Chapter 1

The New Girl

The train whistle trilled loudly over the bustle on Platform 9 ¾. The Hogwarts Express seemed to tremble with anticipation or perhaps Gwen was projecting her own excitement onto the scarlet engine that was about to transport her to a new life—a better life.

Gwendolyn Gaunt had lived her entire life in a dusty orphanage in North London, sharing her possessions, her clothing, and her meals with two dozen other children. She had watched as each child was adopted by clean-cut, happy-looking couples and wondered why she was so inadequate that no one considered adopting her. In fact, it was almost strange how she seemed to repel the prospective parents that walked through the place. They were almost afraid of her, though she was only a little girl. Gwen wondered now if perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she was a witch. In spite of it all, she was rather glad she'd never been adopted by anyone. She might never have gotten her letter for Hogwarts. As it was she was rather old already. According to the headmaster, a strange old man with a beard that reached his knees, who had come to deliver the letter himself, the Ministry had debated about allowing her to come to Hogwarts at all.

"But…why?" Gwen had asked, feeling disconcerted at the idea of being able to somehow repel people she'd never even met—an entire Ministry even!

"They are careful about allowing children who have not been raised in a magical environment to come to Hogwarts at an early age," the old man explained. "Eleven is such a fragile time in a child's life."

"I'm terribly glad they changed their mind," Gwen said happily.

"Yes," the headmaster said softly. "Yes, indeed."

The train whistled again. Gwen grabbed her new pet cat, Gideon, who had been sniffing the cuff of her jeans. "Time to go, Gideon," she murmured.

She stepped onto the packed train and ducked into an open compartment on her right. Three teens, one girl and two boys were stuffing their bags onto the shelf above the window, discussing someone whose name sounded like 'Serious.' As that wasn't a name at all, Gwen was sure she'd heard wrong. She cleared her throat to announce her presence. All three of the compartments' occupants turned to face her. The girl was about her height and age, with long bushy brown hair that she had pulled into a ponytail and very straight teeth. The two boys could not have been more different from each other. The one on the left was tall and lanky, with milky white skin and bright orange hair. The other boy was shorter, though equally skinny, with pitch-black hair that seemed to have a mind of its own and vivid green eyes hidden behind large round glasses.

"Hello," Gwen said cheerfully, beaming at the trio. "My name is Gwendolyn Gaunt. I'm a fourth year." Gwen had practiced this several times to herself before the summer had ended. She wanted to sound like she'd gone to Hogwarts her whole life, and not the way she felt—scared and unsure.

"Hello," the girl replied, smiling lightly. "I'm Hermione Granger. This is Ron Weasley," she pointed to the boy on her left, "and this is Harry Potter."

The dark-haired boy grinned and Gwen felt her face get hot. She looked away from his green eyes and focused instead on the beautiful cat sitting on the compartment bench.

"Whose cat?" she asked, setting her own cat down on the floor. Gideon sniffed the air, and then hopped onto the seat beside the majestic cat.

"Mine," Hermione said, sitting down next to the two cats, who had curled up together comfortably. "His name is Crookshanks. Yours?"

"Gideon." Gwen set her duffel bag in a corner timidly, but the tall redhead boy picked it up and tossed it onto the shelf as well. Gwen smiled at him and he grinned back sheepishly.

"That's a great name!" Hermione seemed to mean it. Gwen sat next to her, partly to avoid being too close to Harry, who made her insides feel strangely jumbled, and partly because she made her feel welcome.

"What House you in then?" Ron Weasley asked suddenly. "Gryffindor? Or Hufflepuff? You look a bit like a Hufflepuff."

"S-sorry?"

"Houses," Ron said, watching her quizzically. "You've been Sorted, haven't you? You said you were a fourth year. Though you can't be a Gryffindor, we'd have seen you 'round the common room."

"Oh, well, I…I'm not sure," Gwen muttered.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked loudly.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "Stop pestering her."

Gwen blushed brightly and turned away from the group, pretending to occupy herself with Gideon. The truth was she had no idea what Houses were. The headmaster had not mentioned them during his visit. How did they sort people? Was there a test of ability you had to pass? She wasn't sure if she could do any magic yet. She had gone to Diagon Alley and bought a wand and all her materials, but she had no idea how to use them. What if she didn't pass the test? Would they kick her out of Hogwarts? She desperately wanted to ask Hermione but she had already made a fool out of herself. Clearly fourth years had already been sorted into their Houses.

"Are you an exchange student?" Hermione asked gently, pulling Gwen out of her panic.

"Well," Gwen said slowly. "I guess you could say that."

"Are your parents wizards?" Ron asked, watching her carefully.

"RON!"

Hermione stood so abruptly that she startled the two cats into hiding underneath the compartment benches.

"What?" Ron asked, backing away from her slowly. She seemed to bristle at the edges, her brown eyes narrowed in a furious glare.

"Why in the world would it matter if her parents are wizards or not? It doesn't make a bit of difference!"

"I didn't say it made a difference," Ron snapped back. "I was just asking. Maybe that's why she doesn't know about the Houses."

"If she's an exchange student, then whether her parents are wizards or not, she wouldn't have heard about the Houses. Inner school secrecy, you know. It's all in-"

"Hogwarts: A History," Harry and Ron finished in unison.

Gwen watched this exchange in silence, wishing she could disappear into the ugly striped wallpaper that covered the compartment. Why hadn't anyone told her these things? Why did she feel like this was some big joke, like someone was trying to make her look stupid?

"The Houses are like individual teams at Hogwarts," Hermione began to explain, and Gwen had to fight the intense urge to throw her arms around her in a hug. "There are four, and usually first years are Sorted in front of the school during the Start-of-the-Year Feast. The Houses are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each House is characterized by different traits that are looked for in each member. Gryffindor is known for its bravery, nobility, and chivalry, Ravenclaw for its intelligence and wit, Hufflepuff for its kindness and honesty, and Slytherin—"

"For its general lack of any of those traits," Ron finished, snickering. Harry chuckled. Hermione rolled her eyes, but continued. "And Slytherin for its ambition."

"How are you sorted?" Gwen asked timidly, thinking that she didn't feel like any of those things and that perhaps Hogwarts didn't have a House for her.

"By an enchanted hat," Hermione said. "You just put it on and it figures out which House you belong in."

"You're lucky you have us," Ron said, leaning back into his seat. "I was terrified my first day at Hogwarts. Mind you, I come from a family of nine witches and wizards and none of them bothered to tell me what to expect. I thought I was going to have to wrestle a troll or something."

Harry laughed. "In case you've forgotten, we did wrestle a troll our first year," he murmured.

"Yeah, well at least I didn't have to do it in front of the whole school," Ron replied.

The trio laughed and Gwen felt a distinct longing to laugh with them, to be part of their intimate circle.

"You—you wrestled a troll?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"Long story," Harry said, as Ron leaned forward to dive into the tale. "Not nearly as glorious as I'm sure Ron will make it sound."

"Do you know if you're being Sorted with the first-years?" Hermione asked, settling in next to Harry with a large, leather-bound book.

"No," Gwen said sheepishly. "I don't really know what's going to happen when we get to Hogwarts."

"Well, cross your fingers for Gryffindor," Ron said. "'Course, anything's better than Slytherin."

"Slytherin's bad?" Gwen asked.

"Well, it does have a knack for producing Dark wizards," Ron explained. "You-Know-Who was in Slytherin."

"You-Know-? Who?" Gwen echoed.

"You don't know about Voldemort?" Harry asked quietly, while Ron twitched visibly.

"What school are you from again?" Ron asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"I—I'm not—I mean…" Gwen looked at Hermione for help, but even Hermione's face was lined with suspicion. Gwen sighed. She couldn't lie to them forever, after all.

"I'm not from another school," she said in one quick breath. "I was raised in an orphanage. I didn't even know I was a witch until Dumbledore, the headmaster, came and told me that I was to come to Hogwarts. I'd never heard of the place before. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want to seem ignorant or out of place. I—I was hoping we could be friends."

"But why are you coming to Hogwarts so late? Didn't you get a letter when you turned eleven?" Hermione asked first, after a long silence.

Gwen blushed deeply. "No. Dumbledore said that the Ministry held my letter because they believe that eleven is too fragile an age for non-magic children. I thought that happened a lot."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other briefly, and then turned their attention back to her.

"Well, we've never heard of the Ministry doing that, but maybe they've done it in the past. Are you sure your parents weren't magical? How would you know if they died?"

Gwen thought about this. She knew nothing of her parents. The nuns at the orphanage had never spoken to her about them, or even of the circumstances surrounding her arrival at the orphanage. She had always assumed that she was like the others—an orphan with no surviving relatives. Why else had no one come to claim her? The idea that perhaps she was the child of a witch or wizard changed things. Perhaps her parents were still alive. Perhaps there was more to her having been raised alone—perhaps she was not an orphan after all…

"Gwen?"

She looked up, startled. "Sorry," she muttered.

"That's alright. It doesn't really matter. We'll be happy to show you the ropes. Hogwarts can be a big place to someone who doesn't know their way around."

"It's still too bloody big, even when you know you're way," Ron mumbled grumpily.

Gwen laughed with the others, but her thoughts were still on her unknown parents. If they were magical, if they were alive, why had they put her in an orphanage? Had they hoped their daughter would be raised away from magic? Were they protecting her? Or protecting themselves?

The train hummed along the tracks, as the scenery outside the window changed from spotted towns to thickets of forest. The sky began to darken and Gwen could see lightening flash in the distance. She hoped they reached Hogwarts before the storm reached them.

Several students looked in on the compartment as the afternoon wore on. Two boys named Neville and Dean stayed to hear Ron and Harry recount the details of what Gwen believed was a magical sporting event, until another group of boys interrupted the conversation. As far as Gwen could tell, Draco Malfoy and his two friends Crabbe and Goyle were the equivalent of grade school bullies. Ron, Hermione and Harry explained that Draco hated Harry because his father was secretly a Dark wizard.

"But why would he hate Harry specifically?"

"Because he's a Death Eater," Ron whispered dramatically. "One of You-Know-Who's supporters."

"Will someone please tell me exactly You-Know-Who is?" Gwen said.

"The worst Dark wizard in Britain," Hermione piped in, before Ron could speak. "About thirteen years ago, You-Know-Who was at the height of his power. He was feared by everyone, Muggles and wizards alike. You-Know-Who believed, as do many wizards still, that only pureblood wizards deserved the right to use magic. Half-bloods, Muggle-borns, and obviously Muggles were dirty, unworthy to live. You-Know-Who along with his group of followers, went about making sure that none did live. He tortured and murdered so many people."

"What—what happened to him?" Gwen whispered, horrified.

"Well," Hermione said, and a small smile appeared on her face. "Thirteen years ago, You-Know-Who met his match. He traveled to Godric's Hollow and murdered James and Lily Potter, then turned his wand on their one-year old son."

Gwen blinked, not immediately registering what Hermione had said.

"He—he killed Harry's parents?" she said at last, not daring to look at the subject of her question.

"Yes," Hermione said. "But he couldn't kill Harry. The spell rebounded, hit You-Know-Who and he vanished. Harry was left with only a scar."

The compartment was silent for a long while. Gwen had a thousand questions, but she asked none of them. Finally, she spoke.

"What was his name?"

It was Harry who answered this time.

"He went by the name Voldemort. But his real name was Tom Marvolo Riddle."

The remainder of the train ride passed quickly, though the energy in the compartment was subdued. Gwen hardly spoke, her thoughts waist deep in the story of Voldemort. What kind of person would do such terrible things? Gwen wondered what Voldemort's childhood had been like. Had he been raised by a normal family that loved him? Was he simply an abomination of nature? Or had he been scarred as a child? Could the former Tom Riddle have been an orphan too?

"We'll be there soon," Hermione said, smiling, pulling Gwen out of her horrific musings. "Want to change into your robes?"

Gwen glanced around at the boys, who were pulling their long, black school robes over their jeans and t-shirts. She nodded, feeling faint, and reached for her bag. Hermione swiftly pulled her own robes out and donned them, stashing her wand in the pocket. Gwen followed suit, but the wand felt awkward and unfamiliar against her thigh, so she pulled it out again and held it fearfully in her hand. The train had slowed to almost motionless and Gwen could see, beyond the cloud of black that pressed itself against the window, the outline of an enormous castle, carved out of a high mountain. The faint feeling intensified and Gwen swayed slightly in place. Thankfully, the screech and pull of the train coming to a halt disguised her moment of weakness and none of her new acquaintances noticed.

Gwen stepped onto the dark and crowded platform. She followed Hermione closely, afraid to get lost amidst the throngs of unfamiliar faces. They walked slowly at first, pushing against the endless line of students, until finally the platform opened out into a gravel path. Nearly two hundred coaches stood waiting, none of them attached to any kind of horse. She glanced at Hermione, who was fidgeting with Crookshanks' basket. Gideon was sleeping soundly in Gwen's arms, despite the noise around her. She envied him momentarily, half-wishing she were asleep and safe, away from the eyes that would soon have a front-row seat to her humiliation. She did not have much time to dwell on this, however, as Hermione was already climbing into one of the horseless carriages. Ron reached out his hands and Gwen gazed at him, momentarily confused. Then she realized he was reaching out to take Gideon and she handed him over. She climbed into the carriage and found herself sitting next to Harry, who was holding a snowy white owl, asleep in her cage, in his lap. He smiled at her and she smiled back weakly. She wanted to ask his owl's name, but her throat seemed to have closed itself to all sound. The carriage hobbled along the gravel road, flinging its passengers to and fro as it crashed over the uneven ground. Afraid to seem even more ignorant than she already felt, Gwen refrained from asking what was pulling the carriages. She supposed that in this world there were some things that simply had no explanation. It was, after all, a school of magic.

The carriage began to slow down and Gwen watched as they passed through tall iron-wrought gates and pulled up to a high arched door. Students were spilling out of the carriages into the castle, half running and sliding into the brightly lit hall just beyond the doors, as it had begun to rain ferociously. As Hermione, Harry, Gwen and Ron made their way toward the open doors, a commotion just ahead of them caused the entire mass of children in front of them to stop dead.

"What the bloody hell is the hold-up?" Ron yelled over the pouring rain. Hermione and Harry shrugged, but Gwen could see, through a break in the crowd in front of her, that a small, leprechaun-like man was throwing what appeared to be water balloons at innocent passerby and cackling madly.

"There's a—a tiny man throwing water balloons at students," Gwen called to the trio. They all rolled their eyes simultaneously and said, in loud unison, "Peeves!"

Just as they called out the strange name, Gwen heard it again, this time coming from a tall, middle-aged witch in spectacles and green robes who had just appeared at the large oak doors. As the crowd ahead of them moved forward slowly, Gwen found herself directly beneath the culprit named Peeves. She flinched, waiting to be soaked in ice-cold water, thinking that she was glad that Ron was holding Gideon, when a loud bang caused her to jump. She looked up to see Peeves gone and the tall bespectacled witch ushering students in hurriedly. As Gwen passed, however, the witch stopped her.

"Are you Gwendolyn Gaunt?" she yelled above the din of rain and screams, as students ran for cover from the storm. She nodded, thinking that yelling back would be disrespectful.

"Come with me."

Gwen's heart stopped. She glanced back at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly. Ron handed her back Gideon, who looked extremely annoyed with the weather. Gwen followed the tall witch past a large hall where it seemed most of the students had seated themselves at long tables decked in different colors. At the head of the room, Gwen spotted Professor Dumbledore sitting in a high-backed chair at another long table that ran horizontally along the other tables. She didn't have a chance to see anything else, however, because the tall witch had rounded a corner and Gwen had to run not to lose her. They rounded two more corners before the witch stopped in front of a normal-looking classroom door.

The witch held the door open for Gwen, who stepped inside quickly. The room was a perfect oval, with a rounded desk at the front. Behind it was an enormous chalkboard, with the words Professor M. McGonagall scrawled neatly across the top. Sitting atop one of the front row desks was a withered, tattered old wizard's hat. Gwen's stomach lurched. Was this the enchanted hat that would decide her fate for the next three years? The tall witch, who Gwen deduced was Professor McGonagall, pulled out her wand and tapped the hat twice, without saying a word. For a moment nothing happened. Then quite suddenly, a large rip appeared at the hat's brim and it began to sing. Gwen blinked twice, not sure that she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. McGonagall tapped that hat again and it fell silent, but the large rip remained slightly open, as though the hat were not quite finished with what it had to say.

"Quickly, then Miss Gaunt," McGonagall said sharply and Gwen jumped forward. "Best not to keep the whole school waiting."

Gwen carefully picked the old hat up in her hands, afraid it would bite her if she was not gentle enough. She placed it on her head and was immediately engulfed in darkness. The hat sank low over her eyes. Gwen stood very still, waiting for something to happen. She felt rather silly, standing in the middle of an empty classroom wearing an oversized, ancient hat. Another long minute passed and then—

"Well, well. What have we here?"

The voice seemed to be coming from inside her head. Gwen's muscles tensed; she waited for it to speak again.

"Not quite sure what to do with you," it said after another moment. "Blood of the snake, heart of the lion—an interesting combination. Much like the Potter boy."

Gwen's heart skipped. She was like Harry? But what did blood of the snake mean?

"I suppose I'll put you in…

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Gwen pulled the hat off of her head quickly and looked at McGonagall who was smiling slightly.

"Very well, Miss Gaunt. Back to the Great Hall."

They walked back to the entrance hall in silence, except for Gideon mewing hungrily.

"I'll take him," McGonagall said. "If you'd kindly deliver this to Professor Dumbledore," she added, handing her the Sorting Hat again.

Gwen handed Gideon over and took the hat. Now that the worst was over, the hat didn't seem as frightening. In fact, the idea of a talking, singing hat was a bit comical. Gwen took a deep breath and turned toward the Great Hall, Sorting Hat in hand and wand in her pocket.