It is every book fanatic’s dream to go into their favorite book; to fight alongside Eragon and Saphira; to eat famous Redwall Abbey food; to race Melanie and Hi Jinx in the Preakness. It is every book fanatic’s dream.

But mine.

Ok, so I never leave the house without a book, or go to bed without reading first. I’m your regular bookworm, with one catch.

I never see the good side of books. I like seeing the evil side, but I hate it, too. Who would want to fight vermin, or fall in a race and get trampled? Maybe that’s why Harry chose me—because I understand what he’s up against.

Calm down! Yes, I said Harry. Harry Potter, the famous teen wizard who lived through the Avada Kedavra curse when his parents died. Almost everyone in the world knows his story. No one thought it was real, though. Like most book lovers who resign to the fact that they’ll never get a letter from Hogwarts saying they are a witch or wizard and have a place on the Hogwarts Express, I didn’t either.

Guess what? As usual, Lara Winston was wrong.

***********************************
It all started that fateful day in June of 2003. Well, it was more like night. I had stayed up late trying out my Grandpa’s new computer, so I didn’t get to bed until eleven. The muscles in my hands wouldn’t stop screaming at me, but I finally dropped off around midnight, only to wake up a few hours later to the sound of breaking clay. Thinking Spotty, my cat, had gotten into my pots again, I reluctantly got out of my nice, warm bed and headed downstairs.

My grandparents’ house has two floors, a three-car garage, and a huge back yard where my garden is. I slept upstairs (the whole second floor was practically my bedroom, including the bathroom and bonus room) and my grandparents sleep downstairs. I walked through the living room, dining room, then past the kitchen to the garage, my nightgown swishing around my legs. I unlocked the garage door and peeped inside. From the light coming in through the windows, I could see Grandma’s red Camry and Grandpa’s 1978 blue corvette. Beyond that was my potting table.

As I walked in further, leaving the door wide open, I noticed small, sharp bits of clay that used to be my best pot. I knelt down and picked up a piece, then another, holding back tears. My mother had made me that pot before she had died. I traced the design, a pattern of suns and moons, while I scooped up the broken pot. Maybe I could glue it together later, after I killed Spotty.

I went back to bed, saddened by this event. When I closed my door, though, I jumped—a man was standing right behind me!

Ok, so he wasn’t a man, per se—he looked to be about fifteen, with jet-black hair and emerald-like green eyes. He held a stick with a light on the end. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Lara Winston, I presume?�

I clutched at my heart; it beat loudly, and I swear the boy could hear it. I soon got over my initial surprise and my eyes narrowed. “Who’re you, how’d you get here, and why the hell--� Words stopped pouring out of my mouth.

He had put round glasses on; in doing so, he had shifted his bangs. Underneath them was a lightning-shaped scar.

Speechless, I sat down on my bed. I knew that scar, I knew that face. J.K Rowling had written four books about him, He looked the way he had when Cedric died; too bad I hadn’t gotten to meet him.

“Harry Potter,� I mumbled. “Harry Potter is in my bedroom.�

Harry sat down beside me. Without a word he put his wand—the thing I had called a light-stick, stupid me—away and he turned on my bedside lamp. I could see him more clearly now; he was wearing slacks and a t-shirt under a black cloak. A silver lump was on my bench, at the end of my bed. I felt naked without my bra on in front of a guy.

“Lara--� he started, but before he could get any further I got up, grabbed an orange book with a dragon on the cover, and shoved it in his face.

“This is where you should be!� I whispered, almost in a hiss. “You should be in the Graveyard kicking Voldemort’s behind, surrounded by Death Eaters--�

“How’d you know all that?� Harry interrupted.

I smiled crookedly. “I know who you are, Harry. I know your history. You’ve fought Voldemort three times in the past four years! And, more amazing than that, you lived! Every single time!�

Harry sighed. “Remus said you’d know, and Dumbledore had, too.�

Remus Lupin. The name rang a bell in my head—he was a werewolf who had taught Harry in his third year, when he had found his godfather, Sirius. I couldn’t believe that I might meet him, because if Harry was here, that could only mean someone had come along with him.

And Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, the only person Voldemort ever feared. The man with the long white beard and long pointy nose, half-moon glasses over blue eyes. I knew both well. Not personally, no, but I knew them.

I poked Harry in the shoulder. He blinked at me. “What was that for?�

“Had to make sure you were real,� I said simply. “How’d you get here, anyway? Invisibility?�

“That, and…� he paused. “You’ll find out later.�

A moment’s silence followed. “What are you here for?� I demanded after a while—I can’t stand silence; it eats away at me until I have to say something. “Unless your world is real--�

“It is.�

It was my turn to blink. “It…is?�

“You’re a witch, Lara.�

I stared at him. How could I be a witch, I wanted to ask him. How could I, Lara Winston, daughter of a felon and living with my out-of-date grandparents, be a witch? According to his world, I was a Muggle—non-magic folk. Meaning, I couldn’t do magic. I was almost as bad as a squib—Muggle born into a wizarding family—when compared by Purebloods.

“You can’t be serious!� was all I could say. He smiled. His hand went to a pocket inside his cloak. “I am. Here.� He handed me a parchment envelope. It was creamy white, and shone in the light of the lamp. On the front, in bright green ink, were the words:

Lara Winston
1200 Oak Street
Kaka, Virginia, U.S.A

This couldn’t be real! Again, I was speechless. Fiction was just that—fiction. Meaning it wasn’t real! I had to be dreaming, had to! To make sure, I pinched myself. Hard. Harry was still there, and my arm hurt.

Not dreaming.

Excited now, I ripped open the envelope and read the first sentence.

Dear Ms. Winston,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


My eyes went to the bottom. It was signed Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.

“Excuse me,� I apologized, then found my pillow and screamed into it. I could hear Harry laughing at me, and I blushed. I took my face out of my pillow and took a deep breath. “One last thing,� I said. “Prove you’re Harry Potter. Prove you can do magic. Prove your world truly exists.�

“The scar isn’t enough for you?� Harry asked, surprised. I shook my head. Boy, he was smart. (Sarcastic moment, bare with me) He shrugged. “Ok.� He took out his wand again and pointed it at my cat as she pushed her way through the door.

“Engorgio!�

I watched as Spotty grew before my eyes; her white fur grew longer, her limbs the same, her frame larger. When she was the size of a border collie I cried, “Ok, ok, you can stop it now!�

With a rueful smile Harry muttered the counter spell and Spotty grew smaller again. Calmly, she jumped on my lap and began to purr.

Nothing can get more real than that.

I looked at my letter again, feeling the crisp parchment under my fingers. I saw the list, touching lightly on the fact of how I was going to pay for all of it, and then I found the ticket. It was a scarlet red with the words Hogwarts Express sprawling across the top and Platform Nine and Three Quarters beneath it.

I smiled. My aquamarine eyes turned on Harry. “When do we leave?�

He stared at me for a second, and then said, “Whenever you want to.�

******************************
It had taken me ten minutes to get some real clothes on (jeans and a t-shirt, nothing special) and brush out my short, brown hair. I slipped quietly out of the house, stopping for a minute to write a note to my grandparents (not that they’d believe me, but I had to try) before closing the garage door as gently as possible. I almost made it out through the side door when I went past my potting table. There, good as new, was my mom’s pot.

I looked down at Spotty—I couldn’t leave her behind, no way! —and smiled. “I think I might like this,� I whispered. She meowed in answer.

I stepped out into the night with Spotty at my heels, and stopped in my tracks.

Standing right in front of me were three people I never through I would meet: Remus Lupin, werewolf, teacher, and former Marauder, with light brown hair streaked with gray. He looked tired and sick, like he didn’t want to be here but had to. His robes were patched up, showing years of use. The other man, a stooped older man with bushy gray hair and what seemed to be a wooden leg, was whispering in Harry’s ear. That was Alastor “Mad Eye� Moody, one time teacher for Hogwarts and ex-Auror. (Dark Wizard catcher) His magical eye spun around in its socket. (It was hard to keep from retching there.) Beside him, looking very pleased with herself, was Ginny Weasley. Her red hair was down to her shoulders now, and her brown eyes were the same as always—bright and mischievous.

“She’ll have to learn everything in two months,� I heard Moody hiss. “That’s not enough time—we still have enough to rethink this.�

“I know--� Harry looked up when I closed the door. “There you are, Lara!�

I blinked. “Why are they here?� I jerked my head towards Lupin, Moody, and Ginny. “We can get back on our own, can’t we?�

“Well…� Harry smiled, and said hesitantly, “You…know who these people are, don’t you?�

I nodded. “Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, and Ginny Weasley, Ron’s younger sister.�

Ginny’s eyes widened. “How’d you know that?�

Before I could answer Harry cut in. “I’ll explain later. Right now we need to get back.�

“How are we getting back, exactly?� I asked. “Brooms?�

Moody shook his head; his eyeball rolled around. “Too dangerous. Who knows what kind of things Voldemort will send after us?�

“What would Voldemort want with me?� I thought it was weird that no one flinched at his name. Everyone did in the books. Oh, wait—Ginny flinched. Just a bit.

I was ignored. “Where’s the Portkey?� Harry asked.

Lupin pulled out an old kettle without its handles out of his coat pocket. I raised an eyebrow—What would a retired professor want with a broken kettle? –and gave Harry a look.

Everyone gathered around Lupin and touched the kettle; I hung back. I still didn’t really know what it was, and I wasn’t about to take any chances.

“Come on, Lara,� Harry beckoned. “It’s only a transportation device to get us back to London. Quick, before the Ministry figures out we have an unauthorized Portkey!�

A Portkey! That’s what it was! In The Goblet of Fire, Harry used one to get to the Quidditch World Cup and another to end up in the graveyard where Voldemort was resurrected. But I still wasn’t going.

Harry smiled. “Trust me, Lara. Just trust me.�

I cringed at those words. I hate them the most out of everything. The last time a person told me that, my dad ended up in prison and my mom dead. Does it really seem likely I’d listen to those words?

“Two minutes, Harry,� Moody growled.

“Let me try.� Ginny let go of the kettle and walked over to me. “Look,� she whispered in my ear. “We’re trying to help. People are after you; do you want to stay here and die, or come with us and be safe?�

“One minute!� Lupin warned.

“Screw this!� I mumbled. I picked up Spotty, who surprisingly didn’t protest, and pushed my way through to get a finger on the kettle. I was scared out of my wits, for sure, but I swallowed my fear (and vomit) to satisfy my curiosity.

“Hold on!� Harry yelled. My stomach lurched as we started to spin. Moody and Lupin seemed just fine—except for Moody’s eye, which still freaks me out—while Ginny was turning a bright shade of green and Harry was glaring at the kettle. When I dared to look up, I saw different places—grassy fields, tight streets, and tall trees.

“Let go!� I heard someone yell.

“What?!� I shrieked. If Moody’s eye makes me sick, this was going to make me retch. Bad.

“Just let go!� Harry grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand off the pot. Spotty yowled in pain; I was squeezing her in my own fear. The next thing I knew my hand was being ripped from the kettle and I was falling. I landed hard on the ground, the grass not cushioning it my fall one bit. I hadn’t realized I had closed my eyes until I opened them. Harry had let go of my wrist during our fall; he had landed some ways away. Spotty wriggled in my right arm; I let her go and she dashed off. I wasn’t worried; she never went too far from me.

I looked around from my spot on the ground. Trees surrounded the field we were in. The grass shone wet with morning dew in the dawn light. I saw some birds—well, they looked like birds—flying towards us.

Lupin, Moody, and Ginny were already standing and waving at the birds. I heard Harry mumble, “I’ll never get used to that…� when he got up. He held out a hand to help me up. I took it and soon I was up and swaying (I still hadn’t got my feet back under me).

“Where are--�

“Hey, guys!�

The objects I had called birds were actually people on brooms. They were all redheads, all tall, and they all had freckles. I smiled—Fred, George, and Ron Weasley were coming towards me. Ron was blushing a bit—no clue why. I remember thinking there must’ve been something wrong with my face and covering my nose up. I absolutely hate my nose—it’s too long and almost beak-like.

“So this is the young witch you brought home, Harry!� Fred—or George, never could tell one from the other, never will—said as they got nearer. All three shook my hand. Ron blushed an even deeper crimson and mumbled, “Nice to meet you.� I dismissed it as nervous jitters.

“Where are we?� I repeated.

“Just across the way from the Burrow,� Ginny replied. “We’ll be meeting up with Dad there.� She took one of the twins’ (I think it was George) brooms. He turned, arms out wide, and disappeared with a crack. I blinked—where had he gone? Before I could ask (it seems I’m asking a lot of questions lately) the other twin, whom I thought was Fred, handed me his broom and disappeared with the same loud crack, as did Lupin and Moody. The wood of the broom was smooth and polished, and I could see the word Firebolt on the end. I ran my hand up and down its length, whistling under my breath. This was the broom Sirius had given Harry after his Nimbus Two Thousand broke in the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. I looked up at Harry and opened my mouth, about to ask why he had trusted Fred with his broom.

Harry held up his hand to shut me up. “Before you ask any questions,� he said, “ I’ll explain everything later.�

When’s this ‘later’ you speak of? I thought.

Ron and Ginny mounted their brooms and pushed off, speeding back the way Ron and the twins had come. I looked, first at Harry, then at the broom in my hand. “Do you expect me to ride this?�

“Not by yourself.� He took it from me and mounted. He looked just like the way the books described him—he sat on the broom like it was a habitual thing, and he looked so good on it. (Not that I’m saying he looked hot, God no! All boys, deep down, are idiots. Period.)

“Get on behind me,� Harry brought me out of my staring contest with the broom. “My Firebolt is a strong broom. It’ll be able to hold us both.�

I almost laughed out loud at this. Harry had to be at least one hundred and thirty pounds—I only weigh one hundred and twenty—so how could a broom, and a flying one at that, hold us both? Amazingly enough, I kept my mouth shut and obeyed.

I could tell I was in for a bumpy ride.

I hate flying.

The actual flying part is all right, I mean, the wind feels good, but the height thing is a problem. I can just hear you now, “Then why are you flying the first place?!� Do you really think I’d walk when a faster way is available?

My arms were wrapped tightly around Harry’s waist; at one point he had told me to loosen my grip before I suffocated him. I chanced a look down and immediately closed my eyes. The vomit I had tried so hard to hold back came up again, but I held it down. Now was not the time to get sick, especially when first impressions (though pointless) would later be important.

“You all right back there?� Harry asked.

I nodded into his back. I could almost feel the trees whisk by under us and then the wind seemed to change. When I tried to look again, the ground was getting closer. I sighed with relief when the Burrow came into view.

The rooms jutted out at odd angles in the form of a tall house, making it look like a blind man made it. The door of the broom shed in the yard swung back and forth in the wind. I saw a few of the gnomes in the garden grunting their way back over the fence, still a bit dizzy from the way they walked. A soft breeze blowing against the house made it creak. I smiled.

Now this is what I call home.

There was a black car in front with Ron and Ginny getting in. A slightly bald older man was glancing around, a bit jumpy, and he looked relieved when he saw Harry on his Firebolt with me on the back. When we finally landed I slid of the back of the broom and knelt to the ground.

“Sweet, sweet earth!� I cried. “How I missed you so!�

The man helped me up, a huge grin on his face. “Hello there!� he exclaimed. “I’m Arthur Weasley, and you must be Lara. Wonderful to meet you!� He grabbed my hand and shook it, pumping it up and down.

“Dad!� Ron had rolled down the window and poked his head out. “Don’t get all excited like you did with Harry, give her some space!�

I smiled as Mr. Weasley let go of my hand, looking embarrassed. “That’s alright, sir,� I said. “I don’t mind.�

“Well, get in, get in,� He shooed me towards the car, that wary look in his eyes again. As I got in, he said, “We have to get to going, the others are waiting for us at the house.�

I thought I’d be squished into the back with everyone else, including the Twins, but it turns out that, again, I was wrong. Only Ron, Ginny, and Harry were in the back—I guessed that wherever they had popped off to, it was the place we were going—and Mr. Weasley got into the front beside the driver. The inside was just like the outside, black and shiny. The seat was longer then in most cars, and I thought that it would make the car look funny. Before I could ask, Ginny said, “Ministry car.� Like that explained everything.

The car thrummed into life and we pulled out of the drive. I watched the Burrow slide away. Why couldn’t we stay there? I wanted to ask. Where could we possibly be going that could be more fun than a summer at the Burrow?

Just then, I heard a soft meowing. Spotty poked her white head out from underneath the seat. I grabbed her and held her close.

“Oh, I almost forgot about you!� I exclaimed, hugging her tight.

“You got a smart cat,� Ginny commented. “She came in here before we did.�

“I’m worried she’ll get along with Crookshanks,� I said. From what I got from the books, Crookshanks, Hermione’s longhaired ginger tom, wasn’t fixed—and neither was Spotty. A part of me was like, aw, kittens, cute! But the other part: Oh, God, here we go again…

“That mangy thing?� Ron scoffed. “They’ll be fine, as long as Spotty stays away from him.� Ginny clouted him over the head, making me laugh.

“Watch it, you two!� warned Mr. Weasley.

I turned to Harry. “You alright?� I asked. “You seem quiet.�

He just smiled at me. “Yes, I’m fine, Lara.� He continued to stare out the window until I asked,

“Will we be going to Diagon Alley? You know, to get all my school stuff?�

Mr. Weasley answered me this time. He craned his neck to look at me. “Yes, when we get the rest of the letters.�

I kept my mouth shut from then on for no reason in particular. Soon Spotty fell asleep, purring on my lap. Morning turned into noon, and when we still didn’t stop, I said, “This sure is taking a long time. Where are we going?�

Ginny leaned over Ron to whisper in my ear, “Grimmauld Place.�

I raised an eyebrow. “Where’s that?� I had never heard of a Grimmauld Place, in the books or on the Internet.

“We can’t say anything else, it’s Order stuff,� Ron mumbled.

“They’re not telling me anything, either,� Harry told me. “I guess we’re in the same boat.�

I scowled at the floor of the car. Oh, how I wish I had pencil and paper…I would have loved to draw something, just to pass the time away until we got to this “Grimmauld Place�. Where was this place, anyways? And this “Order�—what the heck is that? I guess I would find out soon enough.

****************************
“She up yet?�

“Shush, she’s sleeping, Ronald!�

“Ginny, don’t bother her!�

“She’s been asleep for a long time, though. Is she still alive?�

I blinked my eyes open; the bed under me creaked as I moved. There was a single lamp lit, sitting on the bedside table. Looking around, I saw almost half the Weasleys, plus Harry and a girl with bushy brown hair. I looked down, but thankfully I was still fully clothed. I guess not even a mother had the heart to undress me.

A plump, redheaded witch at the front of the group smiled at me. “Morning, dear,� she said. “I’m Mrs. Weasley. I’m sure you’ve met everyone.� She waved her hand like she was showcasing Ginny, Ron, Fred, and George.

“Hi, guys,� I greeted them. “Um…I kinda don’t have a change of clothes…�

“That’s all right, Lara,� Mrs. Weasley said cheerfully. “Dumbledore is delivering a letter to your grandparents this morning, a trunk will be here soon full of your things. Now, scat, all of you!� She shooed the boys out, going along with them, and I raised an eyebrow. Things were moving a bit too fast for me.

Both girls sat down on the bed, the brown-haired one smiling and Ginny picking at the blanket. Hermione Granger held out her hand to me.

“Hello, I’m Hermione Granger. Ready to find out what you’ll be doing this summer?�

I raised the other eyebrow. I’m sure I looked like a complete idiot. “And what exactly is that?�

“Learning, of course,� Hermione answered. “Now, since it’s Saturday we won’t do anything, but starting Monday we’ll be starting first-year Charms--�

I held up my hand to stop her rampage of words. “What?�

With an excited wave of her hand she said, “You can’t be going to Hogwarts without having some training first.�

“We’ll be helping you,� Ginny put in. “All of us. I’ll help you with Transfiguration.�

“I’ll be Runes and History of Magic,� Hermione said, ignoring my mumbled, “Fun.� “Harry will teach you Defense, and Ron’ll teach you Charms. We’ll all help you with Potions, and we might as well forget about astronomy and herbology for a while. Goodness knows we don’t have the proper equipment for it!�

“Divination can rot in hell,� I said before anything could be said of the subject. “You walked out of it in your third year; that’s as much opinion as I need on that class, and Trelawney.� Sybill Trelawney is the divination teacher at Hogwarts; she smells of cooking sherry and stays up in her tower, pondering on the way Harry is going to die. (Courtesy of the third and fourth books in the Harry Potter series)

Hermione was about to say something else when Spotty came barreling into the room. A large ginger tom with a squashed face came running after her, meowing at the top of his lungs.

“Crookshanks!� Hermione cried, and she grabbed him by the scruff. Spotty dashed under the bed, hissing. “What were you doing?� The cat tried to fight, but eventually gave up and just sat their on the girl’s lap. I giggled.

“Nice to meet you, Crookshanks,� I said to Hermione’s cat. I got a hiss for an answer, almost like the cat could understand me.

With a resigned sigh, I said, “So…when do we start?�
****************************
Hermione needs to work on scheduling. I had thought that I would have another day to get situated (and explore the house, which I hadn’t really gotten to do) but no, we have to start classes on a Sunday. From Mrs. Weasley, I had concluded that the meeting with my grandparents hadn’t gone very well, but since they partially knew the people I was with, it was ok for me to stay. I had my trunk (didn’t realize I had one) and proper clothes. Though happy as I was at the time, they would soon find out that I don’t much care for early wake-up calls.

Around seven Sunday morning, while I was fast asleep, a loud shrieking reached my ears. I could hear something about filthy Mudbloods (Muggle-born witches and wizards) being in the house and how some man was disgracing the family. When I plucked enough courage to get out of bed and go downstairs, the screaming had stopped. I snuck down the stairs as quietly as I could, trying to see what the source of the noise was.

Having stayed in my room most of the day Saturday, I hadn’t yet gone downstairs yet. What I saw was a large room whose walls were covered in old paintings. One was behind moth-eaten black curtains, very old and in need of cleaning. There was an umbrella stand made of a large, rather hairy leg. The paint was peeling off the walls and the carpet was thin as a sheet. I looked up and saw a candelabra, which looked like a snake and was covered in cobwebs. Gas lamps were lit all over. When I made it to the bottom of the steps and took a glance back, I jumped and knocked into the covered painting, knocking the curtain down. All kinds of curses exploded in my ears.

“Filthy Mudbloods! Tainting my beautiful, wonderful house! Destroying my beloved home--�

“Would you shut up!� I yelled. I turned around as a door opened—a young man who was gaunt-looking and had a mob of messy black hair, ran out.

“Mother, please,� he mumbled, covering the painting back up. The screams got even louder. “Into the basement, now!� he hissed at me. I obeyed without a word and hurried through the door, shutting it with a loud slam behind me.

Yet another room lay before me. There was a large table in this one, surrounded by a whole lot of chairs. Rough stonewalls had no adornment, and the fireplace looked like it needed as much cleaning as the entrance. A dresser stood in one corner, near a cupboard. A smaller door led off somewhere else.

I was glad to see that most of the others were up. With a sigh of relief I sat down next to Ginny and took some bacon off a plate. A mound of rags was sitting at the far end of the table, and I wrinkled my nose at the smell of whisky that wafted off it. Harry and Ron were playing a game of Exploding Snap while eating, and Hermione (coincidentally) was going through a huge stack of thick books.

“Did you like your meeting with Mrs. Black?� commented Ginny with a smile.

“Who, the painting?� I said. That thing had a name? “I suppose so. Where’s your mom?�

“She went to the Ministry with Dad,� she said. “Didn’t give us anymore information than that.�

I looked up as a small creature in rags with bat-like ears came out of the small cupboard. Before I could ask, Ginny told me, “Ignore him. That’s Kreacher, Sirius’ house-elf. Truly horrid.� The little creature scurried out of the door.

“He isn’t horrid!� exclaimed Hermione. “He’s a house-elf who’s been in this house far too long! You know, if he was free…�

“He’d go straight to Voldemort and tell him all our secrets,� cut in Harry.

I chewed my bacon thoughtfully. A painting that screamed at you, a house-elf that didn’t pay attention to you…if this was Grimmauld Place, then I’d rather be back at the Burrow.

The black-haired man that had saved me from the screaming painting—“Mrs. Black�—came tiptoeing through the door. With a deep breath he closed it softly and took a seat across from me.

“I see you’ve met my mother,� he said.

“She’s a very nice lady, Sirius,� I said sarcastically, pointing at him with my fork. I had immediately recognized the man, on the run from the Ministry for allegedly killing thirteen Muggles and one wizard with one curse. “All that yelling in my ears is doing my ear drums a whole world of good!�

Sirius Black sniffed, then smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.� He held out his hand across the table, and I shook it heartily. “I’m Sirius Black.�

“Lara Winston, at your service.� I glanced at Hermione as she stood with about half the books in her arms, and assuming what she was about to do, I stood, too.

Let the torture begin.

I scowled at the book in front of me. Hermione had wasted no time in starting History of Magic. It’s one of the few classes where you don’t need a wand, and we weren’t going to Diagon Alley—to my disappointment—until the following Wednesday. I quickly learned to hate the subject, after only two days of studying the stupid, useless thing. We started with Ancient Egypt, the most boring place on earth, according to every single word in that book. Hermione had assigned me an essay about why the wizards were thought so highly of. Ron had loaned me his book—which he had written all over, and I assumed slept on, as there was drool dried on some of the pages—but it wasn’t helping me. All I got from it was, “The curse-holders of Egypt were held in high esteem for protecting their pharaohs’ treasures.� How can you make a whole essay out of that, I ask you?

I looked up as the door opened and the barer of my misery came in. Hermione smiled at me. “Working hard, I see,� she commented.

“Yeah.� I threw my quill down on the bed, splattering some ink. I rolled up my parchment and put it in the nightstand beside my bed, along with my ink well, book, and slightly bent quill. “Is lunch ready?� I asked.

Hermione nodded. “That’s what I came up here for. Dumbledore’s here, too, I think. Or will be soon.�

I didn’t make too big a deal out of it until she left—I gave her a shrug and a nod, telling her I’d be down in a minute. Then, when the door closed with a click, I pumped my fist into the air, whispering very loudly, “Boo-yah!� Spotty, who was on a chair in the corner by the window, scooted underneath the bed.

Why am I so excited, you ask? Who wouldn’t be, if they were about to meet one of the most famous wizards of all time! It helped that lunch was ready, too—I hadn’t had enough time to eat breakfast that morning, and my stomach wouldn’t leave me alone about it. (I almost never eat breakfast, anyways; I’m never hungry in the mornings.)

With a skip and a jump I went barreling down the stairs, stopping abruptly at the top of the first landing. I had learnt my lesson with that stupid painting, and I walked on tiptoe to the basement door. I didn’t want Sirius’ ‘dear old mother’ screaming her head off at me just for walking past, or, God forbid, talking. I slipped through the door and closed it with relief. I took my seat next to Ginny, nodding to Harry and Ron, who were discussing something about brooms and Quaffles. (Quidditch, if you haven’t caught my drift. I won’t go into detail about that right now.) Hermione wasn’t there yet. The pile of rags was gone, though I could still smell the whiskey, and there was no sign of Dumbledore.

“Have a good morning?� asked Mrs. Weasley, who was cutting up meat and bread.

“If you’re definition of a ‘good morning’ is writing an essay for History of Magic, then you’re messed up,� I answered moodily, taking a sandwich off a plate that Mrs. Weasley set on the table. I knew that I shouldn’t have been so rude, but I was grumpy. Just a little bit.

Ginny laughed. “Come on, writing essays isn’t that hard!�

“Is to, when you aren’t used to a quill, and starting over every time you make a small mistake,� I replied.

Ron looked up with a confused look on his face. “What do you usually write with?�

“A pencil.� He gave me a look that asked me what a pencil is. I just rolled my eyes.

“You’ll have to get used to it, dear.� Mrs. Weasley sat down at a chair near the end. Ron raised an eyebrow, ending up raising both, and murmured something to Harry. “Albus will be here soon,� his mother continued. “He made a quick stop at the Ministry to talk to Arthur.�

“Where’re Fred and George?� I picked up another sandwich, trying to hide my disappointment. Dumbledore was taking an awful long time…

“Somewhere upstairs,� answered Harry.

“They’re working on--� Ron started, but Ginny, who also gave him a look, kicked him. Rubbing his kneecap, he concluded in a mumble, “They’re doing stuff.�

I grinned, but decided to ask later. Ginny tells me everything—we made fast friends, after only a few days. I don’t know if it’s being the same age or her personality, or just my overall sarcastic happiness, but it happened straight off.

Lunch turned into afternoon, and afternoon into evening, and still Dumbledore didn’t come. Supper was a silent affair; I got the feeling that someone had died or was in the hospital, for even Sirius was sadder than usual, spending all his time upstairs. (“Buckbeak’s up there,� Ginny explained to me in a whisper. “He’s Sirius’ hippogriff.� I knew that. “He comforts him, more than we ever could.� So that’s where Buckbeak ended up! It had me wondering, after Sirius flew off on him in the third book.)

I was getting ready for bed before he finally came through the door. I was upstairs in my bedroom, talking with a painting that hung on the far wall, near the dresser/closet thing that I can’t really describe. He said his name with Phineas, a very pompous former Hogwarts Headmaster and sarcastic to the point of annoyance. We were arguing over something very stupid (so stupid that I don’t feel it has any importance to be made evident about what was being discussed) while I was partway through changing and he had his back turned to give me some privacy.

“Really, Mr. Nigellus, you can’t seriously think--�

“Yes, I do, Winston, and don’t bother continuing this argument!�

“I like heated debating, sir.� I slipped on my pajama shirt, one that reached to my knees, and put my laundry in my basket. “And having one with a painting is just as fun!� I added with a smile. I looked up as someone knocked.

“Ms. Winston? May I come in?� came a man’s voice.

“Yes!� I called. When the door slid open, my jaw dropped.

There, in flesh and blood, was Albus Dumbledore.

His beard was long and silver, and his robes a deep maroon. Half-moon glasses adorned a bony nose, and blue eyes looked at me calmly, excitedly, even. His hair was gray, close to the silver of his beard, and black slippers covered his feet. I grabbed my robe out of my truck and quickly tied it on, making the old man laugh.

“It’s alright!� said Dumbledore.

“For you, maybe,� I replied. “But for me, it’s a problem.� I sat down on my bed. The mattress squeaked, and I flinched. Phineas had left—thank goodness—and we were alone. Now that the time had come, though, I was a bit apprehensive about being alone with such a formidable man.

“I believe no one has explained anything to you, Ms. Winston,� began Dumbledore, going straight to the point. “Have they?� I shook my head. And, in truth, no one had told me a thing since I had arrived at number twelve Grimmauld Place. Whenever I asked, the subject was always changed to something more pleasant to everyone but me.

“And you probably have some questions, don’t you?� I nodded. “Fire away,� said Dumbledore calmly.

The questions exploded from my mouth, trampling each other to get out first. “Why am I here, why me, what’s going on, how long will this be, what’s the Order, what does Voldemort want with me?� The last question forced itself from thoughts into words, and I fell silent. I saw a smile crease Dumbledore’s lips.

“Alas, I can only answer some of those,� he said. “You shall stay until the end of the school year, July 1st, to be exact. It shall be your choice to stay or go after that.

“The Order of the Phoenix is an anti-Voldemort association that is bent on stopping him and his Death Eaters. I assume you have some knowledge on the subject, as our creator so kindly made sure of in her last installment.�

“So…you know J.K Rowling made you up?� I asked timidly. “Made your whole world up, too?�

“Of course we do,� Dumbledore replied, a bit surprised. “Though, regrettably, those numbers are very few. But we make do, and keep it a secret so no one else shall know or try to change it. Or, worse, deny it.

“Why Voldemort wants you, we are still trying to figure out. But, it is currently top priority for the Order, as is keeping you safe. So, that means--�

“Don’t tell me no Diagon Alley!� I interrupted sharply.

“Hold on there, Ms. Winston!� laughed Dumbledore. “You will still be going, just with some fortifications to ensure your safety.�

I sighed in relief, sagging on my bed. “Thank goodness! I thought I’d be stuck here for the rest of the summer.�

“But,� said Dumbledore with a somber grin, “you will not to be leaving this house without an escort, so that means no unauthorized trips, Ms. Winston.

“Now, moving on. About your classes. Having your friends—I am assuming friends, so correct me if I am wrong—teach was the only way I thought would be safest. Having the professors walk in and out of this house for everyday lessons would be foolish and risky. I have negotiated with the Minister for Magic, and he has allowed you to use magic, as well as your temporary teachers, for learning purposes only.� He put emphasis on the last part, and I tried my best to look innocent. Okay, so I had some ideas for my wand once I got it—what’s the harm in thinking, as long as I don’t do it? Right? Right? (Trying to be convincing here, people!)

“But why me?� I asked. The man still hadn’t moved from the door, though it had closed a short time ago. “Why a fourteen year old who doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing?�

“Language, Ms. Winston,� said Dumbledore sternly, but with a twinkle in his eye. If I liked him a lot as a character in a book, I sure liked him a lot more now! “That question shall be answered in due time.�

I scowled, crossing my arms. “Everyone keeps saying ‘I’ll tell you later, Lara’, ‘Some other time, Lara’. When will I get some da—dang answers!� I switched the word I was going to use just in time. I had a tendency to swear when I was mad, as you can see.

Dumbledore didn’t answer, but turned the knob. “Like I said, all in due time. Good night, Ms. Winston.� He left and closed the door behind him, and I heard his feet thump quietly down the stairs, leaving me with more questions than answers.

Torture, it seemed, loved me. But the feelings would never be mutual.

“Now add three blades of scurvy grass…no, Lara, that’s way too many!�

I blinked rapidly to clear my eyes from the fumes escaping from the cauldron as I peeled away a bunch of the grass. Ginny reached out just in time, and just put in three little blades. I yawned, leaning on my book. “Can we stop now? This Befuddle-whatsit potion is confusing me, and not just smelling the stuff.�

Ron groaned. “We’ll get this right, Lara, it just takes time!� Where are you people finding all this time? Tell me!

“Have some patience,� suggested Harry. Easier said than done, my friend.

“And it’s Befuddlement Potion,� added Hermione. Know-it-all.

I laughed inside at what these people were trying to do. Trying to do the impossible, is what—teach me, about ingredients and cooking? I can’t cook cereal! Sure, I know most of the normal plants we used—I successfully brewed a batch of Doxycide for Mrs. Weasley, using daffodils and sunflower seeds and the like—but who ever heard of scurvy grass, or fluxweed, or flobberworms? (Which, by the way, are very gross. Try cutting one up.)

It didn’t help that my head was still reeling days after my encounter with Dumbledore, and all my unanswered questions were playing pinball in my head until it almost exploded under the pressure. I progressed in my studies in Potions (Dumbledore had left some supplies for us for some minor experiments, even if I was tired of it) and, unbelievably, History of Magic. Soon Runes came into play, and I feared my memory would burst from all the information that was thrown at me. What use is it to write in symbols that mean life and prosperity? Or, even better, death and destruction?

“Lara, no! That’s not Sneezewort, that’s knotgrass!�

This time, the knotgrass went in, incurring a huge explosion. Ginny, Hermione, and I were thrown back against the wall, and pain shot up my spine. Could things get any worse? Apparently so. Green slime covered everything in the kitchen, even Ron and Harry, who were on the other side of the table. I wiped it out of my eyes and flung it off my fingers, adding some more to the puke-green pile that was Ginny. She scowled through her mask, and pulled out her wand.

“Scourgify,� she said tiredly. Hermione did the same, while I spat out more of the green gook from my mouth. (I think I may have swallowed some there…tasted like peppermint.) The kitchen was clean in no time.

“I think we’re done for today,� sighed Ron. “Ginny, take the cauldron and stuff upstairs.�

“Why do I have to?� she complained.

“Just do it!� snapped her brother, and with a nasty look she toted the cauldron, full of everything we had used, upstairs.

Harry tried to smile. “Good try, Lara. How about we try it again tomorrow? We could fit it in before supper and after your Defense lesson.�

“Sure,� I mumbled, taking a seat at the table. Hermione touched me once on the shoulder and left, and Harry soon followed. Ron hesitated at the door.

“Lara--�

“Thanks in advance,� I interrupted. “I don’t need your condolences, Ron. I’ll never get any of this right by the time school starts!�

I put my head down between my arms. I heard Ron leave the step and walk over to put his hands on my shoulders.

“You will!� he told me. “You’re trying to do the impossible, but you’re getting there. Who else would try to learn three years worth of magic in two months?�

“Someone crazier than me?�

Ron laughed, taking a seat next to me. “No. Look, all we expect you to do is try. You can do that, right?�

I looked up and gave him a death glare at his sarcastic comment, but then I just smiled. I had never seen this side of Ron before—this sweet, sensitive side that had just emerged from inside him. He understood—he really understood. I felt heat rise in my cheeks, and I turned my head away. He walked out, closing the door softly behind him. Only then did I look all the way up and smile.

“Thanks, Ron,� I whispered.

*~*~*~

The stairs creaked at every other step I took; my hand gripped the railing as I went upstairs. Sirius hadn’t been at supper, and Mrs. Weasley wanted me to check on him. It had taken me twenty minutes after her request to get out of the kitchen, because Mr. Weasley had come in. He bombarded me with questions, just as I remember him doing to Harry, but with less intensity. I finally extracted myself from his curiosity and made my way upstairs, to the top of the house.

The one door at the end of the hall was partially opened. I pushed it opened to look in on the dark room. In the dark I made out a huge lump; close by was a smaller one. Before I set foot inside, something glinted in the light let in by the door, snaking out to bite me. I stumbled backwards. It was a giant eagle’s head, sharp beak clacking at me.

“Hold up, Buckbeak!� rumbled Sirius. “Stand down.� A large creature, with the body of a lion, the back end and legs of a horse, and the front end and legs of an eagle, stood there, looking very menacing. With a hiss the hippogriff stepped back into the shadows, and I stood, flicking on the light. I thought back to the books and bowed, looking him in the eye without blinking. Or, trying to. It was hard, and soon my eyes had that dry, itchy feeling. But, slowly and surely, Buckbeak bowed, too. I rose and stretched my hand out to rub his face, and even if he was a bit mad at me. I saw his beak move, and I thought they formed words:

“Smart for a kit.�

I shook my head; I was probably just seeing things. I saw Sirius in the background and went to sit down by him, tucking my knees in. Buckbeak lay back down, nibbling at a dead ferret.

“Molly sent me up, Sirius,� I said, and unwillingly quiet at that. “What’s wrong?�

Sirius shook his head. “Nothing, Lara,� he sighed, “I was just…thinking.�

I knew then and there I shouldn’t have pushed the subject, but I did anyways. “What of?� I asked.

“Everything!� exclaimed Sirius, throwing his hands up to express his emotion, making me jump. “The War, Voldemort, the Order…it’s all jumbled up in my head, and no one cares to listen. I can’t do a damn thing, being cooped up in this house…�

“Sirius,� I looked at him, smiling understandingly. I knew the feeling of hopelessness. “No one wants you to do anything reckless, you know that! Dumbledore and them, they only care for your safety.�

Sirius looked back at me, his gaze unwavering as he whispered, “But I don’t.�

My eyes widened as he continued. “I only care for Harry’s safety, I don’t care if Voldemort kills me! All that matters is that Harry stays alive! That way, James and Lily wouldn’t have died in vain!�

I picked at my jeans; a hole was forming, right at the knee. I shook my head. “Getting reckless isn’t the way to go about it,� I said slowly. “Fighting isn’t, either, nor sulking. Why confide in me, anyways?�

Silence, then, “Because you asked.�

*~*~*~

Our conversation went on for an hour or so; he told me a lot of things that he probably should have told Dumbledore or Harry, but told me instead. I feel sorry for the poor man.

It wasn’t until much later that Sirius finally came down. I heard him go past my room, where I was hard at work on another History of Magic essay before bed. He shuffled past my room with his head low. He waved half-heartedly at me as he walked by, and I waved back.

“Poor tom…�

I turned around to see who had said that, but I saw only Spotty sitting on her chair in the corner. She was the only one in the room there with me…I went back to my essay, scratching away with my quill.

“What to do with a tom like that, I ask you?�

I whirled around again, once again looking Spotty in the eyes. I saw the corner of her mouth move up—was that a …smile? The other side went up, too, and I saw her mouth open in a peal of rough laughter.

“Ha, you can hear me!� she exclaimed. I started to scoot away from the cat and fell off the bed onto the floor with a thud; I heard Phineas chuckling. I quickly stood to recover what dignity I had left and stared strangely at my cat; out of the corner of my eye I saw Phineas dart away, out of his frame.

“Did you just talk?� I asked, pointing my finger at her. She laughed again, that rough, purr-like laughter.

“Yes! I talk all the time.� She had a sweet, small girl’s voice that didn’t really suit her long-furred, big-boned body. “This is the first time you’ve talked back without going into that baby voice.� She stuck out her tongue and faked a gagging motion.

I kneeled on my knees on my bed, still staring at my cat. “Um…� I didn’t know what to say to that. I’ve had that cat for three years at this point—she hadn’t spoken more than a loud yowl since the day I got her, and I became very suspicious. “Did someone put a spell on you?�

“Dear God, no! Like I said, I’ve always talked. You just can’t understand me. Well, technically, now you do, but that’s not the point!� She licked a paw and ran it over her head and ears, nonplussed by the fact that she now had a voice in a language I could understand. Which, for me, had ‘weird’ written all over it!

My parchment and quill were slammed into the drawer, and I went to pick Spotty up. I held her up in my face, and she gave me a small smile.

“Someone bewitched you, I know it! Who was it, Fred, George, Ron? Ginny, even?�

“Come on, Lara, think!� spat Spotty, and I turned my head away. I want the news, not the weather. “What have you eaten today? Swallow anything unusual?�

I blinked, than glared at the cat. “When did you get so smart?� I grumbled, setting her down. She leaped onto the bed and sat there, smiling. “And how’d you know that my potion exploded?�

“I didn’t. Crooky told me.�

“Crooky?� I held back my laughter. I knew who that must be—but she obviously hated Crookshanks.

“Yes, Crooky!� cried an indignant Spotty. It was her turn to glare at me. I never thought a cat would glare at me. Another item to add to my ‘weird’ list. “We settled our differences and compromised. If he doesn’t try to attack me with that kitten-making thing of his--�

“Whoa! TMI, Spots!� I interrupted. I also never thought my cat would start to talk to me about sex!

Spotty giggled. (Well, it sounded like a giggle. Once again it sounded like a half purr, half bark sort of thing.) “Once we start talking about mature subject matters, you shut me up. You truly are a piece of work, Lara.�

“Just…just stop talking, alright?� I sat down on my bed, making the mattress sag and Spotty topple to the floor. She landed on her side—so much for cats always landing on their feet—and quickly flipped over, recovering the dignity strewn over the floor. “I need to figure this out.�

All right…that potion, what had been in it? Scurvy grass, Sneezewort, I think maybe some flobberworms bits, too. There had to be something in there that allowed me to talk to animals, because now I was sure that Buckbeak had talked (I was now holding a conversation with my cat, for crying out loud!), calling me a ‘kit’, which I took to be a young person/animal thingummy. From what I’ve read, griffins—which are basically the same as Hippogriffs, I’m pretty sure—are supposed to be very smart, very proud, and a bit arrogant. That fit Buckbeak, all right. (Come on, he tried to bite my head off!)

“Excuse me!�

I looked up at Spotty, who twitched her tail impatiently. “I don’t like being ignored,� she said, with an edge to her meow. “And besides, I hear that fat lady coming up the stairs--�

“Molly is not fat!� I snapped.

“Who’s not fat, dear?�

I smiled weakly at Mrs. Weasley, who now stood in my doorway. I heard Phineas snicker again, but he was gone as soon as I shot a glower his way.

“Nothing, ma’am,� I said, turning back to Mrs. Weasley. “What would you like?�

“Just want to thank you for bringing Sirius down,� she said. “Your talk obviously helped, he’s eating now. I’m a bit worried about him.�

“Everyone is, Molly,� I replied. “He’s just a bit depressed. Everyone goes through that stage.�

“I know.� She sighed. “Well, goodnight, Lara. I expect you to be up bright and early tomorrow for breakfast, it’s about time we got you proper supplies!� She seemed extremely perked up about this, and went off up the stairs humming.

I flicked my cat on the ear as soon as she was gone. “She is not fat, you idiot!� I hissed. Spotty hissed back,

“From this eye level, I say she’s fat.� She jumped off the bed in a huff and stalked off to her chair in the corner.

I rolled my eyes. I liked Spotty when she couldn’t talk, but I guess that until the potion—if the potion—wore off, I was stuck with it. I pulled back my covers and slipped under them. Just before I went to sleep, I figured out what Mrs. Weasley had said—

We were going to Diagon Alley!

The little girl looked from the woman’s glazed eyes to the blood seeping through her shirt where her heart was. “Mommy?� she whimpered. She put her small hands on her left shoulder and shook her, barely making her move. “Mommy, please wake up.� Why was her mother lying on the floor like this? It was past bedtime. The girl looked almost like the victim, but with lighter hair. Clear blue eyes stared at the blind ones, willing them to look normal. “Mommy…� Her bottom lip wobbled, and she wiped her hand across her nose, sucking back snot. She looked up at the man in the shadows, cradling the weapon in his large hands.

“Daddy, why won’t Mommy wake up?� asked the little girl. The man didn’t answer. “Daddy?�

“Lara, go to your room,� whispered the man; his words were slurred a little. “Now.� When she didn’t move, he pointed the gun at her. One clear shot rang out, and she blacked out.

When she woke, she didn’t open her eyes. She was scared and confused. Where had her dad gone? Had her mom woken up yet? She felt a throbbing pain in her right shoulder, which was very stiff, and heard hushed voices talking. If she listened hard enough, the little girl could understand them.

“She shouldn’t have survived a shot like that,� whispered one, a woman’s voice.

“At least the man was caught,� answered another, a man this time. “He’ll be away for a long time. Poor girl, lost both her parents in the same night.�

“Any relatives?� came the woman’s voice again.

“Grandparents, on the mother’s side,� came a new voice, a man’s, but lighter and not as gruff as the first. “I’m still wondering how she survived…most other children that age would be dead like that.� She heard him snap his fingers. “It’s like… magic.�

Magic. She opened her eyes to look at the doctors at the end of her bed. “My mommy does magic,� she said.

The woman looked at her like she was crazy, but sympathetic. “Can your daddy do magic?� she asked, coming to her right side.

She shook her head. “No. He drinks a lot, though. He doesn’t like it when Mommy uses her stick, and he calls her a freak when she does.�

The woman glanced at her companions. One was older than the other two, with a long beard and bright blue eyes. He beckoned the female doctor over, whispered something to them both, and they left. She was left alone with the bearded man.

“My name’s Al,� he said, pulling a stool over and sitting down. “What’s your name?�

“Lara. Is my mommy awake?�

Al looked uncomfortable, shifting on his seat. Finally, he said, “I’m afraid not, Lara. She…she’s going to be asleep for a long time. Your grandparents are going to take care of you instead.�

“Where’s my daddy?�

More uncomfortable shifting, then, “He’s going away for a while, too. He did something very bad tonight.� Before her eyes Al became her father once more, large, overbearing, and scary. She shrank back against her pillow, now a wall of some kind. The barrel of a gun was forced into her face, and it was shot.

I woke up screaming, clutching my right shoulder, panting and sweating. At first I couldn’t see; then my eyes adjusted to the darkness. My heart thumped against my chest, and I half expected to see blood coming out of my shoulder when I looked down. My father’s face loomed in my mind—the high cheekbones, the dark blue eyes, and the stubble he never bothered to shave off. The way he looked the night my mom died in cold blood.

I heard a knock on my door. “Lara?� came Ginny’s voice. She poked her head through the door after she opened it a crack; light flooded the room, making me squint. “You alright? I heard a scream.�

“Yeah.� I took my hand from my shoulder rather quickly to cover my eyes from the light and smiled nervously. “I’m fine. Bad dream.� I pushed Spotty off my legs so that I could get up. She meowed in her sleep, and then curled up on the floor and she was asleep again. “What time is it?� I yawned, prodding my cat with my foot as I swung my legs over. If I had to wake up, she had to, too.

“Six thirty,� answered Ginny. She was already dressed in a sweater and slacks, with her hair neatly combed out. I groaned in disbelief.

“What is up with you people waking up so damn early?� I moaned. Ginny laughed, though concern still clouded her bright brown eyes.

“Come on, then, wakey-wakey!� she giggled. “The boys are already downstairs. And Dad wants you to check on Fred and George when you’re ready, they should be up by now.�

“Sure he didn’t say you?� I said as I rummaged through my trunk. Where was that shirt?

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Just do it for me, alright? I need to get Mum to conjure up something for Hermione.� She gave me a meaningful look, and I answered with, “Oh.� She whirled out of sight around the corner.

With another yawn I flicked on my own light. I looked back to the trunk to find Spotty inside, purring and rolling around in my clothes.

“What are you doing?� I asked. Spotty jumped up, smoothing down ruffled chest fur.

“Nothing,� came her meow of hurt dignity. I hid my snort of laughter behind my hand. Quickly I got dressed as I remembered the purpose of today. I finally found that shirt—a pink one that said, “Good girls finish first�, with fresh white fur all over it—and grabbed a pair of jeans from underneath my cat. I was just in time for the bathroom. I said good morning to Ron, who waved a little as he came out, and went in.

It doesn’t take me long to get ready, unlike other girls. I brushed out my hair, brushed my teeth (I hate that yucky taste in it after I wake up), changed, and went out again, heading upstairs. The twins slept in a room upstairs—they helped teach me in an extra-curricular activity, pranking—and were experimenting all the time. But instead of knocking on their door—knowing them, they’d still be asleep when I got back—I went past it. I wanted to do something before we left.

I walked up the stairs as quietly as I could; the higher I got, the more they creaked. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door at the end of the hall.

“Who’s there?� came a sort of half-squawk, half-hiss.

“It’s Lara, Buckbeak,� I said. “Can I come in?�

There was some moving around—I’m lucky I saw Sirius go downstairs for breakfast, or else I’m sure I’d be in trouble—and finally I was admitted. Buckbeak’s eye glinted mysteriously as I bowed.

“Enough of that,� he whistled. “It’s amusing, but you’ve bowed already.� His voice wasn’t gravely like I expected, but soft and musical, with a faint hint of Highland accent thrown in. I took a step in and sat down, leaning against the wall. The door stayed open, reminding me faintly of another book.

“I need you to explain something for me,� I said carefully. He tore a gap in Malfoy’s arm; I wasn’t taking any chances. “A hippogriff is like a griffin in many ways, and griffins are said to wise.�

“I don’t need to do anything,� snapped Buckbeak, and then continued on smugly, “But you are correct about us being cousins with the griffins of the North, and us being wise.� I sighed at his vanity and asked again, with an ‘I would like’.

“Shoot.� I explained my situation about talking with Spotty and hearing him before that, and saw a calculated look come into his eye. After a moment of thought, he said, “Well…it has to do with the ingredients you put into that potion, and what you ate beforehand, if I am remembering correctly.� He propped his beak on a sharp claw, pondering. “See, it’s simple math. Add the variant of the number of your ingredients in the potion to the variant of the ingredients in what you ate before, subtracting your amount time with animals and adding your time with humans…waiting, that was adding your time with animals and subtracting your time with humans, then dividing it by how much potion ended up in your beak, or mouth in your case, and multiplying by how much potion there was.�

I was thoroughly confused by this point. “That’s simple?� I said, mouth agape. “I thought Algebra one was hard!�

“Humans were always slower than us hippogriffs,� scoffed Buckbeak. I could’ve slapped the smugness off his face, it was so plain! If I wanted to lose the hand I slapped him with. “What I’m saying is that it’s temporary. For how long, I don’t know. And I assume, being humans, you cleaned up afterwards?� I nodded. “The fat woman always liked a clean house, took right over when they got here--�

“Mrs. Weasley is not fat!�

“Didn’t say she was.�

I could tell my face was red; why did creatures always have to have attitudes? “You just did!� I groaned. “Never mind. So you’re saying that I won’t always be able to talk to you?�

“Yes,� answered Buckbeak. “Your ability doesn’t seem to have any limitations—a mortal animal and a magical animal being able to hold a conversation with you is proof—though I would keep it a secret, especially to the Snake.�

“The Snake?� I questioned.

“One of their idiotic professors, a member of the Order,� supplied the hippogriff. “Severus Snape. He came up here one day—I scared him off with a screech. Of course, he’d be suspicious now, but it was fun to see him scamper down the stairs like a mouse!� He squawked in laughter. I found myself laughing at the image of Snape—stoic, strict Snape—running down the stairs scared of one shriek!

“Any other questions?� quipped Buckbeak after our laughter subsided.

I stood up, dusting off my jeans. “None that come to mind. Thanks, Buckbeak.� I stroked him on the beak, feeling a purr resonate throughout his body, and left to go check on Fred and George.

I knocked on their door when I didn’t hear anything. “Fred! George! Time to get up!� I screamed at it. Two neat red heads poked out when the door opened, and I rolled my eyes when both of them started talking, finishing one-another’s sentences.

“We’ve been up, Lara--�

“Making improvements to some new inventions, see? Though the Pasties--�

“—Aren’t going so well. Mind helping us?�

“We’d appreciate it greatly!�

“You sound like--�

“—Our mother when you yell, or Ginny.�

“She sounds more like Ginny, Fred.�

“I think she sounds like mum, George!�

I smiled at them. But, right now, there were other more important things. “Only if you don’t want to go to Diagon Alley,� I interrupted. “Your dad wants you two down for breakfast, we’re leaving soon.�

Fred looked up at George—or did George look up at Fred? —and they grinned. “Tell Dad we’ll be right down,� they chorused, and slammed the door. My upper lip rolled up to touch my nose in aggravation before I calmed down and went downstairs.

*~*~*~

Something prodded me in the side; I shot up for the second time, looking around wildly.

“Lara, calm down!� said Hermione. “It’s just us. We’re at the Leaky Cauldron.�

The car we were in—another Ministry car—had stopped its long drive from Grimmauld Place to London. It was probably shorter, but I had fallen asleep, as usual. Trips of any sort never suited me well. I yawned and looked around. Hermione had poked her head into the car when I hadn’t followed her and the others out.

I gave her a small smile and ran my hands down my jeans as I stepped out. The Leaky Cauldron didn’t look like a very well kept pub, as I watched Ron and a rather moody Harry step through. Another lady I hadn’t noticed had joined us, an older lady with slightly purple gray hair.

The reason Harry was so moody—mad, if you will—had surfaced just before we left: Ron and Hermione had been made Prefects for Gryffindor. Having been told hardly anything thus far that summer, Harry took it personally. I had heard his yells when I went down after checking on Fred and George.

My attention swerved once again to the old lady. Her gray shawl was wound around a stooped frame and faded purple dress. She winked at me, and I backed up into Hermione.

“It’s alright,� said Hermione. “Get through the door so she can change back.�

I obeyed, and watched in the dim light as the old lady became a fairly pretty young woman with bubble-gum pink hair. She held out her hand, and I took it. “Nymphadora Tonks,� she said. “Just Tonks, though. Only my mother calls me Nymphadora.�

I blinked as she shook my hand and introduced herself. “I’m Lara Winston,� I managed to say. “It’s nice to meet you, Tonks. What did you…?�

“I’m a metamorphmagus,� she answered before I could finish my question. “I can change my appearance at will.� She screwed up her face and promptly changed the shape of her nose to have a pointier end. That was so cool, to be able to change your appearance! But before I could comment further, I was being dragged along through the close to capacity bar through the back door. It turned out to be Ginny, who let go of my shirt once we were outside. Tonks followed us into the small courtyard—if it could be called that—and I watched as Mr. Weasley, who had taken time off work to accompany us, tap the apparently solid brick wall with his wand in several places.

I smiled at the memory of Hagrid tapping out the pattern going into Diagon Alley. I stared at the wall as it rearranged itself, bricks grating against each other. Then my jaw dropped.

So many people! So many shops! I never imagined Diagon Alley to be so big! Mr. Weasley strode out purposefully through the brightly dressed crowds, his wife and children following with Harry, Hermione, and I at the rear. I ended up being dragged along several times when I stopped to look at candy, then robes, and then the brooms—oh, how I wanted one then and there! The glossy wood shown in the cases; broom ends bristled, begging me to get on and ride them. But then I remembered my fear of heights, and my heart dropped.

I recomposed myself as Hermione came to get me with a sharp, “Come on!� There was one thing I wanted to do at Hogwarts—conquer my fear of heights. I will get a broom, and I will ride it!

Just…not when everyone was looking.

“First stop, Gringotts!� called Mr. Weasley. The Wizard’s Bank was up ahead—it’s a massive white marble building, you can’t miss it if you come right out of Knockturn Alley. As everyone else went through the front doors, watched by a goblin dressed in scarlet and gold, I stayed behind to read what glinted on the bronze surface:

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
a treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
of finding more than treasure there.

I shivered and hurried to catch up, going through the next set of doors and two more guard-goblins, my shoes making squeaking sounds on the polished floor. Goblins were everywhere—they didn’t look too pretty, either. Most had scruffs of hair and scraggly beards, and worked hard at writing in ledgers with long-fingered hands. I caught up as Mr. Weasley was saying to one of the goblins,

“Vaults eight hundred and twenty three, nine hundred and fifty seven, and five hundred and fifty four, please.� He handed him three small, old-fashion keys, one of which he took from Harry. “And, while, we’re here, Harry, we’ll visit your vault. Six hundred and eighty seven, if you please, Griphook?�

The goblin nodded. “If Ms. Lara Winston has her key,� he said, looking at me. It made my skin crawl. I managed a despondent, “Uh…�

“Here it is.� A man came out of nowhere, holding another key. He was tall, with long red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He also had a fang earring in one ear—how cool is that? “We had it in storage, Dad. I’ll take them down, Griphook, I’ve finished all my work.�

With a grunt the goblin left, and I was pushed to the front to shake hands with this newcomer. “I’m Bill,� he said. “You must be Lara.�

“That’s me,� I answered with a smile. Bill was kind of cute, and that earring had me hooked. “I’m sorry if I seem ignorant, but…I have a vault? Neither of my parents did--� My mommy does magic. I clenched my shoulder as fire shot through the scar hidden underneath the skin.

“Are you alright, Lara?� I heard Ron say. I realized that I had closed my eyes; I opened that and managed a half-smile at the boy. “Y-yeah…I’m fine.� My hand dropped to my side. Today’s torture came in the form of memories; how lovely.

“Well, then, follow me!� Bill led the way down through one of the many guarded doors and scarlet-and-gold clad goblins. The slope beyond was a steep downward climb. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the dark, and just when they did I almost ran into a cart. With a nervous laugh I righted myself and backed up to take a good look. It ran on tracks, going each way, up and down. We were on a type of platform, and when I looked down, I could see that the tunnel extended down. Way down. I gulped.

Remember my fear of heights? Well, that just grew a couple of inches.

We crowded into two of the cars and started our way down. The cars had a goblin each, both looking very serious or daydreaming. Somehow I can’t see them daydreaming.

First was my vault—five hundred and fifty four. This came as a surprise to me—my parents had never been rich, or very good with money, since my dad used almost all of it to drink, and this is just with Muggle money. How could my mom have made enough Wizarding money to put in a vault?

The goblin stepped out of the car. “Lamp, please,� he said with a very nasal-sounding voice. Mr. Weasley handed it to him and stepped out, motioning for me to follow. After scrambling over a few people and squishing a few toes, I practically jumped to the stone walkway. It was a long way down if I missed, I concluded.

“Key, please,� said the goblin. He exchanged the lamp for my key and put it in the slot. I closed my eyes as the door swung open, scared of what I would find in there. It wouldn’t be like Harry’s vault, with a whole bunch of money, but would it be like the Weasleys’ vault, with almost no money at all?

“Lara, you can look,� said Mr. Weasley in a hushed tone, “it’s not that bad.�

I opened my eyes to slits, and they slowly widened as they took in the sight of those piles of gold galleons, silver sickles, and bronze knuts. It wasn’t as much as Harry’s vault, but it was sure something! I took slow steps inward and knelt down. There was a silk bag on one sack; it was blue, with a large green ‘L’ on the front and a ‘W’ on the back. That could stand for my name, Lara Winston, or my mother’s name, Lorraine Winston. Whatever it stood for, it was as beautiful as the sparkling mounds of coins. I looked inside to find a piece of old parchment, crinkled and yellow with age. I dumped it into my palm, unfolded it as carefully as I could, and read it silently.

Lara,

I’ll tell you what my father told me: you are a Winston witch, and this is your fortune. Use this money wisely to get what you need, but no more. I bet you’re a lovely young girl now; I know you must miss me terribly, but you’re strong like your father. You’ll keep it inside, like you always do. Keep it together, my sunshine. Use this to keep our money safe while you have it. There are wards on it that keep others out of it, and only you can open it. Be careful at Hogwarts.

Love, Mom

I sat back on my haunches, covering my mouth with my hand. A note, in my mother’s handwriting. It was almost unbelievable, yet it was there. Living proof that my mom was a witch other than my accursed memory, and she knew I’d be one, too.

Just as silent as when I came in, I gathered as much money as I thought I’d need and left. I was quiet and thoughtful while the others chattered and got their own money. I left them be, and they left me to wallow in my thoughts. It seemed forever until we were out of the darkness and back outside. We split up then: Tonks, disguised again, and me in one direction, presumably to Ollivander’s for a wand, and everyone else going someplace else. I didn’t pay much attention.

Diagon Alley had lost its splendor; I didn’t feel any joy in the streets now. The weight of my future hung heavy from my shoulders, though in reality it was only as big as that small letter in my mother’s handwriting.

But, to me, it meant the whole world was crashing down around me. At the moment, I wasn’t strong enough to pick it up. Would I ever be?

The next few hours were a whirlwind of running around, buying things, and getting measured. I came out of Madam Malkin’s with two school uniforms, as well as a cauldron, a cage with an owl inside, a broom (I told Tonks about it and she said go for it, so I bought a Cleansweep, nothing special) and two or three bags of books and potions ingredients from previous stores. We had a nice charade going—I called her Grandma, and she called me Lisa. (Unoriginal, and I told her so. She merely laughed and told me to ‘stop talking like an American’. Kind of hard to do, considering my British accent sucks.)

“Are we almost done, Grandma?� I groaned as we came out of Ollivander’s wand shop.

“Just about, we’re meeting the others outside Flourish and Blotts,� Tonks said, with the wavering old woman’s voice nailed.

“You better listen to me--�

I halted, trying to listen. When Tonks looked back, about to scold me for slowing down, I put a finger to my lips.

“Don’t say no, this is an easy first mission! Watch the girl, make friends with her—He needs her. Easier than what I first got.� One male voice. He sounded like an older man, middle-aged, I’d guess.

“What if I don’t want to? She’s a stupid Mudblood, what does He want with her? And besides, I don’t have to listen to you, you aren’t my father!� Definitely a younger voice, but also male.

“Haven’t you been listening, or have you got rocks inside that empty skull? She’s not had a moment of magical teaching in her life—think for once! And I’m in charge of this.�

“Come on, Lisa, dear,� I heard Tonks say, rather loudly. The talking stopped abruptly. “Your grandfather’s going to be wondering where we got to!� She started to pull me down the street, preventing me from seeing who was talking.

“But, Grandma, I wasn’t finished tying my shoe--�

“We’re already late enough, young lady!� she snapped at me. She pulled me closer to say, without her lips moving one bit, “We’ll follow up later, when we can tell everyone!�

I grumbled, but said nothing. Tonks knew best.

*~*~*~*

The hot water felt soothing on my skin as it ran from the showerhead. Almost unconsciously I scrubbed shampoo into my hair, and then conditioner. It took me longer to rub soap over my body. As always, I stopped to stare at the almost-invisible line that crossed from my armpit to the top of my shoulder. The scar from the surgery to remove a bullet from my shoulder remained.

I ran my finger along it, felt the ridges where the stitches used to be. It was barely there now, after nine years of marking that horrible night. Anger made me scowl at it. My dad had no right to do that to Mom or me. He killed her—he had gotten drunk and he killed her. Then he turned around and shot me. I was only five—had it been so long ago?

As soon as all the soap was down the drain, I turned the knob and pulled back the curtains. I stepped over the side of the tub and wrapped a towel around my body, then another around my hair. I rooted around in the drawers of the counter, looking for my brush. “Where are you, you stupid thing?� I mumbled. “Aha, there you are!� I took the damp towel off my head and brushed out my wet locks.

Back in my room, I just stared up at the ceiling. It was late—I should be asleep. But I couldn’t convince my mind to settle down. Thoughts about today still chased each other around in my brain. Mr. Ollivander, for one—he was a strange character, and he seemed much too interested in my wand. I had ended up with a shorter one, a mixture of oak and reed with a phoenix core. It seems that not many people get mixed wands, and then he went on to lecture me about the greatness of those with phoenix cores. (Harry and Voldemort among them)

Unfortunately, my day didn’t end there: as soon as we were back at Grimmauld Place (under the same security measures as when we had left) Harry and Ginny whisked me off to start with Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was suppertime by the time they were done with me, and I barely ate, as much from exhaustion as from worrying about what I had heard. I now know Expelliarmus, a disarming charm that Harry points out had saved his life the summer before (which was entirely true) and how to turn a bird (provided by Crookshanks) into a teacup. A little bit advanced, Ginny said (its second year, for Pete’s sake! I can handle that!) but she thought I was ready. I don’t expect any essays coming from her, though with Hermione it was one after the other.

Then there was that conversation I had heard today. One voice was commanding, so it had to be an older man with experience, and the other voice was younger, more plaintive. Like a boy being ordered to do something he saw as hopeless. I kind of guessed whom they were talking about: me. Who had not a moment of magical teaching? Me. And who wanted me?

Voldemort.

It had been on my mind ever since Dumbledore had told me he had wanted me, but he didn’t know why. I had not a clue, and I’m sure he did, but that’s Dumbledore for you—makes you figure out things for yourself instead of giving you the answer outright.

There had been a meeting of all the Order members able to come, including uptight Professor McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the Aurors from the Ministry, Moody, Lupin, Tonks, Dumbledore, and Severus Snape. I couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of him running away from Buckbeak, and one look from his greasy-hair gob silenced me. I don’t like the look he gave me, either—more like a lion stalking an antelope, and anticipating a good meal, than mere curiosity, like the others displayed. Fred and George waited until everyone was down in the kitchen, including Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, before dropping fleshy ropes down over the staircase.

“What are you doing?� hissed Hermione.

“Well, if we can’t join in on the meetings,� started Fred.

“The least we could do is listen,� finished George. They explained that the fleshy ropes had ears on either end, so that they could eavesdrop. Harry, Ron, Ginny, and I joined in eagerly. I was soon bored and left—they were just going over what the two men had been talking about and how to ‘further protect the key’.

“It’s like there’s a chest somewhere I’ll be able to open with magic!� I complained to Ginny later on. “There’s only so much I can be protected from without doing something myself.�

“Adults.� Ginny rolled her eyes. “They think all of us are children. There’s a war just around the corner, they can’t protect us anymore!�

That was when Mrs. Weasley sent us to bed. I woke early the next morning, with the usual disorientation of ‘Where am I? How did I get here? Why is this bed so damn hard?’ before I realized that I wasn’t home anymore. Spotty was curled up at the bottom of the bed, nonplussed and snoring. I poked her and she snorted, making me smile.

Phineas was snoring, too, leaning against his frame. When I flicked the canvas he woke with a start and a shake of his head. “Whosawhattaoohwant?� he mumbled sleepily. I rolled my eyes. Really, you’d think a portrait wouldn’t need to sleep!

I dressed as quietly as I could in yesterday’s jeans and a knitted sweater and made my way downstairs to the kitchen for a private breakfast. As I was rooting through the pantry, looking for bread or something that I could toast with a new spell I had read about (completely forgetting the ‘no use of your wand if it isn’t schoolwork’ and having an excuse prepared when I remembered it) I heard a small voice coming from the main room. Happy someone else might be up, I stepped out with a bag of bread and a jar of jam in each hand, wand between my teeth.

I groaned at what I saw. It wasn’t a person, but the pile of rags I had seen before—Kreacher, had it been called? Hermione had told me he was a house elf, a wizard servant bound to a family until they died, and particularly proud of soon being added to the heads of house elves on the wall. (That right there is a tad freaky.) He was as crazy as the painting Sirius called ‘Mother’. He was quite the disturbing little creature, not at all like Dobby (who used to work for the Malfoys but now worked for Hogwarts in the kitchens) who was nice and helpful. I would rather ignore Kreacher and get some food into me, as my stomach now reminded me, but he noticed me.

“Filthy little intruder, blood traitor,� I heard him mumble as I set down my bread and jam. “All of them, trying to destroy Mistress’ beautiful home…�

“Oh, shut it, you dusty old mop,� I growled at him. “I don’t know what Hermione sees in you.�

“The intruder is talking to Kreacher,� he said to himself, completely ignoring me. “Maybe if Kreacher says nothing she’ll go away.� With a snap of his long, discoloured fingers, he was gone in a puff of smoke.

That was when Ron came down. There goes my private breakfast. “Morning, Lara,� he said sleepily. He yawned, creating a chain reaction with me. I put a hand to my mouth to cover it.

“Morning, Ron.� I took a seat and sighed. No wand tricks in front of him. “Hey, have you got a toaster somewhere?� I asked.

Ron looked at me like my eyeball had just popped out of my head. “A toaster?�

“Never mind.� I leaned my head back. Sometimes life at Grimmauld place sucked. How long had I been here? A week, tops? And I still couldn’t get a decent breakfast by myself.

When I looked down, Ron had his wand under a piece of bread. “What are you doing?� I sat up straight.

Ron smiled crookedly. “You aren’t the only one who knows a good spell or two by now,� he said. “Pyrrhusa.�

I watched as his wand glowed red and the bread started to darken and harden. When the edges started to burn, Ron dropped it onto the table with a gasp and waved his fingers about. I put my hand up to my mouth and giggled.

Wait—I don’t giggle!

I shook my head and recomposed myself as he looked up. “What’s so funny?� he said through his hand as he sucked on his fingers.

“You! You could’ve put it on a cutting board first. Here.� I went to the counter and brought it out, then started to toast another piece of bread with my own wand. “You need to be more careful.� Why was I lecturing him? What…was this feeling in my stomach?

Again I shook it off. Ron was already chowing down on the toast I had prepared—it was probably something I ate.

Then I reminded myself I hadn’t eaten anything yet. Why was everything always so hard?

“Come on.� Ron stood, swallowing the last of his toast. “We can start on your charms lesson—I heard my parents waking up, so my mum will be making breakfast soon.�

“Okay.� I made some toast for myself and followed him upstairs. My mind was busy puzzling out the feeling in my stomach. Why was it so knotty? Were those…butterflies?

This was way too weird.

*~*~*~*

“Try again!�

I groaned at the feather on the table before me. Ron was trying to teach me Wingardium Leviosa down in the kitchen, but it just wasn’t coming out of my mouth right. It was almost a week after Diagon Alley, towards the end of June. I had quenched down those feelings I had felt before; I was consumed in my work, as I had gone through almost two years of studying the key concepts in most areas. Except for charms.

“Can we stop?� I pleaded for the thousandth time.

“No,� Ron said sternly. “Not until you get it right, Lara. Now try again! We have to be done soon for your Runes lesson.�

I groaned again. Why was I subjected to the torture that was that stupid class? It was even more useless than math, and that’s saying something!

For the umpteenth time I waved my wand the way Ron had shown me, swish and flick. “Wingardium Leviosa!!� I said strongly.

To my great surprise, the feather began to float. It rose five inches above the worn tabletop before someone shrieked, producing one from Mrs. Black, and I lost my concentration. I looked at the door as Spotty slipped, Crookshanks right behind. A very hassled Mrs. Weasley stumbled soon after. I caught a glimpse of Sirius and Harry trying to control the painting’s screams before the door closed.

“Those—those animals!� she gasped. “Doing it in my bedroom—ugh!� She shivered visibly, wiping her hands on her skirt.

I couldn’t help it; a peal of laughter escaped my mouth. Ron started to laugh, too. Mrs. Weasley glared at us.

“Now, see here, Lara, Ronald--�

“S’ok, Mrs. Weasley,� I told her after my laughter had subsided. “They’re just cats, and besides, I never did get Spotty fixed.� The possibility that Spotty was pregnant crossed my mind, but I would never know for sure until she told me she was, so I shooed that thought away.

“I still think that it’s rather disgusting!� Mrs. Weasley shivered again. “Oh, and Hermione’s ready for you, dear. She has everything ready for your Runes lesson upstairs in her room.� Still looking disgusted, she left the kitchen.

“That was very good!� Ron congratulated me when she had left. “Next time, say the spell just as strongly.�

“Thanks,� I said quietly, and hurried upstairs.

There it was again! That feeling that gave me such a buzz that was so deep down, I could barely feel it. It made me excited and scared at the same time; it made me happy to learn a simple spell from him. It wasn’t until I was right outside Hermione’s door that I realized:

Was I falling for Ron Weasley?

No way. Nuh-uh. I was not crushing on Ron. There was no possible way that I could be falling for a story character! None. Zip. Zilch. I deny thinking any of those thoughts—

“Lara! I asked you a question.�

I blinked rapidly, brought back to my Runes lesson. Hermione repeated her question, but it wouldn’t process. I shook my head. After thinking for a few days, my head was as clear as a mud puddle. I still didn’t know if I liked Ron, but it was obvious; I get butterflies whenever I think about him, I can barely speak in front of him now, and I get embarrassed easily. It was getting better, but it still sucked. On top of that, we were now covering the symbols of ‘love’ in Runes.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I just can’t do it,� I told her with a sigh. “I’ve just got too much on my mind to think.�

Hermione closed up the books sprawled out on her bed. “Is something wrong?� she asked with a worried look on her face.

I looked at her through the corner of my eye. Am I completely mental? Apparently so. “Can I trust you?� I implored quietly. “I’m not even sure it’s definite yet…�

“You know you can trust both me and Ginny,� she assured me.

“Well, just promise me you won’t get mad, okay?� I had just realized that Hermione probably liked Ron, too—after all, I was a Heron shipper, and that just had to be right. It probably wasn’t very smart messing with someone else’s creations and story line, come to think of it. But since when has Lara Winston been smart? Never.

Hermione raised her hand, almost scout-like in appearance. “Promise. Just between us girls.�

I took a deep breath. Things were about to get interesting. “I…I think I may like a guy…who’s in this house,� I started. There, nothing suspicious about that, it could be one of four guys. “And…I don’t know if I should…� I paused. No, surely not. There was no way I could say “I like Ron�. Especially not to Hermione! That’s suicide right there.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Hermione,� I said again, picking up my books and heading for the door. “I need to find Spotty first, anyways. It just doesn’t feel right without telling her first.� Again, not a total lie. I had yet to talk to Spotty about the situation earlier that week that Mrs. Weasley found her and Crookshanks in.

Hermione nodded, probably feeling hurt that I didn’t trust her all that much. Really, who would, with such a secret? She has been known to explode (primarily at Ron) and I’d much rather not be on the receiving end. “Okay, then. I understand how talking to animals makes you feel better about some things. It’s almost like they understand.�

“Yeah, I know,� I muttered. As I left, Crookshanks came trotting in, tail held high. “Keep away from Spotty, Crook,� I told him in a sharp whisper. He merely smiled a fangy grin.

“Whatever you say,� he meowed with a stiff nod. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed a rough, rumbly chuckle.

It wasn’t until just before the Order meeting that night that I got a hold of Spotty. She had been hanging out upstairs with Buckbeak, as was Sirius. Sirius was spending more and more time up there. He worried everyone, though I thought me especially. I had a secret far more dangerous than a crush in my head.

She was just coming down the stairs when I grabbed her. She yowled, hissing, and tried to wriggle her way out of my over-tight grip. “What?� she spat at me.

“What were you doing on Mr and Mrs Weasleys’ bed?� I hissed at her menacingly. Why was I discussing sex with my cat again?

“None of your business!� she hissed right back. “It’s my life, not yours, so butt out!� She squirmed out of my hands and plopped to the floor. “I can do whatever I want. I’m four years old and I’m not going to be young forever, you know!�

I let out an exasperated groan. “Just as long as you don’t get pregnant again, I’m fine with it,� I said sternly, fully comprehending the ridiculousness of the situation.

Spotty glanced away and shuffled her paws on the hardwood floor. More groaning on my part.

“Spotty! I can’t believe—I leave for school in a month--� I sputtered angrily. “Ugh! We’ve already done this. Are you sure? You aren’t just pulling my non-existent tail?�

Spotty nodded. “It’s not a definite thing yet, but…I feel different, and I’m sure. I’ve already told Crooky, and he’s extremely happy about it.�

I bet he is. “We’ve talked about this, Spot. Remember Rollo? He left you after two days—two days, Spotty! How do you know that Crookshanks will want anything to have to do with however many kittens you have?� I put my hands on my hips, feeling like the mother of a teenager.

She flicked her tail. “We’ve never had a talk about me and my toms, Lara.�

“I know.� My hands went to my face and ran down it. “Come on, then. Let’s get to my room and have it, now.�

As we walked down the stairs, I glanced back at Spotty. She didn’t look too happy. I didn’t contemplate it at the moment, though; I had my own problems to worry about.

*~*~*

I had a very long talk with my cat. She sat there and listened for the most part; we had our disagreements, such as does she stay at Grimmauld Place or come with me to Hogwarts, but we worked them out. Much to her dismay, she’s coming with me.

I sent Spotty on her way when Ginny came in. She had a quizzical look on her face.

“Everything all right, Gin?� I asked.

She pointed her finger at me, not jabbing-pointing, but more like a confused pointing. “You…just held a conversation…with a cat?�

I laughed at her right quick. “Really? You heard that? Wow. Sure, I did. Do you think I understood the other half, though?� I laughed again. Ginny sighed with relief.

“Okay, I must be hearing things, then.� She sat down on the end of my bed. “Hermione told me,� she said quickly.

“Oh. I thought you might want to talk about that.� I took a deep breath. I was more comfortable with Ginny than I was with Hermione by far. Could I manage it, though? “I’ve really backed myself into a corner, Ginny,� I explained slowly, almost complaining. “I could tell either you or Hermione and…I could be blowing this way out of proportion, but it could make either of you equally mad.�

Ginny crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. “How so?� she asked.

“Well, depends on who you think I like. It’s not Harry, by the way,� I added. I rolled my eyes at her red face. She had to make it obvious. “But…it’s someone just as close.� I twiddled my thumbs together.

“You can trust me, Lara.�

“I know I can.� I repeated what I had said to Hermione, ensuring that Ginny wouldn’t explode on me, and then told her.

At first, it seemed that she was shocked. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at me like I had lost half my face. I waved my hand in front of her face. “Earth to Ginny. Are you still alive in there?�

And then she laughed. More like a guffaw, really. One extremely loud guffaw.

“Not the reaction I was hoping for,� I said in a hurt voice.

Ginny ceased almost immediately. “Oh. You’re serious?�

“No, I’m really in love with Buckbeak,� I scoffed sarcastically, trying out my British accent. Ginny giggled.

“That accent is horrible!�

“I thought et waz wonairful,� I replied, switching to a French accent. I had studied French since fourth grade, and it came much easier than the British.

“That’s really good.� Ginny smiled. “How’d we get to talking about accents? I really am sorry I laughed, Lara.�

I shook my head. “That’s quite alright. I guess you can’t see anyone crushing on Ron, can you?�

“Not really.�

“I’m glad I told you first,� I confessed after we were done with another bout of giggling. I had forgotten all about telling Spotty. Ah well. “Hermione likes Ron, too. That’s why she got mad when he thought she didn’t have a date for the Yule Ball.�

Ginny shook her head in disbelief. “I’ll never get used to that. How could you know something from last year, when you weren’t even there?�

My hearing must be going. “Did you say last year?� I sputtered.

Ginny nodded slowly. “Yeah. Christmas 1994.� She raised her eyebrows. “Is something wrong, Lara?� she asked, but I was already out the door. I careened down the stairs, sending Mrs. Black into a screaming frenzy as I slammed the kitchen door open.

“Where’s Dumbledore?� I yelled.

Calmly the old Headmaster stood from his spot at the head of the table. I hardly noticed the whole of the Order was there. “What would you like, Miss Winston?� he asked in the same agonizing calm that he had stood in.

I stormed into the kitchen, pushing through dark-skinned Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mrs. Weasley, and Tonks. “Wotcher, Lara,� she murmured, more as a warning than the usual spunky greeting. “Did anyone plan on telling me that we changed years?� I growled, a foot from Dumbledore’s blank face. “I can understand time zones, Dumbledore, but years? When were you going to tell me that tiny little detail, eh?� I pushed my thumb and index finger together for emphasis. “Trying to learn all of this before September is hard enough—but having you not care about my life? My family, my friends, Dumbledore—what happened to them?�

I stood there, breathing hard, heating up under the stares of the room. I greatly regretted my outburst not five seconds after I was done. Dumbledore clasped his hands together.

“Let’s head upstairs, Miss Winston. It appears that we need to have a talk.�

Still seething, angry at now being told hardly anything, I followed him back upstairs. Ginny was still in my room when we got there. Dumbledore dismissed her, before I interrupted. I was only going to tell her late on, so she might as well stay. Dumbledore consented and Ginny sat back down.

“Now, Miss Winston,� Dumbledore began, “I did not want to explain such matters in our last meeting for the simple reason that you may not be ready for such information.

“I confess, I did not think that you, clever enough as you are, would figure it out so quickly. As it is, I find it right to guess that you had some help.� He smiled at Ginny, who blushed a bright pink. “I do not begrudge a fact that I made a mistake keeping secrets. But, alas, it is far too tempting for a soul like mine.

“As you have found out, we did, indeed, bring you to another time. Another world, if you may. Not unlike your own, just with that little element of magic conjured up by dear Miss J.K Rowling. This “Harry Potter� World, shall we call it?

“I have already told you that Voldemort wants you, for reasons I shall not disclose at the moment. Do not question me on this, Miss Winston,� Dumbledore said sternly at my look. “I am sure you are not ready to hear why he needs you, at such a time.�

“How did we get here, then?� I asked instead.

“A Time Key,� explained Dumbledore, as if it was common knowledge. “It is an invention of mine I created once I discovered Voldemort knew about you. We sent you to live with your grandparents to keep you safe and out of his hands, through some help from your grandparents as well; they did not want you going to Hogwarts in the first place, very much like Harry’s own aunt and uncle. I will explain that,� he added to my ready question, “all in due time.

“A Time Key is a fusion of a Time Turner and a Portkey. There is only one, and, as it is, it is unregistered with the Ministry and therefore unauthorized. It has the exact timing of a Portkey to a specific place, and the inner workings of a Time Turner.�

“May I see it?� I asked, politely, to make up for my outburst.

Dumbledore shook his head. “As with everything else, I will it explain it--�

“All in good time,� I finished.

Dumbledore smiled. “You have your mother’s wit, and your father’s humour. Now, as for your friends and family, everything that happened in your world has been moved back some years to accommodate ours.

“I suppose that covers everything?�

I nodded. “For now. Thank you, Professor.� He stood to leave, and as he was going out the door, I had a thought.

“Wait, Professor.�

Dumbledore stopped.

“My mom…is she…?�

Dumbledore shook his head. “I am sorry, Miss Winston. The dead are dead in both worlds, even if one has magic.�

I thanked him, if a bit sadly, and he left. I turned to Ginny; it was her turn.

“Did you know anything about this?�

Ginny shook her head. “I thought we were using a Portkey,� she replied. I knew she was telling me the truth. She wouldn’t lie to me.