It was close to midnight. Under her covers, face pushed into her pillow, Alex Clover was crying.

Alex Clover had many reasons to cry. Even more than other ordinary eleven-year-old girls, who were exceptionally well-known for crying. She could have cried because her parents had died four years ago. She could have cried about being sent to such a small orphanage. She could even have cried about the loneliness of being the only American in a British orphanage. But she wasn't crying about any of those things. She was crying about the one thing which had defined her existence for as long as she could remember. The single piece of her life which had continued to torment her even after the grief of loss had faded slightly. It was a truly terrible thing, and she wished it weren't. She wished so dearly that it weren't so important. But for some reason it was important, and loud, and it seemed to shout its existence

You see, Alex Clover was, truly, an ordinary eleven-year-old girl. She'd just had the bad luck to have been born as a boy.

Well, not truly a boy. But everyone who looked at her saw a boy, and so a boy was all they saw. She looked in the mirror and saw a boy, too. But she was quite sure that she was a girl. Her mother and father had tried dearly to understand, to help the child they loved. They'd made appointments with people who were supposed to help, even went as far as to move to England to consult with specific experts. Her hopes seemed to have died with them that day. No family stepped forward to claim her. Her parents had left her some money when they'd gone, but she was told she wasn't old enough to have it yet. So to the orphanage Alex Clover had been sent, to be cared for until the day she could leave. But she didn't think she'd ever make it that far. And the older she got, the more like a boy she seemed to look, the harder it was not to tell anyone, and the harder it was to stay strong. I'm not strong, she thought, still crying. I'm not strong, I'm not brave, I'm not - not much of anything…

Alex Clover didn't know what she was going to do, so what she did was cry. She cried and cried, until finally her tears were stopped by sleep.

"Alex, is there something wrong?" Steven asked quietly over breakfast the next morning. He was Alex's roommate. "I heard you, last night. Are you okay?"

Alex tried to appear 'okay'. She shook her head, smiling. "I'm fine, Steven. Honest. Just, you know."

He nodded slightly. Orphanages weren't exactly known for happy stories, and Mending Heart was no different. "Yeah. Still, if you ever need to talk, just remember - we're mates, always." He grinned, then went back to tackling his stale toast.

Alex tried to keep smiling. Her mouth hurt, but she was used to it. I'm fine. No, it's okay. She said it often. She had to say something, had to keep her mouth occupied with speech, or else she knew she'd slip up and say the truth. No, I'm not okay. I'm a girl. I'm a girl, and everyone thinks I'm a boy. Even when I grow my hair out. She had, too, though it was a bit rough. sometimes she was 'mistaken' for a girl by strangers, and she treasured those moments. But Steven wasn't a stranger. He was her best friend. She sighed, and, glancing at Steven and seeing he was distracted reading another of his comics, she let her face fall. She tried to bite through her toast, but it was so stiff it cracked in the middle and fell apart. She left it alone, disgustedly. I hate stiff toast.

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and glanced up. Sarah stood there. She was one of the caretakers. One of the good ones, too, though she had a bit of an irritating habit of interrupting people and sending them out on errands or chores.

"Alex, could you be a good lad and get the post today?" Sarah smiled.

Case in point. Alex sighed, standing up and abandoning her meal to Steven, who took it gladly. She went without too much fuss, though. It wasn't that she minded the work. She was so bored most of the time that any distractions from her body's strangeness were welcome to her. She took a moment to recall where the mailbox was. Just outside, at the end of the drive - not an easy walk. Mending Heart was a large orphanage with three floors, and she had to push by most of the other kids just to get out of the cafeteria. But push she did, and in a few minutes, she was at the front door, and in another moment, outside in the suburban sprawl. Well, it wasn't really a 'sprawl', but Alex liked the word, so she used it whenever she could. Sprawl. Sprawl. She grinned, then remembered what she was supposed to be doing.

She got to the mailbox and unlocked it. Her smile wavered as she noticed an odd woman standing expectantly a few feet away. She was small but plump, with strange clothes that had marked her as homeless to Alex at a distance. The odd woman was also staring at Alex in a way that made Alex very nervous. The nervousness became actual fear when the woman spoke.

"Alex Clover?"

Alex backed away, eyes shot open and as wide as they could go.

"Alex Clover?" she repeated. She reached out with her hand. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt-"

Alex ran back to and through the front door, screaming. She knew very well not to trust strangers. She was eleven. She wasn't going to talk to the scary strange maybe-murderous homeless woman. She ran all the way to the Headmaster's office, because that was the first place she could think of going. She hammered on the door. "Headmaster! Headmaster!" She yelled.

"Is that - Clover? Good heavens, what is it?" the Headmaster's voice called through the door. Alex turned the knob and ran inside -

- only to scream and back out again.

There was the Headmaster, kind-faced man that he was, sitting behind his desk, and in front of the desk, in a chair, impossibly, was the same woman Alex had seen outside. "You can't-" she choked. "You were-"

"What's wrong, Clover?" He said, worried look on his face. "Do you need to see the nurse?"

Alex stuck her hand out, pointing accusatorially at the impossible woman. "You! You!" Alex sputtered. She didn't know what to say. She had run all the way from the mailboxes to here without stopping. The woman had not only gotten here first, but from the looks of things, she had been speaking to the Headmaster before Alex had arrived. "How?!" Alex screeched, tears in her eyes.

The woman turned, a worried look on her face too. "Calm down, dear. Just let me explain."

The Headmaster seemed confused. "I'm confused," he confirmed. "Mrs. Sprout - "

"Professor Sprout." She murmured absently.

"Right, yes, Professor Sprout, how do you know young Alex here?"

"Who is she? What is she?!" Alex was still panicked. She wanted to run again, but she was scared that this 'Sprout' might pop up in her bedroom, or the bathroom, or wherever she tried to run. She cried a bit.

"We passed each other on the way here." Sprout answered the Headmaster, then spoke to Alex again. "Calm down, Alex. It's going to be okay. I'll explain everything." She turned to the Headmaster, showing him something. Alex leaned over to see, curious, though still fearful. It seemed to be… a letter. An old letter, too, or old paper at least. She'd never seen paper like it.

The Headmaster glanced at it. He seemed to calm down at the sight of it. "Ah." He whispered. "Ah." he repeated, nodding his head as if understanding. Alex desperately wanted that feeling right now.

"Then you understand?" Sprout said, matter-of-factly.

"Yes," the Headmaster agreed. "Two in two years, my word… There's more of you people all the time, aren't there?"

"That does tend to be the way of it." She said, rather sarcastically. "So. Will you tell Alex to calm down now?"

"I won't!" Alex cried out. "Not until you tell me how you - how you did that!" Alex was having trouble describing exactly what Professor Sprout had done, because she wasn't sure what Professor Sprout had done. Which was scary as well.

"I apparated." Sprout said. Then, after a pause, she seemed to realize that Alex didn't have any idea what the word meant. "It means I vanish, then reappear somewhere else."

"What?" Alex said. Her fear had been replaced with a kind of confused dullness. "People can't do that, can they? Headmaster-"

"Clover," the Headmaster sighed. "Do try to keep an open mind about all this. It is a bit… well." He seemed to be at a loss for words. "Sprout, can you please…"

Sprout nodded. "I suppose that's the best way of it." She walked slowly, non-threateningly, towards Alex. Sprout outstretched her hand. Alex tentatively took the old letter out of the Professor's hands, and began to read it. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…?" she muttered curiously. "Albus Dumbledore?"

"You read quickly," Sprout nodded. "Yes, witchcraft and wizardry. You may have experienced impossible events, like waking up in odd places, or seeing strange things." Alex hadn't, but she didn't say anything about it. "Well, here's the why of it. You, Alex Clover, are a witch."

Alex stared at her. The Headmaster also seemed a bit confused by this statement, but shrugged after a moment, as if not caring enough. He slouched back in his chair, looking very tired. Alex turned back to the letter, feeling very strange about something. She checked the top of the paper.

Dear Ms. Clover, we are pleased to inform you that you have a place at…

They knew. Her hands ceased shuddering. She stopped crying suddenly. They knew.

"I'm afraid I've arrived a bit late," Sprout confessed, "There was some confusion over your location… But never mind all that. You'll have to pack today if you want to go, dear. I'll see to your school supplies, so don't you fuss."

"…witchcraft and wizardry…" Alex mumbled.

"What was that?" Sprout asked.

"Can witchcraft and wizardry… change people? Change the way they appear?" Alex asked.

Sprout nodded slowly. "In many ways, though some are more difficult than others." She tilted her head. "…Alex, dear, do you not like the way you look?"

Alex, after a pause, nodded her head very slightly. Odd, that Sprout wouldn't know that.

"Ah, you poor dear. I suppose you do look a bit boyish, but…" Sprout clucked in her throat. "Well, we'll see about that later. If you wish to come to Hogwarts, that is."

"I do!" Alex exclaimed, louder than intended. She quieted her excitement slightly. "I do."

Sprout smiled. "Wonderful. Would you like help packing your things?"

Alex nodded, her eyes open wide. Witchcraft and wizardry… She wondered.

"Right, then. We'll be off, Headmaster." Sprout announced. "I trust you'll see to the paperwork."

The Headmaster looked irritated, but he nodded. "…yes, yes. I would appreciate some help…"

"I'll send a message to the Headmaster." Sprout offered, then laughed. "Of Hogwarts, I mean. Albus Dumbledore. He'll help… I think."

"You think?" The Headmaster grumbled.

"Yes, well." Professor Sprout ushered Alex out the door quickly. "We'll be going, I need to take Alex to get her things packed, all the best-" She rushed out and shut the door behind herself, leaving the Headmaster startled.

"…her?…" He wondered aloud, puzzled. Then he just shook his head, closed his eyes, and tried, not for the first time, to forget about how bizarre his small world seemed to get around this time of year. In this, as always, he was not successful.

Sprout really had been telling the truth when she said she'd help pack. Alex stared open-mouthed as all the possessions she had in the world were juggled around in the air and packed into bags at Sprout's direction. She remembered a scene from the film Sword in the Stone, where Merlin did the same thing, or something similar. She'd seen the film with her father. Thinking about her father made her feel sad, so she started thinking about whether Merlin was actually real. It wasn't too far-fetched, really. Not now.

"Professor Sprout?" She asked politely. "Is Merlin real?"

"He was, yes." Sprout informed her, still focusing on the task of packing.

Alex grinned from ear to ear.

"Fillius would laugh himself silly if he saw me doing this…" Sprout muttered to herself.

"Who?"

"Oh, Charms teacher, he's… well, you'll find out later, I think. Is that about everything?" She finished with a casual flick of her little stick thing, which, in thinking about it, Alex surmised was probably a wand.

"I think so." She gazed around her room one last time. There was something she was forgetting, though. She couldn't tell what it was, however… Until it walked in.

"What's going on?" Steven asked. He gazed around. "Who's the lady with the stick?"

"It's not a stick, it's-" Sprout stopped herself. "It's a stick." She confirmed, with an unconvincing voice.

"Right." Steven raised an eyebrow. He turned his gaze on the packed bags. "Alex, what's all this?"

Alex wasn't sure what she could and couldn't tell him. She could only think of one excuse at that moment, too. "I got adopted."

"What?!" Steven was aghast. "You can't be - I won't - what?" He stammered. "You can't just go!"

"I'll miss you too." Alex smiled. She gave him a big hug. He returned it, a bit hesitantly. "Mates forever, right?"

"Yeah." He said, weakly. "Promise you'll call?"

"I'll try. I'll send you my new address, too, so we can send mail back and forth." Alex promised.

"Right." He seemed put off. "Are you really leaving?"

"Sorry."

"No, no, it's okay, I- I'm sorry, I just didn't…" He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, then exhaled. He opened his eyes and grinned. "Good luck, okay? You be happy, wherever you are." He hugged Alex again.

"You too." After a moment, Sprout put a hand on Alex's shoulder. Alex stared around the room one more time, then, with an unexpected sense of loss, she made her way out of the room. Steven stood, smiling weakly, and watched her go.

Sprout set Alex up in a small, dusty inn to wait while the Professor bought Alex's school supplies. The place Sprout had picked was called the 'Leaky Cauldron'. It also appeared to be a bar of some kind. Alex had hid herself behind Professor Sprout when they'd first entered it and she'd seen all the strange patrons. After a little while, she had gotten over the fear. Still, she felt strange about the place. From the outside, she hadn't noticed it at all. Even when it was pointed out, it took her a moment to see it when it was right in front of her. She wondered if she was just unobservant, or if it was magic. It was getting hard to tell what was magical and what wasn't anymore.

Her room was stuffy, hot, and a bit cramped. One small, sufficiently fluffy bed poked out of the corner. But she didn't care. She was happy. Happier than she could ever remember being. I'm going to be a girl, for real, and everyone's going to know it. I'm also a witch and have magical powers. These had been the greatest few days ever. The greatest. Feeling giddy, she flounced onto the bed and pulled the Hogwarts letter out of her pocket, partially wanting to try to mentally catch up with everything that had happened and pick through the letter, but mostly just wanting to see the words 'Ms. Clover' again. See them she did, and she felt a tickle of joy rush through her. She read the letter through twice, then let it rest on her stomach and stared up at the ceiling, lost in thoughts, full of hopes and dreams about the future.

Not wanting to get the letter damaged, she decided to pack it carefully away in her bag for safe-keeping. Maybe it was like an ID or something in Hogwarts. She couldn't be too careful-

And then she saw it.

It was written very neatly on the back of the letter, in the midsection of where it had been originally folded, in addition to the orphanage's address.

Alexis Samantha Clover.

Alex's name, as it was, or maybe as it had been, was Alexander Clover. No middle names. At first, Alex considered it might just be a new name, invented for her newly recognized femininity. She'd personally considered Alexis, though she had favored Alexandria… The middle name was odd, yes, but maybe, maybe… Then she remembered what Sprout had briefly mentioned before in the Headmaster's office, about having had 'confusion' over her location. Alex's heartbeat raced. Her skin felt cold, and she felt a terrible sinking sensation.

They had gotten it wrong. Somehow, they'd gotten it wrong. They'd picked the wrong girl. Alexis Clover, wherever she was, was not Alex. And Alex… was not a witch. Maybe you still are! Hoped a little voice in the back of her head, but it was a very, very tiny voice. Alex burst into tears. She felt horrible. She grabbed the pillow off the bed and sobbed for close to ten minutes straight. I should have known. She thought, spitefully. I should have known I could never be special. A witch? Please. I had it right before. I'm not much of anything. What will they do when they find out? Will they make me forget? The idea horrified her. Or… will they just apologize, and send me right back to where I came from? That idea felt even worse. Before, her life had been a barely tolerable mess. But now? Now that she'd seen what could be, what was possible, a world of magic and possibilities, where she could change, be happy…

Something in her clicked. Her tears slowly ceased flowing. Her mind buzzed. Who says they have to find out? A sly thought whispered. Who says that anyone has to know you're not Alexis Samantha Clover?

But I'm not really a witch. I can't cast spells, or enchant things, or whatever else witches do.

But other people are. And if you can get somebody else to help you, well, then, even if they find out, it will be too late. You'll be fixed. Made whole. Even if they send you back, that will stay.

How could I fool anyone? They'll figure it out. I can't just hide it.

You won't know until you try.

To this, she could find no counterpoint. She was already in for a penny. Why not a pound?

After a time, Alex smiled again. This time, though, the smile was smaller, more reserved. The emotion behind it was not the blind hope and joy of before. This time, it was a quiet, desperate hope, and a joy tempered by the knowledge that the future was only assured by her own ingenuity and resourcefulness. She had been given the opportunity to have what she'd always wanted to have, and she would do anything she could do to seize it. She just hoped that anything she could do would be enough.

Meanwhile, many kilometers away, an eleven-year-old girl named Alexis Samantha Clover was mentally comparing herself - quite favorably - to an atomic bomb.