn't even apologize for the lapse.

"Of course, of course. Now, Potter, the veil has been expanding, turning blue, and roiling, like an ocean. We thought since you have so much experience with these things you might be able to offer your professional opinion."

The buzzing get louder, and her brow furrows. The Veil had never done this before, and thanks to the infamous Potter luck, she knew it couldn't be anything good. Hermione would...She stops that thought in its track, not ready to go back to her remembering now. She was on the clock.

"Of course, Croaker. What else am I supposed to do all day?" The Unspeakable smirks, stretching the scars around his face. "Over achiever as always, Potter?"

"You know it." Ana smirks at him. They were friends, he was one of her trainers before the newest Minister for Magic took office four years ago.

As she walks over to Veil, she sees that it is indeed roiling, like he said, but the buzz gets louder, heightening into voices. Come to us, they say. She can't stop moving, why can't she stop moving? There are voices outside, unspeakable rushing towards her, but she can't hear them over the buzzing in her own ears.

Ana's hand touches the Veil. It feels like cold water, she reflects, as she takes final step, unable to stop moving. Blackness clouds her vision, and she gives in to the darkness.