"Ah, Mrs. Dursley. It has been a long time since I've been here." Violet bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling in front of Petunia. She learned not to appear happy when they were upset ever since the first time Dudley tripped in kindergarten, and she had laughed. But her aunt just looked so uncomfortable right now.

"Who are you? Take your hands off my niece. If you hurt her, we'll look bad- people might think we did it, or that we should have been watching the girl more closely."

"Professor and Deputy Head of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall. I've come to take Violet to buy her school things."

"Very well. Come in. Quickly. At least you had the sense to dress in normal clothes. Wait, buy her school things? Did you get a letter? What…" Petunia's grating voice went from falsely polite to ominous.

"I thought it was a prank. I swear. I only wrote a reply to tell the idiot who sent it to stop. I was going to put that letter in the mail, but I was at the library and forgot it there. When I went back, my reply was just gone!" Violet said quickly. "Then Professor McGonagall just showed up in the library today. I'm as surprised as you are."

Petunia scoffed. "Just goes to show. Their lot is everywhere. You didn't see any owls around lately? Any odd birds?"

Violet shook her head. "Just sparrows. Would you like some tea, Professor? To sit down?"

"No thank you, lass. We're in a bit of a rush today. Now, Petunia. I've explained everything to Violet already. I just wanted to let you know where she's going, and that you are not to interfere. When Dudley and Vernon come home, make sure they know these things as well."

Petunia actually staggered a little, as if she had just been punched in the chest, grabbed the pristine kitchen counter she always hated to get anyone's fingerprints on, took a deep breath, then straightened up to her full and considerable height, almost as tall as the professor.

"Yes. Well. Vernon and I always hoped that the girl would turn out normally, like us. We thought if she was smart…didn't get a big head about her…we could make things work better for all of us, and she might not be a-"

"I would not finish that sentence, if I were you," Professor McGonagall cut across the trail of her train of thought.

A what? The Dursleys had been smart enough not to refer to her as a "freak" in case that would reflect badly on them, but Violet sensed the missing word hanging in the tense silence.

"Violet." She jumped. Aunt Petunia rarely used her actual name. "Girl" or "you" or nothing at all was more common. "Go change into your holiday outfit. The one for the Easter cards. Even in…with…that lot, I'll not have you in something old. Then come down to the kitchen. And please, Professor, give us a bit of privacy. I'll have her ready to go very soon."

Petunia always bought the family new outfits for Christmas and Easter, took carefully posed photos, and sent them out along with twice-yearly holiday letters. She never missed a chance to brag. To look charitable. That was why "the girl" got to be in them at all, Violet guessed. But, new clothes are new clothes. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth" was one of her aunt's little sayings.

A few minutes later, Violet tried not to wince as her aunt, none too gently, pulled a brush, then a comb, through her long red hair. "'Hold still, girl. It's hard to do this quickly. That woman said she was in a hurry…there. It looks perfect." She had finally achieved the straight, careful part down the middle of Violet's scalp, pulling the hair towards the back of her head until the girl's forehead screamed. But instead of the day-to-day long ponytail her aunt favored "to keep things neat, we don't want hair in our food," she felt strands being separated, then carefully braided. Petunia had always said, before, that special hair took too long, that it was only for special occasions.

Violet felt Petunia relax slightly with the repeated motions of the braiding. At almost the end, she heard the woman clear her throat, pause awkwardly, drop the loose bit.

"Girl?"

"Yes?"

"It's a different world, over there. My sister went to live in it, when she got her letter."

Violet froze. Petunia had never mentioned her sister before, only said that her name had been Lily. Another pause, then Petunia took a deep breath, returning to her brisk, snappish manner and finishing the braid as she talked.

"You're going to have to make your own way. This family can't help you, there. Not that we would. Vernon would leave if I ever set foot in…with that, I mean, your lot now. Parents gone. It's just you now. I thought you might not be a-" she swallowed. "But you are. So be a good one. You know how important reputation is by now. And remember, first impressions are important. Don't touch your hair. It needs to stay neat the whole time you're gone. Do you understand me?"

Violet nodded.

"Yes or no, girl. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"Good. Get up, you're done. Here."

Violet stifled a gasp. Petunia had just rummaged in her purse and handed her a twenty-pound note. Considering Petunia's cheapness with her unwanted ward, this was more money than she had ever given her in her life. "Their- I mean, your money system- is different there. But take this. In case that woman wants to take you for a quick dinner or what have you on the way back, or you need train fare. I don't know how to get to that place, but I won't have anyone thinking that we can't afford to care for you." Violet turned to leave.

"Wait. I never liked that scar anyway. Come here."

She shuddered as Petunia brushed first vitamin E cream, then several layers of concealer, over the scar on her forehead, then stepped back and looked critically at her work. "Well, it'll have to do, and time's getting on. Go."

"But how are we getting to this other world, then? Surely we can't just walk." Violet was a little out of breath as she lengthened her stride to keep up with the much taller professor's brisk gait.

"The Wizarding world, lass. We aren't aliens. I'm just looking for somewhere we won't be noticed so we can use the Portkey."

"What's a port-key?"

"Well, as I said, it's inadvisable for me to use my wand in the Muggle, that is, nonmagic, world. But, if you can work without one, or you've got an object that already has a spell on it, it's not a problem as long as the Muggles don't see. So, a Portkey is an enchanted object that transports witches and wizards from place to place more or less instantaneously."

"Does it hurt?" They had come across the small play park that Dudley liked to try to wreck, nearly empty of people due to the summer heat.

"No. Ah, this will do." There was a small band of pines separating the play park from a walking path, on the side furthest from the main road. McGonagall checked her watch, ducked behind the trees, and pulled a quill, an actual, old-fashioned quill, like medieval times, from the pocket of her suit. "Thirty seconds. Violet, this quill will glow blue and take us away then. Just touch it- a finger will work, you don't want to break the quill. There."

Violet had just enough time to think how absurd this would look to an outsider, a child and an adult huddled over a ratty old bird feather, expecting a miracle, before the quill began glowing a bright blue. Then the world around them spun, vanished, shrank and tightened. They were flying through the air, blurred glimpses of other spaces flashing in and out of view so fast she felt a bit sick. She had just decided to close her eyes and see whether that might help, when she hit…the ground? No, a floor…hard, falling flat on her back. McGonagall stood above her, looking slightly ruffled but upright, and held out a hand.

"Are you all right? This is the Leaky Cauldron, the way into the Wizarding world." Violet nodded, getting to her feet and examining the quiet, large but dingy room around them. It seemed to be a pub; a few unusually dressed people sat at tables, drinking from mugs and wineglasses. She and the professor were near the bar, and after a minute, a shabby-looking man with a missing front tooth looked up from the glasses he was wiping.

"What can I get yeh today, Professor?" he asked.

"No thank you, Tom. Hogwarts business today. I've come to help a student buy their school things."

"Eh?" Tom's gaze flicked briefly over Violet, but he didn't react. "Another time then." As they hurried out, Violet heard him mumble something that didn't make sense. "A Weasley, needing the professor to visit them? Well, they do breed like gnomes. Maybe she's a Muggleborn cousin."

Violet didn't know if she wanted to laugh or get angry when the professor only opened the back door of the pub, and they found themselves in a small brick courtyard, next to an overflowing rubbish bin. Somehow, she had expected the way into a special new world to at least involve a closet full of furs, like in those Narnia books she had had to read at the library because Petunia didn't approve of anything like magic. But then, she saw the professor's wand. Yes, an actual wand, finely carved and with tiny runes down the length of it. Finally, some serious magic.

McGonagall was concentrating, tapping once, twice before she finally tapped a certain brick close to the ground. The brick wriggled; it shifted; and with a muffled grinding sound, the bricks moved carefully before their eyes, instead forming into a wide archway where a solid wall had been just ten seconds ago. A long, twisted street lined with brightly colored shops stretched so far that Violet had to squint to see the tall, bright white building at its far end.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley. No time to waste, let's go on to Gringotts." McGonagall forged ahead, not looking around her, but Violet wished she could stop and examine everything. The street was full of unusual people, most in long, plain robes, but some in even stranger outfits, and some people that looked so strange she wondered if they were people at all. No one paid them any mind. There were shops selling robes like the ones people were wearing and more, shops full of books of all sizes and colours, shops with cauldrons, shops selling admittedly smelly ingredients Violet had never heard of before, and even a shop selling, oddly, brooms.

"Gringotts?"

"Right, my lass, you don't know. It's a bank just for witches and wizards."

"But I haven't any money. Well, a little…and my aunt and uncle won't pay for me to go to Hog-warts." The name sounded awkward on her tongue when she tried it out.

"I see you've been misinformed. Did you think your parents left you with nothing?"

"I didn't know. They were young when they died, what was their financial situation like?"

"Your mother was Muggle-born- that is, she had non magical parents, so she didn't have anything to leave you in this world. I believe her assets, if she had any, passed to her sister when she died, since they were non-magical. Your father was a pureblood- that means his whole family was witches and wizards. They have been for centuries. His family has a lot of history and relatives in high places, so he was quite wealthy as the sole heir. He was an only child, so anything anyone wanted to pass down came to him. They used a good portion of the fortune before you were born on- well, I'll tell you somewhere private- but still, you have enough money for all seven years of school, plus any further study you might want to undertake. You should be fine until you're in your thirties, but I do hope you aren't so lazy as to put off working until the money's gone."

"What was his name? Aunt Petunia never told me, only that my mother was Lily," Violet asked, slightly annoyed that the professor hadn't been using their names at all.

"I can't go shouting that all over the Alley, unless you want to get mobbed. I'll tell you at the bank, or you can read the records."

"Why would I get mobbed? Did I do something wrong? Was my father famous?"

"No, my lass. Don't worry. I'll be able to tell you soon."

A few minutes later, they entered the snow-white doors of the bank, and the question of why anyone would want to mob her flew right out of Violet's mind. There were two tall rows of counters with scales, briefcases, and strongboxes on them. But what she noticed was who- or was it what? Was sitting behind those.

Small, short, almost disfigured-looking creatures with sallow skin and long fingers counted money, examined and weighed jewels, and talked with customers. She stood on her tiptoes to tap McGonagall on the shoulder. "What are those?" she whispered.

"Not what, dear. Who. Goblins. They run the Wizarding banking system. They're very clever, and they always protect the assets. Just be polite," McGonagall whispered back, then walked towards a free goblin, motioning Violet to follow.

"Good morning. My name is Karlak. How can I help you today?" the goblin said, in a voice that sounded as though it were chewing on rocks.

"Ms. Violet Potter would-" but Violet interrupted. She had gone to the Muggle bank with Petunia many times, and her aunt had always stressed polite behavior where one could be overheard.

"It's nice to meet you, Karlak. My name is Violet Potter, and I was told that my parents had money here that I could use for my education. How do I go about accessing it?"

"Ah, the Potter account. Yes," Karlak sighed. McGonagall had just dropped a tiny golden key on the counter between them. "Well, that's the key to your vault. The money you'll need is in a small trust vault, and any family paperwork or heirlooms is in a larger main vault. I assume you want to go to the trust vault, then."

Violet nodded, then looked at the professor. "Maybe a quick stop at the family...vault then." why vaults? That's medieval.. "If there's time."

"Wait a moment. First, I would like to speak to Ms. Potter in private, if you can spare a meeting room. It won't take long." McGonagall cut in.

"Of course, madam. Right over here."

It wasn't until Karlak shut the door that Violet remembered that there was something important for her to know that they could only discuss in private. "So, about my father?" she tried, being the first to break the tense silence.

"Your father wasn't famous, Violet. You are."

"Why would I be famous? I've never done anything much."

"Can I ask you, dear, did you ever study World War II in Muggle school? Or are you too young?"

"Not in detail, no. But I go to the library almost every day. I know about the battles, and the atom bomb, and Hitler and the…camps." Violet had wanted to cry the first time she had read about those places.

"Well, the Wizarding World was at war when your parents died. There was a wizard- a very powerful one- who had ideas like Hitler. He wanted the Muggleborns to be killed, and for only purebloods- people like James, your father- to rule over everyone. Everyone was terrified. We still don't use the name of that wizard, if we can help it, even these days."

"You could write it down?"

"I suppose so. But I won't do it again." McGonagall found a quill and the back of a Gringotts envelope, and wrote Voldemort, her hand shaking. Violet resolved not to use that name in front of the professor; even this simple act of writing seemed to have terrified her. She pocketed the envelope with the odd name on it.

"So, this wizard..what side were my parents on? Wait, they can't have been helping…this guy, not if my mother was Muggleborn."

"Exactly. I think you'll go into Ravenclaw. A shame. I would have liked you for my own house." The professor paused. "This wizard- most people call him You-Know-Who- killed your parents for fighting against his cause." Violet felt a strange surge of pride, shivered. Ms. Kaur had recommended a book about famous resistance fighters, and photos from that book swam into her head. Willem Arondeus. Sophie Scholl. And more.

Violet sniffed, realizing now that she was crying. McGonagall passed her a handkerchief. "But I haven't even gotten to why you're famous, lass. You-Know-Who tried to kill you, after he had done your parents."

A flash of memory she had only ever seen a few times before, during long hours in her small, sparse bedroom. Green light. Laughter. Then pain in her forehead.

"But I'm still here."

"That's why you're famous. No one else ever lived when You-Know-Who went after them. You were only fifteen months old, and you lived. No one knows why. And after he tried to kill you, You-Know-Who just disappeared. Gone. The war was over. Some people think he died, that the curse he used to kill rebounded on him. Perhaps. But, I'm not so optimistic. Maybe he's just hiding out somewhere, too weak to carry on. That's how you got the- what happened to your scar?"

"Aunt Petunia put makeup on it."

McGonagall snorted. "For now, it can't hurt. There is also a large magical family in this world, the Weasleys, who all have red hair. The makeup, your hair, and my ability to not shout all over the Alley like an idiot kept people from recognizing you today. Let's keep it that way. Now, do you need a moment, or can we go down to the vaults? I also have to stop and pick something up for Headmaster Dumbledore. Very important."

Violet wiped her eyes. "I'm fine. I want time to see my family vault. Let's go."

She blinked in the bright white lobby, stowing a large money bag in her mother's old trunk, forty-five minutes and two wild cart rides later. True, she could have taken her father's trunk instead, but her mother's looked cleaner and was a softer, burnished shade of dark pine as opposed to her father's black. She had piled several school and other books into the trunk, and also changed some of this strange new currency into Muggle money. There had been too many times where she had wanted for just a few pounds, and the exchange rate was something like three to one. "Last time I ever mow the lawn for one lousy pound. I can't wait to go shopping."

"Clothes first, lass. Most people don't wear Muggle clothes to Diagon Alley." She led them out of the bank and towards the store Violet had first seen on her way in. Madam Malkin's.

"Right. First impressions."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just something my aunt says a lot. First impressions matter. She and my uncle have always focused on looking good and having a good reputation."

McGonagall huffed. "Well, she's not exactly wrong. Go in there and get fitted for school robes, and maybe some casual wizarding wear as well. The school robes are on the list, but since you don't have other proper clothes, ask Madam Malkin for help. I hate those Gringotts carts. Do you mind if I wait outside to get some air?"

Even though she was nervous, Violet remembered how bad she had felt for throwing up on the professor, albeit in animal form, and had no desire for the reverse to happen. "It's fine, Professor. I can try on clothes alone, I'm not a baby."

"Hogwarts, dear?" asked the squat, dark-haired woman with a sewing pin in the corner of her mouth as Violet entered the hushed, neat shop with clothes and fabric stocked on all sides. Violet nodded. "Well. Got the lot here- a young man being fitted up just now, actually. Go over and stand on the stool next to him and we'll get you fixed up."

A tall boy with a thin face and white-blond hair stood on the other stool, looking bored. "Hello," he said languidly. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes."

"Know what house you'll be- hmm, no." The shop assistant had just made him turn to one side so he was facing Violet. The boy picked up his errant train of thought. "I know your house. Red hair, Muggle clothes, freckles…you must be a Weasley. They're always in Gryffindor." She didn't understand all of that, but could tell from his tone that he didn't like the Weasleys. His voice and carelessness seemed to remind her of spoiled, pampered Dudley. Sure, he wasn't allowed to beat people up publicly, but he had picked up on his mother's tendency to gossip in the worst ways.

"Actually, I was told that I might be in Ravenclaw." Violet said coolly.

"Well, that's all right if you want to be a library lily. Imagine being in Hufflepuff though. I think I'd leave, what about you?"

Violet shrugged, unable to think of a better answer.

"I'll be in Slytherin. All my family has been for generations. And I'm going to smuggle in my own broom. It's a crime that first years aren't allowed to play on the Quidditch teams. Do you play Quidditch at all?" the boy went on.

"No," seemed like a better answer than "What's Quidditch?" so she said the former. Violet liked this boy less and less every minute.

"So are you a Weasley, then? They don't have many girls." But before Violet could answer, the young assistant chirped, "That's you done, dear," and the pale boy paid and left. She was glad to be rid of him; she didn't want to admit that she didn't have any Wizarding clothes, not with another person around, but the shop was happy to help.

In a surprisingly short amount of time, she had been fitted and sent on her way, as well as bought everything else on the list. Professor McGonagall almost had to drag her out of Flourish and Blotts, and only succeeded by pointing out that it was time to get her wand and that she had her mother's books and an entire library at Hogwarts, so please just buy what's on the list and get out of here.

A magic wand…This was what Violet had been looking forward to.