Disclaimer : I do not own Harry Potter or claim any part of this story aside from Holly.

Diary of a Discovered Girl
by Ash-Caro-Lynn

Chapter I : Of Chocolate and Coldness

"Come on, hurry up, we're going to miss the train if you continue to walk at that pace," complained Fred, one of my best friends, as we made our way through the busy King's Cross Station.

I rolled my eyes. "Fred Weasley, don't you dare get onto me about walking slowly, I'm behind you." He and his brother shared a wince.

"Bloody hell, Fred," complained George – Fred's twin. "She's starting to sound like Mum."

The two solemnly nodded, evidently agreeing over this fact. The twins' mother was a nice woman, really, she had practically adopted my brother and I even though the only way we were related to her was through one of our shared best friends by the name of Ronald Weasley (though he preferred to be called Ron).

This probably had a lot to do with the fact that my brother and I were orphans who had been separated from each other nearly twelve years ago on the night our parents were murdered by a dark wizard called Voldemort.

Most people don't like saying his name for fear of him – and indeed, I shouldn't be taking this lightly, seeing as he killed my parents.

But I'm not exactly normal, and it's not only based off the fact that I'm a witch, though that is a large part of who I am.

Not the type from Muggle stories – that is, the fairy tales that non-magical folk come up with. I brew potions in cauldrons, but only in Potions class (which I am particularly strong in). I can also summon items to my hand with only a flick of my wand, though the only time I really practice those skills is in Charms class, another of my talents.

Though I can (and will, if you push me enough) turn you into a beetle if I so choose. But Transfiguration isn't so much my jurisdiction as it was my brother's.

My brother, Harry James, was remarkable, and for reasons other than the fact that he was awesome at Transfiguration.

In fact, he was famous, and practically every child from our world – the wizarding world, that is – knew his name.

On the night our parents died, both Harry and I had witnessed their fall, and indeed, Voldemort had tried to kill us as well. But there was something that protected my brother, that some would call love and others would call sheer dumb luck, and when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse and spoke the words that had caused our parents to fall, Harry somehow survived and defeated the dark wizard, the only proof he ever fought him being a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

It really was an epic tale compared to my own – I had been protected not by love nor luck, but by sheer coincidence as I ducked – yes ducked – the curse he sent at me, leaving no trace aside from the lock of jet black hair the same shade as my brother's on the left side of my face, dark as the spell I had nearly been killed by. I blew said strand of hair out of my face as I continued to follow the Weasley twins at the painfully slow pace they had set.

"Can, I, like, ditch the two of you?" I complained, and they shot identical grins back over their shoulders at me in response. I rolled my eyes as they finally (finally!) parted, allowing me to pass between them and rush to get to the train on time, the two of them picking up their pace only after I left them.

The little shits. Well, not little, seeing as they're taller than me… whatever.

I quickly unloaded my trunk and owl – a fine specimen I had fondly nicknamed 'Dove,' despite the fact that the name made absolutely no sense – and boarded the train, quickly locating a compartment and sitting down.

It was only as I was extracting a book from my bag to read on the ride when I noticed that the train compartment I had chosen was not, in fact, empty. There was a man in the seat across from me – not a student, but a man who looked to be a professor, sleeping against the window with a suitcase at his feet. Curious, I read the name stamped on it in faded lettering – Professor R.J. Lupin.

So, I had chosen the one compartment on the train in which a professor resided. Interesting. Idly, I wondered whether or not this was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

See, in all of the whopping two years that I had been at the school, Hogwarts had never managed to keep a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for more than a year. The first, Professor Quirrell, had turned out to be housing Voldemort on the back of his head (beneath a turban), and had ultimately died at the end of the year when Voldemort had tried to kill Harry and I. Harry had defeated the Dark Lord and his servant, and thus had ended the first professor.

The second, Gilderoy Lockhart, had been a phenomenon in the Wizarding World. From defeating banshees to saving villages from werewolves – or something of the sort, I don't exactly remember – he had written books on several amazing achievements that all turned out to be fake when he was unveiled as a fraud at the end of the year. He had ultimately been tasked with saving a student from a Basilisk – a giant, snake-like creature that had haunted the school and tried to kill students born to non-magical parents – and had ended up packing his bags to leave rather than venturing into the Chamber of Secrets to save Ginny Weasley (which Harry, Ron and I had ultimately ended up doing), and thus had ended the second professor.

I was shaken out of my thoughts quite literally as a pair of hands reached out and shook my shoulders. I tried to scowl but ended up laughing at my brother's antics.

"Harry, you've got to stop doing that," I scolded, though my seriousness was rather dampened by the wide grin spreading across my face. "So how's your summer been? I haven't seen you in forever!"

Harry had been staying with the Dursleys – our awful aunt, uncle and cousin. Having been thought to have been killed the Halloween night that had ended our parents, I had thankfully been separate.

Petunia, our aunt, was a bitter woman who enjoyed talking about others and gossiping but absolutely loathed answering any of her nephew's questions.

Vernon, our uncle, was a man who was about as good at running his own company – a firm called 'Grunnings' – as he was at being nice to people. And well, let's just say that his company wasn't the greatest. He yelled a lot – though whether or not he enjoyed this was uncertain – and it was a wonder that he managed to stay upright with all of his wobbles of fat.

Meanwhile, his son Dudley was a fat pig of a boy who enjoyed eating almost as much as he enjoyed beating up Harry, tormenting Harry, and generally being a jerk to Harry. You get the picture.

They were a bunch of meanies, to put it lightly.

"You mean two weeks," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I've been good – been staying at the Leaky Cauldron after blowing up our delightful Aunt Marge and seeing a Grim-"

"Blowing up our aunt?" I repeated. "Harry, where on earth did you get the explosives to do that? You must've needed a lot, if she's anything like Uncle Vernon-"

He laughed. "Like a balloon, Holly, not a bomb," he explained. "Otherwise I'd probably be running from more than just death omens and angry relatives."

"Wait, stop for a second," I said, holding up a hand. "Death omens? Grims? Mate, I know you're taking Divination as an elective this year, but still… I think Professor Trelawney isn't quite as determined in predicting death as you are."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I didn't think much of it at the time, but I saw a giant black dog as I left the Dursleys' residence, but I saw it on the cover of a book and-"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," I chastised, shaking my head. "Oh, whenever will you learn? Those authors are about as trustworthy as Sirius Black."

"Sirius Black?" repeated Harry. "Who's he?"

I gasped dramatically, holding a hand to my heart. "Why, brother dearest, however have you not heard of Sirius Black, the notorious murderer under the highest security at Azkaban, the wizarding prison that is, who just managed to escape and make the Dementors look like doofuses?"

"Dementors?" I shook my head, sighing.

"The evil ghosty-ghouly thingies that guard the highest security wizarding prison," I explained. "It's said that they suck the happiness out of the prisoners and eventually take away their souls, leaving them shells of who they used to be."

"Pleasant sounding," mumbled Harry, finally looking at the man still snoozing in the corner. "Who's he? Have you managed to steal one of the other kids' parents?"

I laughed. "Unless there's a student by the last name of Lupin, I don't think so," I replied. "He's our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, I think. Professor R.J. Lupin. Do you think it would be inappropriate to ask what the 'R' and 'J' stand for?"

"Probably," he replied, "though asking his age would be more inappropriate."

"I've missed you so, brother dearest!" I cried dramatically, leaping on him in a sort of flying tackle hug made awkward by the fact that he was sitting. The compartment door slid open, revealing my very best girl friend, Hermione Granger.

The girl in question raised an eyebrow. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked, shooting me a knowing look. I rolled my eyes.

"Darling Granger, I honestly have missed you, but you really do need to stop insinuating that," I said, shaking my head and patting the seat next to me (having climbed off of Harry).

See, darling Hermione Granger was under the impression that my name was Willow Leavitt, as was the rest of the Hogwarts population aside from the Weasley family. This was because I had told them this – and the entire wizarding world had been told that Holly Louise Potter had died the same night that her parents had.

I had grown up rather sheltered from people, needless to say.

And Hermione also enjoyed insinuating that Harry fancied me – despite my frequent protests, she wouldn't stop; without any actual proof to the contrary, she continued her suspicions.

"Who's that?" asked Hermione curiously, looking at the professor who was still sleeping (however he managed to do it I would never learn).

"Professor R.J. Lupin," I answered. "Don't ask how old he is, apparently that's inappropriate, 'cording to Harry."

My brother rolled his eyes as Hermione giggled. "Girls," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Wiser, perhaps, but saner? Most definitely not."

"Yes!" I cried as the train drew to a stop. "Finally! The end of this ride! I am starvished!"

"First of all," replied Harry, "what does starvished mean?"

I rolled my eyes. "Starved and famished," I replied. "And whatever other points did you wish to address, Harry dear? The beautiful scenery, perhaps?"

"No," he replied. "The facts that the trolley lady hasn't come by yet and that the last I checked, this ride lasted for several hours, not half of one."

"Buzzkill," I mumbled, leaning back in the seat and crossing my arms over my chest, brows furrowed as I turned over the information in my head. "So why are we stopping, then? Have they finally determined that you're unworthy of attending Hogwarts and decided to throw you off the train?"

"I'd like to see them try," commented Hermione, suddenly flinching. I looked at her like she was crazy for a moment (not that she wasn't, but beside the point, really) before I too jumped, feeling cold rush into the compartment and send a chill up my spine.

"What's happening?" I mumbled worriedly, watching my breath form clouds in the suddenly chilled air. Neither Harry nor Hermione could answer as the lights started to flicker, their last shimmers illuminating the frost starting to creep up the glass door before we were enveloped in complete darkness.

I heard Hermione let out a small squeak, barely seeing that someone had fallen on top of her in the darkness. "Who's this?" asked the disembodied voice of the person now struggling to get up.

"Neville?" she asked. The clumsy boy and I weren't the best of friends, but we were certainly at least very well acquainted.

"Hermione?" his voice sounded.

"Willow!" I shouted with a grin, and I could feel the gazes of the other members of the compartment on me even though I couldn't see them. "Just trying to diffuse the tension..." I mumbled in my defense. "Say, Neville, what are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you guys," he replied, and if I had been able to see him I'm almost certain I would have seen him shrug. "Ginny's-"

Before he could finish his sentence, I felt the grin slip from my face as a hooded figure approached. My heart turned to ice as I heard unintelligible screaming.

The hooded figure came closer, and stretched out a cloaked arm, though I wasn't able to spend long looking at it as I felt my eyes roll back into my head as my already dark vision turned to blackness.