It was going on eleven to midnight when a young girl of about seventeen crashed through a bush and fell to the floor in heap.

Keep going!

She jumped to her feet and continued to run. She couldn't be that far away could she? They hadn't moved that far away, had she? Her mother said it was near.

She tasted blood and realized that she bit her cheek when she fell. She stopped running for a minute and spit out the blood, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. She cared not for her appearance at the moment, considering that she looked as if she had just gone through Hell. Her clothes where torn and ripped and her long black hair was matted.

She tripped once more and fell to her knees. She could feel to the tears coming to her eyes and she bit them back. She was too strong to cry.

She got up again, but continued at a slower pace, believing that she was somewhat safe now.

The poor girl had nothing to her name at that moment. All her clothes, her magical supplies, everything was gone and she felt alone and lost. Where on earth was this place her mother was sending her to?

Just as that thought came to her, she could see the corner of a house's roof from where she was standing. She ran towards it, her heart pounding against her chest. She was going to make it. She was going to be okay.

She slowed as she reached a fence. She looked around for some sign to let her know she had reached the right place. Soon, she spotted a small sign that read "The Burrow" on it. The house was oddly shaped and yet, it gave her peace of mind. She remembered this place from when she was a small child.

Quietly, she opened the gate in the fence and walked towards there front door. She hesitated before knocking. Her knock sounded as if it resonated through house, ominous and alarming.

After about two minutes, the door was wrenched open and a wand was in her face. . . . But the girl didn't move. She barely even flinched.

"Who are you?" A balding red man asked.

"Mr. Weasley?" the girl said.

Mr. Weasley lowered his wand a fraction. "Yes?"

"Sorry to wake you. Is it all right if I come in?"

Mr. Weasley's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"Trinity. Trinity Michelle Black."

Mr. Weasley's wand dropped down, just like his mouth. "Trinity? Little Trinity?"

Trinity nodded and the man stepped aside to let her in. Trinity sat down at the kitchen table, clasping her hands in front of her as Mr. Weasley eyed her warily.

"Arthur? Who was –?" The plump woman on the stairs stopped talking when Trinity turned around. Tears came to her eyes and she began to run towards her but Mr. Weasley held up his hand to stop her.

He stepped over to one of the many cabinets in the kitchen and pulled out a small vile. "Safety precautions," he said handing the vile to her.

"Of course," she said, taking it from him. Quickly she downed the small amount of liquid and then looked back at Mr. Weasley.

"Are you really Trinity Michelle Black?"

"Yes."

A small smile came to his face and he nodded his head. A second later, Mrs. Weasley's arms were pulling the girl to her feet, hugging her hard. Trinity only listened faintly as Mrs. Weasley went on about how they never contacted them and how glad she was to see her. And then for the big question.

"What brings you here, dear?"

"More likely," Mr. Weasley said, "what brings you hear at one in the morning?"

"Dear you look a mess!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed suddenly. "What happened to you darling? Where's your mother?"

A hard realization hit the woman and she was forced to sit down for a moment.

The answer, Trinity knew, was all in her harden eyes. Multi-colored eyes that had seen far too much in one night to be soften again easily.

"Molly?" Mr. Weasley asked. "What's wrong, dear?"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head before looking back up at Trinity. "Where's your mother dear?" she said again, softer.

Trinity looked down at her dirty hands. Mrs. Weasley gave a soft sob and brought her hands up to her mouth. Mr. Weasley sat down in another chair, his face gone so pale. "No," he whispered. "Not – not Taylor Black. Never Taylor Black."

It was this time. Horribly so, not even the strong-willed woman Trinity knew as her mother could escape Avada Kedavra. Trinity looked up at the Weasleys. "I'm tired," was all she could manage to say.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, trying to wipe her tears. "You – you can sleep in Ginny's room."

Trinity followed Mrs. Weasley up the stairs and into a room where Mrs. Weasley conjured up a bed to squeeze in between the two that were already there, holding sleeping figures. Sleeping figures that were no doubt awake by now.

Trinity laid down in the bed in the clothes she was wearing, the realization and the stress finally catching up with her body. She choked back the tears that once again came to her eyes and tried to go to sleep, her dreams full of visions of death and destruction.