Welcome reader! If you are looking for your favorite character smut/fluff this is not the story for you. This is a story I started for a completely different group of kids who also happened to go to Hogwarts. This story takes place during the same year as the Chambers of Secrets but that is not what the story is about. This is a story about four first years, a forced friendship, and overcoming personal struggles.

So please, read, enjoy. Though I am borrowing Rowling's world, this story is helping me learn to write plots and characters. I would appreciate any feedback you would be willing to give me as it will only make my writing better.

And now, without further ado...

Cloe Graves

and the

Mask of Rangda

Chapter 1
An Owl in Brixham

The summer had always held an air of mystery and unease for the only grandchild of Mr. Louise Barkley. Young Cloe Graves was always of the opinion that Halloween was more suited for the summer holidays, or more specifically, the day before school started back up. She always felt a growing sense of dread around that time of the year that could never be met.
Not that Mr. and Mrs. Barkley found this much of a mystery at all. Their granddaughter was not much of the academic type, and friends her age seemed almost an impossible task for Cloe. The couple could not understand it. She seemed to get along fine with the older folk in their little community in Brixham, England.
"Do the other children bully you?" Mrs. Barkley asked her for what must have been the millionth time since Cloe started attending school.
"They don't." Cloe shook her head once again. "We just don't get along is all." Mr. and Mrs. Barkley couldn't argue, or even find it all too surprising. They had always entertained the possibility that Cloe was a witch, the same as her late mother. And the odd things that seemed to happen around the wiry, frizzy haired girl almost confirmed it. This was one of the biggest reasons she was living here with her grandparents instead of with her father in London. Mr. Graves was quite sure he was incapable of holding a job and raising a young witch all on his own.
Cloe herself was fine with this. She much preferred the peaceful fishing town of Brixham to the bustling hive that was the London that had been described to her. She herself only had vague memories of shapes and smells of the place, since she had been very young when she had lived there in the past.
And now, the important age of elven, she was ancient and much too old to concern herself with wherever she might have lived back when she was two.

And the story begins. A young witch in Britain at the age of elven, it is all too obvious what happens next.
It was an exceptionally rainy day in late July. The only break in the constant downpour had been for an hour in the afternoon just a bit before supper. And of course, Cloe snatched the chance up in an instant and rushed out to the wet slicked streets. Not that she was dry at any rate. The girl had been running back and forth between her house on the upper floor of an apartment building, and the martial arts dojo across the street. She fancied herself quite the master, learning from her grandfather in their spare time. The truth of it was, she was no more skilled then the first day and going nowhere fast from there. But she enjoyed the time with her grandfather all the same.
But the rain had stopped now, and she was anxious to get out into the open air. Her boots thudded heavily on the road, echoing between the walls of houses before disappearing into the clouded sky.
After a rainfall was one of the best times to go down to the docks. That was when the most interesting things washed up, and the sea was still calming down, which was always a sight to make time for.
Soon, the buildings began to thin and Cloe found herself with an open view before her, stretching out to the horizon, the waters dancing powerfully into the distance. She thudded out over the wooden docks to the end of the pier, rolling up her sleeves to let the ocean breeze warm her scrawny arms that made her hands look unnaturally large by comparison. Then Cloe sat on the edge, feet dangling, and began to scan the water.
She was looking for anything that broke the surface. A cool stick or debris from a capsized boat. It was all worth looking at. Something soft pushed against her arm and Cloe looked to see one of the stray cats that lived in Brixham, purring for attention. Cloe happily obliged. It was a shame her grandma was allergic to cats. She would have loved to have one that was actually her own cat, instead of just a stray that would be fed by anyone.
Cloe turned her gaze out to the water again, only to immediately catch a glimpse of movement. It was not in the water, but above it. A large bird was flying straight for Brixham. Cloe sat up a little straighter, narrowing her somewhat bulbous eyes to try and make out what it was. As it flew closer, it's features shaped more and more to look like one of an owl. But surely, her mind was playing tricks on her. Or so Cloe thought. What kind of owl would be flying over the ocean in the middle of the afternoon?
But as it swooped over her there was no mistaking it to be anything other than an owl. And a rather large one at that. There was also something clutched in it's talons that might have been a fish, but it was gone before Cloe could decide for certain, disappearing amongst chimneys and finally dipping into the streets. Rather close to her house surprisingly.
Cloe abandoned her sea bound post immediately, giving the cat one last scratch under the chin before taking off back up the drying slopes to her street. Sure enough, the owl had passed through. It could still be seen flapping away in the distance, now barely more than a speck before disappearing out of sight once again into the grey storm clouds, which were growing to look rather foreboding as they had before. And, accordingly, a large fat raindrop hit the edge of Cloe's nose, and the rain began once more.
It was already thundering by the time Cloe had crossed the few yards to her house, and ran up to her grandparent's apartment. She closed the door with a slam, breathing in exhilaration from the sudden dash. Mrs. Barkley was by the stove in the kitchen just off the doorway. From the smell that was filling the house stronger than usual, it was buttered noodles again. Mr. Barkley had been in the process of getting out of his seat to get the mail, or more accurately, the newspaper, but his back had started complaining and he seemed stuck, half out of the chair and half in it.
"Cloe, grab me the paper there will you?" Mr. Barkley asked, sounding very relieved at his granddaughter's timely arrival. Cloe picked the newspaper up along with the other mail, which was piled at her feet, bringing it over to set on the unstable shelf standing next to Mr. Barkley's worn chair. Then, routinely, she turned to Mr. Barkley and gave his back a firm hit for her size. It was just enough to loosen his muscles and let the old man sink back into his chair with a sigh of contentment. He slid the newspaper out from under the other letters and opened it with a rustle of pages.
Cloe picked up the other letters and waved them about lightly, watching how the separate envelops bended at different degrees from the motion. "What should I do with these grandpap?"
Mr. Barkley hummed, already lost in the black and white pages.
"Oh, I'm expecting an invitation from Mrs. Robinson this week," Mrs. Barkley called from the kitchen, though she barely had to raise her voice. "Check through it for me, Dear, then you can just toss the rest. All it is are adverts these days…" her mumbling dropped off as Cloe thumbed through the smaller pieces of mail.
"Nothing from Mrs. Robinson, grandma, just a bunch of- Grandma, this one has my name on it." There, across the yellowing parchment and scrawled in green ink, were the words:

Ms. C Graves
Apartment 3
Egmont Road
Brixham

Cloe pulled the old looking, unusually thick letter from the others and hurried into the kitchen.
"Does it now?" Mrs. Barkley turned from the noodles, wiping wrinkled hands on her apron before taking the letter from Cloe's outstretched hand. "So it does, no return address, how irresponsible." She flipped over the letter. "Ah, well it was about time wasn't it. Louise! Louise her letter came!"
"Eh?" Came the disgruntled reply of someone who had just been drawn from a rather exciting sports article.
"Her Hogwarts letter Louise! Oh for lord's sake." Mrs. Barkley huffed, handing the letter back to Cloe. "Well go ahead and open it then, no need to stand at attention." Cloe took the letter back and stared at it for a second. It was the first time she had ever gotten mail that wasn't from her father or her old school friend who had moved to Africa a few years ago.
The wax seal on the back was a bit of a trouble, but Cloe spared only of few seconds on it before opening the envelope and sliding the contents out.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock.
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Graves.
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress

Cloe had to read the letter twice. The first time she was to busy wondering what a Mugwump was to focus on anything else. The second reading was enough for her to get the idea. She looked up at her grandmother. "Hogwarts?"
"That's the school your mother went to." Mrs. Barkley nodded, stirring the noodles inattentively. "Best school of magic in Britain. Only school, as a matter of fact."
A number of questions ran through Cloe's head. Of course, she was aware of witches and wizards. Her uncle, a wizard himself, came to visit most summers for a few days, always bringing the strangest little things, moving pictures, flying brooms. It was all very interesting, but Cloe had never thought that she would be a witch herself. Well, she had hoped, but it seemed a far off reality, as much a possibility as one day sprouting fins and becoming a mermaid. And she would have preferred to become a mermaid, so she spent little time fanaticizing about becoming a witch.
Cloe fished out another piece of paper from the envelope and read that as well. It was a list of supplies as promised, but the items on the list were most peculiar, including a wand, a cauldron, brass scales, along with an assortment of book and uniform specifications. The girl looked around at the shabby little house, furnished with the bare necessities and a few odds and ends picked up over the years. Cloe wasn't sure how much this equipment would cost, but she was quite sure they would have no way to pay for it all. Not to mention, the list had some rather peculiar items on it.
"Louise, you'll have to get a hold of Robert sometime soon to take Cloe to get school supplies." Mrs. Barkley called to her husband.
"Alright, alright." Came the dismissive response of someone who had just reached the comics section.
"And see if you can get a few months' allotments early, no doubt things will be much more expensive then it was back it their day."
"Grandma, what's a Mugwump?" Cloe asked absently.
"I haven't a clue." Her grandmother replied.
"Oh."

And that's the first chapter! It starts out a little slow, but I already know the next chapter will be more exciting. This story is still in progress. I have planned the outline, but the chapters are still being written so feedback now will definitely shape the outcome of future chapters, so let me know what you think of it!