Chapter 1: Rich Girl

The alarm clock on the table began to let out a piercing wail, marking the time: 7 a.m. Eleanor Atwood had been up for two hours already, so the alarm wasn't a wake up call, but rather a noise to bring her back to the world and its obligations for today.

Eleanor grabbed her wand off the table and wordlessly shut off the clock. Then she proceeded to collapse on the floor in exhaustion. Time to stretch. She re-tied the white blonde knot on the top of her head, shook out her arms, and spread her legs into a wide v shape, stretching for the tips of her toes. She could see her spine curve as she reached, its bones protruding out, creating lumps in her smooth black leotard. A droplet of sweat slid to the studio floor, and she relaxed into the movement. Today's practice had been hard but fruitful. She was so close to nailing the 32 fouettes of Swan Lake, a requisite skill if she hoped to audition for the Paris Wizarding Ballet company in the spring.

She considered it a good omen for her upcoming year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It would be her last, the completion of her magical education and the beginning of the rest of her life. She couldn't decide if she'd miss it. She'd always felt out of place at Hogwarts - a proud Ravenclaw, sure, but one who mostly kept to herself. She had only one close friend, RJ, who she'd practically grown up with, so that didn't even really count. She hadn't had to do anything to win his friendship, he'd simply appeared in her life when he'd moved in next door to her in Godric's Hollow.

And speaking of RJ, she was riding with him to King's Cross Station to board the Hogwarts Express in just a few hours. With a sigh, she heaved herself off the floor, untied pointe shoes in hand, and made her way from her home's basement studio to her room on the second floor. On the way up, she snagged a piece of toast and a glass of milk, almost running into her father on the landing. "Good morning, El," he said sleepily, still in his pajamas. She nodded and quickly walked to her bedroom door. She paused, "I'm going to Hogwarts today, Dad. By the way."

He looked surprised and a little dazed. "Oh, of course. Yes. You have a ride? I have a class at 10 or I'd take you." They both knew that was a lie. He hadn't dropped her off at King's Cross since she was 11, back when her mother was still alive. "Yeah, RJ is taking me." He smiled slightly and headed down the stairs. "Well in case I don't see you, have a good year sweetheart. I'll leave you some spending money on the table."

She grimaced. Lewis Atwood was a professor of literature at a college in London and since her mother's death five years ago, he had poured himself into his work, leaving very little time left over for his little girl.

Not that Eleanor spent a lot of time missing him. A few days after she'd gotten home this summer, she had a rare moment of thoughtfulness and went to take her dad some lunch. But when she arrived at his office, she'd walked on him and a student in an, ahem, compromising situation. Since then, she'd avoided him completely. The two hadn't yet spoken about the incident, and it seemed like now they never would. Soon she'd be out of the house for good.

Eleanor began straightening her things, placing assorted items in her trunk. Not one for sentimentality, she had a garbage bag filled with childhood debris ready to take to the trash. She didn't plan on returning to this house after graduation, and it was so much easier to live only on what could fit inside the trunk.

Into the trunk's waiting mouth she fed numerous clean, soft leotards in various colors; several pairs of unripped tights; three pairs of pointe shoes - including one to break in; her school robes; her muggle jeans and folded sweaters; her schoolbooks, organized by subject; the shrunken record player she'd bewitched to play without electricity and accompanying albums; assorted cauldrons and dragonhide gloves; treats for her black kitten, Greta; and finally, a pristine white swan ballet costume with intricate beading and matching jewelry. It had been her mother's.

After throwing away what she could do without, she swept her room and looked around at its bare walls, the bed neatly made. She'd never felt very attached to this room. That honor was saved for her beloved studio, the one she and her mother had danced in when she was just a toddler, a child, a preteen. The one she'd practically lived in after her mother passed and her father might as well have. It was where she could think, could breathe freely.

That was where she found herself now, a few minutes before RJ was due to pick her up to take her from this place, maybe forever. She ran a hand across the mirrored walls, inhaling the earthy smell of well, sweat, but also the sturdiness of the hard floor beneath her feet, the piney scent of the soap their house elf Nelly used to clean the room. It was her place. She wished she could magick it into her pocket to take it with her wherever she might go. As it were, the Room of Requirement allowed her some approximation of this, though she could never get the smell exactly right.

"It feels weird doesn't it? That you won't get to be down here everyday?" The voice of her oldest friend R.J. Friar echoed around the studio. She turned to him and smiled despite himself - he was wearing his usual, er, creative take on muggle clothing: a bright red sparkling cowboy-style button down complete with a brown bolo tie, tucked into impossibly tight pale blue jeans and cowboy boots. "Rodeo chic, huh RJ?" He flashed a megawatt smile. "You know it." They stood for a moment in silence, in a room they had both loved. RJ had been a dancer too, though he had no plans of going at it professionally. They had taken ballet classes together as 6-year-olds at the wizarding ballet school just a few miles away. Small, shy Eleanor had gravitated towards big, boisterous RJ Friar and his smile, disarming even then.

It was weird to think of that shy little girl. She was still introverted, sure, but ballet had brought her a power, a control of herself and her body that made her unafraid, or at least as long as she jumped and spun to a particular pas. "So are you wearing that leo onto the train?" RJ smirked. Eleanor laughed, "Oh yes, do you think Sirius Black would like it?" She gave a fake flirtatious wink and posed. RJ laughed too - they'd long since used Black as a sort of punchline, talking about him the way they would an unattainable celebrity. The boy was gorgeous, a fact RJ loved to discuss with a dreamy look in his eye, but he preferred the company of Hogwarts' most popular and beautiful, of which RJ and El were not included. She wasn't sure she'd said a word to him their whole seven years at Hogwarts.

RJ coninued, "But, like, actually are you going to change? My mom's outside waiting to take us to the station." Eleanor sighed, "If you insist…race ya!" They jogged up the flights of stairs leading to her room. RJ grabbed her trunk and cat carrier and began the descent downstairs. Eleanor slipped out of her very old, ripped leo and tossed it in a now-empty drawer. She slipped on a flowy white blouse and loose bell bottoms, along with her favorite pair of maroon clogs, took one last look around her room, and headed for the door.

"And so it begins," she thought. The rest of her life.