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Prologue

She raced down the alleyway, struggling to catch her breath but terrified to stop running. Whatever was chasing her must be some kind of animal – it didn't look human. A reptile? A monitor lizard? Abby had seen no scales, nor any tail, but it had to be a lizard. Nothing else could look give a look that cold and not have ice in their blood.

Abby tripped, and toppled into a heap of garbage. She got up to start running again – only to realize that she was in a dead end. Footsteps sounded, and her knees started shaking like there was an earthquake. Abby slowly turned.

There it was. Or was it he? Was it a man? No, no, that was no man – it couldn't be. No man could ooze that much anger, no man could have eyes so red. Abby gulped and clutched her crucifix to her chest, and started praying.

The demon held something his hand; a long stick of wood, intricately carved. His arm was raised, and the last thing the woman saw was a flash of all-consuming green light as she begged for a place in Heaven.

Eleven years previously...

In the bright and early morning in Grimmauld Place, Mrs Potter stretched and yawned as she came down the stairs. Her husband was already flicking his wand around, setting the table for breakfast. Mandy smiled. She could get used to this, being married to a wizard. James looked up and saw her, and a grin broke across his face. "Eggs Benedict a la Ginevra, just like my mum used to make." James kissed her cheek.

Not a day could pass by without him thinking at least once, she's so beautiful. They'd been married for nearly a year, and dating for five years before that, and still James Potter marveled at it. Strawberry blond hair, coupled with a perfect complexion, and the softest, warmest brown eyes. James knew well he was a lucky man.

A shrieking, a bawling, a high-pitched row sounded inwards from the doorstep. "Merlin's beard! Is that a banshee?" It didn't sound threatening, so the couple abandoned their breakfast and went to investigate. Mandy opened the door cautiously. They'd only been living in James's childhood home for about a month, and she still wasn't used to the manner in which it was hidden from the rest of the world.

On the step sat a basket, and in the basket was a bundle of white linen. On top of the bundle was a folded parchment note, and in the bundle was a baby. James and Mandy shared a look, and brought the child in.

The little girl screamed and bawled, doing her very best to make it clear how hungry she was. Mandy hastily fetched some milk out of the cabinet (which somehow kept everything fresh), and poured it into a bottle her husband hand conjured so that the infant could suckle. James broke the wax seal on the note and read:

Her name is Aurelia. Please take good care of her; make sure she gets an education, raise her like your own daughter. I leave her in your care.

The note was written with a quill, in a woman's handwriting. James and Mandy looked at the now sleeping baby girl, and smiled. "Aurelia – doesn't that mean golden?" Mandy asked.

"How should I know? Anyway, I'm pretty sure from the parchment that she's a witch." James paused, as the husband and wife shared another look. They felt a strange kinship with the child already. Odd. "I suppose it's our responsibility to take her in. Dad will get his first grandchild, at any rate."

And so Aurelia Potter came to live with James Potter, son of Harry James Potter, and his Muggle wife, Mandy. She would live happily, and become big sister to two other children, and have her impatience grow by the day till she could go to Hogwarts. There she would make few friends, but learn so much, and as the time passed on, so mind-bogglingly little. This is the tale of Aurelia, the Golden Girl of the Wizarding World.

Tom threw himself on the bank of Thames, drawing heaving, shuddering breaths. The water was so cold it made his new skin sear itself with pain, but he stuck a foot in anyway. He needed the pain to clear his mind. Much seemed out of order, and he needed to take it all in.

Tom finally drew the courage to look at his reflection in the water. He was young. Strange – he thought he would look older, or at least not so callow. Oh well. It was probably better – fewer people might recognize him, and he seemed to be a grown man.

"Oi! You! This is my spot – get out!" A flash of green light, and the homeless Muggle was no longer a problem. He grasped the yew rod in his hand. At least he still had his wand. No clothes though, he noticed. He ought to fix that soon. But first -

Tom felt his forehead. No ache. The brat was dead, maybe even of old age. The wizard stifled a laugh. There was nothing more to stand in his way. Prophecies be damned! He would start over. This time he would be feared more than ever before. No Chosen One, no Boy-Who-Lived, no fairy tale ending this time. Lord Voldemort felt triumph over his enemy in having outlived him. That was the only real victory, in the end: living longer than your enemies. Where were Britain's precious heroes now?

Meanwhile, in Diagon Alley

"Lord, is there any wand in here that thinks you worth choosing?!" Ollivander had grown impatient in his old age. "You're more problematic that your grandfather. And it seems I'm doomed to live through to your grandchildren, too. I hope then I can die, and leave this whole business to my grandson." Ollivander was nearly two hundred years old, and could think of nothing but how old he was. The ancient wandmaker leaned heavily on his cane. "Try this one. Mahogany and dragon heartstring, nine inches, stiff but pliable where needed."

Aurelia waved the wand round, bored and frustrated by now. She had waited years and years to have a wand of her own, and it was taking forever. Ollivander handed her another one, this one made of red heartwood and unicorn hair. Nothing.

"Eeeh, let me take a look at your measurements again." Ollivander took a look at the clipboard with his big old glasses. "Hmm. It's a risk, but maybe, just maybe..."

"What is it?" Dad asked.

"In my youth, I used to experiment with wandmaking, back when I was trying to find the perfect kind of wand for wizards to use. There's one that might just suit your daughter, but it's a little unusual. I'll be in the back." Ollivander disappeared into the backroom, and after nearly half an hour came back with a dusty old wand box. His shaking hands set it down on the table, and he blew the dust of the lid as he opened it. He handed Aurelia the wand. The girl's curious malachite eyes stared at the object like she had never seen a wand before.

"Ebony, nine and a half inches, with a combined core of a dragon heartstring and half a phoenix feather. Completely adamant, and it may be somewhat – er – explosive. Go on, wave." Red sparks shot out the tip, and Aurelia grasped it in a firm hand. This wand was meant to be hers, had always been hers, and would accept no other as its master while she still lived; she could feel it. As was her custom, she pulled her curly onyx mane into one thick plait with three rubber bands as her father paid for her new wand. Aurelia held it all the while the family shopped for her books, staring at the runes carved on the side. Wild, sure; explosive, sure – but not with her. This was her wand. With it, she would do great things, she was sure of it.

"That's so cool," said her little brother, Bilius. "Can I hold it?"

"You'll be getting your own next year!" Aurelia protested as her little brother made a grab for her new wand. She held it high above his head. "It's mine!" she sang. "Wait'll you have one of your own, you beast!"

"Oh, stop it you two," said Mrs Potter, though she didn't really mean to bring an end to their play.

"Come on – we still have time to go to Fortesque's for ice cream." Dad pulled the three little children along, and Aurelia would forget about her wand, till she performed her first spell at Hogwarts.