Darth Marrs - The Firebird Trilogy 3: Firebirds Fury

A/N: Reviews for the final chapter of Book II are in my forums. Review responses for Book III will also continue in that same forum. Thank you for reading!

Firebird's Fury: Book III of the Firebird Saga

A Fanfiction by Darth Marrs

Note: This is a direct continuation of Firebird's Son and Firebird's Song. If you haven't read the first two, this will make no sense to you. Heck, even you did, it may not. Additionally, if you tried and did not like the first or second, you will undoubtedly not like this one.

Standard Disclaimers apply. I don't own Harry Potter or his world. Plotting and OCs are mine, yes, but not much else. This story was not written for profit.

Chapter One: Not That Kind of Fairy Tale

Shirley and Tom Dibbles lived a comfortable, middle-class life in Sheffield with their daughter Nancy. Shirley taught at Silverdale Comprehensive, while her husband Tom was a senior lecturer in Environmental Studies at Sheffield Hallam.

Their dual incomes allowed them a comfortable home on Chelsea Road approximately midway between each workplace, with a spacious back garden and neighbours who over the years had become close friends. In all, it was a very good life, and Shirley would have been content and happy, if not for Nancy.

Nancy was different.

Almost from the first, her baby girl stood out from the other children in the neighbourhood, and unfortunately not in a good way. While she looked lovely enough, she had an unhealthy pallor to her skin despite glowing health reports from her school. Additionally, she had the most startling brown eyes not so much of their colour, but in how very bright they seemed. But most disturbing was the shock of static electricity they felt whenever they picked her up.

At least, that's what Tom called it. "It's just static, love," he would assure Shirley every time she talked about taking Nancy into a specialist. "See, after a moment it passes."

It always did pass, but what followed was even strangera feeling of euphoria that made Shirley not want to put the baby down at all. That alone was as strange as the shock.

As Nancy grew older, the incidents began. Toys or snacks that were refused her suddenly ended up in her hands, and light bulbs tended to explode whenever she had a fit. Fortunately for both parents, it was easy enough to soothe hera cuddle and a rock would usually be enough.

When she started school, Nancy's teachers reported that she did not appear to get on with the other students in her class. It wasn't so much that she was rude or meanrather the other students seemed to grow uncomfortable around her after a few moments, and then proceeded to just ignore her.

Nancy cried almost an hour straight when she came home after that first day, moaning that none of the other kids would be her friend.

It did not get better as she got older, she just became desensitised enough not to let it bother her as much. That acceptance, as much as anything, broke Shirley's heart. She wanted her baby girl to be happy, but it seemed as she grew older that dreams of happiness became more and more unattainable.

She did her best to engage Nancy in other activities after school and between termsNancy enjoyed her violin lessons and she showed at least some talent, though she was far from a prodigy. She enjoyed swimming a great deal and even joined a swim club. She won every meet, until a rather shame-faced coach told Shirley that the other kids and parents were complaining. Nancy was so much faster than any of the other kids that parents were complaining it wasn't fair.

So, Nancy did not swim competitively any more. Still, there was always violin.

It was not unusual for Shirley and Tom to stay up late, sipping wine and talking quietly about Nancy and about their early dreams of having a second child. They tried for years just to have Nancy, and the specialist told them after Nancy was born that Shirley likely could not have another. They talked about adoption, but it was only talk.

Now that Nancy was ten, it was getting more and more difficult to ignore the fact that she was different. The girl insisted there was a ghost that hung around the cemetery, one time even trying to point it out to her parents in broad daylight. Of course, the Dibbles saw nothing.

But then there were the fits.

It was a recent thing they only started seeing as the last term of school ended. Mrs Tottensham reported an incident where the kids laughed at something Nancy did (Tottensham never actually saw it) and the girl screamed back at the kids. One of the windows in the class shattered as if struck by a brick, and the sound of her scream was so loud every teacher in the school came running, even the headmaster.

Not two weeks later, Nancy sat in the living room staring out the front of the house at a group of schoolmates playing football in the street, boys and girls. Nancy never touched the window; she just sat on the couch and stared out with a blank expression.

The glass cracked, but in a pattern that made it look like lightning falling amid raindrops. Somehow it seemed as if Nancy's dark mood literally imprinted itself on the glass.

So, on a warm night in late August, Tom and Shirley sat up in their bedroom with only Tom's reading light, sipping wine and talking quietly about what to do with Nancy. The latest incident involved a neighbour's girl, Sarah, who taunted Nancy about her eyes only to somehow end up covered head to heels in mud. Sarah's parents used to be good friends, but no longer, and the loss of that friendship stung.

They spoke about schooling options, including select schools and boarding schools. Their fear was that moving her to a new school would not solve the problem; it would just move the problem away. Unspoken, though both parents felt it, was a growing unease they themselves felt around their only child.

The conversation died abruptly though when they heard the creak of the third step on the stairs. Tom reached over and turned off his light before reaching under the bed for a cricket bat. As nice as their neighbourhood was, it wasn't unusual for drunken youths from other neighbourhoods to swing through their area causing mischief. They complained to the local constable, but were told just to stay inside.

Still in his thirties, if barely, Tom remained a fit, strong man who swam and exercised daily. Squatting down with the bat in his hand, Shirley had no doubt he could truly hurt someone. Thus it came as a shock when a shadow entered their room and Tom swung full-force, only for the bat to stop mid-air, caught by an impossibly powerful grip.

"Mr and Mrs Dibbles?" the shadow said in a whisper.

"Who the hell are you?" Tom said, fighting an urge to shout. He tried to jerk the bat back, but he couldn't.

"My name is Remus Lupin, and I've come tonight because you and your family are in immediate danger. I need you both to get dressed, gather what belongs are absolutely necessary, and then come with me."