Author's Note: Hi guys! I know it's been awhile – sorry about that – but here's the next chapter. This is where we finally get into the Harry Potter world! Hope you like it! Oh, one more thing: I have a small mailing list for readers if you want to be informed by email when I make these updates. If you want to be added to the list, just let me know!

            Sirius – or Snuffles as we were supposed to call him – led us past countless narrow alleys, cobblestone streets and old houses before we reached our destination. He stopped suddenly just in front of a plain-looking building with a blank sign hung over the doorway.

            "This can't be right," I said, "There's nothing here. Are you sure this is the right place?"

            "Esther, look!" said Justin, pointing at the sign.

            I looked up, and the sign that just moments ago had been completely black now read "The Leaky Cauldron."

            "Wow," I murmured, "Thanks!"

            Sirius wagged his tail, and took us inside. It was dark inside, but filled with warmth. I saw witches and wizards dressed in colorful robes, sipping at huge mugs and chattering pleasantly amongst themselves. A few of them turned to look when we came in, but for the most part they took no notice of us.

            "Ah, welcome!" said the man behind the bar cheerfully, "What can I get for you today? We have fire-whiskey on special this week – half price!"

            "No thanks," said Justin, "We're just passing through."

            "Right then," said the man, nodding, "Come back soon!"

            We followed Sirius out to the back, where he transformed again.

            "I'm a dead man if anyone sees me, so I'll have to make this quick," he said hurriedly, "Go to the post office and send an owl to Arthur Weasley. He'll know what to do about Samara."

            Sirius whipped out his wand and tapped several bricks on the back wall.

            "Good luck," he said, then transformed back into the dog and went back inside as the gateway opened.

            Justin and I walked wide-eyed into Diagon Alley, taking in all the strange wizarding shops and magical things for sale along the cobblestone path that ending in the gigantic, marble building that was Gringott's Bank. We just stood and stared for several moments, then Justin turned to me.

            "Give me your money," he said.

            "What?"

            "I'm gonna go in Gringott's and see if I can exchange it."

            "Oh, okay. I think I'll just look around for a while. I'll find out how much it'd cost to send an owl from here."

            "He did say 'Arthur Weasley' didn't he?"

            "Yeah. I'm not surprised though – he supposed to be crazy about Muggles, so it sort of makes sense that he'd want to take up this case again."

            "I wonder what they found out before. I mean, if they know anything about Samara that we don't."

            "Are you kidding? We don't know that much about her to begin with. Apart from the fact that she's a creepy dead girl who lives in a haunted video tape that kills people."

            "She can't kill you – we know that."

            "I'm not so sure. We don't really know if that's what she was trying to do."

            "Well, you've never seen the tape. That's supposed to be the only thing that would let her kill you, right?"

            "Oh, just go to Gringott's already! We don't know as much as we should, that's all I'm saying. I'm going into the post office, then Flourish and Blott's to find some parchment or something."

            "Fine, fine. See you later."

            Justin headed toward the oddly lopsided building at the end of the alley and I scoured the shops until I found the post office. It wasn't difficult – the entryway was lined with dozens of owls of different breeds, marked for different uses. I made my way inside and studied my options: I wanted one that said "urgent" so we could get our message to Arthur Weasley as soon as possible. I approached the desk at the back of the room.

            "Excuse me?" I asked timidly.

            The wizard behind the desk leaned over and smiled at me warmly.

            "How can I help you, Miss?" he asked graciously.

            "Thank you," I said, "I need to send an owl to the Ministry of Magic, to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. How much would that cost me?"

            "Ah yes, let's see. . . It depends how quickly you need to send the message. Is it urgent?"

            "Yes, very."

            "And do you have anyone in particular at the Ministry you're trying to reach?"

            "Oh, um. . . Arthur Weasley."

            "Very well. Come this way."

            He came out from behind the desk and led me over to a handsome, tawny owl perched near the window.

            "This is Belliwig – she's our fastest carrier for personal messages. She can't carry very heavy loads though."

            "That's all right – it's just a letter. How much?"

            "Ten sickles, so long as it's only a letter."

            "Okay. Thanks!"

            I turned to leave, but I heard the man's voice behind me.

            "Will you not be needing her after all?" he asked, sounding somewhat disappointed.

            "Oh, I will," I said, turning back to face him, "Sorry, but I don't have any money right now. My friend has just gone into Gringott's – I'll be back. Can you keep Belliwig here for me?"

            "Gladly, but I'll need to take down your name."

            He took out a quill and a small piece of parchment.

            "Oh," I said, "It's Esther. Golding."

            The man looked up at me strangely.

            "Is something wrong?" I asked nervously.

            "Oh no," he said, turning back to his desk, "But I believe I have a letter here for you. Esther Golding, is it?"

            "Yes," I said, baffled.

            He produced a sealed letter with my name on it; I took it and turned it over. The Hogwarts seal was stamped on the back.

            "Thank you," I said, trying not to convey my surprise, "Do I need to pay you for this?"

            "Oh no, of course not! It's yours by right, Miss Golding."

            "Thanks then. Good bye."

            "Good afternoon!" he called after me as I left.

            I looked down at the letter curiously. There was only one person in the wizarding world I could think of that could possibly know I was here, and that was Sirius. But he wouldn't be writing from Hogwarts, and not so soon after he'd left us. Who could it be from?

            Only one way to find out, I told myself sternly.

            So I went into Flourish and Blott's bookshop, because Justin would be expecting me to be there, sat down and opened the letter. It read:

Dear Miss Golding,

            I have received information that you and your companion have successfully penetrated our world. Well done! However, you must now use extreme caution to keep your peculiar hitchhiker at bay. Arthur Weasley has been informed of your situation, and would be delighted to assist you in any way he can. I have arranged for a temporary portkey to take you and the boy to the closest corresponding location to the Burrow; Mr. Weasley will be waiting for you there. Before you depart, I strongly recommend that you get yourself a wand for your own protection. Good luck!

            It was signed "Albus Dumbledore." My mouth dropped open and I read through the letter another time; there was no mistake. I thought for a moment and decided it made sense; it was no secret (not to me, anyway) that Dumbledore kept in close correspondence with Sirius, and he was always quick. All the wizards seemed quick in keeping up with the comings and goings of non-magic folk, which was what Justin and I were, so in a strange, fantastical sort of way it made sense. There were instructions at the bottom of how to get to the portkey. The "peculiar hitchhiker" he'd mentioned could only be Samara; and Arthur Weasley was going to help me get rid of her. I couldn't wait to tell Justin!

            In the meantime I wandered through the bookshop, looking for a roll or two of parchment I could use. I realize now that sending a letter at this time would be silly; Mr. Weasley already knew we were coming, so I didn't need to tell him anything really. I should have gone straight to Ollivander's to get that wand. But I kept looking anyway, just to take the edge off the rush of excitement I was now feeling. As I looked, I suddenly noticed a small figure studying an enormous tome in a cozy-looking corner of the shop. I looked closer and saw a mass of bushy hair haloing the figure's face.

            "Hermione?" I called, wondering half a second too late how I was going to explain how I knew her.

            She looked up and her little brown eyes found mine.

            "Yes?" she asked, "Do I know you?"

            "No," I said, moving towards her, "You are Hermione Granger, aren't you?"

            "Yes. . . You haven't been reading the Daily Prophet, have you?"

            "What?"

            It took me a moment to realize what she meant, then I remembered all the scathing articles that Rita Skeeter had written at Hermione's expense. It must have been some time after Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts.

            "Oh, no," I said with a laugh, "Don't worry, I never believe a word that Skeeter woman writes."

            Hermione smiled, then put down her book and held her hand out to shake mine.

            "What a relief!" she said, "I thought you were one of those hate mail writers for a moment!"

            "Of course not – I'm Esther Golding."

            "Nice to meet you."

            We both sat down in Hermione's corner and began to talk. She told me that school had just let out for the summer (and she had just finished her fourth year, as I'd guessed) and she had come into the shop to get some books early and get a head start on her summer reading. That didn't surprise me one bit, but I tried not to let on just how much I already knew about her; that would be just plain awkward. She mentioned Ron, and for the sake of conversation I told her I had a meeting scheduled with Mr. Weasley, including the part about going out to the Burrow.

            "That's odd," said Hermione, "I didn't think he scheduled meetings for the Ministry in his own house. You'd think he would have you meet him in his office."

            "I didn't think of that. That is strange. . ."

            "Well, what's the meeting about, if it's all right to ask?"

            "It's difficult to explain: You see, I have this . . . well, I guess she's like a ghost, but not exactly, and she's been following me around for a while and I don't know how to get rid of her."

            "That sounds like a haunting. I wonder why Mr. Weasley's handling it? He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office – hauntings are hardly his department."

            "Hm, I bet it's the tape. . ."

            "Sorry?"

            "Oh, nothing. I'm sure I'll get this figured out eventually, I'm just nervous. She scares me sometimes."

            "I'm sure."

            Then Justin came in. I introduced him to Hermione and showed him my letter. He was just as astounded by it as I was, but just as grateful for the help. Justin gave me back my money, this time in wizard gold, and then Hermione led us to Ollivander's wand shop. She told us good-bye at the door, saying she might see us again if we stayed at the Burrow long enough, and headed back down the cobblestone path. Mr. Ollivander was standing just behind a tall row of boxes to the right of the cashier's desk. He stepped out to greet us as we entered, his tiny sharp eyes taking us in astutely.

            "Hello," I said politely, "Could you help me pick out a wand? I've . . . lost my old one."

            "Ah, of course," he said cordially, "What's your name, my dear?"

            "Esther Golding."

            "Indeed."

            He moved back between the shelves and pulled out a slender grey box. He opened the box and held the wand out to me, handle-first.

            "Sturdy oak," he said, "Quite inflexible, eight and a half inches, core of unicorn tail-hair. Try that."

            I took the wand and raised it to give it a test wave, but suddenly I heard a strange, whispery voice enter my consciousness. It was Samara.

            That's not it, she was saying, although I couldn't make out distinct words, In the very back, the red one. It's the oldest one he's got.

            I lowered the wand and realized my hand was shaking. What was she trying to do? She couldn't be helping me, could she?

            "Is something wrong, dear?" asked Mr. Ollivander.

            "Um, no," I said uncertainly, "I don't think this is it."

            I set the wand back in its box and looked towards the back of the shop. Without realizing it I began walking towards the back wall where an extremely dusty box lay crookedly near the bottom of the shelf.

            "Ah," said Ollivander, sweeping past, "Perhaps you are the one intended for this old wand."

            He pulled the dusty box out of the shelf and opened it gingerly; it was cracked and peeling in several places. He removed the dark red wand and held it out to me respectfully, almost as if it were some sacred artifact.

            "Wonderfully bendy redwood," he said, "Seven inches, dragon heartstring."

            I took the wand from him curiously.

            "This wand has been in my possession for many, many generations," he said, "After it continued to lie here, I began to think I might never sell it. I realized after some time that it must be either defective – which is impossible – or intended for a particularly exceptional witch or wizard. Perhaps that individual is you."

            I felt extremely awkward, having no idea how to wield a wand, but I gave it a short wave anyway. Immediately I felt a peculiar, tingling sensation pass through me, something like an electric current but very pleasant.

            "Wow," Justin murmured.

            The wand was glowing faintly.

            "Extraordinary," said Mr. Ollivander, and he motioned for us to come back to the cashier's desk.

            I paid him for the wand and then we were on our way. I tried to say a silent "thank you" to Samara, but she was gone.

            "Well, that was weird," said Justin.

            "No kidding," I agreed, "I wonder how she knew. . ."

            "What was that? Who knew what?"

            "Samara. I heard her voice inside my head; she told me this was the wand I was supposed to have."

            "And you listened to her?"

            "Well, she was right. Besides, the wand chooses the wizard, remember? I don't think I really had a choice."

            "Yeah, but still. I wonder what he meant by all that. Are you supposed to do something special with it?"

            "I guess so. . . Right now I just wanna focus on getting to the Burrow."

            "Right. First let's send an owl back to Dumbledore."

            "What for? I'm sure he knows we got the letter okay."

            "Yeah, but Gandalf told us to give the headmaster his regards. So let's send him an owl."

            I laughed.

            "Okay."

            So we sent an owl to Dumbledore and made our way back through the gateway to London. Our portkey was going to be an old stick of gum just behind a phone booth, and we were supposed to be there at 7:14 AM exactly the next morning. So we found the phone booth, found a hotel nearby where we could stay for the night, and then went out to sightsee and get some dinner. Luckily Justin had saved some of our old money so we could still pay our way in the Muggle world and no one would get too suspicious. We didn't have much time, so our sightseeing was pretty limited. We saw a wax museum and had dinner in the original Hard Rock Café, but that was pretty much it. After that there was nothing to do but wait for morning.