Disclaimer: This story is based off of the wonderful world of Harry Potter which belongs to JKR and WB etcetera, and the title of the chapters also don't actually belong to me. Nothing you recognize does.
A/N: This story is complete for the moment, but I plan to revisit it, and yes, this is an OC at Hogwarts fic, so turn back now if you're not into that.
Chapter 1: Down the Rabbit Hole
I'd been walking for ten miles when a man named Roger Dalton stopped and asked me if I needed a ride. He was heading into London, he told me. He was a nice seeming man, and his tweed suit reminded me of one in my father's closet. My parents were out at meetings for the weekend, and I'd always wanted to visit London, and this might be my only chance. It's rare for both of my parents to be gone so long at the same time. So, I went to go around the car to climb in, but before I could open the passenger side door, I bent over double; I thought I was going to hurl. I wish I could say that sort of thing was unusual for me, but it happened startlingly often. My mom used to call me her little Caller ID, because sometimes I seemed to know when someone was going to call, and could guess who it was, but once in awhile, I'd see more than just the next call. Once in a while, I'd see a lot of images, flashing by so fast they would make me physically ill. That's what happened that day. Mr. Dalton hopped out of his car and helped me to the side of the road, brushing my hair out of my face. It was right after seeing the last image flash (a girl several feet in the air and screaming in an eerie shrill) that I looked up to tell Mr. Dalton I was okay, and that's when I saw a person flying over the tree tops across the road. Naturally, I thought I was hallucinating after my attack, but the red hair had been so vivid. Roger Dalton offered to take me to a physician, or at least drive me home, but I politely refused, and almost as if pulled by an invisible rope, I found myself wandering towards the tree line where I had seen the red hair on blue sky.
"Ginny! Throw it here! I'm open!" shouted a tall redhead with about a million freckles.
I stared at them. There were five redheads and a black-haired boy, and they were all flying on broomsticks. They didn't notice me at first. I rubbed my eyes a couple times. It was when I sat down to try to regain my sanity that they took notice, and I realized I wasn't hallucinating. One of the redheaded boys nearly fell off the broom he'd been riding when he spotted me. Him and the rest landed not even two seconds later, and they proceeded to gawk at me for several minutes. I subconsciously moved a loose strand of green hair behind my ear. It felt odd that they should be staring at me. I could only assume it was my died-green bangs and the bracelets covering much of my right forearm causing their goldfish impressions.
"What, you've never seen a brunette before?" I quipped after several moments, getting testy with all the staring. That's when a bushy-haired brunette made it over, dragging a balding man (with more red hair) behind her.
"Hello. My name is Arthur Weasley, and I am an inventor," he said in what seemed a very rehearsed little speech as he offered his hand to me to shake.
I didn't take it. "Well, hi Mr. Weasley. I'm Casidhe Phillips," I stared at the brooms that had been carefully shifted to hide behind backs, "and I think that you are lying." Mr. Weasley began to stutter and stammer and blush until he was finally rescued by a plump woman (also with red hair) who came with a smile and a reassuring pat on his shoulder, and introduced herself as Molly Weasley. I immediately liked her, and she didn't try to lie to me.
"Well, dear, I'm not sure how you got past the wards we set up to keep out Muggles, but it's not safe for you to go about with knowledge of the magical world right now. Can you stay until I can contact Dumbledore? It wouldn't do at all for you to remember this little Quidditch match."
She didn't wait for my answer, but immediately began to reprimand, who I could only presume to be her children. There was something about not flying above the treetops and de-knoming, but it was difficult to catch most of what she said. She talked fast, and half of what she said was in some language I'd never heard of before. The other half didn't make sense anyway. After several minutes, some ear-pulling, and the disbanding of the little troop that had gathered around me, she shot a bunch of silver junk out of this wooden stick thing, and she started to hustle me into what looked like a very unstable, large-ish, stone pig pen, insisting that it wasn't safe for me to be out of doors if the wards weren't working. I tried to insist that I would feel much safer outside than in the building that looked like it would fall over at any minute, but she kept bustling me along.
I was trying to think of a way to escape and phone for help when an extremely old man with long silver hair, a matching beard, and a blackened hand appeared out of nowhere. He frightened me so that I turned invisible, also not the first time that happened to me. A couple times, when I'd been really scared, I'd done it before. My parents hadn't believed it had actually happened the one time I'd done it in front of them when dad spooked me in his Halloween costume, and I'd pretty much left it alone. The only other time it happened was when I got cornered in an alley while we were living in New York City.
"I think we can safely assume the wards are working, Molly," chortled the old man with a gleam in his eyes. "What is your name miss?"
"Casidhe Phillips, but most people call me Cassy." His piercing stare seemed to send a tingle into my brain, which I instinctively recoiled against, trying to make it stop, which seemed to amuse him.
"Ms. Phillips, I am Headmaster at Hogwarts, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and it is my pleasure to meet you. Have you been living here in Britain very long?"
That was quite a name, I thought, and I'd intended to say so, but instead: "About three months. I live about ten miles from here on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, almost to Ottery St. Mary."
He smiled, "And, may I inquire as to where you had been living before three months ago?"
Once again, my tongue felt as if it was going to bypass my brain and spill my entire life story, so I took care to respond cautiously, "America." This seemed to amuse him even more.
"Ms. Phillips, you are an astute young lady, so I shall be direct. It's been known to happen once in awhile, even at Hogwarts, but it seems The Quill at Hadifax, the American Wizarding school, failed to record your birth, so you were not invited to train as you should have been when you turned eleven. You are a witch, Ms. Phillips, and with that said, I would like to formally invite you to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry should you so choose, since you are now living in Britain."
I stared at him wordlessly.
"Yes, I understand this is quite a bit to take in. Perhaps you would accept some tea while I discuss particulars? Molly makes an excellent cup."
I started to shake my head no, but then I remembered my attack of flashes earlier, and in that instant, I decided that knowing was better than not knowing. Besides, it sounded like it could be I was in for an incredible adventure. No one had shut up about all this "danger" I was in since I'd wandered onto the paddock.
Professor Dumbledore talked for what felt like hours. The more he talked about magic and wizards and spells, the more I began to have the distinct feeling I was dreaming. That's when he called the skinny, black-haired kid with a funny scar on his head. I learned that his name was Harry Potter, and like me, he hadn't known about magic until he was older. He had been eleven when some half-giant named Hagrid had told him.
"Look, I amsixteen, and way too old for obnoxious stories," I said when I'd finished listening to them talk. I hugged my arms to my chest. "Maybe I should just go home. This was a mistake. I thought..." I couldn't quite finish the sentence because I wasn't sure what I had been thinking. I hadn't been expecting them to weave such a fantastic tale, although I suppose I should have guessed when the old man told me I was a witch. They were all, clearly, quite insane. It was at that exact thought that I had another attack of flashes. Doubled over, I saw myself holding a wand, wearing robes with a blue and bronze striped tie, a blonde girl with no shoes feeding some very frightening looking creature, a centaur kneeling on a mossy floor, and finally, a blonde boy bleeding in a bathroom. Once the attack passed, I looked into the electric blue eyes filled with concern, staring at me, and I gulped. "It's all real isn't it?" In two seconds my entire world had been tipped end over end.