Authors Notes: The disclaimer from before remains, I own nothing but my original characters, the order the words appear in, and the plot line. Any plagerism will not be taken well. Okay, so here is the first real chapter. Dunno if anyone is reading this, but maybe if I get an actual chapter up people will be nice and review if they open it up! I don't care if you don't like it, just leave something! Constructive criticism is always helpful. Remember, this came from left field and is creative license at its fullest.

Chapter One:

I look around at the surroundings I will be calling home for the next five years of my life, whether I want to be here or not. I know somewhere that this is what I want, this is what I have signed up for, but in the pit of my stomach can feel an all too familiar black, squishy ball of despair beginning to form. I have my two trunks open on my tiny twin sized bed, one packed full of normal everyday clothes and robes, the other packed with what I have dubbed work clothes, special books, and such other things required for the job I am here to do.

I am aware three more beds in the room, and four plain wooden doors. One has the picture of a toilet on it, and I suppose it will lead to a bathroom all four occupants of this room will have to share, and the other three I assume lead to closets. I was told we got closets. It is what I consider a perk of this job. I walk to the door closest to my bed, open it, and am not surprised to find a closet. Waving my hand in a tight circle my clothes immediately unfold themselves from my larger trunk and neatly fly to the closet, hanging themselves. I smile to nobody glad I knew how to do such things.

"Wandless magic, who would guess you had it in you," whispers a drawling voice from behind me. I don't have to turn around to know who has decided to join me in the room.

"You don't know a lot about me, Brynne," I respond coolly, forcing my voice to take on the cold edge I worked so hard to perfect, pushing down the urge to rush forward and take her in a hug. My younger sister and I fight even more than I did with Hermione. At least Hermione accepted her hatred for me and just didn't speak to me. Brynne found it necessary to rub in my face that she is marginally better at magic, which is an insult on two levels: one being the fact that she is six years younger and just barely out of school, two being that she was a Hufflepuff. Brynne Granger is the younger sister to the second brightest student to pass through the halls of Hogwarts and to the second student to have their wand broken and expelled from the school. I can honestly say that I have no idea how she ended up in Hufflepuff. She really isn't all that just and true, either. I would argue she is more evil than I am.

"I do know you aren't supposed to do magic without a wand; that's illegal."

"Do shut up, Brynne," drifts a third voice and I spin around quickly to see if I am hearing correctly. I can feel my lips turning down in a frown when the familiar face of Hermione comes into my view, her bushy hair plaited neatly behind her head and three trunks levitating behind her, one no doubt used solely for books.

"What's your problem, Granger?"

All three of us turned to look who had decided to join the party. Lindsey Parkinson, younger sister to Pansy Parkinson; and for once I am glad I am not the only Slytherin in the room. I throw a smile at Lindsay as she walks in, followed closely by Simon Malfoy who is dragging two trunks, and levitating two behind him. I roll my eyes skyward at the scene; Simon has been our lackey since the first year.

"None of your business, Parkinson," snaps Hermione, returning to unpacking her things. "Why do you get to room with a friend, Jane?"

I look at Hermione, smirking maliciously, the corners of my mouth tugging slightly upward and my lips pressing into a thin line. "Because I have to put up with the two biggest bitches in the world, I at least deserve a friend in here. If I had my way, you two would be staying in a shack and Simon could have one of your beds." I wave my hand once more, my trunks shutting and locking themselves before coming to rest on the top shelf of my closet.

Lindsay smiles at me, and I can see the memories flicking by behind her eyelids. Lindsay has always been fond of me, she told me so herself once a few years ago. I brought a lot of firsts to the Slytherin House, and definitely added to the diversity of it all, never backing down from a challenge and having just enough drive to go to any means to prove people wrong. I think I got the need to prove people wrong from spending so much time with Hermione growing up, her always clutching a book or knowing just what paragraph to point at to dispel one's thoughts on a certain subject. She often thought you could make a person see light between right and wrong by using examples from books; she was oh so wrong on that thought, and I didn't need a book to prove it to her.

I was the first muggle-born to be sorted into the house, and after the first year, proved I was worthy to sport the green and silver colors. I was also the first Slytherin to be expelled from the school, in my seventh year, and now had to manage in the wizarding world without a wand. It was a feat not easily accomplished, especially since most wizards and witches know who I am. I'm famous for my expulsion in the same sort of way Harry Potter is famous for his parents dying. It was a circumstance out of my control, but necessary.

"You know Jane, it would take me hours to unpack properly." Lindsay's voice shakes me back to reality. She is raising her eyebrows and smiling suggestively at me.

"You know Lindsay, it would take me an hour to unpack you properly without a wand," I respond, holding my palm out, Lindsay's holly wand flying neatly to it. "With a wand, however, it will take about two minutes."

Muttering spells and pointing the wand in different directions, items fly gracefully from Lindsay's trunk and into the closet, or onto the nightstand. I smile broadly at my ability to still do magic after ten years of doing so without a wand; despite popular belief wandless magic is very different from normal magic, and I find that reverting back to using a wand takes more energy these days, though does take less time and is more accurate.

"Now that you are definitely not allowed to do!" shouted Brynne, pulling out her own wand and pointing at the one in my hand. "Accio Wand!"

I see a horrified and angry look snake onto Lindsay's face as her wand flies from my fingertips into the outstretched one of my little sister, a girl Lindsay always found more annoying every time they met. I look to my little sister, disbelief pulsing through my veins. Since when does a Hufflepuff stand up to a Slytherin, and since when does Brynne stand up to me?

"Brynney, when have I ever cared about what the rules say?" I ask in a condescending tone, the one that makes Brynne shrink back slightly. I mutter the summoning spell in my head, watching as Brynne wraps her fingers around the wand tighter to fight my spell. I close my eyes to fight off the feeling of a hammer tapping softly against the inside of my skull.

"Never," says Hermione, moving around her own bed to stand next to Brynne; seems she still accepts her as a sister. "That is why you got expelled you know."

I laugh, but it isn't an amused laugh, it is hollow and reminiscent. "Hermione, you only know what you read."

I shake my head trying to dislodge the hammer from inside my skull; it's hammering steadily growing stronger, causing me more discomfort. Wandless magic might help keep me afloat in the wizarding world, but without sufficient headache potion and dreamless sleep draughts I would have died long ago from the amount of energy it takes from me. I feel my feet slipping from beneath and stammer backwards a bit. I feel arms wrap around my shoulders to keep me steady, the familiar grasp of Simon who has been holding me up since I was eleven. I nod my head, ignoring the pain that shoots behind my eyes and he releases me.

I step forward a few feet to stand before my two sisters, all three of us standing about the same height. I reach my hand out, closing my fingers around the wand, yanking it from Brynne's grasp. "Steal from me all you want, kid, but don't mess with my friends."

The door bangs open, announcing the presence of someone new. Hermione snaps her head around quickly to see Severus Snape stroll in, dressed in his normal plain black robes, his greasy black hair tied back with a dark green ribbon. Brynne steps back lightly, shielding herself behind Hermione in case he is here to yell about all the commotion. Simon and Lindsay just go about watching the scene unfold before them, both sitting on Lindsay's bed snacking on Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans.

My back is towards the door, but from the icy chill that takes over the room and that strange feeling of someone watching you, I know it is Severus who has entered. I have spent far too long with his gaze following me to know that the churning of my stomach announces his presence alone.

I turn my head slowly to look towards him. Severus looks around the room, an amused expression on his face, before turning to look at the three of us standing to the left side of the room. "Will this work out all right?" he asks to no one particular. Hermione shakes her head along with Brynne.

"Yes, Severus, it will be fine. I promised you that Hermione, Brynne, and I wouldn't kill each other," I say stepping away from my sisters, and walking to my closet, I reach up and pull down the smaller dark red trunk. "So what do you want?"

I see Hermione watching me as I unlatch the trunk manually and began taking items out by hand to avoid getting in trouble with the man leading this operation. He knows I can do magic still, that I have the power and the concentration, but he just doesn't think it wise to do so often. He says people will notice and I will land in Azkaban. I tell him I would much rather be there.

"Right, I doubt you will even be at the castle too much," Severus replies moving to stand next to me, peering over my shoulder and into the trunk before plucking something out. It is a small, leather bound journal with the name, "Jane Margaret Granger" engraved onto the front, and a leather tie to keep it closed. From the corner of my vision I see Hermione and Brynne exchange looks; I am aware that it is exactly like the one that their mum had given them all those years back.

I glance at his hand as he removes the item from my personal trunk, feelings of hatred and longing lodging in my chest and it takes me a few moments to recover. I automatically slip on my carefree mask, I feel my eyes drain of emotion, my mouth straightening into a line, and my complexion growing pale. I can't see it, but I can feel it.

"You won't need this any time soon will you, Jane?" I shake my head. "This is the one from this past summer, right?"

I nod my approval. "Take it, Severus. I don't need it back."

And I don't. Nothing will erase anything that is written in those journals from my memory. Details may fade, and words may become twisted, but feelings remain intact. I look at Hermione and Brynne, standing so close to me physically, yet so far away emotionally. Hermione looks disgusted and turns back to unpacking her things, taking books out and placing them on a bookshelf between her and Brynne's bed. I realize that Lindsay and I have one between us, as well. I turn back to my trunk, packing back in identical light brown leather journals, each one engraved with my name and a year on the bottom right hand corner. I move it back to the top shelf in my closet and gently push against the door until I hear the soothing sound of the latch clicking into place. I look back over my shoulder expectantly, and am relieved when Severus is standing there watching me from the doorway. The hammering begins to subside and the hatred lodged in my chest diminished a bit, slipping down into my stomach where I can at least lump it in with my despair.

I sit down on my bed, he casts furtive glances around the room then moves in front of my closet door, waving his wand, the sound of four locks clicking into place. It is a spell him and I came up with, I can open my door at my will, and no one else can without knowing the charm placed on it in the first place.

"Jane," he says, his hardened voice echoing around the silent quarters. I know he isn't really distant from me, in fact, he is probably the closest thing I have to a friend. I nod and grab my messenger bag from the floor beside my night table. We exit the room together and I feel two stares filled with pity on my back and two filled with hatred.