A/N: Alright guys, I give up trying to get ahead so I'm just going to start posting what I have. I'll try for one chapter a week but honestly I don't think that's going keep up for long. This is my senior year in high school so I need to keep up on applications, my job, and my martial arts training and I just don't have a lot of time.

I promise I'll try my best though. Here's the Summary:

Alex Taylor's hopes of having a normal third year at Hogwarts crash and burn before it even starts when she learns of a plot that, quite literally, threatens the life of one of her close friends. But for the life of her, she can't remember what the plot is or who made it; just that it has something to do with her strange new house guest.

Let me know what you guys think.

Memories Misplaced

Chapter 1

The halls of Taylor Manor are very familiar to me. I know where each one leads and all the secret passages and rooms. I know witch hall I can walk down in the third floor and somehow end up in the first floor entryway. I have had a lot of time, growing up, to learn its secrets and learn of the secrets that my father keeps.

Maybe that's why I'm in this situation; why I felt the need to find out what, or who, my father was hiding. Why I have not been allowed out of my room from the start of the summer holidays.

And its awful. So terrible and terrifying and shocking.

"One more murder...my faithful servant at Hogwarts... Harry Potter is as good as mine, Callum. It is decided."

I take a half step forward for a better view, but my foot catches on the uneven ground, and my legs buckle. My hands reach out to stop my momentum, but my grandfather's portrait swings open as I fall against it, and open air spans out beneath me.

I fall out from the secret passage, through the air, and hit the carpeted ground with a crack in front of the lit hearth.

I groan in pain and horror, sitting up as I cradle my broken arm.

"You stupid girl," my father curses, shocked by the appearance of the passageway, unknown to him. He doesn't know this manor's true secrets the way I do.

He strides forward, hand raised to punish me, but that cold high-pitched voice freezes him in his spot.

"Leave her be, Callum," it says, deep in its bundle of blankets.

"But, my Lord-"

"I think it's time for me to meet my granddaughter. It would do no good to punish her anyway; she will not remember it."

My entire body shakes in fear and pain as I stare up into the sickly pale face of a baby type thing, and I know exactly who it is.

"Grandfather- I mean- Lord Voldemort!" I gasp, hastily bowing to the sickening being.

...

I've never been much of a fan of Quidditch, but it is the most popular sport in the wizarding world and the World Cup is here in Britain this year. Wizards from all over the world are flooding into the county through portkeys and Apparation, which makes it a perfect political opportunity for my father, who is even less of a fan of the sport.

It's for this reason that I'm grudgingly stuffed into my finest witches dress robes and jewelry that oozes wealth, and my light brown hair that had been cut short two years ago is brushed neatly for the first time in that span and held back in a girly headband.

To my own eyes I look utterly ghastly, but Lena, our kindly house elf that practically raised me, assured me that I looked like the perfect little witch while wiping tears like a proud parent.

Still, the pale blue skirts were awkward for me to walk in and I predictably twisted my ankle twice before we even left the manor.

I shuffle after my father, head down, like the good daughter I'm supposed to be, through various assortments of tents. Two of our house elves, Lenny and Alfy, had come on ahead of us to set up the grand tent we will be staying in tonight. If I were to look up from my carefully placed feet, I'm sure I'd be able to see it from where I'm currently at, towering and tall over all the others.

My father stops, making me scramble not to run into him. I glance up quickly, following his cold look directed to a very familiar, several familiar, faces not a few feet away.

"Arthur," he says coolly, causing me to cringe and duck my head, hoping not to be seen.

I doesn't work.

"Alex?" I hear my best friend, who is the youngest and only daughter to the Weasleys, say in surprise. She also draws the attention of all my other friends.

My father's hard gaze turns to me, making my heart speed and race. For a while now, his presence absolutely terrifies me, but I can never seem to recall a suitable reason.

"Alexis, you know these...people?" He says people like he would much rather have used a more derogatory word.

I lock eyes with his cold blue ones, so similar to mine yet completely different, and then I look to Ginny, who has a confused expression as if she knows me, but doesn't really recognize me. Ron, Harry, the twins, and Mr. Weasley are not taking their eyes off my father. Hermione is looking at me much like Ginny.

I swallow hard looking back to my father, knowing the answer that he expects, that he is waiting for.

I cowardly give half of it in a whisper. "They go to Hogwarts with me."

His lip twitches down in a frown, just a minuscule sign of his feelings of my answer. It's enough to make me quickly dip my head again as I mentally plea for my friends to not take offense.

Aloud, my father says to me, "Good; I would avoid Arthur and his spawn. They may have a lot of them, but they have more than they can afford. If they try to attach themselves to you, it's only for the money. Look at the Boy-Who-Lived, I am sure he is the only reason they could afford the food they eat. It's a wonder how they could even get tickets to the World Cup."

My fists clench on their own, so I move to hide them behind my back. A quick glance up lets me see the outraged expressions on all of the large party's faces, all directed at my father.

I know how all of the Weasleys, especially Ron, gets worked up when someone badmouths any of his family.

The lump in my throat is stuck on my answer. "Yes, father," I say even quieter than my first response.

Seven wide eyes snap to me, making me wilt under their astonishment.

"You're just going to let him talk to us like that?" Ron accuses furiously, betrayal like daggers shooting out of his eyes.

My eyes burn and I quickly lower my head before any tears could fall. But my hair doesn't fall in front of my face like it normally would- it's held back by a pretty blue headband.

I blink hard before looking up to my father who is smiling thinly in victory and opening his mouth to add more.

"Father, please, we should head to the tent."

He turns his head slowly to me, making me flinch. The rising terror is startling.

I had just broken character out in public. Good girls wait their turn to speak, and only when spoken to. His look promised punishment.

"Yes," he drawls snagging my shoulder a tad too tightly. "Let's go Alexis."

"Yes father," I whisper, not chancing a look back to see the anger on my friends' faces.

I'm a coward. I should have stood up for them- I've done it before. They've done it for me. But to my father?

I wince as he tugs roughly on my arm, practically throwing me into the tent like a misbehaving child that is going into time-out.

Why does he scare me so much more; what am I not getting?

The blow comes hard to my cheek making my head spin. No, this isn't it; I'm used to this.

"Do not disrespect me child, and do not, ever, undermine me- especially in front of the likes of them. I will not have others think that my own child is disobedient."

"Yes, Sir," I say, cradling my stinging cheek.

If anything, he's been more lenient to me, I think, as he snaps his foot out into my stomach and whisks back out the tent as quickly as he followed me in.

I sit there, clutching at the pain a moment as it passes, before rolling unsteadily to my feet. I touch my split lip with a wince, having accidentally bit it too hard when I was kicked.

My father's unsaid order is clearly to stay in the tent, but then again, I'm not the good little witch he wants the public to see me as. It's the reason I'm always getting punished- because I don't just listen and follow the rules.

I sneak out of the magnificent three-story tent with five bedrooms and a spotless kitchen that will never be used by a witch or wizard, and away from the crowd, making my way to the trees.

I don't go very far; the campsite is still clearly in viewing and hearing distance.

All dealings of sorrow is wiped away as I sit under a shady tree, allowing my mind to wander to my safe spot. A white room, never ending or no beginning, with no color or feeling or any possessions or even a purpose other than to wipe away feeling. Time doesn't seem to have any meaning there, staring with no concept of it. This room is very familiar to me- a scapegoat to the times that it feels like loneliness is going to swallow me whole.

"Alex?" A voice calls, softly, hesitantly.

I turn my head from the blank walls of my mental palace, a familiar face coming into focus amongst the green, a splash of fire-y red and emerald green eyes.

"Hey, Kitten," she calls, brows dipping in worry as she comes closer and takes a seat beside me.

My eyes follow my best friend, takes note of her, but never really processes her.

"What happened?" She asks, touching my lip, and it stings, but it's a far off sting.

My lips move on their own, brushing her hovering finger.

"A paradox. I shouldn't have said anything; I should have said more. I'm sorry." I don't sound very sorry; more of detached.

"Did..." She hesitates. "Did your dad do this to you?" I blink slowly, mind struggling to find something to say, struggling to process the question and form a satisfactory answer. "Hey, come on, Kitten; back to reality now," she says softly, taking my hand comfortingly.

She knows of my habit, it really freaked her out for a while, until I explained most of it to her. She still doesn't like it much when I do it around her.

I look closely at her concerned face, framed by long fire-y wisps and a light dotting of orange freckles across her nose, and let my mental palace fall away.

My eyes water and I duck my head, but she catches my chin.

"Does your father hit you?" She asks firmly, yet waveringly.