Disclaimer: Wish I owned the wizarding world. Obviously, I don't. If you enjoy my story, you can thank JKR for creating such a fantastic world of imagination and magic for everyone to enjoy. In other words, I don't own Harry Potter, any of his friends, enemies, or anything that is remotely connected to him. Except for my Gryffindor scarf that I knitted myself!

Hogwarts: A Future Prologue

            It was the summer before third grade and my uncle had invited my family to stay at his house for the whole vacation. He hardly lived in a house, though. It was more of a mansion, and it was situated in Scotland. I think that he invited us because he was lonely. Living in a house as large as his with only books for company must have been pretty dull. At the time though, all I thought of was a free trip overseas, away from school and my boring, middle class house in the US. Plus, meeting a mysterious uncle who I only knew from the (fantastic) birthday and Christmas gifts seemed promising.

            We arrived at Willow Manor, his home, in June and were greeted by my Uncle Alan. He had a quirky sense of humor and a never-ending knowledge of creatures and plants, just like my dad. He seemed to be a sort of ever-lasting Boy Scout who had never grown up. He adored my baby sister, Sylvia; played with my brothers Jake and James without tiring; and charmed my mom to no end. My dad was giddy to be back in the home of his childhood and he seemed to look and act decades younger. Strangely enough, Uncle Alan seemed fondest of me. It could have been because I was the oldest of his nieces and nephews, or maybe because I pestered him with question after question, but for some reason, my uncle invited me into his library on my first night at Willow Manor. He sat me down and proceeded to explain to me all about his past. He had been through a lot. He had attended a boarding school until he was 18, along with my dad. I think that he joined the military after that. Both of my grandparents had died with my uncle and dad were in their early twenties.

            Now, telling your entire life story to an eight year old can seem like a very strange thing to do. It seemed exceptionally strange to me, being that choice eight year old. Even so, I paid attention diligently. Uncle Alan told me countless embarrassing stories about my dad and even about himself. I learned about their summers growing up at Willow Manor. Our talks became a nightly occurrence, and he eventually taught me the names of all of the plants and animals that he had seen living on his property, which was no small feat for a third grader.

            To this day, I don't understand why my uncle didn't marry. I know that he was in love when he was younger, but I guess that he and the girl lost touch. He was a remarkable man and over the years, became a sort of second father to me. That summer was the first of many visits to Willow Manor for me. I'll always wonder what could have been if things had turned out differently.

            The summer before fifth grade was one of my most memorable visits to Willow Manor. One night, my uncle invited the Hillgroves, old friends of my dad's, to dinner. With them came the terrors of my childhood... their sons. When the doorbell rang that evening, I was sent to answer it. Beside the invited Mr. and Mrs. Hillgrove stood their two bright-eyed, ginger haired sons: Nate and Charlie. Lord, how I despised them.

            They tugged my brown braids, taunted, teased, pinched, and otherwise terrorized me throughout the night. Since our parents decided that we got on so well, they became my daily playmates for the rest of the summer. They were the only kids I knew that far away from home who were near my age. I was in desperate need of some friends and entertainment, so I did not fight my mother when she invited them over continuously.

            The following winter, Uncle Alan became very ill. He decided to move to London, where medical treatment would be at the ready should things get more serious. Over Christmas, my father flew us to Willow Manor to visit with my uncle and also because Dad insisted on us helping Uncle Alan pack up his things and close up the house. Nate and Charlie came daily without failure to help move furniture and do odd jobs. Winter made Willow Manor drastically different, and also the Hillgrove boys were entirely different from the ones that I remembered fighting with. Nate had matured seemingly overnight and was now at least a foot taller than the twelve-year-old boy that I had seen the previous summer. Charlie was basically the same as he had been, but without an older brother to copy, there was hardly any teasing of me. Being nearly eleven ourselves, we felt very grown up by declaring a truce with them. The three of us became fast friends and spent the blustery winter days trudging around my uncle's property, discovering secret places and hidden treasure. The most we found was an out-of-use railroad line, a pair of old Wellington boots, and the remains of a fort that my dad and uncle had built over thirty years ago. Christmas was strange that year. I didn't see any of my normal friends, and it was most definitely not an "American" Christmas. The Hillgrove family showed us how magical a Scottish Christmas could be, though, and how the English celebrated with Father Christmas. At the beginning of January, we saw my uncle settled in London, bid farewell to the Hillgroves, and headed back home to the States. In March of that year, Uncle Alan passed away. To my brothers and sister, it was not a big deal. They hadn't grown as attached to him as I had.  However, it was the first time I had lost someone close to me. I stayed in my room for three days, until my mom forced me to return to school. The Hillgrove family was notified of the death and my parents asked them to keep an eye on Willow Manor. Nate and Charlie and I had kept in touch through the mail and they were just as upset as I was with the loss of my uncle.  My father took it the hardest, though. We learned not to mention Uncle Alan or Willow Manor in his presence.

            On a Friday, near the end of the school year, my parents took me out of school for lunch. As any kid knows, when your parents willingly pull you out of school and take you to lunch for no reason, then something has happened. After a bit of questioning, my parents relented and told me that there had been a twist in my uncle's will. While they had told my siblings and me that his possessions had been left to our whole family, they had not told us that things were left to specific people. Then, realizing that I was only eleven, they simplified it for me.

            "Your uncle," my mom said in a calm voice, "has given you a very special gift. You've inherited Willow Manor from him."

            That was the first time in my life that I had actually fallen out of a chair in surprise. Even a kid knows when they have been given a really good present. My uncle had made me the heiress to Willow Manor, and with it, quite a large sum of money. Uncle Alan had made sure that I would not have to pay taxes or any other fees on the manor for at least as long as I would live, if not longer.

            Becoming instantly wealthy can be quite a shock to anyone. You can imagine what thoughts ran through my head. Legally, I wouldn't be getting a cent of that inheritance until I was eighteen. At the time, I was flabbergasted with my parents when they denied my wishes of quitting school and buying my own circus. Go figure.

            The manor, as far as I know, has been deserted and probably not well kept since my last visit there. I've been in touch with the Nate and Charlie on a regular basis, but I have never asked them to go dust the insides or mow the grass or anything of the sort. My parents talked to Mr. and Mrs. Hillgrove constantly to make sure that the house had not burned down or anything. I didn't talk about Willow Manor because it still was a touchy subject with my dad. I didn't want to upset him by reminding him of Uncle Alan.

            Now it's been over seven years. I've graduated high school and battled with my parents over my choice of not going to college. I'm just not interested in college. I was given ownership of Willow Manor a few months ago, on my birthday. I'm legally an adult and I'm just itching to get out into the world. So here I am, sitting on a British Airways plane. It's taxiing down the runway and then heading to Great Britain. In my hands I hold the deed to Willow Manor, my passport, my ID, and my boarding pass. Together, these prove that I, Emmeline Estelle Cornerstone, am now on my own and the owner of a very large and luxurious mansion. How am I going to survive this if I can't even get over the fact that I have a terrible middle name? I'm done for.

A/N: I've rewritten and reposted what I've got of this fan fiction so far because after going over the original version, I was VERY unimpressed. So, I apologize to all who read the previous version. It might not seem like it yet, but this IS a HP story. Just let it evolve!
Please comment! I'll take flames if you deem the appropriate.