This story begins before Harry Potter was born. It begins before Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore ever lifted a wand. It begins before Lord Voldemort rose from obscurity and into fame, and before Tom Riddle first darkened the Wizarding World with his presence.

It begins in a school that is older than time, with a student who possesses a noticeable lack of lightening shaped scars.

Amanda isn't Harry's great grandmother, or Neville's great aunt three times removed. She is simply Amanda. This is her story, in her own right. Give her a chance?

It's written for the Amandas of this world, and it is written (of course) for Joanne Rowling.

So read on. If this takes you even a fraction of the way into Hogwarts, if all I manage to do is tide you over until the next, eagerly awaited book comes out, I'll b e happy.

So read on. That's all I can ask of anyone.

Chapter One

Sometimes, at night, the castle makes noises. It is a benevolent sort of place, and the ghosts, students and portraits usually move about the hallways comfortably coexisting with whatever lurks in the stonework.

Usually.

Usually the noises are peaceful, an old building settling down for the night, stone grinding against stone, steps creaking, door-hinges whining.

Sometimes they are anything but.

On particularly dark nights, things moan in the corridors, silence seems to smother the four-poster beds, labored breathing and thudding heartbeats echo in dim common-rooms. On nights like this, older students lie with their backs to the wall, eyes wide in the gloom, their wands clutched beneath pillows. No ghosts, not even the Bloody Barron, roam the school on such nights, and figures in paintings huddle too many to a frame, eyes blinking out in suspicion at whoever dares walk about.

It was on such a night that Amanda, a thin fourth year student with braids in her scraggly hair, sat at the top of the Astronomy tower and wondered what it would be like to fall.

There would be, she knew, the inevitable landing, the shock of pain, and then…what? Nothingness?

What concerned her was the fall itself, the rush of air that would scream past her face, through her fingers. For a brief moment, perhaps it would be what the Quidditch players of her year experienced. Perhaps it would feel like flying, not like falling at all.

Amanda was not simply short for her age; she was small. Her hair was a limp brown that seemed to cling to her scalp, and her eyes were very big indeed, hidden beneath uneven bangs that did nothing for her looks. Her clothes hung loosely on her frame, as if they had been made for someone else, and shrunk in a hurry to fit her. The shoulders were too baggy.

She shivered in the night air.

"I don't suppose they'd miss me."

Her voice, when she spoke, was plaintive, and she heard the despised squeak at the back far too plainly.

She leaned forwards. The castle's stonework was riddled with cracks, spider-webbed by vines. Just out of her reach there was a flower, a Snapping Susan, and she wondered how long it had grown there, untouched.
She stretched out her fingers. If she fell, would she be able to snatch it on the way down?

There was a noise behind her, and the boy, watching her from the shadows, eyes almost as wide as her own, frowned, and stepped forwards.

"Little girl! What do you think you're doing?"

Amanda gave a scream and whirled around, a difficult feat for someone balanced as she was, atop the stone railing at the edge of the tower.

He was beside her in a second, grabbing her by the arm and wrenching it hard, so that she fairly toppled to the ground beside him.

"What do you think you're playing at, being so near the edge?"

His voice was very loud in the silence, and he immediately lowered it to a whisper. Something sighed, from the shadows behind him, and Amanda's heart pounded furiously. "Firstly you're not supposed to be out of bed at this hour. You'll lose your house points, whoever you are. And secondly, what in Merlin's name would you have done if you'd slipped?"

The initial shock of finding that she was not alone diminished a bit and she yanked her arm away, glaring. "Firstly, this isn't any of your business. Secondly, you're out of bed at the same time as me, so you haven't any right to go on like that, and nearly wrench my arm out of its socket. And thirdly, you're not in my house, I know you're not, so why do you care if I lose points?"

He looked at her as if about to make an angry reply, and then did a double take. She was pointing her wand at him, breathing hard. "Now do go away. There's only a certain amount of idiocy I'm willing to put up with in one day. I don't believe you're any older than me, despite your 'little girl' nonsense."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hello." He whistled softly in the darkness. "I know who you are now. You're in Ravenclaw, aren't you? Same year as me. I've seen you before."

"I've no doubt." She shoved her wand away bitterly, "I'm wildly popular, you know, and I've no time for you."

She didn't know what was prompting her to talk to him this way, but it was as if something had broken inside her. He was every boy who'd ever treated her badly, ever ignored her, and she wanted nothing more than to hex him thoroughly and chuck him off the Astronomy tower.

Amanda lowered her wand.

He grinned, but she didn't return the gesture. Boys did not grin at her unless they wanted something. Something generally being homework.

"Actually I've noticed you a few times. You're in a couple classes with me. I think it's the hair."

Her chin jutted out and she tossed the aforementioned hair out of her eyes defiantly. He was insulting her. "It's my hair. If you don't like it, don't look."

"I didn't say—"

"You didn't have to."

He ran a hand through his own hair. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"How would you like it if I asked you the same thing?"

The grin was back. She wished he'd go away; the solitude had been refreshing, despite the cold air.

"Fair enough. I won't ask if you don't. Can we start over again?"

Amanda looked blankly at him. Why wasn't he leaving?

The boy held out his hand. "Andrew Mevins."

She just stared, and finally he took her by the wrist and shook her hand, lightly, twice, and released it. There was a pause that seemed impossibly thick before he spoke again.

"Now would be when you tell me your name."

She opened her mouth, unsure if she was going to jinx him or tell him her name…

And something just outside the door, just three feet to her left, screamed.

It was not a faint sound like you might hear in the night, and think it a dream. It was a bloodcurdling, glass-shattering, horrifying shriek, and Amanda fairly jumped out of her skin. The boy—Andrew—turned to face the sound, his wandtip shaking, pointed towards the door. She took the moment to free her hand from what had become a vise-grip and sprinted away.

Very brave. There was a nasty voice in his head. Run away like a bloody maiden in distress, and leave your hero to deal with it.

She ignored her conscience in favor of getting back to bed. She jogged out another door, down a flight of stairs, through several more doors, and down a deserted hallway, until she was standing in front of the portrait of Cassandra the Seer.

The dark haired woman with big eyes blinked lazily, and cocked an eyebrow.

"Disequilibrate." She stammered out.

"Out for a midnight stroll, dear?"

Amanda sighed. Her mouth was open to give some kind of explanation when another scream, this time quieter, as if whatever had made it was moving off, sounded.

Cassandra pursed her lips. "Get inside, there's a good girl. I'm off to visit Violet. She's got all the gossip from the Griffindor room, you know." Another scream.

"Inside, inside!" The woman urged her, all pretense gone. "It's not wise to be wandering with the castle in this state."

Amanda slipped inside, the warmth from the flickering fire catching her full in the face.

For all the coziness of the scene before her, she'd rather be out in the tower again.

It was lovely to be warm again, of course, but she hated the big room lined with bookshelves, the high, straight-backed chairs. Although it felt nice to slide beneath her covers, she was no happier to be in bed. She hated her four-poster too, hated that she could hear the other students breathing a few feet away, hated the heavy curtain that blocked out all the air.

Tammy was snoring, and Amanda glared at her, trying to ill-wish the other girl. She closed her eyes, trying to sleep, and heard Tammy's voice in her head, a light giggle.

"I shouldn't laugh, I know, but did you see her today? When poor Shawn asked her to borrow a quill, she just gave him that blank look—you know the one—and didn't say anything. He looked so shocked." Muffled giggles all around. "I had to go explain to him afterwards, how she is, and lend him my quill." Another voice cut in, sharper. Louise Pendulum this time.

"What are we going to do with her? It's not just that she's an eyesore, she's so rude. We'll have to teach her a lesson."

More giggles.

"I have tried being nice to her." A long-suffering sigh. Alice Cromet. "She just doesn't like people."

Amanda, burying her face in her pillow, letting it absorb the tears, sniffed. Not those people.

But really, Alice was right. Amanda didn't like people. If home had been any better, she'd have stayed there, but it was worse, and so she endured. And, to be fair, although she did not like people, it was largely due to the fact that people did not like her.

And none of them, after the first day, had looked twice at her.

Despite her misery, despite the muffled noises she could still hear through the walls, she was drifting away, into sleep.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow, and she dreaded waking up in the morning. She'd go to Hogsmeade, of course; she'd decide to at the last minute, desperate to get out of the castle. And then would come the long hours of wandering around, visiting the pubs alone, staring into warm shops, shivering in the cold.

Her thoughts drifted back to the Astronomy Tower.

Andrew Mevins.

What had he been doing there? The Astronomy tower was unsafe for any number of people, at the moment, and so the teachers hadn't held classes there for years. It was her own private haunt, and she resented the intrusion.

At least she wouldn't have to deal with awkward questions from him again. The advantage of her mousy hair and quiet looks was that he'd never notice her again.

Still thinking of Andrew, she fell head first into sleep.

A/N: Should I continue? Is this worth continuing? I'd love to hear what you think, any of you.