Disclaimer: Aside from Marian, I regretfully do not own any of the characters.

Warning: This is primarily a slow-building romance and contains very little foul language, although sexual themes and wartime violence are present.

Author's Notes: The story begins in the summer after Goblet of Fire. Canon compliant until this point, and generally sticks to the storyline afterward, but I am introducing a new character, and her decisions may alter a few people's destinies ("A butterfly flaps its wings in Peking..."). This is a very long story, and lacks a few chapters before it is complete. I am going to release five or so a day until I get all the back-material posted (I have 38 chapters already written). Chapters are of variable length. This is my first fanfiction and I hope someone out there enjoys it.

Chapter 1: The General

It was a small and quiet house, located in a copse of trees on the outskirts of Glastonbury. Marian thought it would do nicely to keep up appearances. She had finished the protective charms that evening, and connected its Floo to her permanent home, a stone bungalow nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, protected by the Fidelius Charm. Marian had set up this little English residence as a display for visitors, but she Flooed back every night to her secure home across the Atlantic, where she kept her puppy, most of her clothes and the bed she actually used.

Marian had come to England expecting a war, and she was taking no chances. If someone did manage to break her wards, they would find a decorated house with refreshments in the kitchen, but very little else. She had made money in the last few years, especially with her last job, which had been very dangerous, unraveling a myriad of curses on priceless wizarding treasures as part of a dragon's hoard. No fewer than five curse-breakers had been killed before Marian, but she was confident in her abilities, and had grimly determined to take her chances, after her realization that she possessed the sort of terrible freedom that stems from having no one that will be devastated if anything goes wrong.

She consulted as a private contractor, so she had no boss or coworkers. Her parents had died months apart, five years ago—or had it been six now? She had been very close to them, and had taken their deaths hard. Marian had always spent time abroad, but she had always had a home to return to after her travels—something wholesome and permanent.

She felt a bit lost without that stability, and compensated for the vanished warmth in her life by growing even more emotionally detached and independent. Suffering and loss affect each person differently, and they hardened Marian. She still had family—a sister and two brothers, all Muggle, but they had grown up, married and moved on, settling elsewhere and having children. As the oldest and only one possessed of academic leanings and the capacity for magic, she had always been a bit segregated from the others. Even though she had scrupulously avoided casting spells around them in an effort not to hurt their feelings, the divide had widened naturally and significantly after their mother died. She had been a Muggle mystery and non-fiction writer, and Marian's best friend and advisor. The two had frequently traveled together, until the short and bitter illness that had claimed her life. Since then, the young American had prowled about the globe, working on more challenging projects, and keeping her doings to herself.

She had assisted wizarding hospitals, universities, private collectors—anyone that could offer a particularly interesting or profitable case. And years had passed in this manner, filled with work, intellectual pursuits, transitory acquaintances, and an occasional holiday celebrated with her siblings and their spouses and children. The only constants were her familiar, a small cream-and-white Pomeranian dubbed 'Honey Bear', and the house she had bought three years ago in the mountains of Tennessee, although she spent very little time there.

While at home, she was something of a recluse. She had friends scattered all over the world, but tended to be a rather poor correspondent. Although her friends mattered to her, she didn't feel a soul-deep attachment to any of them. Marian had grown up reading about friendships like that of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, David and Jonathan, C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, and had longed to find the same sort of perfect companionship and understanding with another person.

But as the years passed and she grew more and more aloof, she began to lose sight of her ideal. She forgot how wonderful it was to be loved, to have someone to protect and cherish. The men she met left her feeling cold and disinterested. She supposed that she was difficult to please, but certainly had no intention of settling at this point in her life. Marian had no desire to be on intimate terms with anyone with whom she lacked respect or a connection.

Although she was a bit of a risk-taker, her most recent assignment had stretched even her boundaries. She usually didn't do work for foreign governments, but even a level-headed witch could be swayed by the romance and high adventure associated with dragon-guarded treasure. When word had reached her in Argentina that the Romanian government was hiring curse-breakers from all over the world, she had decided that she had nothing to lose, and had packed that very night.

With a delicate combination of luck and skill, she had prevailed, and her gamble had paid big dividends, enabling her to do whatever work she wanted from then on, and never have to tackle anything dangerous ever again, if she so chose. The Romanian Ministry of Magic had compensated her well for her risks, deciding to be generous because of the staggering worth of the cache. They even allowed her to retain some artifacts as mementos.

Her financial situation had definitely contributed to her decision to head to England. Without needing to work for quite a while—possibly ever-she could do whatever she liked. When she had first arrived in Romania, she had instantly become friends with a younger man named Charlie Weasley, who had been the original locator of the treasure trove. He had told her all about his family back in England, and often shared the news contained in their letters with her, which was how she heard the first pronouncement of Lord Voldemort's return during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Later, erstwhile Death Eater Igor Karkaroff made headlines in European wizarding papers when he fled his position as headmaster at Durmstrang, one of the most celebrated educational institutions in the world. And once Marian started paying attention to the news, she couldn't help but notice the many suspicious disappearances, coinciding with the whispered rise of the notorious dark wizard. The witch had been a child in America during Voldemort's last rise to power, but even she had come to dread his name. His arm was long, capable of stretching across the Atlantic.

At first, Marian had supposed that the British Ministry of Magic would step in and stop him before he managed to recruit followers. When she saw that Albus Dumbledore, the revered defeater of the dark wizard, Grindelwald, and the only man feared by Voldemort, had announced the dangerous sorcerer's return, she felt that the British probably had things well in hand, especially since they had Harry Potter, who had inexplicably defeated him last time. But when the witch began reading crazy and attention-seeking portrayals of Dumbledore and Potter in the press, she understood that the Ministry was not taking their warnings seriously, and began to dread that they might soon have another world war on their hands.

She was the daughter of a Muggle and a half-blood, but could only trace her ancestry a couple of generations. Few Americans could do more. Preoccupation with lineage was uncommon in the American wizarding community, and she knew that to Voldemort and his ilk, if you couldn't prove your pedigree, it was because you had a contaminated bloodline, and therefore didn't deserve a place in the wizarding world. So one day, when Charlie approached her with a determined look on his face and asked about her plans after she wrapped up the Romanian contract, she was almost completely unsurprised at the ease with which he recruited her for Dumbledore's resistance group, called the Order of the Phoenix, that had been instrumental in the dark wizard's downfall the last time.

And so she found herself in her new, picturesque house in the British countryside. Why, she thought, should she suffer the inconvenience of a flat when she had the money for a house (Even if this house was only a front and she actually commuted to the United States each day through the illicit international Floo connection she had set up.)? Marian had a healthy disrespect for international regulations on transportation, and had gotten terribly good at setting up Floo connections that weren't supposed to exist, and couldn't be regulated.

She was currently very interested in Portkeys. They were delightfully tricky devices, and most wizards, even the less than law-abiding ones, paid high prices for the regulated Portkeys crafted by Ministry transportation experts. Everyone knew that far more than a mumbled, "Portus" was required to create a magical object with specifications, which was why many people often shared a Portkey. Marian already had quite a talent for setting them up in a hurry, no matter the distance, but she was fascinated by the trigger—the concept that a Portkey could be carried long-term, possibly reused, and activated by a certain catalyst she would invent, a special word, or perhaps something even more subtle. But she had agreed to do a little consulting for St. Mungo's, the wizarding hospital, as a cover for being in the country, and she thought that between her work there and whatever Dumbledore wanted her to do for the Order, she would have little time for side projects like these, unless she found a very good reason for reopening them.

Marian was just beginning to wonder what to have for dinner, when a magnificent speckled owl began tapping officiously on the living room window. She rushed over and snatched the missive, hoping it was the letter she had been waiting for. The owl gave a reproachful hoot and flew away without waiting for a response. In excitement, she realized that it was the announcement that would determine her future in England.

My dear Ms. Oliver,

I would be delighted if you would join me for dinner tonight at six o'clock in Hogsmeade, at a pub called the Hog's Head. The Floo will be open.

Yours most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

She only had thirty minutes before she met one of the most powerful wizards living, the famous Albus Dumbledore, the man she had idolized as a child for defeating Grindelwald, and for his many brilliant spells and potions. He was the Merlin of his age. Marian wanted very much to make a good impression, but, reflecting that she was meeting him in a public place in order to join his subversive underground organization, she decided against changing out of her weather-stained traveling robes. So, at precisely five to six, Marian stepped through the Floo.

When she stumbled out of the hearth, she had to blink, letting her eyes adjust to the dingy, smoky atmosphere. The American barely had time to glance once around the unsavory-looking pub before she was ushered almost immediately to a private room upstairs by an ancient barkeep, whose bright blue eyes gleamed eerily at her from under his hood. Professor Dumbledore had been waiting for her, and he looked resplendent in his sapphire-colored robes that fell in perfect pleats without a single grain of ash. She puzzled over how he had accomplished such a pristine Floo journey, and wondered irrelevantly if he had traveled another way. His splendor left her feeling a bit embarrassed of her once-brown (or perhaps once-green) cloak, and she quickly whipped it off and stowed it out of the way, revealing the outdoor clothing she had been wearing when she left Romania, a khaki Muggle skirt and forest green hiking shirt—perfect for a summer in the Carpathian mountains, but less than adequate for the old-fashioned British wizarding community. Dumbledore seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, twinkling with amusement as he gestured her over to the table and poured the ubiquitous British tea.

"My dear, I am very delighted to meet you. Unfortunately, the cuisine is rather limited at this establishment. I have taken the liberty of ordering us both the Shepherd's Pie, which, between you and me, is the only thing on the menu that has not been found to induce a peculiar reaction in the diners. The fish and chips once turned my toenails blue for an entire week," the wizard spoke in cordial, cultured tones with a hint of that patient authority that few possess, but, when encountered, must be obeyed.

"Professor Dumbledore, it's a great honor to meet you, sir. I never expected you to come and greet me yourself," Marian said, sliding gracefully into her seat.

"I will always have time to spare for beautiful and charming young ladies. Charlie Weasley spoke very highly of you, Ms. Oliver, and I have been greatly looking forward to making your acquaintance," Dumbledore said, as he pulled a small crystal vial out of his pocket.

"Please, call me Marian….Wait, is that Veritaserum?" she broke off.

"Yes, it is. You don't mind, do you? I thought that it would be better to get all of the suspicion out of the way on the front end so we could enjoy our dinner, if that's all right," he smiled, expertly maneuvering her doctored tea across the table towards her. Marian realized that underneath this genial exterior was a man with a will of iron, and suddenly had no doubt at all as to who was in charge of this meeting.

"No," she said slowly, a bit wrong-footed, "I think I would have doubts about your leadership if you didn't do something like this to make sure of me….No offense."

"None taken," Dumbledore said, smiling serenely as she drank the whole cup and set it down, barely suppressing a grimace.

"Please state your full name, age and nationality," he demanded, after she had had a few moments to absorb the potion.

"My name is Marian Elaine Oliver. I am twenty-eight years old and from the United States," she answered, with the typical sluggishness induced by truth serum.

"What are your abilities?" he asked, his keen blue eyes focused on her face as he stirred his tea absent-mindedly.

"I am a Charms Mistress and inventor of spells, particularly non-verbal. I have been working as a curse-breaker for the past five years. I am an unregistered hawk Animagus and fairly accomplished at Transfiguration. Also, I am very good at creating unofficial Portkeys and Floo connections, international or otherwise," she intoned.

"You seem to be fairly comfortable living outside the law. Why is that? And why are you in Britain? What are your objectives?" he asked, watching her intently, although she sensed that he wasn't actually displeased at anything she'd said.

"I suppose that I travel through so many countries with so many different legal standards that I have started not even bothering to check what they are. Registering as an Animagus is optional in America, and I suppose that I follow the American standards out of habit and convenience. As far as the unauthorized transportation goes, I believed that those skills would be highly useful one day, and so I cultivated them. I consider that it is sometimes necessary to live outside the law if the government is not doing what is in the best interests of the people, as is the case in Britain now. The Ministry of Magic is not containing the dark wizard Voldemort or protecting its citizens from the threat he presents, which is why I am here. I want to join the Order of the Phoenix and to help defeat him. I have enough money to spend my time following your orders rather than working, although I have signed on to do a bit of consulting for St. Mungo's on curse cases—as an excuse for being in the country," she finished.

Dumbledore asked only one more question, "Have you ever been affiliated with Voldemort or any pureblood-supremacist group?"

"No," Marian murmured.

After that, Dumbledore instructed her to take a Wand Oath. She swore not to reveal any of the secrets of the Order of the Phoenix and to follow his orders and do whatever she could to ensure Voldemort's defeat. Then he poured her another cup of tea, and tipped a bit of the antidote into it, stirring it artfully before handing it over.

She drank it, and suddenly seemed much more animated than before. As if on cue—which it probably was, now that she thought about it—the old barman entered the room with two plates of very sloppy-looking Shepherd's Pie. She was surprised to find it delicious. During dinner, Dumbledore explained some of the challenges the Order would be facing from the Death Eaters and the Ministry. Marian had not realized just how much Dumbledore's power and prestige had been shaken by the Ministry cover-up, but now found out that the Minister's Undersecretary, a bureaucrat without a scholarly bone in her body, would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts in the fall.

"Well, my dear Marian, it's been a pleasure. If only we had met a few weeks earlier, you could have filled the DA position and the Ministry would not have been able to use this loophole to gain access to the school. But I suppose that everything happens for a reason….Please memorize the name on this piece of paper. It is the secret-kept location of our headquarters. Do you have it?"

"I have it," she murmured, secretly delighted that her first assignment for the Order wouldn't involve teaching a bunch of spoiled teenagers about the dark arts. With a flick of his fingers, the note vanished in purple sparks, and Dumbledore smiled at her on his way to the door and said, "I look forward to seeing you there tomorrow evening at five for your first meeting."