Story Summary: AU, Hogwarts Years. Point of fracture in canon; James and Lily Potter have conceived a girl. A small change at the beginning will lead to wide fractures in story line. Her identity is public knowledge, not some hidden secret or nefarious plot.
Important note: "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies" (All of the prophesy known to Voldermort)

So, without further ado,

Chapter 1: Life with Them.

Sometime in June, 1990

It was just so soft. Warm. Cozy. It couldn't last. How long had she been asleep? The world was cold and harsh, she could feel it on her face. Her eyes opened, and for a moment nothing came into view. Then, slowly, a trace of dim outlines appeared, and the glimmer of light at the base of the curtains. Sleep reached back, her eyes fluttered close…

NO! She jerked back awake, unwilling to chance falling off again, she slipped her legs out from under the covers. There's a trick to doing things silently, and she has been well versed in the subject.

Dodging the number of toys which littered the smallest bedroom, she fished her clothes up from earlier and pulled them on. Finding the last sock was a trick; it had hidden under the bed. Ignoring the grunt from the room's sleeping occupant, she gently reached for the door handle. The door slipped open without a sound, and then closed behind her the same.

It was impossible for her not to wonder what she had done wrong. They had accused her of helping, no – making, Dudley cheat. That's why he failed his last test, because she had been doing all his homework. They had been furious. What would the teachers think; perfect homework, horrible test grades. Did she think this was fun? Getting poor Dudley in trouble? She skipped the squeaky stair. No, of course not. But Dudley hadn't wanted to do it. And she would have been punished for doing better on the assignments if she hadn't helped. And she had tried to get Dudley to learn, but he was very slow sometimes. It took such an effort of cajoling and prodding to get him too. Wasn't that the teachers' job? The door to the cupboard under the stairs opened. No. She had a responsibility to help her cousin, didn't she?

The sheets were cool and crisp. She had snuck them into the wash with Dudley's the other day. Term was ending; tomorrow would be the last day. That brought a smile to a tired face. Last day was always nice. No more tests. Just turn in your books, and fill in those stupid surveys about what you liked about class. And then it would be another glorious summer. Above her head, Francis the spider spun merrily. He wasn't much of a friend for a girl to have, nor was he much of a pet. But she would take what she could get.

.."Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two!" – A loud clattering bell broke in, a cheer arose throughout the whole building. She clamored for the door, finally free. Today, there was no real fighting. In less than a minute, the room would be empty. A hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"Ms. Potter?" It was the voice of Mrs. Carol. Freedom would apparently have to wait. She dumbly followed Mrs. Carol back to her desk, where her teacher – former teacher? – picked up an envelope off the desk. "Could you deliver this to your Aunt and Uncle?"

She nodded, and Mrs. Carol smiled back at her. "If you're wondering what it is" – oh, she was wondering – "I'll let you know this. I think it would do you very well to skip the next grade." She took the proffered envelope with a mixture of glee and reverence. Skipping a grade meant leaving primary school behind. And leaving primary behind meant leaving Dudley behind. Stonewall High was clear on the other side of town. It meant no one would know Dudley. No more of Dudley's gang. She barely remembered stuttering some incoherent thanks before dashing from the room. She soon slowed. Dudley had been picked up by Pier's mother, who was taking them out to ice cream to celebrate. Which meant they probably weren't coming to pick her up.

Walking the all too familiar way home, she was nothing but giddy. Maybe they would send her to Smeltings even? A boarding school free of them for months at a time? It was an idle, ridiculous thought. Hadn't they complained that they would need to buy some sort of uniform for her to go to Stonewall? And still, oh she wished it. Which was ridiculous. They never wasted money on her. Didn't she sleep on Dudley's old crib mattress? Well, yes, but a they claimed a bigger one wouldn't fit. Still, it was slightly ridiculous; feet sticking off of it and all. No, there really was no way she would be going anywhere but Stonewall. But it was still brilliant. Taking a right onto Magnolia Crescent, she ran a million dreams through her mind. Maybe she could make friends at Stonewall. And they could talk about school, and cloths and anything else. Maybe they wouldn't run away from her on the playground. Maybe, even maybe, she could get out of 'helping' Dudley with his work. It was summer, she might never have to attend school with Dudley again, nothing could go wrong. She skipped up the driveway, and waved merrily at the elderly Mrs. Figg, who was taking her daily walk about the block.

The downstairs was deserted, so she pulled off her shoes, put them aside neatly on the rack, and walked down to her cupboard. The outside latch took a bit of a crank to get open. When she was younger, there had been a cheap simple latch on the door. A latch that with a roll of dental floss, enough time and a folded bit of paper, could be opened from the inside the cupboard. Carelessness had alerted them to this fact. This one was stiff, and misaligned so it took a bit to move from the outside.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, she sat down on the bed and began taking the things from her bag and putting them in the cupboard. With the exception of her spiders, she kept a neat cupboard. Each wooden riser had some sort of picture or drawing tacked to it. The back wall had a calendar on it; Dudley had thrown it away in late January. Several shoe boxes, one from Dudley's toy car, another from a blender were stacked as a makeshift cubby. Beside it, was two stacks of her cloths, one for school, one for home.

She sighed before changing into the home cloths. The socks with the big holes in the bottom. A shirt Dudley hadn't worn in years. Pants which gotten too small. Really they should have been rags, but a fair bit of needle work had split the seems and patched in a strip of cloth down each side seem. They ended halfway to her knees. But she didn't dare wear her school cloths at home. Sure, if she got into Stonewall High, they would need to get her a new uniform, but otherwise she would spend a year at school being the kid in rags. And she was enough of that as it was.

Someone was descending the stairs. Gritting her teeth, hoping for the best, she gripped onto the letter and pulled herself out of the cupboard.

"You're home. Good. I have things for you to do. What's this?" The letter was snatched out of her hand.

"A letter from Mrs. Carol, Ma'am." The envelope was ripped up roughly, and she stared as the paper was taken out.

"You know what this says?"

"Yes, Ma'am. She said it was about skipping a grade, Ma'am."

There was a bit of a grunt, and the letter was back in the envelope. "We will see about this. Do your chores, and make sure the guest room is spotless. Marge is visiting in a few days."

"Yes Ma'am." She closed and loosely latched the cupboard door. Marge. Uncle Vernon's sister. She climbed the stairs. A horrible woman, all around. What could one expect from a sibling of a horrible man? The apples fall not far from the tree. She entered the smallest bedroom first, and stripped the sheets off the bed. No homework tonight. Maybe she could slip out before dark for the park. Four towels joined the pile of sheets in the hall. The cloths from Dudley's floor. The hamper from the master bedroom. Musing over the mundane task took her mind off Marge for a moment. The wash was started before she got back to such thoughts.

It was too late to start any work outside, and too early to start dinner. She set plates for three at the kitchen table, and left a fourth on the counter before entering the dining room. The dining room was home to her most prized possession, even if it wasn't hers. Aunt Petunia had so wanted to learn to play a piano that they had gotten an upright and placed it in the dining room. It collected dust until they had told her to learn how to play. There had been a free piano lesson offer long ago, where an young lady, new in town had shown her how to play a few notes. The next lesson wasn't to be free, so it never happened. They had simply told her to figure it out herself. It had been a chore for a long time. But it wasn't anymore. It was the one real thing she could play with, so she did. She was fairly sure that sometime during Marge's visit, she would be asked to play. They were showy people. They couldn't help not show her off, if it would make them look good.

The notes made everything right. Her letter would be discussed. Marge wasn't so bad. Sure, last time Marge came, she had wound up being bitten in the leg once, but it wouldn't happen again. There was the distinct sound of a car rolling into the drive. Vernon had skived off of work early again, either that or Friday traffic had mysteriously disappeared. She played a little more, waiting for them to get their greetings out of the way. They didn't like the ruckus of the piano playing if they were watching the television.

Wondering to herself if they would be reading her letter, she made her way to the icebox, where she retrieved Vernon's favorite beer, then to the drawer for a bottle opener. Both in hand, she made her way to the living room, where they would be lounging on the couch. They were talking.

"And Mrs. Polkiss was taking Dudley and a few others out to celebrate the last day." She offered the beer and opener to Uncle Vernon, who opened it and returned her the opener and the cap, without comment.

Upon arriving to primary school, her teachers had been amazed at how quickly she picked up reading and numbers. But she needed to, in order to be able to cook. She had been told to help out in the kitchen for as far back as she could remember. Cooking, like many other tasks they assigned was a nice indoor task.

In fact, it turned out, that the only moderation they had in making her work for them was when people noticed. She recalled a week past when they had sat down with a calendar, and made various marks for which days they would assign her some work outside. Reviewing the calendar later, she noted it worked out to three times a week. She agreed – it would probably go unquestioned by the nosiest of neighbors.

It was similar to the dinner parties they were so fond of throwing. She would prepare a vast array of food in advance, and then her Aunt Petunia would attempt to cook it once guests arrived. Perhaps, however, they should be forgiven a little, for making her cook. She would rather cook, in fact, than try to eat her Aunt's foul and often burn concoctions.

Dudley was arriving, which could be noticed by the creaking of the house, the slamming of doors, and cheery voices from the living room. She dished up some food onto her plate, and placed the rest on the table. She poured herself a glass of water, and walked to the living room to announce dinner. Dudley was busy describing all of the flavors of ice cream he'd tried as she arrived. She didn't say anything, her arrival, plate in hand made it obvious to Dudley, who quickly scampered out toward the kitchen. Watching their retreating backs only for a second, she turned off the television, grabbed the empty bottle, and went to her cupboard to eat.

Food had never really been a problem for her. Sometimes she was punished with no meals, but that was a fairly rare punishment. Besides, it was too much trouble for them to enforce, as they wanted their food more than her punishment. It's hard to starve a cook. Still, she had learned to eat quickly, just incase something went wrong.

She returned her dishes to the kitchen, and they were all eating merrily. They ignored her, and she them. She tossed the wash into the dryer, set it for an hour, and headed to the front door. The gleeful feeling of escape wasn't fulfilled until she turned the corner of Privet Drive. She walked, and dreamed. She dreamed of getting out of primary. And making friends with a bunch of girls at Stonewall. Maybe a guy. And he'd beat up Dudley for her. And they'd hang out together. Fall in love… Leave Surrey forever. Send them a postcard from Paris.

Everything was going well. Her punishments were over, and she'd sleep in her cupboard tonight. If only she could hold it back. The… the weird stuff. The uncontrollable stuff. As long as nothing around her shrunk or grew, turned colors when it shouldn't… Yes, well, as long as nothing happened. But there were ways to prevent that from happening randomly. Having reached the park, she stopped briefly at the baseball green. She had to get rid of it. Rid of it before it spilled over the top in front of them. Especially with Marge coming. Freakishness in front of company was intolerable.

Kneeling down in the outfield, she felt around for it. It was elusive. She dug her hands into the ground, still warm and damp from a day in the sun. Her fingers worked about the grass and into the dirt, as she reached for it. It was like searching for a lost memory. Then she had it. And let it flow out. First in a trickle, then a stream, rushing through her body and into the ground, the grass, all about. It didn't last more than a few minutes. Then it was a trickle again, then a few drops. Finally, she stood, shakily as always and almost exhausted, yet not at all tired. If she could just keep it down. It never left for long. Still, she noted with some pride, that she was walking through the greenest field in the park. She hoped the groundskeepers wouldn't mind mowing it again.

It scared her. It was powerful, more powerful than she could possibly be. It did things which could not be done – should not be done. And it was not tolerated by them. They knew about it; oh they knew. It was not to be used, they said. The punishments for using it were always the worst sort. Her thoughts could not linger on it today though. Today was a good day. She'd just keep her little problem under control. Then everything would be fine.

July 1991

She woke up to the click of the mail slot, and the flop of letters on the floor down the hall. If they had been here, she would have been woken already, but there had been little to do since the family had left her. Marge had invited them on vacation with her to the Isle of Wight. After promising, of all things, to not blow up the house, they had decided to leave her home alone. Most of her chores had disappeared with them. She ate at the table. She slept on the couch, and watched television. She played an arcade game on Dudley's computer.

Today, she would be spending the whole day with her friends from Stonewall, Megan and Stephanie. She shook her head and pulled herself off of the couch. A nice, long shower was in order. Longer than her allotted 12 minutes anyway. First although, was breakfast. She paused in the hall, scooped up the two letters and off the doormat and turned toward the kitchen.

Three neat piles of mail were on the counter by the phone. A brown envelope which looked like some sort of bill joined Aunt Petunia's pile. The next letter however, was an apparent missive from her dear family. Who else would write a letter to 'The Cupboard under the Stairs'? She tossed it on the kitchen table, and stuffed the last two slices of bread in the toaster.

Meanwhile, she picked up the letter, popped the wax seal. How quaint. What was this envelope made of anyway? Maybe they'd stopped by the gift shop of some old castle. Or gone to a renaissance fair. The paper inside was the same thick parchment, and written with the an unfamiliar hand.

Dear Ms. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31st

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Wait, what? There were schools? For people like her? A whole school of freaks? No, not freaks. See? It says witches and wizards. She was a witch, well, then that made some sense. Her toast popped up, and she spread it with butter. A witch. They must know. They'd known all along. Funny - she couldn't remember selling her soul to the devil. Maybe they had done it for her. She scratched her head. Could they even do that? She dug in the envelope for an equipment list. Wiping a stray crumb off of her letter, she wondered sarcastically if 'Magical Drafts and Potions, by Arsenius Jigger' would be available at the local bookstore. And what the heck did they mean by 'We await your owl'? There was a hoot from outside the window, making her jump. Her toast leapt out of her hand and landed on the floor. A rather large owl ruffled it's feathers right outside the picture window.

And her toast, had landed butter side down. Picking it up, she brought it over to the garbage. The 31st. They wouldn't get back until the 29th. What would they say? What would they do? Well, she supposed she could always tell them she wouldn't be coming later. But where could she get all of this? How could she pay for this? She sighed and dropped her dishes beside the sink. Didn't they have a brochure or something?

Dear Headmistress,

I cannot say if I will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My Aunt and Uncle are currently on vacation, and I will undoubtedly need their approval. What is there to learn? Why should I go? Where do you purchase the supplies on the Equipment list? How much will all this cost? I doubt I can afford most of this.

Sincerely,
Ms. Potter

At first, she was afraid that the owl would be spooked, but once she stepped outside, it flew over and landed, on her arm of all places. Rolling the paper of her letter tightly, she stuck it within the bird's outstretched talons. The bird gave another hoot, and with a few quick strokes of its wings, it became a tiny dot disappearing in the morning sky. She was probably going to be late to Megan's now.

She was unable to remove thoughts of the mysterious letter while taking a shower, or while getting dressed. Potions? Transfiguration? Charms? Would there be fairies or elves? Was Santa Claus real for wizards and witches? She might have believed that the letter was part of an elaborate ruse they set up to trick her, but she knew they had no sense of humor. The letter did not leave her mind completely until she could see Megan's house.

In fact, it soon disappeared entirely. Stephanie, Megan had both come from different primary schools, yet all three had become friends within the first week. They weren't the only friends she had made, but they lived within walking distance and had somehow been in all of the same classes first semester. She didn't give another thought to the letter until she opened the front door to find another thick yellow envelope on the doormat.

Her curiosity rushing back to her, she tore off her shoes, grabbed up the letter and opened it on her way to the kitchen. There was a full page of parchment inside.

Dear Ms. Potter,

It pains me to hear that you had not been told of the wizarding world earlier. Both of your parents, Lily and James, both attended and graduated from Hogwarts School. From your letter, it appears that your Aunt and Uncle knew less than we believed. I will try to address your questions as best I can, but I fear detailed answers will have to wait until we meet in person.

Firstly, I can assure you that unless you have suddenly died, you will be attending Hogwarts. Your parents secured you a spot at our institution before you were born. At Hogwarts, you will learn how to manipulate magic, through various methodologies. I assure you, that there is a lifetimes' worth of study available to you in any of a million areas in magic.

Your parents left you a moderate sum of money, which should be sufficient to pay for your supplies through your years at Hogwarts. The supplies on your list can be purchased in any number of places in Britain. As you have no working knowledge of the wizarding world, I have arranged for you to come to one such place, Diagon Alley, with a number of students who come from non-magical families.

There is a slip of parchment in this envelope, be sure to have a hold of it at the date and time proscribed, and properly dressed.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Folded inside the letter was a small piece of parchment which read on one side:

Ministry of Magic Approved Portkey
#6309-2236
Single User – Round Trip
Little Whinging TO Diagon Alley Portkey Point Three (DA-PT3)
Departure: July 28th - 9:00 am

Her parents… Had gone to Hogwarts. She had sometimes wished to know more about her parents. Had hoped they were out there somewhere, and would find her someday. Lost perhaps. They suddenly had names. Lily Evans. James Potter. They were never mentioned in the house. When she had asked them, she had simply gotten no response. Just none at all. And now it was clear. A witch and a wizard. She had to find out more.

AN: Very short chapter; I suppose unfit the title really, but the next one will fully make up for it. We hope.
AN: She is as of yet unnamed. Any ideas? Thanks for reading!