Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, names, related places (such as Hogwarts, etc) and all that other related stuff. Those are all copyright J.K. Rowling. I am not selling or making any profit whatsoever with this story. However, I do take the small rights to Aileen Callighan, and relating non-original characters, and Rightwing Academy for the Magically Inclined.

Reviews are my love and soul. 3

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I don't believe in miracles. Let's start that right off the back, pardon the Muggle expression. But sometimes..there are coincidences. Very, very strange coincidences. And then, in a whole other ballpark (Sorry for the Muggle jargon again), there is the Weasleys' work.

I was infinitely nervous when I was called for a "family meeting" in our living room during the summer after what would have been my sixth year at Rightwing Acadamy for the Magicially Inclined (except for 'the news'). "RAMI" as it was most oft called, but that's actually irrelevent. Most of my time at RAMI was irrelevent, at least now that I look back and compare to the future that would absolutely be the death of me (But shh, I didn't know that yet).

Anyway, nervous I was, for my parents only ever called a meeting when there was big news. Big, big news. I don't really take bad news well, I suppose. You don't want the details. And, at least here, I'm not going to go into them. Not there was anything to detail about anyway, this time. My parents were nervous too (Didn't help me, by the way. Not a bit.), I could see it in their faces.

"Aileen, honey...we've got news."

I was ready to snort and blurt out "No shoot." Seriously. They called me to what was known to me as a 'news situation' to tell me that they had news? Obvious-man has it in for me. But I held my tongue, too eager was I to find out what they were to tell me.

"Do you remember when your father told you that he was considering that job offer? The one in London?"

I actually felt my whole body freeze. I think I even stopped breathing, but of course it's hard to tell that. Not when you only had once thing on your mind. And that one thing, for me, at that moment, was that I did remember. I remembered very much. And I knew where this conversation was going now.

I don't suppose it was bad. Not "bad" bad. I'd lived in Crestonn nearly all my life, and my friends constantly complained that I constantly complained about wanting to visit Europe. 'Obsessive' they called it. It was hardly that, but of course they always found something to tease me over. But the thing with moving is that is much less painful when you're magic. Floo, Apparation, even regular owls were so much faster, more efficient than those Muggle ways of communicating. Though I do admire their computers. (Oh, I bet you're wondering. Both my grandfathers are non-magic. That's how I know so much about their world, of course. ) So I'd see my friends. Oh, and what friends they were. But more of them later.

It took only a few days to pack, and even to say good-bye to all our friends and family. I still almost can't believe it; all the arrangements had been made within that short amount of time. Magic these days: was it a good or bad thing to one moving out of their home?

We took a Portkey, since, well, I couldn't Apparate, and Apparation was hard enough without crossing the distance of the whole Atlantic ocean, or so said my parents. I still remember every line, every curve of that rusty aluminium soda can. I think it's impossible for me not to recall it, seeing as I drove my gaze into so hard as I concentrated on not thinking of anything else.

We arrived at my grandmother's house. My dad's mother, who'd moved here after my paternal granddad died. Well, not exactly at my grandmother's house. About half a mile away. My mom gave my dad her I'm-not-happy face, which he knew too well spelled trouble, and I couldn't help grinning. He must've been the one to set the Portkey's location, and, shoot, he was in trouble now. We walked the whole half mile in the rain, because the road was desolate. Though she was outside of London, Grannie lived on a back road, where you only traveled if you lived there, visiting someone who lived there (most often because you were forced to), or in hiding from the government. (Or because of the government. Take your pick.)

Needless to say (though I will anyways), we were sopping wet when we arrived. Poor, half-deaf Grannie came up to us and asked if we'd gone swimming.

"Just nod your head and smile" My father muttered. So I did, and we got through our rather messy, wet salutations. And thank goodness, too, since I'd never been so happy in my life to get into bed. (To go to sleep, for all you perverts out there. FrednGeorge in particular, because somehow I know their sticky fingers found a way to read this.)

The next morning I got the letter. In fine writing in bright green ink on the parchment envelope, the invitation to Hogwarts. I was eating breakfast (Muggle cereal. Grannie can't cook worth the world.) when a beauty of a barn owl fluttered in through the open window with it. I must have stared at that envelope for a whole five minutes before I turned to the owl (who I'd been petting in my anxiety to the point where he was a very sad own when I put down my hand to pick up the envelope) and asked, "What do you think? Shall we take a look?" Don't ask, please, where I got the talking to animals thing. They, of course, don't answer back. Can't I guess, but at least it comforts me, and they don't seem to mind. I just wonder what they'd say if they could speak. Lucky Parseltongues. )

Oddly enough though, the owl gently took my hand in it's beak, as if it understood. I suppose the smart owls were the ones the schools always used, but that convinced me. (Like I wasn't going to open it anyway.)

It was a fairly typical school-sent letter, of course. Something-something, welcome to Hogwarts, something something, here's your supply list, something else, blah blah, Kings Cross nine and three quarters. Yay.

Then my mother swoops in. "Oh, goody, Aily! Your grandmother has been telling me she's needed a shopping trip, and now I have another excuse to drag your father along! We're going to Diagon Alley; heard it's the best place for this..." And the rest I was losing in a drown of mom-speak. Guess I've never really been the girly type, because I knew my expression was starting to resemble my dad's exsasperated, confused one by the way my mother glare was turned on me instead. Oh, what a fun day I was about to have.

Okay, so that was a slight exsaggeration. I actually enjoyed going around and 'bonding' with my mother and grandmother, though I can't say the same for Dad. New school robes, new cauldron (Goodness knows how I needed one. I'm not bad at Potions, not really, but my friends and I had taken it upon ourselves to 'experiment a bit father' than our Rightwing Potions teacher taught us. My mother, after a few weeks, knew six burn/acid stain remover spells by heart). Since we'd moved, and because grandmother didn't mind (at least until my parents had finished 'organizing' our new house; meaning they finally agreed on where they wanted everything.) I was allowed to get a pet! This was an infinitely good thing for me, since I wasn't allowed one back home because my grandfather had allergies. I stood in that shop, mostly just relishing that I was around the animals (because, as I'm sure I forgot to tell you, I really like them. Simple as that, taking Care of Magical Creatures, okay, the end. How pointless was that statement?) until my mother grew impatient and called for me to hurry up. So about five minutes, tops. I hurredly looked around, very much drawn to many a lovely creature. But in the end, it was an owl after all. A Sooty owl, with bright eyes that reminded me of the barn owl who delivered my school letter. So, I was fantastically happy, ready to be on my way and go home to get my room in order (Ha! See how long that'd last. Less than a week, and you wouldn't be able to see my floor.) Only things left to get were my school books. Flourish and Botts looked like in interesting place for sure, and hardly crowded at all. A rather large family of red-heads, plus a few others, but that was about it. Perfect time for me to 'learn a lesson' as my mom liked to put it. I hate learning lessons. It wasn't even a good lesson, too. Something about not holding more than I could carry at once, or whatever. I wasn't really listening to her little speech.

What happened was this: somehow I'd managed to stack all of my books in one big pile and get them as far as halfway to the shopkeeper. Before any more is needed to be said, I am very nearly the clumsiest person on earth. It didn't help that the books wobbled and shifted above my head, moving my center of balance. I closed my eyes and braced for the fall...but it didn't come. My load suddenly lightened, and I could actually see in front of me. And what I saw made me smile.

It was one of the red heads. He looked about my age, with his fiery hair and bright, mischievous eyes. The boy had caught the books from the top just as they were about to fall, so now his own arms were full.

"Hey, " he said, with a grin that looked as if it had been shown too many times for the boy's own good. "Hermione, we've found your double!"

A brown haired girl looked up from her own rather large pile of books. She looked for a moment as if she were about to scold them habitually, but instead she smiled and waved at me, apparently eager to get back to her book-browsing.

The boy took no notice of this, just shrugged in called over instead another boy with red hair ("Oi, Fred!")-his brother, I assumed. And even more so, as the second boy turned to reveal an identical face. I must have looked suprised, for the first boy grinned at Fred and then me.

"We're twins" they said together, and pleasantly sarcastic so that I laughed.

"Wow, I couldn't tell." I said, grinning back.

The two of them helped me to the counter, though the second twin, Fred, only carried one book (Which his brother promptly stole and started to toss around until he noticed my confused expression). Of course, my mother called then, and, before I turned to struggle the books back to my family (to of course relieve my load), I turned to say a slightly reluctant good-bye (mostly because of those gleaming eyes that grinned, possibly more so than the smile.)

"See-ya, Bright-eyes." I said with a wink, and the boy's face reddened slightly, but came to nothing on how the rascally smirk grew on his face.
Of course, I felt my face heat up terribly as soon as I turned around, horrified that I'd actually said that. But the words had overcome me, and I didn't know what I was doing. My mother commented on whether I'd gotten too much sun over the summer, if I'd been sun-burned. I hadn't of course, and I blushed further, should it be possible.

But it was soon forgotten in the rush of the rest of the week, and the weeks following until I suddenly found myself at Kings Cross train station.

"What's the platform again, Mom?"

"Er..." I heard a shuffle of papers behind me. Typical Mom. Couldn't be organized to save her life.

"Nine and three-quarters!" She finally exclaimed triumphantly.

"Right.." But I was distracted. I'd seen a glimpse of vibrantly flame-colored hair in the procession of witches and wizards going through the platform wall. But my father nudged me on my way, and I rushed through the platform and got back on track. I gave my farewells to my parents and to Grannie, waving them off before boarding the train and skimming for a compartment.

Lucky me, it didn't take long before I spotted a compartment with room, and I'll give you half a guess who was in it. I sat down brightly next to the red-headed twin who had helped me back in Flourish and Botts. The "Bright-eyes" twin, whose look of suprise and whose grin made me offer my own satisfied smirk.

His brother grinned as he noticed me. "Hey, George, looks like your reason to spend more time in the bookstore is back!"

George, as he seemed to be called, shot a deathly glare at his brother, then turned back to me, still grinning. "'Lo there! Don't think we introduced ourselves before; I'm George Weasley and this is Fred."

His twin cut in, "Or Gred and Forge, so you wish it."

"Oh, yes. The twins. I nearly forgot; you look so different. By the way, I'm Aileen Callighan."

George looked at me curiously. "You sound funny."

I snorted. "Gee, thanks", while I heard Fred chuckle in the background and say, "Very smooth."

"No, I mean, different. You're not from England, mate."

I smiled. "Well, I wouldn't be, would I? I'm from the States."

I realized I'd forgotten to put my luggage up, so I did quickly, and sat back down, placing my owl's cage on my lap. Fred nodded his head towards my sleeping bird. "Nice owl you got there."

"Thanks. His name is-" But I cut myself off, suddenly recalling with slight embarrassment what I'd decided to name my feathered friend. To hide my awkwardness, I smiled artfully.

"Go on, what's his name?"

I had to stop myself deliberately from chuckling nervously, and I practically willed the pink color to stay from my cheeks.

"Bright-eyes"

George colored slightly, but just as soon joined his brother in laughing so hysterically I couldn't help join myself. Soon the twins and I were participating in animated conversation, and I don't remember laughing and grinning so much in my life. My sides hurt terribly when the compartment door sudden opened and Fred and George straightened up, which was fine with me. I had to catch my breath before I suffocated and died.

"Hey, Harry, Ron, Hermione." George and Fred chorused together as I recognized the three of them from the store, especially the brunette who waved at me. "This is Aileen Callighan."

The three of them looked a few years younger than us. The girl smiled at me and said, "My name's Hermione Granger."

"Ickle Ronniekins is our brother." Fred interjected before any more could be said, and the said boy glared at him. "Ron Weasley" He muttered, still glowering darkly at his sibling. I could see the relation between them, with fiery red hair and freckles.

I looked to the next in line, a scrawny boy with messy black hair, glasses and a strangely shaped scar. He looked familiar, and I strained to remember where I'd seen him.

The rest of them noticed this and were looking incredulously at me.

"You know." George prodded. "'The Boy Who Lived?"

Harry frowned at this, but suddenly the switch clicked in my mind.

"Oh, that's it! You're the one who survived the Killing Curse when Whatzizname--Voldysomething, wasn't it?-- was killing people a while ago."

They stared at me, and I sensed I'd said something not quite right (and the twins loved it. I could feel George squirm beside me as he, at least, struggled not to laugh). A sudden interest in my shoes gripped me, so that's where I kept my gaze until their urge to question died down and was interrupted by a cheery "Food trolley!"

For the most part, we were all starved and soon there was hardly enough room for all of us and the food in the same compartment (which was comfortably crowded anyway because of all the people and baggage). Finally, we started talking more energetically again.

"So, what house are you hoping to be in?" George asked

I honestly didn't know, and I told him so.

He grinned. "Hope for Gryffindor. That's what we're all in."

A sudden thought struck me. "I won't have to got to the Sorting-thing with the first years, will I?" I wondered aloud, recieving a round of laughter through the compartment for the most part at the thought.

"Oh, I don't think so. I was reading in-"

"-Hogwarts, A History." the boys suddenly said together, giving me the impression that this Hermione referenced to it a lot.

Hermione scowled at them before continuing. "Anyway, I read that new students and exchange students aren't really that common at Hogwarts, and they have to hold the Sorting in Professor Dumbledore's office before the first years' Sorting."

"...What?"

"Now you're getting it, Aileen!" George exclaimed as he gave me a warm back slap. "You're finally fitting in: that expression you had just a minute ago is the constant state of confusion nearly everybody around 'Mione lives in."

Hermione glared at him, but the mood in the compartment was too light already for her to stay mad.

Suddenly, a tentative little boy (a second year, I assumed) knocked on the door and drew it tentatively open.

"Um..Is there an Aileen Callighan here?" He looked between Hermione and I hopefully, and I got the impression that he had been to several compartments before ours.

"That's me." I said, and the boy pushed an envelope in my hands before darting off.

"Wow, looks like you've got a fan already." Fred joked, but I was already reading the letter (which was written in thin, slanted handwriting).

"Aileen,
Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Due to your current position, your Sorting shall take place in my office in the time twenty minutes before Sorting of the first year students. Please follow those of your year into the Great Hall, where you will be escorted to my office by a Mr. Lupin. Regards,
Professor Albus Dumbledore"

The others were looking curiously at me and each other.

"What's Lupin doing here, I wonder?" Harry asked.

"Who's Lupin?" I return-asked.

"He was a teacher here a year ago. "

"Why did he leave? Did he get fired?"

"...Fired?"

"You know, lose his job."

"Oh, you mean 'sacked'." (Stupid British lingo.) "Well...he didn't get sacked. He left."

"Oh? Why?"

"Ah..you see, Professor Snape let-"

"Professor who?"

"Professor Snape. The Potions teacher."

"Right evil, he is."

And the conversation side tracked for a few minutes as the Gryffindors went into a detailed, and sometimes heated explanation of Potions classes, evil teachers, favoritisim with Slytherins, and excess of detentions (the last point was emphasized by the twins, though Harry and Ron input a fair amount also).

"So what'd he do to make Lupin leave?" I asked, frowning.

"Well, he told…he let it slip that Lupin was a werewolf."

"A werewolf! Professor Dumbledore let a werewolf teach at Hogwarts!"

The rest of the compartment looked a little discomforted. I listened to my words again in my head, and realised how I sounded.

"Oh, I'm sorry. He's your friend, this Lupin guy, isn't he? I didn't mean it that way, you know. I have an aunt who got bitten. Or so I've heard," I added the last part to myself. I've never met this aunt before, but my mother talks very fondly of her and about her. I'd been dying to meet her since she was first described to me: kind, strong-willed (Mom claims to never have won a fight against her) A jokester, smart, funny. I think the two must of have been very close, the way my mom went on about her; like they were the best of best friends. Weird. "Honestly, I don't have anything against them."

The others seemed infinitely relieved, however, and chatter resumed as normal until the door of our compartment opened once more and a girl who looked from my year glanced at me funny (though not unfriendily) and warned us that we'd better change into our school robes.

"Right, Angelina" The twins chorused, and moved as if to take off their clothes.

Immediately Hermione groaned and looked away, Ron looked angry and I closed my eyes (although a bit reluctantly, I'm going to admit. They must have played Quidditch, you could tell.)

"You know, you two scare me." Ron muttered. And I almost agreed with him. Almost.