Chapter 1

Sixteen Going on Seventeen

It all began when I didn't want to go to Prom.

As a 11th year, I wasn't even expected to go, and that was all right by me. Fancy dresses and guys? How, about, no. Unfortunately for me, every single guy in the school knew exactly how I felt. It started out simple enough-one or two asking as a joke- but quickly enough it escalated to full blown harassment. I couldn't walk 50 feet without some guy getting on a knee and asking. It didn't matter that half of them had girlfriends and dates; no one could pass up the opportunity to make Rosalee Anderson blush.

Finally when two boys got into a fake fist fight over it, I cracked. For a long time I wouldn't even know what happened, but when I finally got an explanation the spinning chairs and deadly books made sense. Freak wind they called it, but I couldn't help but wonder. How could there be wind when all the doors were closed?

My answer came a few months later, on July 11, 2014-my sweet 16.

Except it really wasn't sweet at all-Heaven knows where the term came from, probably the Americans who can drive at 16. Maybe I'll get a provisional motorcycle license. I'm old enough for that at least. Ha ha as if dad would ever let that happen.

I was just stuck home alone, as always, waiting for my dad to get home so we could have some cake. (Or I could pretend to like the cake while secretly wishing for pie if we're being accurate.)

Think on the bright side, at least with dad out you can wear jeans. He'd murder you if he came home to find you looking like this.

No, it was for the best that I got to be home alone. At least this way I could blast Pippin and chill out without worrying about getting in trouble. Not that I wasn't always in trouble, but you know what I mean.

Actually, since you're just a random person who decided to read my autobiography without even realizing it's an autobiography, I guess you don't. You really don't know much about me at all? Or do you? Maybe you're reading this in History of Magic class because I'm so amazing and you know me like I know Merlin.

Who am I kidding? You probably just went into the Room of Requirement looking for a bathroom and found this lying on the seat. I'm not famous, and I never will be. I'm long forgotten probably, it's best that way, best for no one to remember the horrible deeds of my day.

Though I guess, if you read this, you'll remember. And you'll understand why I came to wish I hadn't been in-between songs when the doorbell rang.

Just last month I would have ignored it, but considering we had a newly installed manned gate whoever was at the door had a very good reason for being there. Turning down the music so the words to "Corner of the Sky" were only distinguishable to someone who knew them as well as me, I went to answer the door.

The woman who stood on the other side was probably about 35, but her curly blonde hair that had been pulled up into a tight bun aged her. "Rosalee Anderson?"

"Yes ma'am," I told her my years of training kicking in despite the questionable clothes I currently wore. "What can I help you with?"

The room looked inside my ornate doorway and I almost got the feeling she hadn't known I was loaded. How she couldn't I didn't know; if this woman didn't know who I was why would she be at my house? "Are your parents home?"

Wow. She really didn't know who I was. I'm not saying everyone did, but for her to find my house and not know… wow. "My mum's been dead for two years, ma'am, and my dad's out. Is there something I can help you with?"

"I'm sorry to hear that," she replied honestly and I got the feeling she understood what it was like to face death as a teenager. "Do you know when your father will be home?"

Did I ever? "Probably nine, why? Who did you say you were?" Actually, I realized she hadn't said, but I was trying to be polite. I didn't know who she was, and she probably wasn't 'important' but my dad would be furious if he knew I hadn't acted like a lady.

"That's part of what I need to tell you," the woman replied a small grin lining her face. "I guess I can just explain it to you and then you can talk to your father when he gets home." I wanted to ask what she meant to explain, but I knew however hard I tried, it would just come out biting. Instead, I kept my mouth shut and waited for her to continue. "Can I come in Miss Anderson?"

My graciousness only spreads so far, "I'm not usually one to let strangers into my house. As you can see we have plenty for you to steal…and that's if you're not a murderer in the first place."

"Now that's much more what I expected," the woman chuckled. "You don't have to act so proper around me Rosalee. I'm not going to tell your dad."

Well that was good, but I still didn't have any answers, "Who are you though? What do you want with me?"

"It doesn't matter how many times I do this, it never gets easier," the woman confessed and for the first time I noticed the nervous twitching of her hands and the movement of her feet. "You've read Harry Potter, correct?"

Read it? I could recite the first page at least-probably the whole first chapter. "Yes."

"Then you'll know exactly who I am. My name is Hermione Weasley."

I'll admit it; I laughed. "Sure. And I'm a witch."

Unfortunately, it was then Mrs. Weasley's turn to chuckle, "Actually Rosalee, that's exactly why I'm here."