Disclaimer: All characters, settings, or other story components taken from the Harry Potter, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Heroes of Olympus, or Trials of Apollo series belong to JK Rowling and Rick Riordan, respectively. I do not own any of the aforementioned. I do not intend to use this story commercially.

A/N: Hello! Thank you for choosing to read this story. While this is only the prologue, I have the entire story written and will publish it in installments (one chapter at a time). I will try to get the next chapter published by next weekend, the 22 of April. Warning: This chapter contains spoilers for the beginning of the Philosopher's Stone (Harry Potter). Later chapters will include spoilers as far as the Blood of Olympus (Percy Jackson) and the Half-Blood Prince (Harry Potter). Please read and review!

Sunlight filters through my curtain, sending a brilliant stroke of gold onto my eyelids. With a moan, I roll over - and thump! I'm on the floor, tangled in my sheets. Within a heartbeat, a warm, heavy shape settles itself on my stomach and begins giving me a free face wash. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I wriggle away.

"Liliya! Liliya, no! Stop it!" I giggle, pushing my favorite pet off of me. Cracking my eyes open fully, I shriek and scramble backwards, cursing Liliya's favorite habit of planting her face inches from my own - a habit that fills my vision with a wet nose, clever brown eyes, and the overwhelmingly large teeth of a juvenile canine. Go figure.

"Argh." I yawn, dragging myself into a sitting position, kicking my legs to free them from my sheets. Liliya is sitting patiently, displaying the lovely talents of a fully trained, usually behaving East-European Shepherd. Usually behaving, mind you. "Good morning, Liliya," I say in Russian, my first language. She yaps in response, wriggling with the recognition of her name.

I laugh, ruffling up her sandy fur, and struggle to my feet. She wiggles and blinks up at me with her happy, mischievous eyes. Almost immediately, a flashback surges up around me.

I tramp through the forest - my forest. I reckon that I'm the only person in town who can find her way - or even his way - around. It takes real talent to keep to one's course when travelling around the massive trees and hills of the woods. The forest has become my only escape, since Мама died and Отец - my father - never even stayed around. I'd rather stumble around in a wilderness full of giant trees and tangling undergrowth than stay for one more minute in that horrible, cramped prison - sorry, "Home for Orphans and Runaways" - that I am now supposed to call my home.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts - today's another rough one - that I don't notice the vines snaking around on the forest floor front of me. My foot catches and I go sprawling, banging my elbows on the mercifully padded forest floor. Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I blow my dark hair out of my face in frustration … and hear a tiny yelp, followed by scuffling. I push myself up onto my knees and cautiously look around the forest. The leaves are moving near a gargantuan tree about two strides away. Without missing a beat, a furry ball of energy comes wriggling out, pleased as anything to have some company, I suppose. It wriggles right over to me, so I scoop it up and sit back on my heels. It's a tiny puppy, its fur matted down with dirt and leaves.

"Hey, little guy," I say. "Sorry, I mean girl. Do you belong to anyone around here?" The last thing I need is an angry townsperson scolding me for messing with their dog. The puppy whines in response. I hold her up higher and, with a start, notice that I can see her ribs.

"Poor girl!" I sigh, setting the puppy down on my lap and digging in my pocket for a bit of bread crust. The little fuzzball settles down on my skirt, gnawing happily away at the food. As I shift into a more comfortable position, I notice a single white lily swaying nearby.

"Lily flower," I whisper. "Liliya. That's you! You're Liliya." The puppy cranes her neck to peer up at me with huge brown eyes, smearing muddy footprints over my skirt. I kiss the top of her head.

"You're mine now, Liliya, and I'm yours. Family, okay? I haven't got one, and neither have you. We've only got each other, and I'll stick with you until the end of time."

That promise stayed true, at least it has so far. The kids in the orphanage - and soon after, on the streets - loved the idea of having a dog to play with. They helped me to hide her from the Matron of the House, wash her, feed her, entertain her, and teach her how to obey commands. Now, I'll wager ten pounds and a chicken that my Liliya is the best-behaved canine in all of South Yorkshire.

Pulling apart the curtains over my window, I can see my cozy little farm already at work. The sheep are out in the pasture already, chewing lazily on the meadow grass. Chickens are pecking for bugs in the dirt outside of the henhouse. When I look to the berry-red barn, I see my adoptive father, whom I call Matt, bringing out Bess's milk and the chickens' eggs. That's my job! I think with surprise. Why would Matt do work that he knows is mine when he won't even let me get out of weeding the cabbages on the hottest day of summer?

As Matt crosses the barnyard, I see motion in my peripheral vision. Curious, I look toward the driveway leading out of the farm. A tawny bird - an owl - is flapping its way out of the kitchen window and out over the forest. Matt, standing by the well, stops to watch it go, then smiles up at my window. He gives me a knowing wink and continues his way towards the farmhouse.

My heart races. Today's the day! Happy, happy, happy day! I laugh, crouching down to pull Liliya into a hug. She yaps and places her front paws on my shoulders in our special embrace.

"This is it, Liliya!" I tell her, laughing. "I can't believe it." I start to pull my customary farm clothes out of my wardrobe - dungarees and a shirt - but Liliya yaps at me, startling me back to the present. Instead, I tug out my best skirt and blouse, unworn since I got them in London summer last. I daresay that I haven't grown since then! I twist my hair up into the fanciest knot I can manage, and then nearly fly down the stairs.

Amelié is serving breakfast at the counter, wearing her flowery apron. My adoptive parents - whom I call Amelié and Matt - are nearly the most stereotypical couple that one can imagine. Matt is tall, with chocolate brown hair that flops every-which-way and mischievous green eyes that sparkle like emeralds. Amelié has long, blonde hair and her eyes shine bright as a summer sky. Mind, they're as down-to-earth as one can get. No mistake in that! But, as far as two nearly-pure-blooded wizards go, they're as cheery as the flowers in the meadow.

"Sit, missy, and eat up while it's warm!" Amelié waves her spoon at me. "I see that someone -" this is directed at Matt, who is just stepping inside - "got a word in sideways to Sophy before she could come downstairs to see things for herself!"

Matt grins cheekily. "Like she couldn't guess anyhow! Liliya, no porridge. It's Sophy's special day, not yours!"

Liliya ashamedly gets down off of my chair, although she still eyes the pot of porridge on the stove.

"Well?" I ask Amelié excitedly as I take my seat at the table. The porridge is sprinkled with cinnamon and topped with raspberries - there's no doubt about anything now.

"Well, then, eat your breakfast and do your chores and then we'll see about anything special!" My mouth falls open as Amelié turns back to the stove.

Matt bursts out laughing. "Sophy, you're going to swallow flies! My goodness." He reaches over and closes my mouth, still open in shock.

Amelié laughs too. "Silly. You think I'd make you wait? Here." She hands me a thick envelope, embossed with an all-too-familiar seal. The front reads:

Ms. S. M. Alkaev-Shaderock

The South-East Bedroom

Pine Meadows Farm

South Yorkshire

I carefully tear it open, not wanting to make one wrong scratch in the precious parchment. Sliding out the first document, I read: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry … Dear Ms. Alkaev-Shaderock … You have been accepted at Hogwarts! … Term starts on September the First …

I finish reading and whoop. Matt and Amelié laugh and hug me, ignoring the fact that Liliya is now sitting, somewhat awkwardly, in my lap. I use her as an armrest and remove the second sheet of paper, now speed-reading.

Uniform … Books … Transfiguration … the Dark Arts … one wand … a cauldron … an owl, a cat or a toad … first-years not allowed broomsticks.

The last sentence makes my heart rebound into my throat.

Special permission is made for Ms. Alkaev-Shaderock and her East European Shepherd.

I laugh, wrapping my arms around Liliya's furry neck. She yaps and licks my hair, the black strands sticking to her tongue.

"Well?" Matt asks, spooning porridge into his mouth at an alarming rate. "What's so funny?" He nods at the paper in my hand. "Has there been something of any importance?" His eyes twinkle merrily.

Amelié swats him with her spoon as she sits down, too.

"Don't play innocent, mister. The poor girl's had enough teasing for the day."

"Says you," he mutters.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, dear." He winks at me.

I giggle, starting on my porridge. "I've been assigned eight new books. Teachers are laying it on this year!"

Amelié shrugs. "It's only your first year, Sophy. Those books, you'll use them for the rest of your school years, at least most of them."

"I suppose you would," I say. "No, Liliya." I pull my bowl away from her nose. Liliya looks disappointed.

"Oh! You'd never suppose what Professor McGonagall said," I exclaim, dropping my spoon into the near-empty bowl with a clatter.

"What, dear?" Amelié looks up at me.

"I have simply no idea," Matt says, but his eyes tell otherwise.

I wrap Liliya in a bear hug. "Well, in the letter, it says, 'Students can bring an owl or a cat or a toad.' I don't suppose anyone would bring a toad, though. But here, there's a note. The Professor has written, 'Special permission is made for Ms. Alkaev Shaderock and her…"

"East European Shepherd!" Matt and Amelié finish with me.

"I thought that may have been it," Amelié remarks, golden hair swinging as she pushes back her chair, empty bowl in hand.

"Have you sent them the owl?" I ask happily, finishing my own porridge.

"She sent the school owl back with it," Matt tells me. "That's why it left so late; it had to wait as Amelié took her good time writing a simple response!"

Amelié swats him. "Behave yourself, or you'll be staying here while Sophy and I go to London for her supplies!"

Matt looks hurt. "I'll behave. Promise!"

Liliya sneezes, then snorts. Amelié and I both laugh.

"I don't think Liliya agrees with that," I tell him, laughing.

Matt laughs too. "Day after tomorrow, we'll take the Knight Bus down to London, butterfly." He ruffled my hair. "What say you?"

I wrap my arms around the precious letter and inhale the smell of old parchment. "I think that's as lovely as anything."

"It's like it becomes more and more special every time we leave," I breathe, "just to amaze me the next time I come!"

I step through the archway in the old brick wall, gazing at the towering shops and buildings. Liliya follows me, sniffing the air.

"Where to first, butterfly?" Matt asks me. He's as excited as I am; I can tell by the look on his face.

"Erm," I say, shuffling around the papers I'm holding. "Let's see." I read aloud. "Students will require three sets of black work robes, a pointed black hat, dragon-hide gloves, and a black cloak with silver fastenings." I keep reading as we begin to walk down the cobbled street, weaving through passerby. The shop windows are filled with interesting things to look at: old books and fresh spices, elegant dress robes; telescopes and whirring contraptions. We purchase a shining crystal set of phials from one shop, a sheaf of parchment from another. One shop has a towering pyramid of cauldrons in the window, so unsteady that I could it knock down with a flick of a finger. Another window is full of racing brooms.

"Ah!" Amelié points a slim finger at a shop on our left. "The Apothecary. I'm going to stop in for some fresh salamander blood; you two go on ahead."

"I'll come with," I return, staring at the pickled something in the store window. "I want to take a look inside."

Amelié shrugs, and pulls open the heavy door. Matt and I follow her inside.

The funny smell of dust and pickled ingredients hits me as I step inside. The little shop is jam-packed full of bottles and jars on towering shelves, barrels and boxes packed full of bat wings and beetle eyes, and even a row of Muggle candy dispensers full of bezoars and dried spiders. A long counter stretches across the shop, behind which the apothecary is busy wrapping up ingredients for an elderly lady with a red handbag.

"I'm going to look at salamander blood," Amelié tells me. "Would you mind taking a look at the aconite root?" She nods to a shelf crowded with bins of creamy roots. "We'll just be a minute."

"Make sure Liliya doesn't eat anything she shouldn't," Matt reminds me.

"Make sure no-one eats anything at all," Amelié clarifies, before pulling Matt toward a shelf of dark vials.

I hook a finger around Liliya's collar and tug her away from a barrel of rats' brains. "C'mon, Lils."

The aconite roots smell rich and earthy, crammed in huge bins on a sturdy shelf. I stand on my tiptoes and peer over the edge of the biggest bin, examining the tubers. After some deliberation, I select a large tuber with one hand and push a few more roots aside.

"You don't want that one," a voice says in my ear. I jump and nearly land on Liliya's paw.

"Sorry?" I turn around. A boy my age is standing behind me, wearing robes hanging slightly askew.

He shifts awkwardly and points to the aconite root in my hand. "That root. It's getting old. It'll lose its potency in a few days."

I blink. The root doesn't look at all remarkable to me. "How can you tell?"

He gingerly takes the root from me and points to one end. "See? The cut is starting to get a bit yellow-brown."

"All of the cut ends are yellow-brown."

He shakes his head and reaches for another root, showing it to me. "See here? Only the center of this one is tinged, the rest is still pale. But this one, all of the cut edge is browning. That isn't good."

I examine the roots. He's right; my root is really starting to brown on one end. "Neat. How'd you know?"

He places my root back in the bin and hands the other root to me. "Experience."

I nod, impressed. After checking the ends of a handful of roots, I choose two more and push the bin back from the edge of the shelf. "I'm Sophy," I say, extending my free hand. "What's your name?"

"Oh, er, Neville." He shakes my hand tentatively. "You wouldn't happen to be starting Hogwarts this year…"

"Yes!" I grin. "I've just been getting my supplies. Have you?"

"Yeah." He nods to the elderly lady at the counter. "I'm here with my Gran."

"I'm here with my parents," I say, pointing to where Amelié and Matt are discussing something by the beetle eyes.

"Cool. Er, your dog…"

I turn to see Liliya sniffing a bin of bat wings. "Oh, Liliya, no!" I tug her back. She turns and gives me her best I'm-a-good-puppy face. "Oh, and this is Liliya," I tell Neville. "I found her when she was a puppy."

"Neat! I haven't got a dog, Gran's allergic, but I have got a toad." He brightens and digs around in his pocket, bringing out a shapeless brown toad. "His name is Trevor. My great-uncle-Algie gave him to me."

I try to look impressed. "Cool."

"No, he's not," he says honestly. "But thanks anyway."

"Sophy!" Amelié waves at me. I jump up, aconite roots in one hand.

"I'll come with you," Neville offers, tucking Trevor back into his pocket. We make our way back through the boxes and over to Matt and Amelié. Matt is holding my packages and Amelié is clutching a tall vial of salamander blood.

"Matt, Amelié, this is Neville. Neville, this is Matt and Amelié," I say. Neville awkwardly waves. Amelie and Matt look delighted, probably because I've made a friend.

"Neville!" A voice comes from behind us. The elderly lady with the red handbag - Neville's Gran - has come up behind Neville, packages tucked under one arm.

"Hi, Gran," Neville says. "Gran, meet Matt, Amelié, and Sophy Shaderock," then, to us, "This is my Gran."

Matt sticks out his hand to Neville's Gran. "Matt Shaderock," he says, "and this is my wife, Amelié."

Neville's Gran gives Matt a thin smile and takes his hand. "Augusta Longbottom."

Matt's eyes widen a smidge in recognition, but he doesn't say anything. I wonder why - the name doesn't tug at any memories for me.

"I'm Sophy," I offer, smiling at Mrs. Longbottom. "I'm going to be in Neville's year at Hogwarts."

Mrs. Longbottom gives another thin smile. "Lovely. Neville, it's wonderful that you've made friends, but we really must be getting to Flourish and Blotts. Pleasure meeting you." With one hand on Neville's elbow, she gracefully exits the shop.

We step up to the counter, setting our purchases in front of the register. "You two seemed to get along well," Amelié notes.

"He's my age," I present. "And he's nice."

"Longbottom," Matt says, almost to himself. "I haven't heard that name in a very long time."

"Why?" I ask, curious.

Matt sighs, sliding a few Galleons across the counter to the cashier. "The Longbottoms, Frank and Alice, were Aurors during the war. I was a year behind them at Hogwarts. Anyway, they were captured near the end of the war."

I gasp. "You-Know-Who didn't kill them!"

"No, that's just it. The Longbottom's weren't killed; they were tortured for information. They're still in St. Mungo's. I went to see them once, just after the end of the war. They're - they've been tortured to insanity."

I take a package, shocked. "And Neville's their son?"

"He must be," Amelié muses. "He's just the age."

I push the shop door open, Liliya at my heels. "My stars. Poor Neville."

"I wouldn't bring it up," Matt warns. "And don't go telling other students; it's Neville's choice on who he wants to know. Although," he muses, "I suppose I did just tell you. Ah, well."

I chuckle, rolling my eyes. "Don't worry. I can keep secrets." I look both ways down the crowded street. "Where to?"

Amelié nods to our left. "Ollivanders, Sophy. You're going to get your wand!"

I whoop, and Liliya yips, imitating my excitement. I laugh and ruffle up her fur.

"This way, ladies!" Matt weaves through clumps of passerby, leading us down the street to the last shop. It's narrow and sort of shabby. Above the door, peeling gold letters announce the shop as Ollivanders: Maker of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. In the window, a wand lies on display. Matt holds open the door and we file inside.

It's almost too special to breathe in, I think, enthralled. The shop is lined with bookshelves, each stacked with wand boxes. There must be thousands of them. The air hangs with dust, and the silence is almost magical.

"Good afternoon," says a soft voice out of nowhere. I whip around, nearly bumping into Matt. Standing to our right is an old man - Ollivander. His pale eyes seem to see me - as if he can read what is on my inside. I shiver.

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," I say shyly. Liliya sniffs the air, and, contented, sits down.

"Hello." Ollivander bows his head. "Sophya Alkaev." He says it as if it's a statement. He turns to Matt. "Matthew Shaderock. Eleven and three-quarters inches, birch with a dragon heartstring. Good for Charms."

I blink. How does he know that? Or remember? But Ollivander has moved on. "Amelié de Rousseau. Thirteen inches, even. Willow with a unicorn tail hair. Swishy." Amelié nods her head respectfully

"Well now, Miss Alkaev."

"Alkaev-Shaderock," I correct automatically. "Sir."

"As you wish." He pulls a long tape measure out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm, Miss Alkaev-Shaderock?"

"I'm ambidextrous," I tell him.

He smiles happily. "Good, good! Hold out both arms, then. That's it." He begins to measure me as if he's making me an outfit instead of finding a wand: shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to the floor, and around my head.

"I suppose you know, but every Ollivander wand has a unique core, Miss Alkaev-Shaderock. We use unicorn tail hairs, phoenix feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are quite the same, just as no two phoenixes, unicorns, or dragons are the same, either. And, of course, you will never get the same results from a different wizard's - or witch's - wand."

As the tape measure moves down to wrap around my waist, I suddenly realize that it is moving on its own - Ollivander is flitting through and around shelves, making a stack of wand boxes.

"That will do," he announces, and the tape measure drops to the floor. "Right now, Miss Alkaev-Shaderock. Try this one. Maple and a unicorn tail hair, quite flexible. Ten inches. Take it," he says, holding it out to me.

I reach out and take it by the end. I raise it up to look at the tip, but Ollivander snatches it away as soon as I lift it. "Not that one, then. Ebony and a dragon heartstring, Seven inches and quite springy."

I take the new one and lift it up above my head. Ollivander snatches this one away, too. "No, no. Rosewood and unicorn tail hair, quite whippy, nine inches. Try."

This one, yet again is snatched away, as are the next three. I'm feeling frustrated and a bit worried - what if we have to go through the entire shop before I find the right one? On the contrary, Ollivander is looking as happy as a child on Christmas.

"Tricky customer, have we? Don't fret, Miss Alkaev-Shaderock, we'll find the right match! Oak and a phoenix feather, try."

I try this one as well, to no results. I glance back at Matt and Amelié. Amelié looks sympathetic, and Matt looks somewhat amused.

"Miss Alkaev-Shaderock? Try this one. Applewood and a phoenix feather, fourteen inches, quite powerful. Try it now, please."

I take this wand. It feels different, somehow. I lift it up and point it directly in front of me. A tingling ripple spreads through me, and when it reaches my fingers, a blossom of greenish-goldish light jets out in a burst from the tip of the wand. I'm delighted - at least until the light hits the shelves of wands in the back of the shop, sending boxes flying and cascading every which way.

"Oops," I say, wincing at the catastrophe before me. "I'm really sorry about that."

To my surprise, Ollivander claps, as do Mark and Amelié. He rights the shop with a sweep of his own wand, before turning back to me. "Very good, Miss Alkaev-Shaderock! Applewood and a phoenix feather. Fourteen inches and powerful, and there you go!" He hands me the box, which is lined with black velvet.

I examine my wand as Matt pays. The grains in the wood swirl enchantingly. Мама's wand was applewood, too, I think. I wonder if Мама's wood looked the same as mine. I trace one of the swirls, following Amelié out of the shop and into the sunlight.

I wander through the train, looking for a place to sit. Thank goodness I'm stronger than I look - otherwise, my trunk would be unbearably heavy by now. All of the compartments I've passed so far are full. I'm nearing the end of the train; there had better be somewhere soon. As if responding to my wish, the next cabin I pass is nearly empty, except for two boys.

I tap on the glass, and, when they look up, I open the compartment door.

"I'm so sorry, but can I sit in here? I can't find a free spot anywhere else on the train."

The boys look up. One of them has red hair and even more freckles than Matt does. "Sure," he says. "Here, I'll help you with your trunk." He lifts up the other end and together we sling it up into the luggage rack.

"I'm Ron Weasley," he says, sitting back down. "This is, well, you know."

I look over at the other boy. He looks familiar … then, I recognize him.

"You … don't you live in Surrey? In …" I snap my fingers. "Little Whinging! A couple years ago, we played at the park. On the jungle gym."

His eyes light up in recognition, and something else I can't place. "I remember that! You were visiting with your new parents, you said. And … you had a dog back then."

I nod. "I still do."

"A dog!" Ron leans in. "Really? Where?"

I blink. "Erm, she should be in here, unless she got sidetracked … " I get up and peer into the hallway. Sure enough, a group of older kids are playing with Liliya in the hallway.

"Hey!" An older boy says. "Is this your dog?"

"That she is," I answer. "C'mon, Liliya." Liliya gives the boy's hand one last lick, and then lopes over and into the compartment.

"This," I say to the boys, "is my dog. Liliya, this is Ron and …"

"Harry," says the other boy.

"Ron and Harry," I tell her.

Ron sits up, looking surprised. "You didn't know Harry's name before now?"

I shake my head. "I am so bad with names."

"But … he and You-Know-Who!"

I grin. "I grew up in Russia. No You-Know-Who there."

"Oh." Harry lets Liliya sniff his hand. "That's fine." He grins at me.

We fall silent, watching the fields and forests roll by out the window. The last time I rode on a train was when Matt and Amelié brought me here from Russia. I remember having lunch in the dining car, and Matt letting Liliya sleep with me in my bunk.

A big clattering makes us jump, and we turn to the corridor. A smiling lady slides open our door, pulling her cart to a stop.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?" she asks, beaming at us.

Harry leaps to his feet and trots out into the corridor. Ron mutters something about sandwiches, and slouches down in his seat.

I turn, examining the trolley. To my shock, I see a Neville's toad nestled between two unopened boxes of cauldron cakes. I get up for some Pumpkin Pasties to go with my sandwich, surreptitiously slipping Trevor into my pocket on the way back to my seat. After I eat, I decide, I'll to find Neville.

Harry, on the other hand, buys some of everything. He tips it out onto the seat next to him. Ron, who is holding a lumpy package, gapes at him.

We trade foods. I trade Ron my corned-beef-free sandwich, and, since I don't mind the meat, I take his. Harry gives us both Chocolate Frogs, but I turn down the offer of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. After tugging a bit of corned beef away from Liliya, I root around in my trunk for a bit of dog food, which Liliya settles on the floor to eat.

"What are these?" Harry asks suddenly. He's holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. I swallow my bite of sandwich and look up. "They're not really frogs, are they?" I raise my eyebrows. He's never had Chocolate Frogs before? I faintly remember reading somewhere that Harry Potter grew up with Muggles. If that's true, then of course he'd never get Chocolate Frogs, I reason.

"No," says Ron, reaching for a Cauldron Cake. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

I want to pipe in, Or Paracelsus. I'm missing him as well.

"What?" Harry asks, examining the package quizzically. I can see his gears turning: Frogs? So where do cards come in?

"Oh, of course you wouldn't know," Ron says, "Chocolate Frog have cards inside them, you know, to collect - famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred -" Five hundred! I think. I've only got two hundred and forty - "but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Understanding crosses Harry's face. He carefully unwraps the package, pulling out the card. Craning my head to see the back, I realize that he's got Dumbledore. Good place to start, I think. Anyhow, this way he's got some idea of who's running his new school.

"So this is Dumbledore!" Harry says, examining the picture on the front. Ron almost spits out a bite of his pastry.

"Don't tell me you've never heard of Dumbledore!" he exclaims. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa." Harry reaches into the pile next to him and tosses a couple to Ron. "Thanks."

Harry reads the back of the card in silence, and I unwrap a Frog of my own. I've got a Ptolemy. I have three of him at home, and since Ron needs that one, he'd have better use of the card.

"Hey, Ron," I say. Ron looks up from a Circe card; I've already got one of her, and judging by the look on Ron's face, he doesn't need another. "Didn't you say that you're missing Ptolemy?"

"Yeah. Ptolemy and Agrippa."

"Heads up." I flip the card to him, end over end. He catches it and holds it up to read.

"Ptolemy. Great! Thanks, Sophy."

"Anytime." I pop the frog into my mouth and savor the milky chocolate.

"Hey," Harry says from the other side of the compartment, "he's gone!"

I blink at him. Indeed, the Dumbledore on his card has gone off somewhere.

"Well, you can't expect him to hand around all day," Ron says in a vague way of explanation. "He'll be back. Oh, no. I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her at home. D'you want to start collecting, Harry? Here." He tries to flip the card at Harry, but ends up dropping it.

I lean down and ruffle up Liliya's fur. The boys are talking about things - photos, maybe, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"This is it, girly!" I whisper to her. Her ears pick up; I know she's listening. "We're going to Hogwarts, really going this time. You and me. Me and you. We've got each other, and we'll stick together until the end of time." Liliya pokes her nose into my hair and huffs, which is her way of telling me that she cares. I laugh when it tickles my ear.

"Have you got any pets?" Harry asks Ron. "I've got Hedwig," he gestures to a snowy white owl, "and Sophy's got Liliya."

Ron heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Scabbers," he groans, holding up a rat. I lean back slightly. I've seen better rats in the past few years.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," Ron complains. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday, because it might make him a bit more interesting. The spell didn't work, so go figure. I'll show you, here." He rummages around for a bit and brings out an old wand. I blink. Where did he get it? All of the wands at Ollivander's are plenty nice enough.

Ron says something to Harry and clears his throat. Just as he raises his wand, the compartment door bangs open. It's Neville and an unfamiliar girl.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she says. When her eyes land on me, she brightens a bit. Her hair is brown, bushy, and rather frizzy. Her front teeth are a bit bigger than normal, but she still looks pretty.

"Here," I say, pulling Trevor out of my pocket. He's asleep. "I found him on the trolley."

Neville brightens, scooping Trevor out of my hands. "Thank you, Sophy!" He gives me a wave over his shoulder, ducking out of the compartment.

"Are you doing magic?" The girl asks Ron interestedly. "Let's see it, then!" She sits down across from me, giving me a friendly grin.

Ron clears his throat again. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow," he intones. I blink. What spell is this? "Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!" He taps the rat - Scabbers - but nothing happens.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" the girl asks. "Well, it's not a very good one, is it? I've tried some spells for practice - simple ones - and everything worked for me. Nobody in my family is magic whatsoever, so it was so surprising when I got my letter. I was ever so pleased. I mean, Hogwarts is the very best school of magic there is, isn't it? I've learned all of our course books by heart, of course. I just hope it'll be enough. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, what's your name?"

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron mutters sullenly.

"Harry Potter," says Harry.

"I'm Sophy, Sophy Alkaev-Shaderock," I say. "This is Liliya. I think she likes you." Liliya yips to confirm it.

"She seems very nice," Hermione says. Then, to Harry, "Are you really? I know all about you, of course - I got a few extra books for background reading, since I'm new to all this, and you're in Modern Magic History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

"Am I really?" Harry looks stunned. I'm impressed.

"Goodness, you didn't know? I'd have found out all that I could if it was me," Hermione says. "Do either of you know what House you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it seems the best by far. I hear Dumbledore was it there, Dumbledore himself! I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad. Anyway, I'd better get back to my compartment. You lot had better change, I expect we'll be at Hogwarts sooner or later." Hermione gets up, flashes me a smile, and disappears into the corridor.

"Whatever House she ends up in, I hope that I'm not in it!" Ron says. I glare at him. "Stupid spell. I bet George knew it was a dud when he gave it to me."

"What House is your family in?" I ask him.

"Gryffindor," Ron says somewhat sadly. "All of them, Mum and Dad included. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not in it. I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin!"

"Some people think I'll be in Slytherin," I say, wrapping up my empty sandwich bag.

Ron spins around to gape at me. "You? But you're so … so nice!"

"Thanks!" I say. "See, I grew up in Russia. Most of the Wizarding folk there aren't all that great, and folks think I'll turn out the same."

"Don't worry about that," Ron says. "You're not sorted by the history of where you come from, it's you that counts. You're fine."

"Slytherin is where You-Know-Who was, isn't it?" Harry asks.

"I suppose," I shrug. "Relax, Harry. I'm sure everything will end up fine." And, still facing his uncertain expression, I root around in my pocket for some cards. "Anyone up for Exploding Snap?"

Everyone starts heaping food onto their plates. I pick out my favorites - roast beef, boiled potatoes, peas, carrots, and gravy. I pour some dog food onto a plate and pass it under the table for Liliya.

Everyone chatters around me as we begin to eat. Harry is talking to a ghost who's wearing clothing from a few centuries ago. Ron is talking to a sandy-haired wizard that I think is called Sean, or something like that. Hermione is chattering away with Parvati and Lavender. Next to me, Neville is mashing peas and carrots into his potatoes.

"We're here," he says in awe. "We actually made it."

I grin, stabbing a carrot. "What were you expecting? Ghouls in the broom cupboards? A troll by the lakeshore? Banshees in the loo?"

He laughs. "No, I dunno. I just never imagined getting this far."

I nod in agreement. "Yeah. And Gryffindor, too. Both of us!"

He beams. "I know. Gryffindor. Gran's going to be so proud. She was in Ravenclaw, but Mum and Dad were in Gryffindor. I think my family decided I would be in Hufflepuff."

I shrug. "You'd make a good Hufflepuff. Not that you aren't a good Gryffindor," I amend quickly. "Speaking of which, what did the Sorting Hat say? Daring and chivalry? I call daring."

"Hey!" Neville complains. "You can't just call daring."

"I just did," I point out, poking at my potatoes. "That means you get chivalry."

"Oh." He stops to consider this.

"Lord Chivalry and Lady Daring," I muse, the chatter of Hogwarts echoing around me. "I like the sound of that."

I stab another carrot, letting the noise of the Great Hall wash over me in a wave. Liliya settles against my leg, and I smile. This is going to be a fabulous year.