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Okay for all of you who don't know. I'm writing a story... well actually me and two of my friends are writing this story on what we think wil happen in The Seventh Harry Potter book, with three OCs... So I thought to post up the first chapter for you guys, and if you like it go to Fanfiction.net and look up the name pottermaniac666 whre this story will continue... and please review.
Chapter One

“Times of Change”

The diary of Thistle Malemburg Entry 1; year 7

The summer had just begun but it may as well have never come at all. We all had realized this one year ago, but one year ago we seemed to have a chance. Now it just seemed all the more hopeless.

When I say ‘we’ though, I don’t mean everyone. The muggles can just all keep ignoring the war for all I care, ignorance is bliss, to them, but knowledge, for me, is hell. You see, I am a contradiction by nature, and Gawd, do I hate it!

You see, until barely two weeks ago, I was a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There I made the first friend I had ever had. His name was Harry Potter. Thistle’s the name, and boy you’d never believe who I am, but you’ll find out later, I guarantee it.

Right now I’m waiting outside the Leaky Caldron, so I can wait for the rest of the gang. I have to say it is pretty boring, I’ve resorted to cleaning my brand new ‘89 Magnum, newly imported from the U.S. of A. Now I’m not what you’d expect out of a witch. I don’t wear those silly robes the others wear and never use my wand which is probably at the bottom of my trunk and has been sitting there since my first year at Hogwarts. Personally I prefer ‘muggle wands’, I get a lot more destruction out of em’.

Like I said I’m a walking contradiction. My other best friend, (whom I met the year after I had gotten kicked out of Hogwarts for the first time), is . . . well . . . was the unknown daughter of Sirius Black. Kris Hathland. We both have the power to shape shift, her into a griffin, me into a polar bear.

I have to admit over the years I’ve gotten awfully close to Potter, but not in that way I assure you. He‘s more like a big brother to me. . . . A scrawny, . . . nerdy, . . . puny, . . . big brother . . . whom I can beat up . . . and is the exact image of the kids I used to beat up in grade school . . . . But nevertheless he’s stood by my side and has always been there for me and vise versa. Even when he found out who I really was. But he needs to stop playing the hero! Every freakin’ time he goes off and saves the day, and nearly gets himself killed, giving me a heart attack in the process!

And lets see what have I left out . . . oh yes it‘s about time I told you this: my great uncle is Voldemort. Yep. Didn’t tell you I was I walking contradiction? Harry and Kris are the only two that know of my relations with the dark lard, I mean lord. You see his uncle had a b*****d kid who was my mother who had me. So that makes me related to the freak some how. I think.

Anyways he found out about my parent's existence right after I was just born and killed them, not wanting mom to take his glory as the Slytherin heir or something like that. But I grew up, without him knowing of my existence, in the best foster home any walking contradiction could ask for. A redneck family in a trailer park with a shooting range in the back yard. Anyways during the time of his recovery he found out about me and he now knows I exist, but every time he had the chance to kill me like he did in my fifth year, he didn’t. Instead, to him (and I quote from what he told both Harry and me); ‘I haven’t come to realize my true potential but I’ll come around soon enough.’ I’ll tell ya’ the b*****d sure shook up my friendship with Harry a bit that night at the ministry.

Anyways enough about that, I don’t really feel like writing about my relations, it always puts me in a bad mood. . . . Well hell. . . . Now I’m in a bad mood. . . . Damn it!

Well at the moment I’m waiting for Harry and my other friends to come. Kris said she would be a little late though. Said she’d gone for back up. I hope she was talking about more ammo for my 85’ rocket launcher cuz I’ve been running low and well, Death Eaters make me twitch pretty badly, and a rocket launcher is the only remedy for this kind of twitch of mine if you get my drift. (And if you don’t then damn, you are slow).

Any ways at this point all we can do is hope and prey because compared to what were up against, hopping and preying may not be enough, but it’s all we have. -

Thistle had been waiting for a few hours working between making an updated Diary entry and cleaning out her newly imported collection of muggle wands, her foster parents had sent her as a belated birthday gift. Some would say she was a bit weird, (those people usually never said anything else after that) but for the most part she could care less. After all being the havoc of society was her stick until she learned of her dear uncle. And in order to fix that Uncle Vold’s would have to go ‘bye-bye’.

The door to the bar ever so slightly creaked open, most wouldn’t have heard it, but Thistle herd it well and cautiously she quickly cocked her pistol and swung around in her seat, aiming for the door, only to quickly re-direct her fire-arms upon seeing who had entered.

“Took ya’ long enough.” she muttered. “Get lost or something?”

“No. We found the place alright, but Herminie wanted to come prepared.” A scrawny boy with jet black hair and emerald green eyes replied. Thistle’s brow furrowed with curiosity.

“You do realize it’ll be weeks, maybe months before we can consider attacking the Death Eaters.” Thistle said lamely. She propped her boots back up on the table and proceeded to polish her pistol. “We’ll stock up when the time calls for it.”

“That’s what I told her but she wanted to be so sure,” a stocky redhead whined, coming in behind Harry.

“One can not be too prepared!” the last of the brigade retorted she had long bushy brown hair and a book worm attitude. Thistle shook her head, unable to help but grin. That was Hermione: always efficient. “Especially with what has happened.”

“Well we can’t stay here at any rate. We’d better head back to my place.” Thistle said standing, holstering her magnum into the hip of her pants and grabbing up her diary. “Kris’ll meet up with us there.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Hermione inquired. “What if we’re being followed?” An uneasy look had spread onto her face. She had never been to Thistle’s place before but form what Harry had most likely told her, it was no Buckingham Palace and she just wanted any excuse not to go to such a place.

“So what if they are? They can’t come in and ya’ll need a place to stay.”

“Yeah Hermione, what would you expect us to do? Sleep on the streets.” Ron said in a ‘duh!’ tone, that Hermione did not appreciate.

“Listen Won-Won: Keep up that attitude and you can fill in for one of the manikins in my target practice.” Thistle countered, passing him through the doorway and out to Diagon Ally. Ron immediately turned three shades of red; one from the mention of his old nickname, and two for having it be thrown at him by Thistle, who was very much like his own sister. Smirking Thistle led the group through the street. Not wanting to be left behind, Ron reluctantly followed the trigger happy brunet with slumped shoulders and a face that was so red at this point it matched his hair.

A half hour’s walk from the Leaky Cauldron to a deep part of Knockturn Ally brought the four of them to a rather dilapidated apartment complex.

“I know it’s a bit run down . . .” Thistle said as she saw the horror struck look on Hermione’s face. “But it’s better on the inside.”

“Oh! Like a magic charm?” Hermione asked hopefully.

“No. It’s still pretty crappy. The first four floors are gutted from mold and mildew down to the wires. The last floor is Kris’ and mine. We’ve redone if for our own use, you know, added a few homey touches.”

“That must have cost a lot.”

“Yeah. Kris nearly hasn’t any money in Gringotts left and all mines is copout. I’ve been running low on ammunition for months!”

“But no one will look here right?” Harry asked skeptically.

“I hope not. The poltergeist that used to live here got too spooked out from the place and left. That’s why we like it.”

“That’s creepy.” Ron replied, shocked.

“That’s the idea.” Thistle said, giving Ron one of her famous evil grins.

Quickly opening the rusted door to the building, Thistle began to jogging up the front stairs.

“Thistle, that doesn’t look very safe.” Hermione cautioned her mischievous friend.

“Yeah, but its better then the elevator.” She gestured to the ratted hole in the wall, where, in a desecrated heap, was what was left of the elevator.

“I’ll take the stairs.” Ron quickly commented rushing after Thistle.

After lugging up five sets of rusted and rickety stairs they entered a penthouse sweet, or what should have been one. It was bluntly obvious that this floor had been gutted too, but rebuilt in such a way to be livable. Some parts of walls had been re-wired and plastered but most had just small two by fours set between studs as set shelves. There was a small fireplace against the west wall and tables running along the other side. The tables were littered with types of spell books good and bad. Potions, maps, and molded food. Small lamps and candles, a few throw rugs, quills, and crumpled up bits of parchment littered the floor. Two beds could be seen squished into a room, though an open doorway next to the fire place. On the other side of it was another doorway, and next to that a medium sized cupboard.

“Well, make yourselves at home.” The brunet’s said brightly crossing over to the cupboard and opening it to reveal about twenty five different hand guns all sitting in holders that were merely two nails hammered into the sides of the cupboard.

Ron whistled. “And I thought you had a big collection at school!”

Thistle turned to him. “Collection? Hon, this isn’t my collection . . .”

She walked over to the second door and opened it walking into to its dark depths. There was a small clicking sound and a small light bulb went on, revealing a large room filled with shelves of different fire arms, grenades, smoke bombs, other explosives, daggers, nun-chucks, swords, Chinese throwing stars, staffs, an ax, throwing hatchets, throwing daggers, and numerous canes that twisted at the handle to become swords themselves, and last but not least: a rocket launcher lining the back wall, next to her various belt rankings from the several martial arts she had been trained all the way up to a high-ranking black belt in each. This time all three of them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, whistled.

“Thistle . . .” Harry said breathlessly. Thistle turned smartly to him crossing her arms and grinning. “ . . . DAMN!”

Damn.

So true.

There was no other way to describe it.

Damn indeed.

Thistle reached up to the cord dangling above her head and clicked it, the whole room was once again engulfed in darkness and she walked out licking the door behind her. “I couldn’t fit all my stuff in the other room,” she said nodding to the cramped space her and Kris’s beds lay. “So we had to stuff them in the master bed room. It was still a tight fit.” The trio gawked at her. “Would anyone like a cup of tea?”

A faint squeak came from Ron’s throat.

“Four teas then. Go ahead have a seat.” Thistle said brushing past them.

“Where?” Ron asked snobbishly.

“Clear an area on the floor, I think there are some seats to roll out.” Thistle replied heading for the fire with her a tea kettle.

But before she was got there green flames erupted from the fire place and two blackened shapes emerged.
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A/n-
Thistle. Yo! Thanks for reading this chapter, and hopefully you review! Yeah just some things I’d like to tell ya. First off that the title of this story is subject to change. I haven’t had the time to come up with a better one. Secondly that I’ll try to keep regular updates, however at some points I’ll not have access to the computer but will update when I can. Thank you very much, and, again I hope you like.