Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story (more's the pity--they could help pay my student loans) except for Eve Berger. Nor did I come up with the plot of PoA, and the scenes and dialogue included in that fab book, which I humbly reproduce at certain points herein. All that belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, Raincoast, Scholastic...the list goes on!

A/N: Again, thank you to my spectacular beta, Joan, a.k.a "Hyacinth Macaw".

And before you start groaning, the reaction of a particular kitten to my main character in this chapter is completely true. It happened to a friend of mine, while were were looking for a new cat for her. Needless to say, she adopted that particular kitty without hesitation. :-)

Oh, and please play "Guess the reference" with the kitty's name. If you're read/seen the story I used as inspiration, it'll be completely obvious anyway.

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Chapter Two: The Letter from Hogwarts

Eve Berger trudged up the steps to her flat, mail tightly clutched in one hand, dragging her rucksack behind her. After a full day at work at the Sherlock Holmes Museum and the crush on the Tube, she was dead on her feet and wanted only to get home and slip into a hot bath. That certainly sounded like a good start to what looked to be a perfect weekend. Beth, her flatmate, had gone home to Bristol for a long weekend and Eve was greatly looking forward to having the place to herself.

She peered through rain-speckled glasses as she unlocked her door, feeling water dripping down her neck from her chin-length, bobbed, brown hair. Finally managing to turn her key in the lock, she stepped into her flat and dumped her rucksack by the door. It made a heavy thump as it landed; she would really have to sort through it, get rid of anything she didn't need to lug around. Shuffling the mail onto the hall table as she flipped through it, she idly wondered if climbing the stairs to her flat and hefting her rucksack everywhere counted as exercise. A bit overweight, Eve had intentions of going on an exercise and diet programme, but usually found herself too exhausted after running around at the museum all day to even want to think about stepping on a treadmill or exercise bike. She tried to eat well, but the pounds stayed resolutely on. It wasn't like she wanted to become a complete twig; that was hardly realistic, or healthy, and she wasn't really what someone would call anyway. But it would be nice to minimize her curves to the places they should be and not have to search quite so long for clothing that fit properly and didn't make her look like someone's grandmother.

Bills, bills, postcard from the furniture shop down the street about a sale, letter for Beth from her boyfriend doing a summer term in France... Eve stopped as she reached the bottom letter and stared at it a moment.

On the thick yellow paper--Parchment? thought Eve--of the envelope, someone with a quirky hand had written the direction in emerald green ink:

Eve Berger,
211C Brightling St.
London

More odd than the paper or the ink, was that there was no postmark or stamp on the letter. The post was usually dropped through her landlady's letterbox, who would then sort out the mail for the girls upstairs and leave it on the table by the street door. Someone must have dropped it off themselves--but then why write the city, or even the flat number? If someone was going to drop something off for her, they would know her well enough to know that all her landlady needed was a name.

Turning the envelope over, she could see that there was no return address written on the flap. However, the letter seemed to be closed with an old-fashioned wax seal, and by squinting at it, Eve could make out a crest with a large letter in the centre, the rest divided into four sections, decorated with a lion, snake, badger and eagle.

Popping the seal, Eve pulled out a letter--also apparently written on parchment, in the same green ink and handwriting--and began to read, wondering what on earth was going on.

The letter itself only made her still more confused.

Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...someone's having me on, Eve said aloud.

I assure you, the offer is quite serious, a voice said from behind. Eve jumped, spinning around to see who on earth it was.

A tall, thin, older woman stood behind her, dressed in odd, Victorian-looking, dark green robes. The woman's black hair was pulled tightly into a bun and she had a slightly pinched face, one that could probably become soft and motherly or frighteningly stern at a moment's notice. The woman gazed calmly at her from behind gold-rimmed spectacles, hands folded in front of her.

Who are you, and how did you get in here? Eve said, not sure whether she was angry or afraid, her voice settling for a little of both.

Professor Minerva McGonagall, the woman replied in a slight Scottish burr, Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts. We sent you the letter, as we do for all students, but it was thought that it might help if I came to see you, to explain things.

The woman's unflappable calm merely puzzled Eve still more, and she could hardly pull together enough self-possession to stutter, E-explain things? while the rest of her brain was shouting that she should be ringing the police.

Yes, here, why don't we sit down? What I have to say will probably be a bit shocking, so you'd best sit and have a cup of tea.

McGonagall ushered Eve into the sitting room and withdrew a long, carved stick from her robes, waving it over the side table and saying a few words Eve didn't catch. As Eve watched in amazement, a tea tray with two cups and saucers appeared out of thin air. Eve found herself blinking to try and make sure that she wasn't seeing things as she sank into one of the stuffed armchairs.

McGonagall poured out a cup for each of them, each cup appearing to contain perfectly normal tea, as though it had been freshly brewed rather than apparently conjured into existence. Eve took the cup automatically but had enough wits not to drink out of it.

Meanwhile, McGonagall had seated herself on the couch, and took a sip of her tea before speaking again. Miss Berger, the reason I have come here is because it has recently come to our attention that you are a witch.

A witch? Eve said, incapable of doing anything but parroting McGonagall's words as they seemed to take a long time to sink in. Even after Eve convinced herself that she hadn't been hearing things, she couldn't actually believe what McGonagall was saying.

It was quite a surprise to us as well. You see, witches and wizards are usually born with their powers, and their birth is recorded in the Hogwarts books by a magic quill at that moment. Even with children of Muggles--that is, non-magic people--they are registered with us from birth, so that when the child enters their eleventh year they are sent the offer of enrolment, like the one you have there. You, however, were not born with your powers--or at least, we assume not, as you were not recorded in the books. However it has come to attention that you have somehow...developed magical powers, through observers in the Ministry of Magic.

What do you mean, magical powers?

Do you remember having a row with one of your housemates at university, during which all the lights within five feet of you shattered?

Eve blinked in surprise. Of course she remembered it. She had been having a blazing row with a housemate because the other girl had been playing her music loudly well into the early morning the night before an important exam. They had been going at it pretty well when suddenly all of the lights around them had simply exploded in a shower of sparks and glass. That was a power surge, though.

McGonagall shook her head. That was the explanation the students were given, but the university could find no way that a power surge could have affected only those lights. There was also an instance, recently, where a girl that was tormenting you at work was thrown backwards six feet or so, though witnesses never saw anyone touch her.

Eve was suprised that this woman knew about the incident--not even the museum director did. How on earth could she know? And was it possible that there was some way to explain it? Are you saying that I somehow caused these things?

That is precisely what I am saying. Children who have untrained magical power often experience odd things happening, like those that have happened to you, when they are angry, upset or under emotional stress. That is how their magical potential manifests itself. Usually they start showing signs of this around age eight or so. But for you, it didn't start until you were eighteen, and even then it was so gradual that you didn't come to our attention until a couple months ago. The fact that you can make these things happen is precisely why I am here. At Hogwarts we teach the Magical Arts, taking that power and channelling it into specific areas, teaching students to manage and control it.

Eve was still trying to hang onto reality, which was rapidly sliding from her grip. But...magic? Like...spells and smoking cauldrons and people in pointy hats on broomsticks?

It's not quite like Muggles usually portray it, but the curriculum does include spells, potions, broom flying lessons and the like, and yes, the hats are sometimes pointed. Magic is very real, Miss Berger, it's just that those of us in the magical community try and make sure none of the Muggles know that it exists. They have not always been very tolerant of our kind and would probably not know how to use our talents for the good of everyone. McGonagall looked at her carefully. I see you are still rather skeptical. Let me give you another little demonstration.

As Eve watched in astonishment, McGonagall apparently started to shrink. Her eyes changed shape and colour as her hair turned to grey fur. Her hands and feet changed to paws as she shrank, and in less than a minute, there was a grey tabby cat sitting in the chair opposite, with odd markings around its eyes; markings shaped like the glasses that McGonagall wore. In another minute, she had transformed back to the stern-looking woman that now seemed to be fighting to keep a small smile off her face.

W-would I learn to do that? Eve stammered as her brain ran to catch up with what her eyes had seen. But deep inside, she could feel hope beginning to stir. This was her ordinary London apartment, these things couldn't be faked here in front of her eyes. She was actually starting to believe what McGonagall was saying: that this was real, not some parlour trick. That perhaps she could learn to control the things which happened around her.

Oh, most likely not. There are very few people who are Animagi; there have only been seven this century. It's a very advanced sort of magic. But it is a rather good way of convincing doubters, as well as getting a class' attention. Eve thought she saw a twinkle in McGonagall's eyes, but it may just have been a trick of the light.

But I can't possibly afford to...I mean, I have student loans from university...

We anticipated that, and would like to offer you a deal that would allow you to attend. The headmaster has told me that Hogwarts will pay off your existing student loans and allow you to go to Hogwarts on scholarship--provided that sometime after you graduate, you become a teacher for us at a slightly reduced salary for a period of no less than three years.

Eve was still trying to put everything together in her head, but she was growing more and more convinced. The idea that she could control whatever caused things to happen to her was a welcome one. Each time something odd had happened around her, she had felt extremely uneasy. Her co-workers had looked askance at her and deftly kept out of her way after she'd April Terrence into the wall of the staff room after the other girl had said some particularly nasty things about her. Of course no one had seen her get within three feet of April--that was why they were so wary. People fear what they don't understand, and even Eve herself had been scared by what had happened. But if she could learn to control that...

I accept your offer, then, she heard herself saying, unsure of what exactly she was getting herself into.

McGonagall smiled. Good. I'll send the acceptance form by owl tonight then, and I'll take you to Diagon Alley tomorrow to buy your supplies for school, she said, standing.

Owl? Diagon Alley?

We use owls as our post carriers. You just address a letter to someone and an owl will deliver it for you. Many people like to have their own owls just for that purpose, though we have school owls at Hogwarts and the magical post office has messenger owls you can use for a fee. Diagon Alley is the London magic shopping district. You won't have heard of it before, and you have to be a witch or wizard to know how to get there--that's why I'll take you. I'll come fetch you here at around noon. It's quite close by, actually. Don't forget the second page of that letter, it has the list of things you'll need. I will see you tomorrow, then. McGonagall shook Eve's hand and then simply disappeared. One minute she was there, the next, she was gone.

Eve stared at the spot where McGonagall had been standing for a moment, then sank into an armchair. How on earth was she going to tell her flatmate about this? Or, for that matter, her parents?

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McGonagall appeared in Eve's apartment promptly at noon the next day, nearly causing Eve to drop the plate she was washing. When she'd rung her parents the night before, Eve had found out that they had already had a visit from Professor McGonagall to tell them exactly what was going on with their daughter and about Hogwarts. From what they had said on the phone, their reaction had been about the same as Eve's: confusion, disbelief and eventual acceptance.

Are you ready to go, then? It's not far, McGonagall said briskly, as Eve dried her hands and grabbed her purse.

They headed down the street, McGonagall often turning onto another street without warning. She certainly seemed to know exactly where she was going. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of walking and fighting London traffic, McGonagall stopped in front of a somewhat shabby-looking pub. A weathered sign over the door proclaimed it as "The Leaky Cauldron", and Eve had to wonder why she had never seen it before. Then again, as she looked at the passers-by, she had to wonder if any of them saw it at all.

McGonagall pushed the door open and walked straight through the pub, nodding at a few of the people seated at tables or on stools at the bar. They all wore robes somewhat like McGonagall's, though the cut and colour of each one was different, and some looked rather odd indeed.

Eve didn't have much of a chance to look at the people in the pub, however, before they were outside in a small, walled courtyard behind the pub. McGonagall took out what Eve now recognized as her wand, then tapped a few of the bricks in one wall before standing back, waiting for something.

As Eve watched in amazement, the brick that McGonagall tapped wriggled slightly then disappeared. The hole it left widened until Eve could see an entire street of shops, thronged with people, where the wall had once been.

This is Diagon Alley, McGonagall said and stepped through the hole. Eve followed her through, looking around at everyone and everything, simply agog with the sights in front of her eyes.

Everyone in the street was dressed in robes, in a mishmash of styles and colours. The buildings looked like they had been designed by Charles Dickens on crack. She had to hurry to keep up with McGonagall, who was striding down the narrow, cobblestone street with an attitude that seemed to threaten any one to dare get in her way. But there was so much to look at! She caught snippets of conversation as she passed groups standing in front of the stores:

Apparently in Paris they're embroidering robes with unicorn hair--

The quality of aconite is simply pitiful this year, thanks to that dry spring we had--

Yes, it was simply awful, her old wand had been snapped right in two by the impact--

What d'you fancy the Cannons' chances are this year?

Do you know if they've managed to track Sirius Black at all?

Eve turned to try and hear the other person's response, wondering at why a pair of witches would be discussing Black, a prisoner who had escaped from prison a couple weeks before. The news was full of reports about him, people worried that he might go on another killing spree as the less reputable dailies delighted in terming it. But surely he wouldn't pose a threat to magic folk? All they'd have to do would be to say a few words and he'd be turned into a haddock or something--wouldn't he?

Here we are, McGonagall said, and Eve snapped back to attention as they neared a large, marble-pillared building that looked less like it was built than simply plopped whole onto a patch of ground in the middle of the block, with the way that the surrounding buildings seemed to lean away from its bulk. Gringotts Wizards' Bank. You'll need to open an account here and get your money changed.

Eve said, curiously.

Yes, to wizard currency. You can't use Muggle money in wizarding shops. The goblins will give you a fair exchange on it though.

Goblins? Eve thought, but decided not to question it. Already she was starting to come to the opinion that if she didn't want to appear completely clueless, she would have to take whatever this new world threw at her and accept it as normal, no matter how odd it seemed.

The goblins were remarkably efficient, she found, and within minutes she had completed the necessary paperwork and received the key to her vault, as well as had her savings translated into wizard money. She took some of each from the pile of galleons, sickles and knuts that was headed for her vault, then accompanied McGonagall back out into Diagon Alley.

First, robes. Madam Malkin provides the school robes for Hogwarts. I assume it will take some time for her to fit you and make alterations, so I'll meet you in Flourish and Blotts' just opposite--you can buy your schoolbooks there. You have the list of which ones you need. I'll take you round to the other shops after that. Ah, here we are! McGonagall pulled open the door to one of the shops--one with rich burgundy and green silk robes in the window--and followed Eve in.

Madam Malkin! This is the student I wrote to you about-- Eve had to wonder what McGonagall had written-- and she will need the usual Hogwarts uniform. I'll be off--see you across the street in a bit, Miss Berger.

Eve watched McGonagall walk out of the shop with her usual no-nonsense stride, feeling like someone had just snatched a life ring from her hands as she bobbed in the open ocean.

Well dear, I think I may not have to make too many alterations, some of the robes for older students should fit you. Malkin guided her over to the rear of the shop where there were a few small footstools surrounded by mirrors. Eve stepped up on a footstool and Malkin asked her to hold up her arms. Before she could notice where it had come from, a tape measure was wrapped around her waist and chest, measuring her arms and legs, between her shoulders...and more importantly, doing it all on its own, while Madam Malkin scribbled figures down on a piece of parchment with a quill. Once done, she clapped her hands and the tape measure disappeared while one of the shop assistants ran to the stockroom, reappearing a few moments later with a robe for Eve to put on. Malkin did up the fastenings at the front, then set to pinning the hem and cuffs with pins that seemed to appear between her fingers every time she lifted her hand for one.

There you go, dear. I'll be back in just a minute with your finished uniform. She removed the robe before Eve knew what was happening, and swept into the back of the shop, leaving Eve standing there, bewildered. After a few moments, Malkin reappeared with a number of parcels and Eve followed her to the till, where Malkin helped her figure out exactly how many of each of the coins she was supposed to hand over.

Hoisting the packages into her arms, Eve walked over to Flourish and Blotts', eagerly looking around when she entered. She had always loved to read and could spend hours in an ordinary Muggle bookshop; she might never want to leave a magic one.

The shop assistant led her over to the shelves for Hogwarts students and she picked out the books she needed, buying used ones where she could. She had no idea of how much all her kit would cost and didn't want to have to return to Gringotts for more cash.

The shopkeeper was just ringing up her books when McGonagall walked into the shop, carrying a few packages herself. They hurried out of the shop as a number of children bustled in, talking loudly about their preparations for the school year.

As the afternoon wore on, the pile of parcels that Eve was carrying grew still larger, with the addition of her pewter cauldron, set of brass scales, a small telescope and set of basic potion ingredients. In every store, Eve heard the name Sirius Black being mentioned with something between fear and awe.

Finally McGonagall pulled her into Ollivander's wand shop, briskly explaining to him just why someone who was obviously an adult was buying their very first wand.

Ollivander merely looked at Eve curiously, then started measuring her as Madam Malkin had done, except taking much more detailed measurements. The measuring tape was still flitting around her head, measuring the distance between her eyes, the length of her nose and the like, when Ollivander turned away from her and began pulling boxes off shelves, handing her wand after wand, snatching them away after she had hardly had a chance to wave them. Here, try this--oak with dragon heartstring--no, beech with phoenix feather--not that either, what about willow with unicorn tail hair? No-- The mountain of boxes grew, until finally Ollivander pressed a nine-inch maple wand with a core of dragon heartstring into her hand. Immediately Eve felt her fingers grow warm, tingling slightly. Making a tentative swishing motion with the wand, she saw white sparks trail from the end.

Ah! Beautiful, Ollivander said, taking the wand and placing it back in the box before heading to the till, I always say, the wand chooses the witch. That will be six galleons, please.

Their last stop was Fotheringham's Furry & Feathered Familiars, and as they walked in they were greeted by squawks, hoots, mews and barks of every type and pitch. The shop assistant had to raise her voice to be heard over the din.

A cat? Our cats and kittens are over here, she said, gesturing Eve over to one corner where many little pointed faces and pairs of yellow eyes stared out of the cages. As Eve approached, most of the felines started jumping or prancing behind the mesh of their cages as though they were contestants at the Miss Universe Pageant.

Most...but not all. It was the lack of activity that drew Eve's attention to the last cage on the row just below eye level. Sitting about halfway back from the bars was a tiny black kitten, the white of its paws and face standing out from the dark shadows of the cage. The card attached to the cage said that it was only eight weeks old, male, and had already had its shots, but there was no name given. Eve stepped forward to see it better and the kitten took a tentative step forward, peering warily at her. Eve smiled at it, and said in a light voice, Come here, sweetie, bringing her face closer to the mesh.

As the shop assistant started to stammer a warning about getting that close, the kitten took another couple steps up to the front of the cage and stuck its tiny paw between the mesh to gently touch Eve's cheek.

If there could have been any doubt as to which cat she wanted before that moment, it disappeared as Eve felt the kitten's soft pads touch her cheek. The kitten withdrew its paw and stepped back while the shop assistant gawped at it.

I'll take this one, Eve said, fighting the lump in her throat.

The instant the kitten was placed in Eve' hands, it rubbed its tiny head against her jaw and purred. Eve handed over the money for the kitten, a travelling crate, collar and the usual accessories without paying much attention to the amount--whatever it was, it was a pittance compared to what she was getting in return.

What are you going to name him? McGonagall asked, looking at the cat somewhat warily. The kitten was looking at McGonagall suspiciously, as though it wasn't sure whether she was friend or foe.

Eve looked at the kitten for a moment, unsure of a name. It had to be something fitting, something that felt right. She looked at the little face, the patch of white that covered from just above the cat's golden eyes to its chin, watched the way it held back from the bright light of the street. Something fitting... The mask-like white patch, the midnight black of its fur, the way it seemed to prefer shadows and was wary of anyone but her... The name came to her as she thought of her favourite books, the name of a character that seemed to suit the kitten in a small way.

I think I'll name him Erik, Eve said, and lowered the cage from eye level as they passed out of Diagon Alley.