Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J. K. Rowling is our King. She never lets the quaffle in.

The lyrics in this Prologue are from the song "The Only Difference" by Panic!At the Disco.

Odds and Ends

Sit tight, I'm gonna need you to keep time

Autumn had arrived. The brittle leaves had turned a distinct crimson and gold, and they crunched under the feet of passers that scuttled by to run their last minute errands. The air was crisp, and the faint aroma of sweetness perpetually hung in the air. There were leaves to rake, baking to attend to and sweaters to knit in time for the imminent arrival of winter. All was quiet in the Muggle world. In the Wizarding world, however, things were only just picking up pace.

Come on just snap, snap, snap your fingers for me

At the end of a winding street, in the midst of the falling flakes of rust, the door to a small, yet resolute, stone house was flung open. The building continually released tufts of smoke out its chimney, signaling the burning of one of the first comforting and snug fires of the year. It appeared homely and inviting to say the least, despite its oddly fashioned structure. None but those of magical blood would recognize that its roof had been modeled into turrets that conspicuously matched that of Hogwarts.

A young blonde, stood disheveled at the doorstep, looking about her as if to check if she was missing something. She glanced at her watch once, then called into the house with what seemed like a frantic cry. She glanced at her watch again, and with irritation tugged at her trunk plastered with Puddlemere United stickers. Once she'd successfully gotten her things to the front gate, with her prized Firebolt clasped in her hand, and had managed to coax her owl into a cage she breathed a sigh of relief. But her respite must have been short-lived since she looked down at her watch once more and let out a yelp of worry.

Good, good now we're making some progress

In response to the bouncing girl, a rosy-faced lady in her mid-40s scurried out. Her apron tied loosely around her waist, she gave the anxious bud a reassuring hug and a warm peck on the forehead. And it was plain to see from the smile on the blonde's face that the affection was not only appreciated but also greatly reciprocated.

There was a sharp crack, and the duo was joined by a third- an elderly lady with a stern face who had hair up neatly in a bun. Her face was contorted with a frown, and it seemed as if it always hung there. She didn't seem like a person who gave hugs. In fact she didn't seem like a person who gave anything at all. And yet she did bestow the gentle housekeeper with a nod, and gestured for the girl to reach out towards a delicate glass ornament that was resting in her palm. A portkey. The already muddled girl looked around to ensure that she was in contact with all her belongings, and threw a wink at her pleasant house-companion before laying a mere finger on the expensive article in her great-aunt's hands. She'd never really liked portkeys. But until she passed her apparition test, she would have to settle for them, albeit grudgingly. And with another crack, they were gone.

Come on just tap, tap, tap your toes to the beat

Her trolley rattled as she pushed it, rushing towards the area between platforms 9 and 10, her aunt close at her heels. Many looked at her with amusement, some chuckling and some wondering at her mental stability. It isn't everyday that you see a cluttered teenager flying across the terminal with an owl and a broomstick, is it?

She skidded to a halt in front of the barrier. Long ago had she learnt that it isn't practical to assume that it would be an easy task to stop the racing trolley when she actually got there. Because, and would you believe it, there are other people trying to get to Platform 9 and ¾ as well. And after a rather embarrassing incident in her first year she had started slowing down the monstrous vehicle from a good few meters away. Unsurprisingly, she didn't have time for that now; she was not-unusually and completely maddeningly late! She glared at the clock on the wall above her head that was confirming a rather mocking 10:50.

She turned to her aunt, and giving her a brisk hug, muttered a few words of goodbye. Her aunt never crossed the barrier with her. She didn't like associating with 'common riffraff' as she put it, which was rather odd considering she had no qualms about inheriting her nephew's little house. The young girl silently wished that it had been her housekeeper and that was seeing her off.

She sighed, and with a last wave over her shoulder she took a deep breath and charged towards the barrier, aiming right at the center.

And I believe this may call for a proper introduction, and well

She stepped onto Platform 9 and ¾ with a warm feeling erupting in her stomach. And she could only smile as she was ceremoniously blasted in the face with the thick, white steam pouring out of the Hogwarts' Express. And though it obscured her vision, she didn't try to wave it away. She had tried for the past six years, and she had learnt that trying to avoid what was clearly a part of the Hogwarts experience was an exceptionally futile exercise. Especially seeing as she still had no idea how to perform a bubble charm. Yes, a seventh year who could not perform so simple a spell. Yet, nobody had ever found out and the otherwise academically adequate blonde intended to keep it that way. At least until she finally managed to accomplish that one overbearing horrible task.

Standing at one end of the seemingly endless platform, she could see some of her fellow seventh years, some fellow housemates, some younger students and as always a new batch of trembling first years. It seemed like only yesterday that she was one of those anxious children, too afraid to get on the train there was an Acromantula awaiting them at the other end.

She stood on tip-toe and tried to look above the different shades of blacks and browns and golds and reds. A vision in bright purple, a girl was frantically flailing her arms in the air to get her attention. And when the to-be seventh year noticed her batty best mate flapping at her like a headless chicken, her smile widened into a grin.

Avalon Cassidy was home.

Don't you see, I'm the narrator, and this is just the prologue?

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Thank you for reading!