Galadriel stared unhappily out the window as the plane hit the runway at Heathrow Airport. She'd tried everything- sulking, screaming, crying, hunger strike, reverse psychology, hysterics, fainting. Just to name a few. Grandpa won. As always. She wasn't quite sure how exactly, but he had. And now she was here: England. The good old U.K. She knew how it must have felt in the old days when girls got sent to convents, never to speak or laugh or have fun again. That's what this was. She was an orphan and now she'd been sent to the convent. At least she could remember her friends' tearful goodbyes and the only slightly reserved farewell party.

This moping line of thought got her all the way through customs. She was met at the gate by a stern-looking woman wearing a sensible tweed suit, and sensible shoes, with her hair in a severe bun. "You must be Ms. Goldhart," the woman said, looking at her through square-rimmed glasses. "I'm Minerva McGonagall, deputy head mistress of Hogwarts School."

Galadriel eyed the woman warily. "Where's grandpa?"

"He received an urgent owl from the Ministry, and so he sent me to collect you."

"Oh." Great, she just got here and she was already being collected like trash… "Well, nice to meet you Minerva. I'm Galadriel… so, we best be going right? I never was really big on airports," Gala said, smiling her most winning smile- the one Guin claimed could win anyone over, when she say McGonagall blanche at being called by her first name by a kid.

"Erm, yes… we should be. Come along," McGonagall grabbed one of Galadriel's suitcases, "there's a car waiting outside."

And what a car- it looked like it should have been safely ensconced in a classic car museum. That or some Tommy-toting gangster should have been leaning out of the back window spraying bullets at a barbershop window. If Gala had been channeling Al Capone she would have loved it. As it was she missed the Bureau cars back home- late model luxury sedans. Still, the car wasn't all bad: the seats were comfy, the driver silent, and the ride was much less bumpy than one would expect. And all her bags fit in the trunk. She kept her carry-on with her in the back seat, and opened it while McGonagall was enumerating the various wonders and allures of the great school of Hogwarts.

The woman also seemed to be very impressed by Galadriel's grandfather. But then, everyone was, really.

Gala nodded in all the right spots, not hearing a word, as she reached into the carry on.

The bag was enchanted to have several extremely large compartments. Finally she opened the right one… and an indignant yowl was heard from the bag.

Minerva stopped mid-sentence. "What on earth… Ms. Goldhart?"

Gala smiled. "Sorry, Minerva," she said as she opened the bag wide and tipped it onto the seat. A moment later what appeared to be a tabby cat with huge ears and a lion's tail stalked out of the carry on bag. "But Marmalade was wanting out."

"That's a kneazle… you do have a license I hope?" Minerva said disapprovingly.

"Duh. Grandpa got her for me ages ago… I was about 6, which is why she has her unfortunate name Lady Marmalade. But she seems to like it." Gala laughed and stroked the overly large ears.

"I hope you don't intend to keep her with you in the dorms?" Minerva asked, eying the Kneazle sharply.

"Of course I do. Grandpa already okay'ed it if you're worried about that," Gala said dismissively. "So, where are we headed anyway?"

Reluctantly taking her eyes off the creature, and privately wondering what Dumbledore was thinking to allow a full-blooded Kneazle in the dorms, McGonagall answered the girl's question. "Diagon Alley. You'll need to pick up your books and school robes before classes begin."

Gala's blue eyes flared wide. "School robes? A uniform? You have uniforms?"

"Of course."

"He never told me that. Not a word of it! I'd never have agreed to this! How could he? How could he? I hate uniforms! That's cruel, so cruel- they turn everyone into a clone, wiping out individuality and resulting the erosion of one's imagination! They make you into a freaking clone!"

McGonagall was taken aback by the girl's furious tirade. "Ms. Goldhart!" she said shaply. "I assure you our students are quite healthy and happy in their uniforms. They do indeed retain their 'individuality' and are scarcely unimaginative… and what in Merlin's name are clones?"

"Of course you say that- you have to. And clones are… er… never mind…" She was saved from further questions as the car came to a stop in front of a shabby little pub. "What's this?"

"The Leaky Cauldron. Come along, the car will be back in two hours. We need to get your shopping done." McGonagall produced a list from somehwhere, grabbed Galadriel's wrist, and swept her out of the car and into the dark pub.

Gala had only a vague impression of a hopelessly antique bar, odd patrons, and they were out back of the building. McGonagall tapped her wand on some specific brick and the wall simply parted.

Galadriel stared open-mouthed at the street before her. Crowds of wizarding folks, all in robes and hats, were mulling along a cobbled street filled with magic shops of all descriptions.