The Mage Girl

PROLOGUE

Everyone has always looked right past me; let their gaze sweep over me like I'm a small hairball, annoying but not important enough to dust away, not important enough to matter. They don't know that I'm more powerful than they would ever be, that I know more than they'll ever know, that I've seen so much and they've seen so little. They don't know that I'm superior, that I could take over their mind with a wave of my hand, that I could put them under an endless spell of nothing, that I could kill them with a blink of my eyes. They think they control me. They don't know how wrong they are. I'm the one that controls them.

Chapter One: The History of The Mage

At some point or other during your life, you begin to realize that you are in control of your life, not your parents, not your teachers, not your peers. Usually this time comes in your early teens, later for some. For me it was at age four.

You see, I never was what you would call an ordinary person. I learned to run at six months and I began reading at nine months. I started to play the flute at eighteen months. I've been called a prodigy, genius, and a few other things that weren't nearly so good.

It's hard, because while my classmates were learning their ABC's, I was studying ancient Greek philosophy. I told my teachers not to tell my foster parents. They obeyed, assuming it would be a surprise. Idiots.

I'm an orphan. I never met my parents; I don't know what happened to them. They are miniscule aspects of my life. I am not curious about them. But I do know that by their leaving me, I was put with foster parents. I have been continually switched from house to house, family to family. There have only been one or two that have actually were kind. The rest either ignored me or flogged me verbally or with a switch. I have been tempted only too many times to attack them with my powers. But I restrain. After all, they don't deserve my wrath.

And so my life begins, an endless twist of turmoil and hate, strength against weakness. And I am the strength.

Chapter Two: The Meeting of The Magical

It was a hot late August day when my thirty-ninth foster family booted me out. I remember well. I was very reluctant to go back to the orphanage, as I had long ago learned that the others despised you and that the headmistresses made you sweep the stair and wash the floor endlessly. So clever little me decided to go to the train station. Luckily for me, a lady stopped me as I was hiking to the nearest one. I felt too hot and lazy to Transport anywhere, plus I had so much time left… I might as well do something. Like hiking. But anyway.

She was tall and thin, with prominent cheekbones and pretty blue-brown eyes. Her light brown hair was twisted up in the back, and she looked quite severe – or she would have if not for the sparkle in her eyes and her dimpling mouth.

"Where are you going, young lady?" asked she.

"To the train station," I replied dutifully. "There's one not too far away."

"Dear girl. You expect to hike all the way to Common Road Cross?"

"Yes, I do indeed. I've calculated and I should reach there before nightfall."

"Well, of course." The lady was now circling me, taking in my old clothes and ragged sack, my face, my shoes, all of me. "Dear, you are a normal person?"

This question was obviously quite strange, but something in her voice compelled me to answer truthfully.

"Not exactly," I said slowly. She stopped and looked sharply at me.

"What is so… different about you?" Her eyes were sharp and her voice almost desperate, but she didn't lose that air of authority.

"I'm… well… you see… they all say I'm different, and I am, but I don't know how to explain it." My words came out of my mouth quickly and hung between us a moment. The woman sighed, half knowingly, half curious, and another part something else for which I couldn't find a meaning.

"How exactly?"

"I'm a genius, for one, or that's what they say, at least. And--" was I going to voice my secret for the past nine years to a complete stranger, someone whose name I didn't even know? Yes. I supposed I was. "—and I have a magical power, but… I don't know what kind it is."

The woman looked startled, not at the magic part, but at the genius and that I didn't know what kind of magic.

"Dear, dear. Come with me." She dragged me over to the other side of the street.

"Now, can you explain to me about this magic? And don't worry, I'm not going to take you to a house for mentally ill people. I— I have magic as well."

This hadn't occurred to me, that others had magic, too. Somehow I thought I was the only one. Well, apparently not.

"What is your name?" I inquired.

"Introductions! Yes, yes, well, dear me. I'm Cyrilia McSmith. You may call me either Cyrilia or Ms. McSmith."

"Thank you. I am Melinda Johnson."

"Melinda, can you demonstrate your magic?"

"Of course."

So I Transported to the train station, where Cyrilia stared at me open-mouthed.

"Where have you had your training?" she asked, having finally stopped gaping at me.

"Actually, miss, I've trained myself."

And at that moment I was sure Cyrilia was going to faint.

"You – you – haven't had any formal training?" she whispered.

"No, ma'am."

"Dear God. Come here."

She must have done some kind of Transportation, because we ended up in a large, sunlit kitchen with cheery, neat, modern, white and black decorating.

"This is my house," Cyrilia said, waving her hand carelessly. "Now, Melinda, tell me about your magic…"

And so it all began.

Chapter Three: The Lessons of The Learning

Cyrilia began her share of this by explaining magic schools to me. There were thousands of thousands, she said, all over the world. Hogwarts in England, Didergoo in Australia, Foghorn in America, Durmstrang in Bulgaria, Beauxbatons in France. Thousands.

She also explained that a mage, or wizard, as they called them, must go to a school to train under more experienced wizards. I agreed with this, as it becomes difficult to teach yourself sometimes. She told me I needed to go to one such school to train further. I readily consented. I needed something to do, somewhere to go, anyhow.

Cyrilia said that I would go to Hogwarts, since she was the current professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, or DADA as it was commonly referred to as.

My greatest delight was that she added that I would stay with her for as long as possible, or at least for the term. I was incredibly happy to do this: she was one of maybe two people who treated me as a human instead of as a dog.

And we needed equipment for the school year, both of us. I needed all the supplies for a fifth-year, which was what I was going to be if Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster, said that I could. And Cyrilia needed teaching books alongside examples of all the "projects" she would show. But we needed to wait for a letter from Albus Dumbledore until we went.

And then that letter came.

Chapter Four: The Alley of The Wizards- P. 1

Dumbledore's letter included a permission slip for letting me join the fifth-years, a permission slip that needed to be signed by my parent/guardian – currently Cyrilia – for trips to Hogsmeade, and a supply list for the fifth-years. Of course, the latter meant that Cyrilia and I could finally get our supplies. And, according to Cyrilia, the only place to go for magical supplies was Diagon Alley.

I Transported and so did Cyrilia, except she calls it Apparating. I don't really care, because to me it's Transporting and that's that.

We arrived at a little chrome sign reading: Apparation Point in engraved black letters. So they call it Apparation, too. Oh, well.

It took me a moment to draw breath, and I don't know exactly why. Perhaps because there was such a broad array of everything, and everything means everything in the wizard world.

Cyrilia pulled me towards a bank called Gringotts. She needed to collect her money, she said. Well, it took a fast, twisting trolley ride to collect her money, that's all I'm saying. It was a very… interesting experience. I suppose.

Chapter Four: The Alley of The Wizards – P. 2

We first went into Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where we both got fitted for robes, seven sets of black and one set of dress robes in green for me, four sets of black, three sets of blue, and one set of dress green for Cyrilia. She looks quite pretty in blue. I wonder how old she is.

We got a pewter cauldron and a pair of dragon-skin gloves at a new shop, Everyday for Everyschool, and then we went into Flying Broomsticks, which Cyrilia said was new, also, but it didn't look like it. Cyrilia got me a broomstick, a KleanKatch900, which is a pretty good broomstick, apparently. I thought it quite nice of her, as no one ever buys me presents and it was somewhat expensive, but she shrugged it off.

Next was Flourish and Blott's, where I got my schoolbooks. And then The Magical Menagerie. Cyrilia insisted I get an owl. So I did, a tawny one. I named her Brownbeak.

And then we went to the wand shop. I was very skeptical about this – I like my hand magic better than wand magic, but as it seemed absolutely necessary for the school, I agreed. The owner, Mr. Ollivander, had orb-like eyes. After being measured for the width of my mouth by a measuring tape with a life of it's own, I built up a mound of wands as I tried wand after wand after wand…

And then I found it: ten inches, willow and unicorn hair, quite nice. Cyrilia paid and then we left to eat ice cream and then we went back home to get ready for Hogwarts. I had a lot to learn.

Chapter Five: The Trio on The Train

On September first, Cyrilia and I were running around the house last minute, packing extra things, doing errands.

"Did you pack the…?" was what the dialogue consisted of.

But somehow we were able to get to King's Cross at ten minutes to eleven, with me looking presentable in a long skirt and tank top. I was wearing sunglasses and my hair was pulled up in a bun. I'm not sure quite why, but I knew I would be feeling very vulnerable without the glasses or ponytail. I pulled a hat on, too. Cyrilia, however, was perfectly comfortable in a loose summer dress. Figures. She'd be comfortable just about anywhere, I think.

"Right, then," Cyrilia said. "Through the barrier."

I looked at the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

"No offense, Cyrilia," I began, "but that looks pretty solid to me."

"Walk through it. Watch."

Cyrilia dragged Brownbeak and I, along with all our trunks, up to the barrier and casually leaned on it. I imitated her and soon we were on a whole other platform with people dresses in pointy hats and robes milling around.

"Let's get a seat," suggested Cyrilia, "then we can talk to people, maybe."

I shrugged and followed her on board. We got the compartment near the end of the carriage, with Cyrilia insisting it was the largest. Contrary to Cyrilia's prior suggestion, we sat down and waited for others to board.

We were in the midst of a lively conversation about what happens when you mix farroll's horn with the hair of a grindylow when three someones interrupted us. One was a boy with blond hair and a pale, pointed face. Two others were massive – well, they looked more like beasts than humans, if you ask me.

"Well, what have we here," the blond one said whiningly. "Who might you two be?"

"Professor McSmith and Melinda Johnson," Cyrilia told him.

"I see… well, dear, dear, are you a first-year, Melinda?" the boy asked.

"No," I answered, looking at Cyrilia. She nodded. "I am a fifth-year."

"Fancy, I didn't see you around the last four years."

"I haven't been here the last four years."

"Really? Dear me --" I was getting exceedingly tired of his attitude. I flicked my finger at his two cronies and him. They disappeared, probably now flying above the tracks, strapped to the bottom of the train.

A red-headed boy, followed by a brunette and another boy with untidy, jet-black hair, rushed in and looked around.

"Where'd Malfoy go?" asked he.

"Malfoy? Idiot with blond hair and white skin?" I questioned.

"That's him," the black-haired boy agreed. "Where is he?"

"Oh, him. Hurtling at over sixty miles per hour tied to the bottom of the train," I answered nonchalantly.

"Due to whom?"

"Oh… well… actually, due to me. Is he your friend?"

The redhead and the girl were gaping. The raven-haired one laughed.

"Not at all. What's your name?"

"Melinda Johnson. Yours?"

The red-haired one's name was Ron; the girl was named Hermione, and the third Harry.

Are you a fifth-year?" Ron asked.

"Well… now I am," I replied.

"Yes, well, then you weren't held back. What house are you in?"

"House?" I glanced at Cyrilia, who smiled. "I haven't got a house, actually."

"What do you mean? Oh, are you a transfer?" Hermione asked excitedly. "Which school? Where?"

"No school," I said in a low voice. "I haven't gone to any wizard schools."

The trio's jaws dropped at they immediately fell backwards on to seats.

"No – no training?" Hermione asked. "At all?"

"I've trained myself."

"Oh, dear."

Cyrilia told them, "Please, she's a perfectly able witch. She just hasn't had formal training. I've talked to Dumbledore and he's said she's not a safety hazard."

"Who are you?" Harry inquired.

"Professor Cyrilia McSmith. This is my…" Cyrilia looked at me questioningly, and this time it was I who nodded. "…this is my daughter."

I smiled happily. I don't think anyone's ever called me their daughter.

"Then why isn't her last name McSmith, too? Unless your father's name was Johnson?" asked Ron. I got the feeling he liked to speak his mind a lot. Hermione glared at him.

"Umm… well… it could be Melinda McSmith," I said defensively. "I just haven't made up my mind yet."

"What did that mean?"

"I'm an orphan," I informed them.

"Oh. I see."

And from then, it was a very enjoyable train ride. I became friends with Hermione; Ron and Harry talked, and Cyrilia – well, she slept.

Chapter Six: The Landing of The Train

At long last, we reached the train station where we got off for Hogwarts. I pulled an empty trolley over with magic, and Hermione and I loaded our trunks on. Ron and Harry had another trolley for their trunks, and Cyrilia put one of her bags on our trolley and one on the boys'. I was surprised Ron didn't argue.

We got to take horseless carriages over to the castle, instead of the boat across the lake. The castle was huge. Beyond huge. Massive. It must have had twelve floors. But Hermione quickly pulled my attention away.

"Come on," she said, dragging me over to the front doors. "You'll need to be sorted."

"Sorted?"

"Into houses. Hope you get into Gryffindor, I do. That's where I am. Try not to go to Slytherin. Avoid it if you can."

"Thanks. Cyrilia?"

She came over.

"Yes?"

"Is Slytherin bad?"

"There hasn't been one Dark Wizard that hasn't gone to Slytherin," Cyrilia said matter-of-factly, "so yes, I suppose it's bad."

"All right, then."

"Oh, yes, and dear, where's the Malfoy boy?"

"Oh, my…!" I shook my head, then snapped my fingers. Malfoy and his two friends appeared, dazed and dirty. "Well, here they are."

Malfoy shot a look of pure hate at me before turning up his nose and walking dizzily into the hall. I grinned after him.

"That," I said, "was fun."

"Melinda!" Cyrilia reprimanded. Then she laughed. "I agree. Oh… I have to teach him, don't I?"

"Take lots of house points. Hermione explained them to me on the way over."

"House points. Good idea."

A black-haired witch came out.

"Cyrilia McSmith?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Oh, good. I'm Professor McGonagall. Do you want to come to the teachers' table now?"

"Indeed. Will someone wait with my daughter?"

"She may come, too," McGonagall sighed.

"Thank you, professor," I said happily.

"You're welcome."

McGonagall turned to lead us from the room.

"I'll probably be the only student to sit at the teachers' table this year," I told Cyrilia joyfully in a whisper.

"Yes, you will be. Probably the first in a century."

"Oh, good."

McGonagall beckoned, and Cyrilia and I followed her into the Great Hall.

Disclaimer: I own no characters except Melinda and Cyrilia and the teachers, foster families (I know not all foster families are mean), and um… yeah. I own Transporting and so far, the magic that Melinda has. She is not a necromancer, OK? Thanks. R/r. bye now.