Hey-loo all!

Okey dokey, I don't own the Potters, or the Wotters, or anything else cool that you find on Fanfiction. Must as I would love to.

This FanFiction is a next gen Harry Potter, obviously, and it's pretty much based off the story of my good friend, Rit's. But she got it wrong, so I have to put my own bit in.

This chapter relates to Rit's (Luna's) 1st chapter. And 2nd too, because my chapters are a vast amount shorter.

Check out her story at: s/8915240/1/Rewriting-Hogwarts

First things first. It was not an iPod, it was a walkman. Just to clear the waters. I would never in my life use an iPod willingly.

Humph. It was far easier to use an iPod than a walkman.

Now that that's sorted, we can get down to business. My names Snarsha Remeair, but I'm called Snar by my friends... As well as Sa, but we can get to that later. I'm a half blood, which is quite normal these days. My mothers a pure blood witch, and my fathers a muggle. But they're not really that important in this story. Sorry about that.

This story is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, about my 'adventures' (I say it lightly) at Hogwarts with some good friends of mine. Namely Rit. But Rit's a silly bugger and left all the important bits out, so I feel that I have to put in my bit to get the whole thing out there. Note - I have nothing against Rit. She's just a special person. In more ways than one...

Damn straight, I'm special...

I'd been raised knowing there was a chance of my being a witch. But, going to a normal school, I almost forgot. I know, it seems silly, but it's the truth. Instead of living for the magical future up in the air for me, I fell in love with technology.

That's true. She's practically married to her computer.

So, it really came as a surprise when I received a letter in the mail. A letter written in scratched ink, that seemed to float. It really struck home, I guess, that I wasn't normal. That I'd have to say goodbye to the things I loved - friends, normalcy, and worst of all, tech. But I was going to learn magic!

Let the apocalypse begin.

I'd been to Diagon alley before, only, when I was young. I think that my mother really just gave up on me, as I had no interest in magic. Really, it was quite disappointing for her, I think.
When I went in, on the day before my 11th birthday, it was magical. Cliche, right? The wand shop was positively jumping with shoppers, and a little ice cream shop on the corner seemed to be so inundated with customers even the enchanted ice cream scoops couldn't keep up.

"Bring out that list again, dearie." Mum. She's obsessed with lists. You should see our fridge! Wizards use those, right...?
"Do I have to?"
"Yes. Nothing like a good list to keep us on track!"

I could tell she was uncomfortable. She had the list memorised inside out, and even I almost knew it backwards. She just hated me on my note, with earbuds in, slouching along in my baggy jeans. I sound like a hippy, but really I'm not, I promise.

"Fine." I fished the list out of my backpack, which my dearest mother reluctantly let me bring. She didn't have to know my laptop and cell were in there.
"First off, let's get you in proper dress." As I mentioned before, she hated the jeans. And the well-worn emerald green hoodie. That was just too much for her.
She smoothed her immaculate robe, which had already been cleaned of ash after our short and dizzying floo trip. Her steps were quick, short and cropped, briskly pushing through the looming cold. Snow, why don't you? I glared at the sky. Typical London weather, just grey, plain old grey, nothing but grey. And guess what? Not even a dark grey!

I was attracting looks. Apparently headphones weren't the norm around here, and neither were backpacks.

Gee, ya don't say.

Personally, I think the owl cages and purple eyed cats were the weird things. I kept slouching, albeit a bit faster now, after the diminishing figure of Mum.

She was chatting to a lady in a billowing black robe. Surprisingly, there was no one else in the shop. As I walked in, a pin cushion flipped over in the air, showering the ground around me with razor sharp landmines. They lifted and prodded me forward. I suppose it was supposed to be reassuring, but even though they poked me with their bulbous end, it was still a shock to be, from my perspective, attacked by flying pins.

"Ah, Snarsha, dear." My mother smiled. Another false reassurance, winging its way to the land of meaninglessness. "This is Madame Malkin. She's one of the most talented ladies I know!"
"Pleasure, pleasure." The old woman smiled too, a smile that looked a lot more real. She plucked a pin out of the air and sent the others neatly back to their pincushion.
"Hi," I stammered. I wasn't supposed to lose my cool this easy! "Nice to meet you..." I trailed off uselessly.

You never could handle the heat well. If you can't take the heat, get out of the flaming kitchen.

"Let's get you a robe." Straight to business. I could handle that.

Before long I was standing in front of a wall length mirror, admiring an ankle length black robe that was apparently standard for school. I could tell that I would fit it for all of about two months. Is admiring the word I'm looking for, though? It was more like grimacing at the way the sleeves hung past my wrists, skimming my finger nails, and hating the way it scruffed up my too short hair along the neckline.

Much like how I'm grimacing at how much I have to edit...

"Don't worry about the sleeves, dearie," My mother, as always. "The longer the better! Not like your silly fashions out on the street..."
"My silly fashions?" She must be referring to the norm for ALL tween girls - tanks and tees. No biggie, right?
"Yes, your silly fashions. And don't talk back." She handed over a handful of coins to Madame Malkin, then practically dragged me out of the shop. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but we really must be on our way now." The apology seemed like an afterthought.

Books and potion ingredients were boring to buy. I had no chance to browse the advanced hexes books, and I'm not sure that the shopkeeper was being entirely truthful when he said that there was a shipment of invisible books around. Apparently they had been there since Harry Potter's time, but I think that's just plain rubbish.

Much like what I think of this.

Wand shopping, on the other hand, was interesting. Mr Oliver, or whatever his name was, scared me. But that's OK. He got me a wand, so he must not be that bad of a character, right?

Ollivander.

It took a long time. My hair went from that horrid, boring brown that I always sport, to the purple of a day old bruise, then golden like a lions mane (my mother was particularly horrified about this one), and finally to a ratty grey. Needless to say, none of those wands were really for me.

I think I was at about wand number 17, and Mr. Olly was getting impatient. Mother had told me earlier that he prided himself in matching every person with a wand, but he'd already made tens of perfect matches that day. I was just another boring, normal, annoying little girl wanting a spweshial wand for her spweshial school and her spweshial life.

Well, to be fair, you were. I mean are. And it's Ollivander.

By wand 28 he was visibly cursing me, with bags under his eyes and hands like steel as he thrust wand after wand at me.

Wand 29 was the charm though.
"Hazel. 10 inch. Phoenix Core." He rattled of the specs in quick succession. I snapped it up, wanting this process to be over just as much as him.
Nothing happened - but this was a good sign. So far, every failed attempt had been accompanied by some disastrous occurrence. Encouraged, I gave it a little flick.
But nothing happened.
"Does it have enough batteries?"
My mother glared at me with unrestrained fury and embarrassment. Mr. Olvaviner looked at me in utter confusion, then simply said,
"Wave it a little harder..."
I did as I was told - after all what else you I do?
Then I did magic.

You didn't spell anything wrong? That is magic. And for Merlin's sake, it's Ollivander!

My mothers robe went from its new state of rubber chicken (one two three four five six seven eight...) material back to it's original, sedate navy. The thousands of wand boxes stacked in endless rows righted themselves, and the discarded wands re-found their places in the organised mess.
The dust even flew off the windows and floors, into neat little piles, making the place seem like new!

"Well, I never. A little hazel and phoenix combination - I should have known. Even took the dust off the windows..."
"Excuse me?"
"Hazel is a temperamental wood - very emotional. Phoenix cores have a flare for independance, and them combined can be a dangerous thing. It will be a powerful wand, no doubt about it, and with such a short size, I can only imagine the spells it will cast... hmmm..."
He was making that face that adults do, when they know something that you don't.
"What else."
"Oh, well, it's just that it's a phoenix core. An unyielding one at that."
My mother nodded knowingly. It was infuriating!
"Great. And that means what now?"
"Watch your tone, Snarsha." My mother, just as bad as ever.
"Phoenix cores, as I said, are independent. And their allegiance are hard won - and unyielding just plain won't help. All I'm saying is good luck, missy."
"Great. So I have an ultra powerful wand that won't do what I say. Just don't blame me when something goes wrong mum - it was all the wand." The wand quivered in my hand as I spoke,

Quivered in fear of such a crappy owner.

and shot out a puff of inky black smoke, as if just to prove my point. I glared at it, and stormed out of the shop.

Gas release, it was so nervous.

My mother caught up with me, frowning in that condescending way of hers, as she marched down the street. Looking back at the shop we had just left, I swear I saw Mr O-what's-his-name shaking his head as he flicked his own wand re-coating the window panes with an opaque layer of dust.

Honestly, his name is OLLIVANDER, let's get this right. Just once works.

"Mum..." I looked at her, doing those dreadful puppy eyes that she just can't stand.
"What now." She was fed up - she has always hated shopping with me, I'm just too much work for her refined taste.

You're too much work for ANYONE'S taste.

"Can we go look in that pet shop? Pleaseee Mummy!" More puppy dog eyes.
"Fine, fine. Just go."
I wasn't going to wait for her to change her mind - I raced off into the store, to be confronted by so many gorgeous creatures that I could never imagine the end of it! Owls perched on branches suspended above my head, staring down at me with those big brown eyes of theirs. Cats purred and weaved through my legs, as lizards, frogs, and rats scampered through the mess.

You were one of those rats, once upon a time. Oh wait, you still are.

To my surprise, there was even a poster on the back wall, advertising something about ferrets, and to feed them apples. To this day, I have no idea what that was on about.
I waltzed through the mess as gracefully as I could in baggy jeans and a hoody, and approached a bedraggled looking witch behind the counter. She was busily feeding a baby goldfish with an eyedropper, but managed to see me before I could say a word.
"Welcome, welcome to the Magical Menagerie! May I interest you in a pygmy puff?"
"What? Uh, no, thanks," I stammered as she pointed out a box full of jumpy little balls of fur. They looked truly evil.

Not too different from you, then.

"Well then, what are you after?" The goldfish squeaked, and drew her attention away from me. When I had another good look at it, I realised that it wasn't a goldfish at all - It was something else entirely, with legs and a little triple chin, much like a rooster has a crest, but rather under its hugely oversized mouth.
"What's that?" I asked, distracted.
"Oh, nothing. Just something I was asked to work on. It's not for sale." She shoved the poor little creature into a fishbowl and turned to face me properly. "The cat's are popular this year, and so are the ferrets. Actually, I think we're all sold out of those..."
"Can I look at the owls...?" I queried. I didn't want some cat, I had my own at home that wasn't coming with me, and no fluff ball of any kind could replace her.
"Sure dearie." She sounded just like my mother. "Any particular breed?"
"Screech." I said definitely.
"Good choice. Nice and wise. They get remarkably attached to people though, it's a fact most people don't realise."
"I'll take my chances."
She reached out her wand arm, and let out a skreeeee! that almost burst my eardrums.

Much like what your voice does to me.

Instantly, the patchiest, most scraggly looking birds of the bunch flew down to the desk. They were beautiful birds, sure, but had nothing that compared to the shimmering plumage of the Barns and Snowys. The cat's stalking my legs flicked me one last time with their tails, then sidled away, now that I was no longer a potential friend.

The Screech's were mostly grey, with black highlights and tufts. Their faces were gnarled to perfection with the knowledge of ages. One particular mumper at the back, however, had the most gorgeous golden plumes, with snow white highlights. It hobbled along, one claw raised in the air as if to ward off a blow. It appeared that sometime in the past it had done exactly that, as it's claw was crippled, bent around at the wrong angle. It's wings were healthy, though, and when it spotted me staring at its foot, it gave me a hearty clip over the head.

Serves you right, I'd do the same thing. Oh wait, I do.

"That one's got a spirit about him. Pity about his foot. It's the only thing stopping him from being sold every second day - his feathers certainly attract a lot of attention."
"I'll take him." It was a split second, spoken the moment after my mother entered the shop.
"You will not take a mumper like that!" Her screech rivaled that of the shop keeper, who was sighing. "Why not something nicer, like this pretty little kitty here?" She picked up a little tabby kitten, trying to save face.
"No, mum. I don't want a cat, I want an owl. In particular, this one." I flicked the attendant a few coins that I had pilfered from my Mother's purse earlier in the morning. It was close to dark now, and I would have no use for them after I left this dream land behind. The attendant smiled, picked up the mumper of a bird, and deposited it in a cage, along with what I assumed were the essentials. I watched her put a small book in too, and found myself hoping that it was some kind of instruction manual.

I scooped up my prize, and ponced out of the shop, rubbing my small victory in my Mother's face. Who cares if I have no clue how to look after an Owl. The internet will tell me. Wizards have that, right? There's no life without the internet!

We most certainly do not. Life without the internet is a happy life for a witch or wizard, incompetent fool.

Stepping into a jumping flame is terrifying, I personally find. It doesn't help if said flame is a spitting greeny-blue, and that it looks like it wants to devour you in a raging inferno. So, safe to say, I didn't enjoy the floo trip into that dingy pub on the way to Diagon Alley.

Honestly, you call yourself a witch. Toughen up, toots.

On the way home again, I was much too preoccupied looking into my very own owl's eyes to notice that what I was stepping into could easily kill me if it didn't work properly. I wouldn't be surprised if these things did, every once in awhile.

If that bloody fire kills you, it will end up doing what I've never managed to accomplish.

At home, Dad was less than thrilled with the idea of having an owl bringing dead creatures into the house - my mother convinced him that it was inevitable (I suppose it is, in a way. But it's just natural order.) He was, however, pleased that Noctowl, as I named my new friend, could hold its own against my little tabby come ginger kitten. They actually seemed to get on OK - after the first few hours, that is.

Quite different from you and me, hm?

I spent those first few hours productively, however. The book the assistant added to my care bundle did turn out to be an instruction manual, thankfully, and I read it cover to cover three times. I also read most of Hogwarts: A Recent and Ancient History. Turns out it's a rather new publication, a follow up of Hogwarts: A History, which was considered outdated after the events of the last generation.

All seems like hogwash to me, but I guess it must be true, right? I even did some research, there were all sorts of supernatural theories circulating during the time of Moldymorts reign of terror. I'm just surprised the muggle world didn't come up with more stories - I mean, we, sorry, they, are known for coming up with the stupidest idea possible, right?

Honestly, if you are going to use his proper name, at least get it right. It's VOLDEMORT.

It was all very interesting though, and it spurred me on to packing my trunk. I guess I had to, it would be my 11th birthday on the train from Platform 9 3/4 the next day, and that would mean leaving everything behind.

After packing the basics on the magical list, using as little space as possible, I started to pack what I believed were the unmentioned necessities. Things that everyone would have, and were taken for granted so much that they didn't need to be stated on the precious list my Mother copied out so many times. This is where the Walkman/iPod fiasco comes in. I would NEVER use an iPod, or any iDevice if I could help it. That still applies today. I have my reasons, so shush your mouth.

My mouth will remain unshushed, thank you very much. You will use an iPod for my story still, and that is final.

My laptop, my nintendo, my note, and my Walkman slipped down to the bottom of my trunk in individual slips. All the chargers, connectors, inserts, cartridges, and accessories (including a handy dandy solar charger - who knows what they have by way of power points at a boarding school for magical beings?) went in one big bag that took up a rather larger space in my trunk than I would like. I rolled a robe around it to keep it hidden. I only left my cell out, to say goodbye to people.

Yeah, your final goodbyes.

I'd told everyone that I was going to boarding school - I had to have some sort of explanation for my sudden disappearance, and it wasn't too far from the truth.

I fell asleep clutching my phone, as no one called.

Surprising that you thought that someone would actually call.

Well, Rit, I'm sick of your comments. See if I left you help me out in the next chapter.

Well everybody, I hope you enjoyed that! Rit's being as mean as usual, so just ignore her. She knows she's in trouble for getting it wrong in her story.

Reviews are amazing!