Alley Upbringing

by Runt the Brave

A random, somewhat strange AU examining Diagon Alley, people, and this finicky little thing called childhood. Had the fandom Potter will been executed and Harry placed with 'a suitable wizarding family' over 'those horrible muggle relations' what would Harry's childhood have looked like?

Patricia Prinkle asked us for permission to do a complete history on our childhood and education.

While that might happen in the future, we aren't quite ready for it yet. What follows in a collection of excerpts and reflections from our lives, attempting to present to you an accurate history of who we are.

Hopefully, it'll quell some rumors, extinguish some lies, and make sense of how we got to be what we are.

This is not a story. This is not a biography. This is just who we are.

Please enjoy.

Part of a letter addressed but not sent to The Daily Prophet, undated.

L. Kellogg

"—that Alley upstart—"

"Shameful, that's what it is, all those shopkeepers making it in."

"We really should do something about it."

It turned out that Hogwarts had a different definition of Alley-kid than we did. While we were under the assumption that the Chandlers, the Browns, the Moons, and the Summerbys all counted, the mere fact that they didn't live "—in those horrid excuses for homes, right above their shops and everything—" managed to clear them from fault. I guess Alley-loyalty didn't go as far as it did while we were in primary together.

I guess we just found it odd. The Westwendth-extended, the Ricketts, and the Whitneys were – by the busybody definition – the only Alley-kids to make it into Hogwarts in the past ten years. Maybe we were. I guess we just found it odder still that the Hastings twins stood up for us when the Chandlers, the Moons, the Browns, and the only Summerby to make it dropped us all like hot potatoes. The Hastings twins got lumped in with us "—those North Diagon hoodlums, up to no good—" when we never considered them Alley-kids in the first place.

Odd. I suppose, if they have to draw the line somewhere, the eight of us – not counting the Hastings – they chose to write off as undisciplined trouble makers makes sense. We spent our summers having the run of the place, the eight of us. Yet two of the Chandlers, the youngest Brown, all three Moon girls, and that horrible Jackson Summerby got into just as many scrapes with us as we did without them.

You might have picked up that I'm carrying a grudge against some of these people. And you'd quite likely be right. But I just want to say that the wizarding world is a horrible place. When you take away their muggleborns to mock, the children in our generation have to find the next best thing. Some of those uppity bastards are half-bloods, and a surprising number are literal blood bastards. When you take away their blood purity, what do they have left?

Status. Wealth: "—your parents don't even have the decency to be tradesmen. You're just shopkeepers. No better than servants. Destined to do nothing but slave away for the rest of your lives, worthless—" and that understanding that if you don't ever have to work, you're better than those who do.

Ha. You dratted uppity bastards. We aren't going to take this lying down. I got a letter from Jasmine Jameson at breakfast today. She's at the school in Somerset and it's no better there. It wasn't in style there, where they still have the muggleborn, to pick on the Diagon kids. Jasmine says her youngest brother has it rough as well. It's trickled down enough, though, and even the paper reported how the elder Morris kid got beat bloody some coward at the London school. And the paper sided with the coward. Nate Adkin and I owl regularly: he's not the issue for the bullies at Wenlock, but he's keenly aware of who is.

You want the best of four years and change of magical students rallying against your banner? I didn't think so. Get ready, Hogwarts. Get ready, Somerset. Get ready, Diagon, because we're going to change the world.

-.-

Reflections, April 2001

A. Carruthers

I suppose to help my brother's rambling make sense you might want to know what the Westwendth-extended is. Actually, there's a whole bunch of things in the above narration that just don't make sense. I keep saying we need a better hook or that my previous introduction was fine, but they don't listen to me. I don't have much of a sense for story, you might say. But then my siblings are also insisting that I'm the one who does all the work in making this thing palatable to the public. Really, I don't understand them either. To explain: in the first war with You-Know-Who, Alan and Elizabeth Westwendth lost two children. Twins girls known as Jamie and Tar were killed in one of the many raids on Diagon Alley. The Westwendths owned a store there: Scribbulus Writing Instruments. We've been trying to get Alan to change the name for years, but it just hasn't worked. The war ended shortly after that, and 'liza Westwendth insisted: they had the room, the means, and the want. There were war orphans that needed a home.

I was the first. At a bit over a year and a half, I can honestly say I have absolutely no memories of who I was or who my parents were before I was placed in the Westwendth's care. I was a bawling, snotty, stuck-up little baby who didn't understand why I couldn't find my mama. At least that's what they tell me. Sometimes the pictures seem to collaborate with them, but I'm not particularly sure. But I needed a home and no one really knew who my family was or who was supposed to raise me, and there were the Westwendth's, offering. My elder brother came next. The Kellogg's were a grand old family. They had the most pride in owning a grocer than any shopkeeper ever had in their store. My brother was the heir to the only grocer in the Alley. No one really admired the Kelloggs except other Kelloggs and the people that worked for them. Alan was just so one of those lucky people. He'd worked for them during the summers and after school and they'd given him the start-up loan to start Scribbulus. He was named as one of the people to take Lucas and Lena Kellogg in, if anything happened to the rest of the family. Well, something did happen to the family, and you can look up the gory details if you so desire. Regardless, Lucas was older than me, and whatever it was that happened gave him nightmares for years.

I guess I was lucky. I was the only one who didn't get them. My night terrors were random, senseless. Wherever they came from, it wasn't from external trauma.

I'm not really sure why we got my sister. All I know is we picked her up from the hospital. She was short a foot, a whole arm, and pretty much half her face. I've heard mention of some internal damage too, but nothing has been spelled out to me. I suppose that's something I should ask about. They didn't want her to leave the hospital, but she didn't want to stay. I suppose a bawling two year old with absolutely no parental authority or guidance is impossible to treat without some ethical quandaries. Next thing that happened, angry little Maisie Hanamy was back in the hospital, fitted for prosthetics, and the first of a skin replacement regiment underway. And then Maisie Hanamy came back home.

There are pictures from that time. I have no idea how Alan and 'liza managed, with the store, a headstrong two-year-old who can't walk or use her arm because it hurt so bad, a little toddler that can't stop crying and screaming, and a meek four year old who can't handle the noise. Every picture from that time shows at least one of us screaming or crying. There's one picture of me asleep, sprawled out on a carpet without a care in the world, on the floor while Maisie throws breakfast cereal at me and Lucas is crying as he tugs on her arm to get her to stop. I wonder if that was the first time 'liza said her most damaging words, or if they came earlier or later. Certainly, none of us remember that moment, but we remember her words in the repetition. We're all aware of how much damage 'liza did to us with her rhetorical eight words question. I have no idea how Alan and 'liza managed it, and then they went and fought for a fourth.

It must have been some fight. Again, with the pictures. Every single picture dated within this three month period shows Alan and 'liza with bags under their eyes. My least favorite picture of the bunch must have been when Lucas was first figuring out the simple point-and-click machine Alan had put together. 'liza Westwendth, the unstoppable, collapsed in a corner, faced covered, shoulders shaking. You could just see Alan's feet shuffling in and out of the picture, as if utterly unsure how to help. I don't know why they kept that picture. I don't know why I've kept it. Maybe it reminds me that we're all so easily broken. Maybe it's that you can't give up without a fight.

And at the end of the fight – don't ask me how, because I'm still not entirely sure I understand – Alan and 'liza brought a new brother home. He was just a few months younger than me. Our new parents gathered all four of us together and told us the first thing that Lucas can clearly remember:

"—everything's going to be different, and you're all going to have to be very brave—"

I don't know why Lucas remembers that one line. None of us were even capable of knowing why the identity of this new, oddly still and oddly quiet oddity was at all important. It didn't matter to us, and I think that's what made it the most important. It didn't matter who this oddity was, because as soon as he became familiar, he was just one of us. We were just the beginnings of the Westwendth-extended. Two Westwendths (one a Blott by birth), a Kellogg, a Hanamy, a Carruthers, and a Potter.

-.-

Memory, November 1985

M. Hanamy

School had been cancelled because of the rain. 'liza griped that a little rain never hurt anyone and that half the kids flooed anyway, but the Alley was under almost a foot of water and even more was coming down. We pressed our noses to the windows and watched as the pace of the rainstorm picked up and little white flecks of hail began appearing amongst the rain. To us, it was a treasure trove of possibility. To Mama 'liza, it meant four unruly children that would have otherwise been in primary. And so she made do. After letting the four of us stare at the rain for as long as it kept us quiet, 'liza dragged us down to the shop for dictation. Amber and Harry were still in their first year at the academy, but their quillmanship was far better already than most of my classmates; spelling, perhaps not, but 'liza just set books down in front of both of them and told them to copy. Everyone knew that the handwriting within the Westwendth-orphans was better than anyone in the school. 'liza gave me a book also, but it was print and she made me copy it into cursive. Maybe that's why I so clearly remember that day, due to my severe hatred for the strung together letters and unnecessary curlicues of the fancier script.

There weren't any customers in the shop, so it was just us. I can't remember what Lucas's task was for that day, but maybe it was working on the first draft of his primary illuminated masterpiece. He would have been a fourth year at the academy, so maybe not yet. Maybe 'liza was doing vocal dictation with him, but I just don't remember. And given the following conversation, it couldn't have been vocal because 'liza went and, well, tried to mess everything up.

"Kids," 'liza said in her half question, half command drawl, "we've been meaning to ask this question for a long time." She coughed to clear her throat. I glared at my parchment and wished it would light on fire. I'd just managed to mess up an entire sentence in my copying. "Well, we've cleared it with the services, and Maisie, Amber, we'd like to officially adopt you."

Quills don't make a clatter when they fall out of someone's hand. It's a little disappointing. There was no solid, resounding thunk of writing implements hitting a desk or the ground because of some surprise. It felt unfulfilling. Whenever Alan wanted to put a stop to a conversation or emphasize an emotional point, he dropped a stylus, broke a tablet, or sometimes shattered a window. His actions weren't even in anger, but that's probably a trait the four of us picked up on a bit too much. Too bad one of us wasn't carving with a rune stylus or working with one of Alan's metal sticks with interchangeable nibs. Our quills just sort of floated through the air before hitting the desks. Harry, though, he just kept scratching away at his parchment. His face turned into a gloomy mask of despair. Little Amber must have been the one to ask the question: "but what about Lucas and Harry?" Maybe she even added a lip quiver. She was excellent at that. "Don't you want them?"

I can imagine 'liza's hand running over her face in frustration. I don't know if she did it in this time, but she did it often enough that she must have. "They're family heirs, little one. Lucas can't legally change his last name, and Harry can't do a thing." I remember clenching my hands into little fists and glaring at her. Didn't she see how white Harry was turning? Didn't she know his quill was still scratching over the parchment, even though he'd run out of ink and wasn't making any marks? Didn't she know what this meant to him?! "But Lucas, if you want, you can take Westwendth as a middle—" And Harry's poor little shoulders shook.

"No!" I jumped up. My parchment set ablaze and my ink bottle rattled off the edge of the desk and to the floor.

"Maisie!" 'liza screeched.

"No! We're not taking your name," I cried. The flaming parchment flashed higher, making a small little singed pattern in the ceiling of the shop. "We don't want it!"

"Maisie!" 'liza shot a water charm at the parchment, but she missed and splashed water all over me. I shook. I knew the accidental fire was out of control, but I didn't want to stop it. 'liza needed to get the message. She needed to understand that we didn't want their name. If Harry couldn't take it, we wouldn't take it, simple as that. "Maisie, your hair is burning," 'liza said, much calmer this time. She was backing away, her wand pointed at the ground in a non-threatening position. "Sit down. Calm down." And so I sat. The parchment went out. The momentary heat at the back of my neck went out. A heavy silence stretched between the five of us.

Little Amber reached over and tugged at one of my shortened strands of hair. "I like this length. Just a little trim and—"

'liza collapsed into the chair behind the shop's counter. "Go upstairs, all of you. Maisie, losing control like that was reckless – that fire could have severely hurt us all. I'm going to discuss with Alan and we'll give you a punishment tonight."

I glowered. Lucas half-hissed. Amber and Harry looked at me for clues before turning and racing to the house-door. Upstairs, away from 'liza, Lucas crossed his arms. "It's not fair. Accidental magic can't be controlled. Teacher says it doesn't work like that."

I flicked my head in a circle. My hair flicked delightfully around my face and shoulders. It felt lighter and freer than before. Some of the singed ends stuck to my face, though. "It doesn't matter," I told Lucas. "Amber, you want to trim off all the burnt bits?" My little sister nodded. Even at five we would trust her more than any of the rest of us with scissors. Better her than 'liza right now: 'liza would just use a hair trimming charm and it wouldn't come out right. Lucas seemed ready to protest, so I stomped my foot down. "It doesn't matter. We don't have to be Westwendths. We're Kellogg, Hanamy, Carruthers, and Potter, but we're siblings anyway, and anything beside that doesn't matter!"

Perhaps I was far too energetic and opinionated for a near-seven year old. It's not like that ever changed.

-.-

Marginal notification, first draft.

A. Whitney

Isn't there any way we can make this more coherent?

-.-

Marginal notification, sixth draft.

A. Whitney

I mean, this thing lacks all semblance of coherency. I'm worried about how it's going to read to people who don't have a clue about what's going on.

-.-

Reflection, March 2001

A. Carruthers

I'd like to begin by saying that I have utterly no idea how to begin. I guess, with introductions. My name is Amber Aileen Carruthers. I'm a 1999 Hogwarts graduate who attended North Diagon Children's Academy for primary school. I grew up above 131 Diagon Alley and am currently living in my brother's house as I try to figure out what in Merlin's name I'm supposed to do with my life. I have utterly no recollection of my biological parents, and my favorite candy is Chocolate Frogs. This project is an attempt to piece together the different pieces of my adopted family's history into a complete picture of how we got to where we ended up. My research partner and one of my greatest friends, Amanda Marie Whitney, will be assisting in the research and compilation of this project. She has, so far, refused to contribute to the written reflections. At the moment, all original written material will be composed by myself or my siblings.

We have sought permission from all of our friends, allies, acquaintance, and even those we might label our enemies for their permission to refer to them in this story. Some names and details were changed to protect privacy. Some details, quite a lot; other circumstances, not so much. Some would, of course, only require a little research and access to the Children's Academy or Hogwarts records in order to discover the discrepancies. Sorry 'bout that. There are others who, although they might have requested, their identity seemed so integral to our past that such could not be changed. Many of these individuals are already public figures. In good faith, no slander is intended. It's not my fault, when I write the truth, if you were truly despicable.

My eldest brother is Lucas Daedalus Jarvis Christos Gates Kellogg, born January 18th 1976, although he plans on eliminating some of his official middle names until he is only Lucas Gates Kellogg. Daedalus, Jarvis, and Christos are the maiden names of the women who married into his biological family and made sufficient impact so that all the preceding sons from that line were given that middle name. The Kellogg family has a long and rather uninteresting history. Given Lucas's responsibilities to his business, he will not be providing reflections for this narrative, but he does plan on donating some memories that might be of use and may, at a later time, be transcribed for the purpose of this story.

I am forbidden from sharing the full name of my sister. She does not answer to the name on her birth record saying that it was a stupid name given to her by a stupid healer who spent too much time putting together a culturally obvious name for a culture she wouldn't even be adopted into. Her birthdate was fixed upon December 7th 1978 by that same healer. It is speculated that nearly all of her first two years were spent as the plaything of Death Eaters. Her heritage is unknown. She was exposed to significant magical and physical torture causing physical growth defects primarily noticed through loss of limb and difficulties developing hand-eye coordination. Healers obliviated most of the more traumatic memories her upon her recovery, but they botched that up. During the early years, the hospital also managed to incorrectly implant one of her prosthetics resulting in a need for nearly weekly visits to her healer. Maisie Cara Hanamy, as the world knows her, is quite excited for her impending marriage and the official Anglicizing of her name. Maisie will contribute memories, the occasional reflection, and definite opinions to this project.

My younger brother and the most famous man in our generation is Harry James Potter. He does not currently use that name in everyday life, but if I told you what he used that would negate the purpose of him using it. He was born July 31st 1980 and made famous on All Hallows Eve 1981. He has agreed to this project, but I do not now know the extent to which he plans to participate. Harry is only three and a half months younger than I. As such, we grew up as twins. We were in the same year for school, and we traveled a fairly similar developmental path. I could ask for no one better to me my best friend.

While the individuals already listed will provide the most significant support for this story, there are many others that would provide assistance or feature heavily within this story.

-.-

Reflections, April 2001

A. Carruthers

I have no idea when we first met the Whitney twins. They just were. Amanda and Samuel were as much a part of us as our siblings were. Ryan Whitney owned the Tattling Toystore and did well enough for himself. He was the jolly sort, but too busy with his store and financial investments to devote much time to us. Oh, he'd listen to stories, praise achievements, and then just say 'oh go and play.' He never forgot a birthday, and always managed to give us toys that at least someone in the family used. We liked him, well enough. He married the fifth daughter of some wealthy family when she ran from an arranged marriage, but we never saw much of Mrs. Whitney. The twins would talk about her some, but that's never worth getting into.

We first met the Ricketts when their father took over the Menagerie. I suppose if there was one person to blame for how the eight of us turned out, it was mostly Manny Rickett. I don't remember the first time we met Manny, as he always insisted on being called, but Lucas in particular remembers that day very clearly. The Rickett boys started school that day during the middle of a semester, and Anthony was in the same year as Lucas. Before the day was out, Lucas had been invited to bring all his siblings over to the Menagerie and see it under the new ownership. Perhaps I should mention that Dante, in Maisie's year, had pulled her hair and spilled ink all over her favorite kneazlette top. She hated the youngest Rickett boy from the first moment they met. No, to my biggest disappointment, Maisie and Dante have never, ever become romantically involved. It's honestly upsetting.

I still am not paying Manny those five sickles. They still could, in the future. Theoretically only, and seeing as it would have to involve death or divorce, well. It's okay, Maisie, I like your man well enough.

But, no, Manny. They aren't dead yet.

Anyway, Manny and my eccentric betting on future-romantic-relationships aside, he's a general awesome guy. When Lucas dragged his petulant six year old sister and two four year olds over to Manny's new store, he welcomed us. Anthony welcomed us too and showed us all around the Menagerie. And oh, would we come to love the Menagerie. It was so much more than a pet store. It was so much better than a zoo. Two lots larger than the largest store in the Alley and then expanded on top of that, the Menagerie was a sprawling, eight-levels-high-up-three-levels-down masterpiece. The second level is all African herd animals. There were horses and zebras and gazelles and even the gigantic giraffes. Some of the most adorable little antelope were no higher than our waists. And all of that was in the second level. Of a store. But, of course, it was so much more than a store. But I could talk for hours on the Menagerie, and if you're interested in it, check out Patricia Prinkle's history and evaluation of the Magical Menagerie. It's worth the read. She got most everything right, although I do have a few points of contention that I've already brought up with her.

The second day that we met Manny was the weekend right after the Rickett boys started school. They invited us and the Whitneys up to the eighth and top floor, the residential area. There were still more animals than humans, even when the six of us joined the Rickett boys. Manny was there, treating a herd of ill golden snidgets. One of the littlest was feeling up to a game, and the little gold fuzzball flew around us as we tried to catch him. No one managed to even get a finger on the fast little bird. After that, Manny and his wife Zanne brought all of us into their kitchen, fixed us all hot chocolate, and regaled us with magnificent stories of faraway places. And then they listened to us tell stories and somehow made our stories feel as great and significant as theirs.

Maybe that's what made the Rickett's so extraordinary. They made us feel so much more than important. They never tried to use Harry – which put them in a very, very small category of acceptable families – but they made him and the rest of us feel important for more than our history. They made us feel important for our wishes and hopes and dreams. They gave us value.

I can't thank them enough for that.

One of my favorite memories of Manny and Zanne was after everyone else had gone off to Hogwarts. Harry and I were the only ones left behind and, we're the first to admit, it was a rough year. We king and queen of North Diagon, and no one questioned us. Franklin, Robert, and Hannah were good friends to us in that year, but no one was better than Manny and Zanne. With neither of their boys left at home, they still welcomed us over all the time. One time, Zanne planned this whole night just to teach me about make-up and boys and everything that had to do with growing up: at least from my ten year old perspective. 'liza got really mad at me and Zanne for that, but it wasn't like she was stepping up for all those lessons. The best part, during 'liza fight with Zanne over make-up, was when Harry marched up to Mama Zanne and said, "I want to learn make-up too!" Oh, how horrified 'liza got. It's really not fair, how much better Harry is at not only powder application, but every single make-up and beautification charm. Madam Primpernelle begged him to intern with her the summer after first year. He went over to her beauty shop three times a week all of that summer, returned to school, and was top of our year in Potions. Drove Professor Snape to distraction, he did. Seeing that us Alley-kids grew up knowing that Madam Primpernelle was one of the very few who'd floo your parents on you if you were caught even looking at her windows without supervision, Harry's status with her suitably impressed everyone.

Everyone on the Alley, though, contributed to us growing up in some way or another. We learned fairy tales on old Fortescue's knee. He just ran the shop during his retirement. Most of the Fortescue's lived in Dover, but their eccentric great-uncle couldn't stand the family manor. So he opened an ice cream shop in protest of the loneliness. And then he just refused to die. He was pushing two hundred when he helped raise us scamps. Even in the winter, he kept his shop open for whosoever needed to come inside for a hot cocoa or warmed pumpkin juice or just a hiding place from the cold. His fairy tales were the greatest thing. He told us versions of Babbity Rabbity. He told us about the Phoenix Princess, all the adventures of the three brothers, what was real and what was legend about the knights of Camelot, and so many others. He wove history into his stories and taught us about the magnificent days of Camelot. We learned mythology from his stories. He would talk for hours and hours before sending us home high on sugar, to the persisting chagrin of all of our parents.

Sometimes, on a rare Saturday, we'd even be allowed to be allowed to run past Gringotts and enter South Diagon. We'd always walk single file as far as we could get across from Ollivander's. There were more street peddlers and temporary vendors in the South, and it was in general just a busier place to be. The Owl Emporium was a particular favorite of ours: while the Menagerie had a sizeable assortment of birds, it was not the Ricketts' area of expertise, and often times Anthony and the rest of us were sent over to Eeylop's with a long list of questions. We'd drop of the parchment, be told when he'd have the answers all written up, and wander back into to South Diagon. The Whitney twins demanded we spent the requisite amount of time in Flourish and Blotts and we liked visiting Grandfather, but we were all forbidden from even looking at the books in Obscurus. Dante would drag us all over to Quality Quidditch before Maisie made us all disappear into Gambol and Japes. The South Diagon proprietors didn't know us nearly as well as the North. And we didn't know them. But there is something to be said for Francis Japes' ability to remember kids. He would remember birthdays, pet names, favorite jokes, favorite tricks, favorite colors, weird obsessions, collections, oh, everything there ever was to know about a kid and ol' man Japes knew it. He freaked me and Amanda out sometimes, and Harry would never go talk to him alone, but Japes particularly enjoyed Dante and Maisie – just like everyone did.

Once Gambol chased us out for loitering, we'd split up. Amanda and I would go up and talk to Madam Evette, the florist. Lucas and Harry would go to Slug and Jigger, or sometimes the cauldron shop. Samuel liked visiting the astronomy shop. Anthony, Dante, and Maisie would run through the alley, talking to vendors and tourists and scraping up their knees. I'm sure that's when Maisie learned how to steal things. At the appointed time, Anthony would corral the wild ones, return to Eeylops, and then travel back down the Alley, gathering the rest of us up from whatever stores we'd wandered into. And then we'd single file back past Ollivander's, run past Gringotts, sprint past Knockturn as if Death were on our heels, and stick to a pretty good clip until we made it back to the Menagerie and safe ground.

There were a lot of us, admittedly. When Hannah and Logan Abbott, Lavender Brown, all three Jamesons, the Morris boys, Nate Adkins, the three Moon girls, and some of the Chandlers joined us, we made for a pretty effective army. We'd fill up most of Fortescue's after school sometimes, but most of the others had to head home before the stories got good. Sometimes, in the open space in the Menagerie, we'd play games. We had enough for several teams of Quidditch, but not enough brooms. We played it on the ground. Well, at least until little Richard Morris got beamed in the face with a make-do-bludger and couldn't see for four day. We played hide-and-search, princess in the castle, all sorts of military make believe, and oh—

Sometimes I wonder how we ever learned things, when all I remember from summers and winters is all the fun things we did.

I guess there were those long hours where we split up. Lucas would go down to the grocer, as he was legally obligated to. He learned a lot from Edward Reinheld, but he also got cussed out for not doing things right. Maisie grudgingly, hatefully stayed with 'liza at the shop. Scribbulus was going to end up hers, one day, and she hated the thought of that. That left Harry and me free to wander, as long as we stuck to our slice of the Alley. Sometimes, I'd go and play with the Moons or Hannah if they were in their parents' shops. It was nice to have girl friends that didn't act like Maisie. Other times, I had dance lessons down at the Hatchette school. Those were okay, and Hannah was in my class. It was also the only time during the week I'd ever see Mitzi Daughtery or Miriam Leytonshire. And they were two of my most favorite people in the world. However, my class also consisted of Daphne Greengrass, Cassandra Ulhman, Estelle Verreaoux, Adele Morrison, Pansy Parkinson, Gertrude Cleveland, Lisa Turpin, and Felicity and Autumn Schell. Three of them were evil incarnate and the all the others were simpering fools following the beck of their commander. Yeah. I've never liked any of them. As much as I hated so many of those girls, I loved the actual dancing process. But oh, did Daphne Greengrass rule those girls with an iron fist. She was the best dancer out of all of us, and looked down on Hannah and me for our Alley-kid status long before anyone else did. Hannah, in particular, hated that. The Greengrasses made most of their income from the Diagon hotel and fancy restaurant. She thought that Daphne shouldn't be better than any of us.

I knew, even back then, that wealth and status made the Greengrasses so much better than the Abbotts. Mitzi and Miriam never minded though. Daphne had her own reasons for victimizing them.

Often times, I wondered. I had this assorted collection of friends, although Mitzi and Miriam were the only ones that the others didn't really know, but did my adopted siblings have friends outside of the group? Part of me knew that Lucas hung out with Nate and William Adkin quite a bit. William was two years older than the oldest in our group, so while he tolerated Lucas and his younger brother, he never touched the rest of us. Maisie never needed friends that weren't in her year at primary, and Harry seemed happy enough just to feed of our friendships with everyone else.

I guess that sort of describes Harry. He was always reticent. More than the rest of us, he was constantly required to be brave. In the early years, so many people tried to get him to endorse things, or just publically admit that he liked things. And so I stood beside him as he retreated, hardly ever speaking in public. When someone asked him a question, it always seemed like Maisie or, when Maisie wasn't there, I would answer the question for him. Most of the time we got it right. A few times, when we were back home, Harry would mention that what we said was incorrect. But that system worked out well enough for us. You'd hardly ever find Harry out in public if it weren't with one of his siblings. Robert Morris was the exception to that, really. Robert Morris IV made trunks, wardrobes, bed-frames, and all sorts of large carpentry stuff. Robert Morris V was in Harry's year at primary and even quieter than he. Often times I'd walk home from dance and find the two of them just sitting inside the luggage shop, perfectly content to just sit next to each other in silence. Robert Morris Jr. taught Harry how to carve and Harry taught both Morris boys how to write. Harry's best friend rarely hung out with us in the Alley. He stuttered, he never wanted to run, and in general, Maisie and Dante would whine on the rare occasions that Harry convinced him to come do something.

I never really did get to know Robert.

I'm ever so sorry about that fact.

-.-

Bauble-security audio recording, August 27th 1988

E. Westwendth and M. Hanamy

"You excited for Hogwarts?"

"I guess."

"Oh? Why the reticence?"

"Harry and Amber. They had a rough enough time when Lucas left. They've never been all on their own like this. Neither Ricketts nor Whitneys are going to be around. It's just—Amber and Harry belong with us. And we're just leaving them behind."

"They'll be at school next year."

"I guess."

"Maisie?"

"We won't be in the same house. I already know there's no way I'm going to be a Hufflepuff. But Amber and Harry are going to be all Hufflepuffy like Lucas and I won't be and—"

"You don't know that for sure. And even if it does happen, they're not going to forget about you."

"It's not that."

"Well, then what is it?"

"I don't know! We've just never not had each other."

"Mr. Rickett did give you that owl—"

"It won't be the same."

"No, but it'll be Hogwarts."

"Yeah, but if it was London, and I'd still be around."

"Wouldn't you miss Dante and the Whitneys? Lucas?"

"I guess. I just—why couldn't we all be in the same year? They're smart enough. Merlin, even Miss Blanchard says that they could be in our year if they weren't so young. And Harry's young for his year and it's just—I'll miss them. I'll miss home. I'll miss y…"

"Hogwarts will be great."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Shut up and send Maisie to Hogwarts. Sure."

-.-

Memory, August 1976

L. Kellogg

Alan and 'liza allowed us to go to the Rickett's huge going away party the end of that one summer. Everyone from the North Diagon Children's Academy class and all younger siblings that were older than six were invited into the Rickett residence. The Hastings, the Whitneys, and some of the other kids in the group were invited as well. When Anthony first told me about it, I didn't really want it to happen. It sounded like this big hullaballoo and it just felt wrong. But the party was fine. Lizbet and Jasmine crying because they wouldn't be going to the same school any more wasn't so fun, but the rest of it was good. I think. It got better when everyone else went to sleep. It was a sleep over, and everyone but the Hasting twins and the three Moon girls were staying. Their parents demanded that they get flooed home. Sometime around eleven, I guess, Zanne asked us all to go to bed. Most everyone listened to her. It perhaps took everyone over an hour to get settled into the two different rooms and actually fall asleep, but it was all okay.

Anthony, Logan, Lizbet, and I didn't listen. It seemed only right: we were the Hogwarts bound crew of the graduates. As a group, we'd never spent that much time together. Lizbet and Jasmine were always together off doing their own thing, and they were never that fun to be around. Logan just didn't join Anthony and myself in all the things we did.

"It's going to be horrid," Lizbet whined. "I'm not going to know anyone."

"You know us," Logan pointed out.

"None of the girls," she retorted. "Besides, none of you are getting into Ravenclaw."

None of us particularly wanted to be Ravenclaws, but we all bristled anyway. Four mugs of hot cocoa floated to us. Anthony mumbled his thanks to one of their house-elves. "Lucas could make it," Anthony retorted. "Lucas could make any of the houses."

Well, that was definitely untrue. I curled my fingers around my mug and didn't look any of them in the eye. I wasn't smart enough for Ravenclaw, sneaky enough for Slytherin, or brave enough for Gryffindor. They all insisted I was more than loyal enough for Hufflepuff, but in comparison to the Abbott family, that seemed to lack. The Kellogg family had been Ravenclaws and Slytherins for generations. "Nah. Not all four. I don't think I could ever be a Slytherin. That's Maisie and Harry's specialty."

Lizbet flat out laughed. "Maisie Hanamy, a Slytherin? She's got no subtly. And Harry doesn't have the guts for it. He couldn't be deceitful if he wanted to."

"Shut up," Logan ordered. "If you think that, you're way too stupid for Ravenclaw." His blow to the belt was low enough to satisfy Anthony's and my honor at Lizbet's insults to my little siblings. "Who do you think turned your hair blue for days?" Logan continued. "All those little unfortunate things that happened to you, and never got caught."

Lizbet's eyes widened. "That was Maisie?"

"That was Harry," Anthony said. He puffed his chest out in pride. "All on his own, no help from the rest of us. He didn't like the way you picked on his sister."

"But—" Lizbet's bubble burst and she deflated some. "Oh." After a pause, she asked, "Where do you think your siblings will end up? Kaden's probably going to be a Gryffindor, for all the thought he puts into things."

We looked at each other. Logan had the easiest answer. "Hannah's the most Hufflepuff out of all of us. There's not been an Abbott out of Hufflepuff this generation. They all say it's fine if I'm not, but I don't know. Henry's only four, but he's just so curious. He'd make a good Ravenclaw. Who knows with Victoria? Ma says she's going to be a right little Gryffindor, with all the trouble she gets into."

"Gryffindor," Anthony said, shortly. He only had the one sibling and no one really had any doubts that Dante was the perfect fit for the house of red and gold.

But me? I didn't know. "It's just odd. Maisie's a Slytherin with Gryffindor traits. Harry's a Slytherin with Hufflepuff traits. And sometimes I wonder if Amber isn't a Slytherin with Ravenclaw traits."

Lizbet snorted. "Amber's got the lowest grades of anyone in their year! Lavender says that all she does in class is sit there and draw."

"Amber's grades," Anthony defended, "are because Amber doesn't try. She's straight out bored in school, so she doesn't pay any attention. Give her a challenge and she's amazing at it."

I heard something that sounded like a whimper from the boys' room. I tensed. Harry's nightmares had never quite gone consistently away. The sound didn't come again, but it had me on edge, teeth clenched against the possibility of yet another rough night for my little brother. It wasn't fair all he'd suffered. He had it worse off out of all of us. I didn't matter to me, really. Amber couldn't remember anything. Maisie loved her prosthetics more than anything. But Harry suffered far more than anything. And I was kinda worried about how—"Lizbet," I spoke just to interrupt my thoughts, "you've got to promise me something." I trusted Logan enough that he wouldn't, and I knew Anthony would pull out his own teeth with pliers before doing this, but the girl in our group was much more unpredictable. "You've got to promise me you won't name drop how you went to primary with Harry. Promise it." He hated that, more than anything.

She snorted again. "Why ever would I need to do that? He's not that impressive."

All three of us glared at her. "He's still famous," I half-whispered. "He's still hounded all the time."

Another scoff. "Don't get why. He's just a little kid."

"Good," Anthony said. "Keep it that way."

After another long pause, Lizbet flipped her hair over her shoulders. "Well, I'm going to bed. I don't want to be too tired. Mum's taking me out for a special going away day tomorrow."

We mumbled our goodnights and stayed to keep drinking away at the refilling hot cocoa. I briefly considered just how much sugar we were consuming, but that was a momentary thought. "It's going to be so much different, isn't it?" I mumbled. "We're not going to be the oldest."

Logan nodded. "No younger siblings around. Clinton is going to be a third year, and a lot of my cousins are already there. But I'm so used to all the little kids. It will be odd indeed." He paused. "Ever wonder why we didn't go through an I-hate-all-girls phase?"

That question was actually something Alan had offhandedly remarked on. Maisie and I had discussed it earlier, so I had at least a reasonable answer. "I guess… we've always needed each other. And Mais and I—we think we remember what it felt like to be alone. Besides, it's not like anyone of them are actually girl girls. Not like Vanessa or Bethany." All three of us made a face.

"Yeah," Logan said, "they're definitely not allowed."

Anthony dropped his cocoa mug and jumped to his feet. "We are going to have the most fun of anyone ever. Let's promise that now. We're going to never not have fun. We'll party like Bagnold and not ever stop."

Something about his wry grin and easy joke caused the three of us to break into, admittedly, very unmanly giggles.

-.-

Note-to-self, April 2001

A. Carruthers

Dear self. I am writing this note (yes, to myself) to try and forestall any further mental breakdowns that this project is going to create.

1) Stop psyching yourself out over the value of this project. As much as this project is for the world, it's more for yourself. So shut that overly tired brain off, get some sleep, and stop getting stuck in the past. I'm pretty sure our estimable headmaster once said something to that sort. Take his advice.

2) It's okay if the people reading this really don't understand this. Granted, you should be doing everything in your power to make it more understandable, but it's not necessarily a requirement.

3) This is supposed to be fun.

4) Didn't Professor McGonagall once complement you on your ability to lie? It's better than you're thinking. Most of those details are totally obscure enough. And no, you're not allowed to offer prizes to whomever figures out who's who among the obfuscated.

5) This, and any further notes-to-self, are not to be included in the official drafts.

5b) Even if Amanda says otherwise, do not include these notes in the official drafts.

5c) This is your project, not Amanda's!

6) Who are you kidding? This is entirely Amanda's project.

-.-

Letter received by H. Potter, July 31st 1989.

R. Morris

Happy birthday Harry!

Do I get a prize for being the farthest afield to wish you a happy birthday? I apologize again for not being in London to celebrate with you. I do wish you could have come along on this trip. It's getting ever so boring with only Richard to talk to. There's so much to see and learn and no one expects me to talk because I don't know the language! I must remember to thank Mrs. Westwendth for those quills. They have been perfect for the calligraphy. We should be back by the fifth. Will you tell me all the interesting things you guys did while we were gone? I don't suppose the teachers are going to let me by without talking about the month we spent in the Orient. Father has learned some fascinating tricks here, and I've even begun crafting! Father says that if I study hard enough, I can start on my own trunk for school next year. Your present was too expensive to ship, so I apologize it's not there for you. I'll run over and deliver it as soon as we return.

Oh! I asked Father about that thing you requested. He said he'll look into it again when he's got time. This trip has been productive in information, but he's got an ever growing backlog of stuff to accomplish. I know I'm not particularly excited to assist when he has to pretty much rush every single order. It'll be awhile before things normalize again. Can you believe it? He got a letter from an angry customer who submitted his order a week before we left and was unsatisfied that it wasn't done yet? The customer knew we'd be out of commission for a month. The customer knew it probably wouldn't be completed for two months anyway even if we were staying in London! I don't understand. Some people are so rushed and hurried. They'd rather travel and plans over friends and family. All this hurrying. It's bad for one's health. I'll be very glad when things here slow down.

I have to hurry off. Happy birthday again! Don't each too much cake, and please give Mitt a hug for me. Has he been behaving? Thanks again for taking care of him for me. He was just so overwhelmed at the Ricketts. Anyway, farewell again!

Robert Morris IV

-.-

Reflection, April 2001

A. Carruthers

One of my friends just asked me what I was doing. And it did make me think. What on earth am I doing, committing all of this to print? By necessity, we lived an extremely private life. The very thought of putting this all out there, admitting it as truth – even though, of course, some of it is not – is a very scary thought. Sure, everyone knew which shop we were, but no one ever came up to the residence area. If we were in the Whitney or Rickett residence, no one ever came up. We restricted our social circle. We noxed far too many potential friendships. We lived within our little ecosystem so that Harry wasn't forced into whatever he didn't want to do. If you didn't go to North Diagon Children's Academy or happened to live above a shop, well, you were not one of our friends. Seventeen times over, I could quickly list everyone involved in a "let's manipulate Harry" scheme. There were far more. Three times, the blame fell squarely on our adopted parents. There were so few adults out there. Once we lost trust in 'liza, well, everyone but Lucas very quickly became at least mildly pessimistic.

I've been trying to sort out how much 'liza's actions changed us. She would always favor Maisie and me. Most of the time, we just thought it was because we were girls. Other times, it seemed more because Lucas and Harry were heirs to something. They had trusts. The Kellogg trust wouldn't have been enough for more than one child to go to Hogwarts, but with just Lucas, it would pay for him well enough. Harry, though, could send every kid on the Alley on his trust alone. Lucas and Harry wound spend some afternoons with Alan, learning financial and estate management. Maisie and I were invited, but of course we were strongly discouraged from attending. What would have been the point?

There's this definition of free will called compatibilism. I could attribute it to Aquinas or Hume, but frankly, I haven't read them. Perhaps this definition is not quite what they propose. The basic premise says that you have no choice in your actions, but as long as your actions align with what you want to do then you are experiencing free will. When Amanda first tried to explain that to me, it really didn't make much sense. For example, say some Sally Sobstory really enjoys eating sausage for breakfast. Suppose, also, that our decisions are laid out ahead of us, every decision already made and the world already in its predetermined form. Well, as long as the world predetermined that Sally Sobstory would eat sausage for breakfast, she'd still possess compatibilist free will.

I'll have to ask Amanda too look over this, but if she does, she'll try and make it technical and complex and address all the points and counterpoints of her philosophical arguments. I guess that's not really the point.

After the school interviews, during Maisie's last year at primary, 'liza made it perfectly, abundantly, repeatedly clear that she and Alan didn't have enough money to send Maisie to Hogwarts. Most everyone should understand just how soul crushing that was to Maisie. But for any muggleborns… Hogwarts is the ultimate dream. It's the premier school: the best place to be. They take a hundred students a year and never any more. If you get in and don't have the money, well, you're not going. It's why you see so few muggleborns actually at Hogwarts. There's no currency conversion, so no hope that muggleborns can pay the fee unless they have someone to sponsor them. But Hogwarts was every Alley-kid's dream. Lucas had left for the school two years prior. We all knew that Maisie was desperate to get away from the shop. We also knew that if Maisie ended up at the London Academy of Magic, Alan and 'liza weren't paying for her to board there.

It was an uncomfortable couple of months. Sometime in, oh, early June, Harry was fed up. After the second time that 'liza loudly bemoaned her inability to send Maisie to Hogwarts, Harry shattered. He shattered every single glass and ceramic object in the residential level. Vaporized, whoosh. Turned to dust. He screamed at 'liza, screaming and begged her to stop. He'd send Maisie to Hogwart, he'd do it, he had enough, just stop! We stood there and watched. 'liza was too quick to protest: "No, Harry, that money is for your education and we can't—"

And little, angry, nine-year-old Harry almost shattered the floor. His floppy dark hair stood on end. His green eyes blazed. "It'll hurt my education if my big sister isn't at school with me. So shut up and send Maisie to Hogwarts!"

If that had been the end of things, it wouldn't have worrisome. But 'liza was all too quick to accept. And I noticed her self-satisfied smirk. She'd planned the whole thing, she had to have. She and Alan knew how much Harry had and while they couldn't really touch it themselves, they certainly knew how to get to Harry. So 'liza had written her little play and let Harry act like the rescuing prince. Compatibilist free well.

Harry was nine, and I was barely ten. And we hated our adopted mother.

-.-

Memory, June 1988

L. Kellogg

Harry and I had attended Alan's lessons for as long as I could remember. This one was different from the others. It was the first one after my first year at school and I wanted nothing more than to skive and go play in the Alley. Alan reprimanded me three times to stop fidgeting. I just could not focus.

Harry, on the other hand, and grown leaps and bounds during my year away from school. He was taller, his expressions were much calmer, and he didn't seem fazed by anything Alan threw at him. He correctly named, title-name-seat, all one hundred and eighty-four members of the Wizengamot. Then, without fidgeting once, he recited the major-act-manifest. All wizarding children have at least a vague knowledge of the manifest. It serves as a chronicle for all the most impressive and impactful laws and decisions made throughout its entire history. When Ms. Blanchard told us about it in my second year, it had been fifty-three feet of parchment. Since then, the eighty-ninth edition had been released. Harry had it memorized.

It took him a long while to get through the entire recitation. He spewed out words that I hadn't even heard before. I also found it impossible to actually pay attention to him.

When he finished, all Alan said was "good. Keep working on it."

Harry's face lit up ever so briefly before crumbling back to his impassive, reserved stare.

My stomach knotted, and I was once again glad that I didn't and wouldn't ever end up on the Wizengamot. Harry, however, would have to legally accept his seat on the legislative side of the ruling body when he turned eleven. I knew he planned on reverting it, immediately, back to Alan in proxy. I had no doubt that at some point, Harry would also end up serving with the judicial side of things, especially after his impressive recitation of the manifest. Alan snapped my name. "What?"

Alan huffed. "I asked you what you thought of the Wizengamot's decision on the Upton-Northampton case."

I had no idea what he was talking about. "What?" Our father and teacher flicked an annoyed hand through the air. At that signal, Harry briefly outlined a fairly average enough case of attempted line-theft and retaliatory presumed poisoning. I managed a passable assessment, but Alan grunted and said I needed to pay better attention. After that, he released us for the day. Harry and I headed out into the Alley. "That was an excellent recitation," I said, slinging my arm around his shoulders. "You'll be so well prepared."

He shrugged. "I messed up a couple of words. Some of them, I just can't pronounce properly."

"Well, I didn't notice."

He scuffed his shoe on the cobblestones. "Ms. Blanchard is helping me with some of the legal words. Lots more Latin than everyone else is doing though."

"But if you're fluent enough, you can test into advanced Latin classes at school," I reminded him.

Harry only shrugged again. "I just wish—"

"What?"

"I just wish I was good enough for Alan."

"You're good enough for the rest of us," I insisted. "He's just got wicked standards." It wasn't fair to Harry, at all, Alan's requirements on the youngest of us. He could not care less if Maisie, Amber, or I brought home substandard grades. I guess it also had to do with the guardian restrictions on Harry. Technically, he could still be removed from the Westwendth's custody should it be deemed he was receiving an unsatisfactory upbringing. I could tell Harry was dwelling. So, as older brother, it was my responsibility to cheer him up. "C'mon, let's go see the new shipment Manny got in."

-.-

Reflection, April 2001

M. Hanamy

I stopped by to help Amber and Amanda on their project, and Amber told me to sit down and write something about us growing up. That led to me having utterly no idea what to write. So, Amanda told me that they're primarily focusing on when we were little. Ergo, tell a story about North Diagon Children's Academy.

Every second year had Ms. Blanchard as their teacher. She was also the principle and proprietor of the school but for whatever reason, she loved teaching us six-and-seven year olds. There was this other school, way over on the other side of the Alley, called Primrose Primary. We hated the Primrose kids. Most of them attended because their parents were far too busy with their jobs to look after little children. Every term, Primrose and North Diagon had this little competition. We'd have all the Primrose kids over to our roof and have relay races, mental competitions, all those little things. Each year against each year. Now, Ms. Blanchard insisted that we would not lose to the Primrose second years. No-oh, she insisted, you're much better than them.

That probably wasn't the best thing to be telling six year olds but by the time the first term competition rolled around we were prepped and ready to beat them into the ground like they were Chudley. December 7th was a Friday that year, and it just so happened that the competition was on the same day as my birthday. Now, the others protest this fact and say I wasn't too bad, but I was a full blown brat at that age. I was stuck-up and selfish, oh, the world revolved around me.

Now, the competition was three-fold. Creative, athletic, and intellectual. Mostly, we just wanted to run around and scream, and normally the teachers managed to make it so productive. We were, maybe, a more difficult crowd. There were five others in my year at North, and Primrose had ten. We were a little outnumbered. But that didn't stop us. Dante and Samuel got in a fist fight with three boys that insulted Amanda. Jackson insulted one of the other kid's fathers. Jen ended up with a bloody nose after she threw the first punch at two girls that told her she looked dirty and unclean. And I scared three girls so badly when they tugged on my arm so hard it popped straight off. I stood there and laughed as they stared at me, terrified, crying, and still holding my poor prosthetic arm. One of the girls fainted. The other two decided it would be a good idea to run away. They didn't think to drop my arm, though. So I chased after them.

We were in huge trouble.

Ms. Blanchard collected my arm for me and herded the six of us back into our room in the school. One of the other teachers stayed with us while Ms. Blanchard helped Primrose's teachers get their second years back to their school. The rest of the competition continued on schedule.

Dante said, for what I remember being the first time, "Well. It could have been worse." The temporary teacher shushed him and told us not to talk at all.

I remember, quite plainly, sitting at my desk staring at my detached arm on my seventh birthday. And I was a stuck-up, selfish, little brat who couldn't decide if this was the best birthday ever because I'd gotten to make others cry or if it was a really sucky birthday because we hadn't gotten to actually beat Primrose.

The school nurse appeared, reattached my arm, checked on Jen's nose, and then gave all of us whirling stick-lickers.

And then Ms. Blanchard, principle, proprietor, who just happened to love teaching six-and-seven year olds oh so much, returned. And she was mad. Each of us got a dressing down in turn. I don't remember what she particularly said to me. What I remember most is what she said to Amanda. Amanda, the goody-girl, the one we thought wouldn't get in trouble. Compared to the brawlers, the miniature pervert, and the sadist, Amanda was the perfect child. But Ms. Blanchard apparently thought otherwise. "Now, for you little lady, while I don't approve of the brawling inspired so improperly on your behalf, why didn't you stick up for yourself? Worthless is the girl who can't fight her own battles. Use your brain, use your guts, but don't you ever let anyone else fight your battles for you."

Yeah. Words to live by.

It wouldn't be until years later when I started to wish I didn't quite adhere to that advice so strongly.

-.-

Reflection, April 2001

A. Carruthers

When Harry and I were in the oldest year at North, we tried to keep some traditions alive. Visits to Fortescue were a must, and we dragged along as many as the younger kids as we could.

Most of the time, Harry and I spent with Robert and Hannah, and Lavender hung around whenever she could. Franklin Jameson was the only other kid in our year, but Harry didn't care for him all that much. The year below us was the largest yet, at seven kids, to pass through North. Brittany Brette and Megan Evergreen were the only girls, and recess often found them with Lavender. The two Richards, Morris and Summerby, were good friends, and Winston Jones, Cornelius Porter, and John Y'mickis gave Miss Blanchard ulcers with the trouble they got into. The Walker twins were in the year below them, and they were fun to be around. I didn't care much for the other three kids in their year. Grace Cordon was an absolute snob, Ida Lynn was a bully, and Daniel Notting would only stare at Harry with the widest of awestruck eyes. The next year had Henry Abbott and Hope Summerby who were with us a lot. Little Adele Miggins was the cutest little thing who always wore pink and pigtails. Anne Y'mickis hated her older brother, and Rhett Lynn and Bernard Brette were never seen apart. The next year was the Cadbury twins, Lance Ibrus, Edward Jones, and Juliet Notting. We tried to do things for the youngest year at North, but besides little Vicky Abbott we didn't ever spend much time with them.

Regardless, I understood the social strata of our school backwards and forwards. Granted, understanding that within a school of thirty-five kids is completely different than understanding how social structure works within a school of seven hundred. As it turned out, most of the kids we went to the children's academy with were not all that important in our later years. I even changed some of these names, because when I tried to track down everyone I went primary with, I couldn't find them. So they really aren't that important and their names are even less so. This is done just to protect privacy and whatnot. Some people doesn't appreciate being household names.

-.-

Marginal notification, first draft

A. Whitney

Amber, you have realized by now that you shouldn't just be blatantly lying about anything and everything.

It's just—your nuggets of truth are going to make this project stand out, but when they're obscured behind so many lies and misdirection, you're not going to let anyone in. No one is going to get it. Look, Amber, I know you, perhaps even better than you know yourself. I know that Lucas is a coward, Maisie is a thief, Harry is a recluse, and you're a liar. You've made the faults of your siblings perfectly clear. Perhaps now you should try and work with a bit more honesty.

-.-

Memory, August 1987

A. Carruthers

We met our least favorite women completely by accident. On our part, that is.

It was some summer celebration and the Alley was truly decked out for it. That didn't change much for us kids. We mostly just ran around like we always did. Mr. Fortescue didn't have time to keep us out of trouble because during the summer he actually had customers. Actually, all of our parents and the assorted adult personal didn't have time for us. Maisie had been required to work in the shop for the morning, but after she spilled the third inkwell, 'liza sent her away claiming her far too much of a bother. And the Alley-kids were out in force. It was one of those few times we got to mingle, unimpeded with non-Alley-kids, but most of us didn't take that opportunity.

We were loitering outside Walker & Co. watching Mr. Walker perform some particularly impressive magic. His twin daughters were with us for that moment, and even though they were only two years younger than us the gap between five and seven seemed insurmountable at that time. Hypocritical of us, given Anthony and Lucas and the others put up with us. Anyway, Athena was narrating her father's tricks and Artemis was just watching wide-eyed in rapture. Walker's performance was winding to a close and the gathered crowd was moving on. It was still so dense that no one really knew what was going on, but I saw Jackson reach over and tug on Artemis's pigtails. The little girl screeched. She clutched at her head and went down, squirming to get away from him. Jackson just laughed. Artemis started to cry.

I tried to fight my way over to her, but couldn't maneuver the crowd. When I finally reached her, Harry already had an arm around her shoulder. He talked to her, just loud enough for her to hear but not the rest of the crowd. Soon enough, he had her back on her feet and wiping her tears away.

And that's when we met her.

"What a dapper young man," said the unfamiliar voice, "so quick to protect such a fine young maiden." Now, we were quite familiar with the general category of unfamiliar voices. And it was definitely a voice that we did not like. "What are your names, dears?"

Little Artemis certainly didn't have any experience with the pitfalls of the unfamiliar voice. She just sniffed and looked up into the, for all appearances, kind face of an older woman. "I'm Artemis."

"I'm Amber," I said, stepping forward enough so that Artemis was just slightly behind me. I would have preferred to be on Harry's side, but the crowd was too thick. "And that's my twin, Jim."

"Well." When unfamiliar voices smile the way that particular women did, we knew we had to go on high alert. It's the smile of someone who knows exactly who they're talking to but doesn't want to make that seem obvious. We'd first learned those particular ticks from one Mr. William Macintosh, but that's a different story. "Aren't you just lovely? Are you enjoying the festival?"

"Yes, thank you, ma'am." I said. Artemis started to say something, but Harry whispered something to her and she stopped. "And what about you, ma'am?"

"Well, I'm having a fine time." She reached over and patted my cheek, offered a chocolate frog to Artemis, and ruffled Harry's hair. Right when she did so, putting herself next to and facing the same direction as my apparently very photogenic younger brother, the flash of a camera went off.

…despicable woman…

"Ma'am!" Harry spoke up for the first time. "My parents say we aren't allowed to be in pictures."

I nodded. In as serious a voice as I could put on, I said, "They say pictures eat your soul!"

Artemis shrieked. In her defense, she was starting at North the following term and we'd just inducted her with some of the Children's Academy's favorite scary stories.

"I'm sure it's just fine, children," said Madam Unfamiliar. "I'm just taking some memorabilia to remember this day by. Certainly I want to remember meeting some of the nicest, most polite little children, don't I?"

"I don't want to have my soul eaten!" screamed Artemis. That happened to be right in my ear. I covered my ears with my hands and shook as hard as I could. It was all for effect: Harry got to get all mad and yell at the woman for upsetting his sister and friend. Between Artemis and myself, we put on enough of a misbehaving little child show that enough people stopped to look and saw a very unhappy Madam Unfamiliar with three very unhappy children on her hands.

And then—"Hey, that's my camera! Thief, thief!"

Being Maisie Hanamy's siblings had its advantages. I continued the show for a few moments, but Harry turned to Artemis and started reassuring her that the picture wouldn't eat her soul. A hand closed on my shoulder and, still snuffling, I looked up to see Mr. Walker next to us. He looked between us and Madam Unfamiliar. "Whatever is the matter, Minister Bagnold?" He asked. That's the first time I think I forgot how to breathe. Harry and I intentionally didn't look at each other. We were in too much danger of giving something up if we did. "My daughter isn't giving you too much trouble now, is she?"

"Oh, no, of course not. Lovely girl, just a little scared I think. I must be seeing the rest of the celebration; you put on a marvelous show. Farewell." She said so rather hurriedly and in a rush and then was gone into the crowds.

Harry and I flopped to the side tense energy fleeing from our shoulders. Maisie showed up next to us, admiring her new camera.

Mr. Walker looked between the three of us. "Have you experienced that… often?

"Not really," Maisie said. "There's the occasional bas—" she looked from Mr. Walker to his five year daughters "—uh, buffoon who wants to use Harry. We just don't let that happen."

"Well. Carry on."

That's how we met Minister Millicent Bagnold.

And how Harry saved his first damsel in distress.

-.-

Maisie's First Trick

Be patient.

Don't spring it on anyone until they've made the assumption that you're mostly normal.

Wink.

Look away.

Wait until you have their attention.

Wink again.

Smile.

Look away.

Wait.

Remove eyeball.

Regain their attention.

Wink yet again.

Enjoy.

-.-

Memory, August 1989

H. J. Potter

Alan sniffed slightly. I moved closer to his side. I know he and 'liza must have spent hours here with Maisie when she was little, but I had very little experience with the hospital. We stood in a line of non-injured people looking for information. I simply kept my head down. I wished Amber would have come, but she had dance lessons and Alan said that she didn't know Robert very well. It would have been inconsiderate to drag Amber along when Robert had only asked for me.

I was pretty sure that Robert really wouldn't mind. He disliked Amber a lot less than he disliked the rest of us.

We were at the front of the line then. Alan pushed me forward a little. "Uh, hi." The receptionist had very poufy hair and fake colored lips. "If you'd please, which ward is Robert Morris in?"

The receptionist hrmed and did something with her wand and a whole bunch of parchments behind the desk. I bounced my weight to my other foot. "He's in the Emerson Platt Ward for Mysterious Maladies. This ward only accepts visitors with hospital invites. It's on the second floor. Have a good day."

"You too, ma'am. Thank you!" We walked away from the receptionist. Alan knew his way well enough that he didn't even have to pause before heading for the lifts. I kept to his side, taking two steps for every one of his. When we paused in the lift, I asked, "Why did she give that information without verifying that I had an invitation?"

"What?"

I shrugged. "What if I didn't have an invitation? What if I just wanted to bother Robert?"

The lift door closed. The entire contraption shuddered before rising.

"You spend too much time thinking," Alan said. "Why would anyone bother with such a ridiculous thing?"

"Oh." It still didn't really make sense to me. I scuffed the bottom of the lift with my heel. "Why do people hurt?"

The lift door clicked open. "Come along, Jim." And my question went unanswered.

-.-

Reflection, April 2001

A. Carruthers

There were certain people on the alley that we all knew to stay away from. While Dolly Dims loved the school children, to get to her we had to get past Greengrass's domain and Madame Primpernelle's shop. William Macintosh, even though he bred many pets specifically marketed at children, hated us. No child was ever allowed into his shop without a one-to-three adult-kid ratio. We were "bothers" and "such nuisances" and "how irresponsible of those parents" to all the staff of Witch Weekly. A couple of the older, grouchier employers would even insult us if we strayed too close to their territory or they wandered more into our kingdom. Johnson Jameson would put up with us for a little while, but only if it were raining and only if he were in a good mood. He was one of the more interesting people on the alley to talk to, but only Maisie, Dante, and surprisingly Harry liked risking his gruff set-asides and mean remarks to have their questions about all his equipment answered. When we were older, and Maisie and the rest were off at Hogwarts, Harry would often wander into the equipment store and just watch Jameson work. He said he learned a lot that way.

Anyway, Rosa Lee hated us, we were absolutely forbidden to come remotely close to the Adkin store, Zhang those of us who weren't interested in his craft but liked Harry and the Whitneys well enough, and the Hattingvilles were the most vile people on the planet. Harold Frowe was utterly creepy. Lacy Lemonsuckle barely tolerated us. The van Conington's would chase us off with broomsticks unless someone was watching them. The Hughes production only tolerated us if we promised we'd buy something before leaving. Ogden Asp taught us all sorts of inventive swears. Mickey Mags liked us well enough, but he was so disturbing we never went anywhere near him. Bangs liked us, but Dervish refused to let us even look through the windows of his shop: the windows would turn all black and hard whenever any of us looked at the store. Sam Eggbert was utterly indifferent to us. Lewis Notting was terrified of anyone under the age of eight. And Brian Brette was the worst pervert our side of Knockturn.

And these were just the North Diagon Alley proprietors.

The Hattingvilles taught us that adults couldn't be trusted when Harry and I were four. They were sickeningly sweet to the Westwendth collective and our assorted friends at the time, but they'd brag to all their friends about how favored they were in the eyes of Harry Potter. It got back to us eventually, through Timothy Evergreen to Alan and 'liza. No one told us how much the Hattingvilles tossed Harry's name around in conversation, but it seemed weird to us how many people just loitered in and around their shop. We overheard Alan and 'liza talking about it one night and ventured over to the Hattingvilles' store the next morning. Too many people were there, all crowding Harry, all talking at him, all—well, Lucas punched a stranger straight in the nose, Maisie kicked two adults where it hurt, and we fled. We never talked to the Hattingvilles again, but that didn't stop them from lying through their teeth.

We didn't know the South Diagon proprietors quite as well. We were never supposed to get close to Knockturn Alley in our ranges, and that connected with the Alley right next to Mags'. And just a few lots beyond that was Gringotts. The goblins terrified us. Whenever Alan made Lucas and Harry go with him to the bank, they always came back with whispered stories of what those things did next. On the rare occasion that 'liza took Maisie with her, the stories were even worse. Eventually, we figured out that Maisie was making up the "I saw one chewing on a bone!" and assorted anecdotes, but none of us would ever feel particularly comfortable in the presence of a goblin. Shortly after Gringotts lay Ollivanders.

We never could determine who was worse, the goblins or Garrick Ollivander.

Alan took Lucas to get his wand without the rest of us. That particular adventure freaked him out, but besides muttering "beech and phoenix feather" he didn't say much. All four of us ventured south when 'liza took Maisie, but Harry and I got to stay with Lucas. We ran to the florist on the opposite side of the street and had tea with the shop owner while waiting for Maisie to finish. She took forever. When she had finally finished and they exited his little, odd looking shop, our sister was shaking so badly she couldn't even touch her new spruce and dragon heartstring wand.

Lucas took Harry and me to get our wands immediately after our acceptance letters arrived. He was of the firm opinion that it was simply better to get it over with. He was going to be a fourth year and Alan and 'liza were perhaps incorrectly assured of his level of responsibility. Maisie didn't come with us, though, so Lucas was good enough for us. It was early in the school shopping season, so while there weren't many people waiting for the wandmaker's attention, we did have to wait for him to finish one client. She didn't seem a particularly difficult girl to match, judging by how the creepiest man alive interacted with her. We just begrudged ever single second we had to stay in the dark and dingy store. After what seemed like hours, she finally had a wand (spruce and dragon heartstring, eleven inches, good for charms). And Harry made me go first.

There's two things in an eleven year old's life that are held as sacrosanct even by inquisitive adults. The first is the conversation with the sorting hat. The result is known, but it's the highest of insults to even ask about what took place beneath that ratty brim. The second just happens to be what Garrick Ollivander says to you while matching your wand. Amanda seems to think that I need to share what she said to Harry, because it's critical to the rest of Harry's life.

I will not violate my brother's privacy to that degree. Besides, I don't even know all of it, and good luck getting Harry to tell you.

I will, however, tell you what he said to me. I stepped up to his desk and curled my fingers into the fabric of my robe. He looked down at me with his piercing eyes and said, "Amber Aileen Carruthers. I remember your parents."

Oh, oh of course he did. And no one even knows who my parents were.

"Your father, at least. Your mother never did come through my doors, not even out of curiosity. I heard she survived—"

"Can we just get me a wand?" I knew interrupting adults was rude, but no one, not even Ollivander, could have any idea who my parents were. They were dead and gone, and I did not want to give any thought to it.

Ollivander hrmed and turned back to his piles and shelves of boxes. He picked one out and handed it to me. "Ash and dragon heartstring." I popped open the box and lifted the wand. I twirled it through the air, but Ollivander snatched it away from me. "No, no, you're not right for it. You'd dim its fire." He pressed another wand at me. "Hawthorn and dragon heartstri—no, no, you're far too timid." And then another wand and another. To me, it felt like it must have taken several hours, but later Lucas told me it was only about half an hour. Finally, Ollivander handed me a twelve and a half inch black walnut and phoenix feather wand. A rush raced through my arm and up into my shoulder. A bright shower of sparks spilled out of the tip of the wand and danced around my head for a few short moments before dissipating. Ollivander handed me the box for that particular wand. "I caution you, Miss Carruthers—this combination can be volatile. However, this wand will only turn on you if you turn on yourself first."

I clutched the box to my chest as I backed away and Harry replaced me in front of Ollivander.

Oh, I thought I took forever.

No. We'd headed to the store early afternoon. It was approaching supper time when Lucas told me to run home and tell 'liza he and Harry would be late. I stared at him, horrified. I'd have to run past Gringotts and Knockturn and 93 all by myself. What if—Lucas refused to listen to me. So I went, and it was the worst couple of moments in my life. Every shadow, every person, and ever noise startled me. When I finally reached the Ricketts' Menagerie, I was shaking so much that I couldn't quite go on. I slipped into their entry hallway and darted up to their residence. Maisie and Dante weren't there, but Zanne was treating one of their macaques. Somehow, I must have stuttered out a request to borrow their floo, because I couldn't, I just couldn't. Zanne didn't answer me, but she finished with the macaque, shooed it away, and walked me back down to the alley and over to our house. She didn't ask for an explanation or try and figure out why I was so scared. And I don't know really why, it's just I'd never been alone. Even when Lucas and Maisie left and Amanda and all the others went to school, I still had Harry and the rest of the Alley-kids. Regardless, Zanne left me at the stoop of the store, saying she'd rather not get yelled at again and then left. I scurried inside.

Maisie was supervising the dishes set the table while playing snitchette with Dante. 'liza was manning the kitchen. I told her that Lucas and Harry would be late, and then ran into my room and hid.

I didn't like being alone.

Maybe that's what freaked us out about Ollivander so much.

You always had to face him alone.

-.-

Reflection, April 2001

A. Carruthers

Grandfather Blott's summer vacation spot happened to be in Iceland the year before we went to Hogwarts. And we went for all four weeks of July. 'liza refused to go, but Alan talked her down from refusing to let the four of us go, so we got to go on the Blott's Icelandic family adventure. There were a lot of us but Grandfather had had only daughters, so there was only actually two Blotts on the trip (Aunt Francis never wanted to marry so she could run the bookstore and she'd stayed behind to do just that). Oh, but the rest of the family. There were seven between Lucas and my age, and fourteen more that at we were within three years of. Eight children under the age of seven, and four more who were less than three years out of school. I could never keep track of all the adults, even when I managed a decent job of knowing who was who among my adopted cousins. Anyway, we were only four more among a horde, so even when Alan and 'liza weren't with the family, no one really noticed. We were just among the kids to be looked after.

And oh, how we loved the Blott family vacations. We'd been all over the globe on his vacations for weeks. But Iceland was particularly fun. It served as an excellent escape from the oppression that had been Diagon Alley. I got to spend hours and hours with all my female cousins. Harry and Lucas and Maisie explored things. They went on hikes with Uncle Norman. They went camping and not in the wonderful tents Grandfather owned, but the rustic horrible ones that were so small and unmanageable. And they professed that it would be fun. Auntie Meg instead took us around by a tourist portkey to see all the sites. We got to see all the beautiful vistas without following Norman around all day every day. And it was amazing. I'll never forget the views. The thing was, though, in the four weeks we were there, I spent maybe five hours with my siblings.

I'm rather sad to say this next part, but oh, how I loved it. It wasn't hanging around with my siblings and their friends. These people weren't the kids we happened to live around or go to school with. This wasn't Hannah, who was more Harry's friend than mine. This wasn't Lavender, who despised me with everything in her but still hung on Harry's arm pretending to be the sweetest, nicest human in the world. It wasn't everyone from school having issues and being scared and broken because of the, well. This was my family, and they liked me well enough. Spending that time away from Harry really, well, it helped me figure out who I wanted to be, separate from my family. Separate from him.

Yeah, no. I'm living in his house, by Morgana. That one, beautiful month is the only significant time I can remember being truly apart from Harry, and I was only just turned eleven. Is that sad? Yes, that's kinda sad.

-.-

Daily Prophet, April 1991

Front Page

PARTY OVER: BAGNOLD RESIGNS

After a closed session of the Wizengamots earlier this week, Minister Millicent Bagnold has 'resigned.' Citing stress of the job and a desire to spend more time with her family (note, Bagnold's only surviving relative is a nephew who once said "My aunt is a nutcase and I'll have nothing to do with her"). Given the past performance by our illustrious Minister, we at the Prophet wonder how much of this was actually Bagnold's decision or has the Wizengamots finally manned up and kicked her out? Was the Belgium scandal not enough for them? The Firewhiskey photos? Massive rising crime rates in the London shopping districts and elsewhere brought no response from our then leader. Surely, the Potter outrage should have been enough to force the Wizengamots into action. No. No, there is no response from our highest governing body to any of the Ministers magnificent mistakes. So why now?

-.-

Reflections, April 2001

A. Carruthers

We hadn't had much time to celebrate Bagnold's resignation when the explosion in 93 Diagon Alley took place.

The Ricketts had invited most of the older school over to play with some of the benign animals. The Menagerie was much closer to 93 than anyone's home but the Nottings. We were just leaving when the building just a bit further down from the Menagerie exploded. Shrapnel caught Artemis Walker in the face, and a flying door smashed into Robert Morris as he dove in front of Henry and Hope. The door knocked all three of them over, but it hurt Robert the most. By the time the second wave of shrapnel hit, Manny had a huge impact shield up and Zanne was pulling all of us kids behind the shield and into the Menagerie. We were all inside and huddling away from the door when a third explosion propelled much more force into Manny's shield. It held for just another second, quivered, and then crashed down taking Manny with it. A lot of us screamed. Harry and Hannah raced past Zanne, grabbed Manny, and tried to drag him in. But he was large and then were still tiny and it wasn't until the two Richards tried to help that Zanne jerked into action and pulled him inside magically.

A fourth explosion sounded. It shook the entire building. Athena attached herself to me, burying her face in my shoulder. Little Adele Miggins bawled. Daniel Notting had curled into a ball, screaming. He was glowing a bright, vibrant yellow. Accidental magic at a time like this would be, would be, bad. I looked around, trying to understand, trying to figure out— Hannah Abbott pulled away from Manny and shot across the room, crouching by Daniel's side and whispering to him. Athena clutched me tighter. I couldn't move, I couldn't think. What—

"Take them up to the residence," Harry commanded. He pushed himself into my face, demanding eye contact. "Everyone who isn't hurt, get them up to the residence!"

Something to do, okay. I could do that. Vicki Abbott had been the only first year to come, but Grace Cordon and the Cadbury twins were the only others who went to our school who hadn't come to the Menagerie. The Brettes had left early so those remaining where… I pushed Athena off of me and practically screamed in her face that she needed to take Adele upstairs. Ida and Rhett were crying together in the back, but they started climbing the stairs once directed. I had to smacked John Y'mickis in the face to get him moving; he turned and started helping his little sister. I took stalk of who remained. Zanne hovered over Robert, watched closely by Richard Morris. Harry was tending Henry, Hannah working with Hope, and Lavender worrying over Megan. Franklin Jameson and Richard Summerby were just standing by the door, staring into space. I prompted them upstairs. Richard moved like a ghost, just sort of floating without any really interaction with anything. Winston was sitting propped against a wall, but his legs had been mangled. Zanne had stopped them bleeding, but he wasn't in any condition—My stomach heaved. I pushed it back and turned around. Edward sat on the floor, a handing clutching his bleeding shoulder while he watched Zanne work. I pushed Lance towards the stairs. Vicky stood very still in the middle of everything, her eyes wide and attentive. I picked her up, and while her arms wrapped around my neck her eyes stayed fixed on the commotion. I headed for the stairs, giving my hand to Juliet Notting and dragging her with me as I went.

Upstairs, I pushed Juliet into a chair and plopped Vicky down next to her. Most everyone was huddling together in the center of the room. No one was talking. I just stood there and looked at them.

Six year old Juliet hopped off a chair and went over to stand with Franklin, who I only just noticed was staring out the window to the street below.

"What happened?" Adele asked, with a hiccup cry in the middle of the question. "What happened?"

"I don't know—"

"Harold's," said Richard Summerby. "I saw it. It just blew up!"

Athena whimpered and curled in on herself.

I blinked. I tried to make myself think feel say something. But the only thoughts that could come were the shape of Winston's legs or Richard's too still body or the way that Manny crumbled to the ground or Harry's deadly serious face as he gave orders or the way Maisie popped off her arm or eyeball when she wanted to scare someone or, no, I couldn't cry. I was the oldest and strongest in the room right now and I wasn't allowed to cry! "It's—it's going to be okay," I said. "Look, let's play a game while we wait. John—"

John Y'mickis was in my year, and he wasn't particularly bright, but he liked being around the younger kids. He dragged Vicky and Lance and Adele and his little sister and pretty much everyone into a game of Witching Dice. Athena refused. I joined Franklin and Juliet at the window.

Franklin looked at me and then down at Juliet.

The little girl tugged my arm and pointed. She bounced on the balls of her feet, and her voice wasn't broken or crying but rather—interested? Excited? "My house is burning."

-.-

Reflection, May 2001

H. J. Potter

May 1991 was one of the hardest months of my life. Most people seemed surprised. In comparison with the Second Voldemort War and everything that happened at school, people think, surely such a little random event couldn't have such a big impact. May 1991 was a horrible month.

North Diagon Alley employed a mind healer for the days right after the bombing. Everyone, even the Brettes, the Cadburys, and Grace had to talk to him one on one. He did group sessions with each class, each compilation of friend groups, and even a couple entire school talk-fests. I'm sure he met with the teachers too.

Robert didn't return to school until May 6th, two weeks after the bombing. I'd seen him since, and even helped with his physical therapy, but he was still bound by floatation and motor charms, unable to really walk on his own. That was the first day most of the school had seen him. It was wonderful, seeing him and Winston embrace. Winston was still hobbling around on crutches, although he was supposed to get full mobility back after only one more potion regiments. Seeing Artemis smile again, hesitantly, disregarding the still nasty wound on her face, was amazing.

Daniel and Juliet visited for a little while on the 8th. Child services had pulled them from school when they were placed in the temporary custody of a great aunt while they figured out a permanent place for them. I'd never seen someone who'd only just lost a parent look as happy and bubbly as Juliet did, but Daniel had turned angry and surly. He glared angrily at everyone who tried to tell him how sorry they were, as our parents had taught us to, and it wasn't until the mind healer brought me into to talk with him that he really interacted with any of us. And so I got to listen to him rant about how losing his dad was the worst thing and how no one would ever understand. He raged and he threw things and I tried not to hate him. Later on, the mind healer thanked me for keeping calm and understanding. I guess I hadn't tried to get angry back because I didn't really have much to say.

Most everyone doesn't know about the 93 Diagon Alley bombing or the names of the three people who died. Most everyone certainly doesn't know about everyone injured in the four conclusive blasts that destroyed 93 and caught the store next to it and the buildings across the street on fire.

No one knows why 93 was destroyed, although the official story is that was proprietor Harold Frowe's destructive method of committing suicide.

Now, the only reason anyone knows about 93 Diagon Alley is because of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. I suppose that's better now.

But in May 1991, that store was a raw wound in the heart of North Diagon Alley.

Every parent in the school pretty much forbad their kids from having any contact with the Ricketts. It was ridiculous! Manny and Zanne had nothing to do with any of it. Without Manny, so many more of us would have been injured. Without Zanne, Robert would have died, Winston would have lost his legs, and who knows if Artemis would have been able to see again. Alan and 'liza tried to forbid Amber and me from going to see the Ricketts, but we utterly refused to listen to them. They grounded us and we still didn't listen.

We wrote letters to Lucas and Maisie and the rest of our friends at Hogwarts, but this was something that they'd never really come to understand. This was our burden.

I lost track of the number of times I crawled into Amber's room at night, either to wake her from a nightmare or hid from my own.

Just walking near 93 became a challenge.

When Frowe died, his property was willed to a distant relative who didn't want it all. Assorted legal battles later, and the relative had put it on sale. I didn't tell anyone, not even Alan, when I first offered for the lot. I had control over my trust fund then and investment in property was an allowable, although not suggested, expense. A week later, which was the fastest I'd ever heard of anything getting processed, I was the legal owner of two vacant lots in Diagon Alley. That was fine. The problem was that then I had to tell people.

'liza freaked. She demanded that I resell the property, that I had been irresponsible and reckless, and oh hadn't you been grounded? She shrieked and she raged. "Why couldn't you be more like my daughters?" she demanded. When I refused to even consider just blanket reselling the property, 'liza slapped me. When Alan came up that night, 'liza told him. She raged again and again, but Alan came to us. He listened to Amber rage against 'liza and then me describe how little I paid for what should have been prime real estate but wasn't. He lectured me about consulting appropriate adults, but negated all of 'liza's obsessive punishments. Then he told us to go spend the night with the Ricketts.

And that was the night that we realized that our adopted father was really one of the greatest people in our lives.

That night, we sat in the residence with Manny and Zanne and some of the more people-centric animals. A few rambunctious snidgets raced around our heads to try and get us to play, but we just sat. Manny was at the tail end of recovering from magical exhaustion, and Zanne had torn herself to pieces worrying about all us kids but not willing to approach us because of our parents' edicts. We listened to Amber tell the Ricketts just how well everyone was healing, how great it was to have Robert back at school, how worried she was about Athena even though Artemis had only just started smiling again. We talked some about my empty lots and what I planned on doing with it. The ministry had cleared away the rubble, but as it stood, it was just a gaping hole in the Alley.

I knew I wanted—no, needed—to build, I just didn't know what.

-.-

Memory, September 1991

A. Carruthers

I stood in line with the others, fiddling with buttons on my robe. Everything seemed so big. The ceiling was expansive, the head table before us was imposing, and the students at the tables already were huge! We'd be the oldest in our kingdom for so long that I hated to feel so small. I turned my head, trying to spot Lucas or Maisie, but I couldn't find them. I was the eighteenth kid in my year to be sorted.

I thought I might die when Professor McGonagall, the person second in charge of the entire school called my name. I stumbled a little on the steps and my face blossomed into a bright red. I sat on the tri-legged stole and Professor McGonagall put the Sorting Hat down over my ears.

"How would you have felt," the hat asked to my very thoughts, "if you had become a Westwendth?" I tried to formulate a specific answer, but the hat must have plucked my answer from the jumble of my thoughts. "Ah. You would then not be yourself. You are very loyal, Miss Carruthers. To yourself, to Harry—you'll be of great service when you use that brain of yours?"

"Then—Ravenclaw?" It didn't matter. I know it didn't matter. But oh, I wanted to be a Gryffindor. I wanted to be daring, like Maisie, and brave, like Harry. Harry was going to be a Gryffindor, everyone thought so – except Lucas, and Lucas was just wrong. I did want to be with my family.

"Oh no, child, you would be served well in Slytherin."

Oh.

Maybe… maybe… Maybe Lucas wasn't so wrong.

"But when it comes right down to it, your motivation is what truly decides your character," said the hat. "And your motivations, why, unfailingly loyal." It seemed to pull out of my head, and I could tell that the next word was shouted to the hall. "Hufflepuff!"

I took the hat off my head and hopped down. I briefly caught Lucas's face, grinning up at me from the masses of cheering Hufflepuffs.

I headed for my table, pausing only to squeeze Harry's hand as I past.

-.-

Memory, August 1991

H. J. Potter

Not everyone from school came to the foundation laying. The construction crew I hired didn't seem particularly miffed that I wanted to pause their work, but they did fret about having a whole bunch of children come around. Not everyone came, of course. I'd specifically asked 'liza not to come, but Alan, Lucas, and Maisie would be among the crowd. It was a large crowd, but only those who'd be right there, right at the explosion, would lay a stone.

Vicky Abbott went first. She carried her stone as if it were a treasure trove and laid it into place with a delicacy that belied her age. Lance laid the next stone, and then Edward. The Cadbury twins laid Juliet's stone, as the Nottings hadn't managed to come. Ida and Rhett laid their stones together, and then Adele, Henry, Hope, and then both Y'mickis together. The Walker twins went next, and then Megan Evergreen. Both Richards laid stones at the same time. Then it was Franklin's turn, then Lavender, then Amber, then Hannah. I walked into the foundation and laid my stone before returning to line. Winston walked to his place, his head high and mighty as he laid his stone.

And then Robert walked. He didn't carry his stone, because he couldn't quite manage that, but he made it to the cornerstone without any magical or physical aide. When he touched the cornerstone, it flared bright white for a just a second before fading. Robert turned and walked back to us. He only stumbled once.

That was the end of the ceremony. Kids returned to their parents. Alan shooed random bystanders away. But that didn't really matter. 93 Diagon Alley had a foundation again.

And soon, it would be so much more.

-.-

Reflection, April 2001

A. Carruthers

We spent our last night in the still unfinished house of Harry's. He hadn't settled yet on what he wanted to do with the property, so while it was framed and completed from the Alley, there was nothing inside. It had been designed as a versatile space, something that would work for whatever Harry wanted it to be for whenever Harry decided. But for now, it was just a flat surface with a roof above us and some light fixtures casting light on all of us. Lucas and Anthony were presiding with Logan. Nate Adkin had joined us, and even Lizbet Chandler stopped by for a short visit with Kaden. The Hasting twins had come, and we even tolerated Jackson Summerby for the evening. Dante, Maisie, and the Whitneys were busy telling us all stories about Hogwarts. Robert was going to the London school, and Franklin to Somerset, but Harry, Hannah, Lavender, and I were all heading to Hogwarts the following day.

Earlier, Harry had hosted open hours for almost everyone from school to come and see what had happened since the foundation laying and to say goodbye. The Walkers were around for all of it, and everyone seemed particularly sad to see us leave. For hours we'd just played games and hung out and talked. The older kids had been there too, and although it had taken some of the younger kids a little time to get over some hero worship everyone managed to get along. It was the largest collection of Alley-kids ever seen in one spot.

And that was the perfect moment.

During the hatred and the bullying, the malcontent and the whispers, we clung to that one moment.

Being an Alley-kid wasn't some slur on your character, but it was our existence. It was all we knew, and even when the Chandlers and the Summerbys and some of the others turned their back on their roots, we knew. Alley-kids would hold strong through anything. We'd pick ourselves up, dust off our scrapped knees, and rebuild. And when we left, Winston and Megan and the rest would continue teaching that to the younger kids. And someday, Vicky would be one of the oldest and she'd be teaching all the other kids how to live life like an Alley-kid should.

Who knows, maybe someday they'll stop telling stories about Maisie's eyeball trick.