Out of breath and I stumbled onto the train. No, sadly, not the Hogwarts Express, but a regular muggle train. I was headed to England. I weakly gave my ticket to the woman behind the counter and struggled to the nearest compartment. The only other person there was another young woman. I sighed and sat down. I could feel the train begin to move.
But how rude of me, you don't even know who I am. My name is Lizzy. Just Lizzy. Not Elizabeth, not Beth, not Liz. Lizzy. I am a young woman of sixteen. I have long, straight, silky brown hair and stunning green eyes. I look much like my mother, but like I would truly know. My mother was killed by the Dark Lord when I was young. So was my father. I, being a child of three, was separated from my brothers to protect them, and myself. Perhaps you have heard of my brother. His name is Harry Potter. I, Lizzy Potter, and my other twin brother, Chris Potter.
I bet you have never heard of me. That is understandable. I am not well known in the wizarding world. That is Fudge's doing. He doesn't want the Dark Lord to discover that there are, in truth, three people that could bring about his downfall. We couldn't have that.
My brother Harry does not even know Chris and I exsist. Our story is a strange one, but one worth hearing.
My mother and father were and are Lilly and James Potter. They, from what I have heard and seen, were a lovely couple who had triplets. The night that they were killed, my brother Chris and I were staying at our godfather, Sirius's house. I don't really know why Harry wasn't there, but he wasn't, that much is clear. When word arrived that Lilly and James had been killed, Chris and I were separated and taken to one of the safest places in the world. Gringotts of course!
It seems strange to place two young children in two separate vaults in Gringotts but it was done. Separated for our own safety. Alone until we were picked up by none other than Hagrid. He took us to the Americas to live. But a strange thing happened that night. My parents were killed.
We know all about the Boy Who Lived. But what about us? We to survived. You may argue that we do not deserve the title, saying he received for having the killing curse fail to, well, kill him. But you would be wrong.
The ancient magic that saved Harry's life, also worked its magic on us. Protecting us, but also creating the three of us into practically one person. When the Avada Kadavra curse hit Harry, it also hit Chris and Myself. When Harry is in pain, we are to. When he is sad, so are we. When he dies, we will to. We are that connected. In the same way, we were hit with the same curse. But I am obviously alive to be telling you this. So we did live.
You know that scar that Harry has on his forehead? All three of us received identical scars, but in different places. Harry knows that he received a part of Voldemort when the curse failed. Harry received a part of Voldemort's mind. Harry can see into Voldemort's thoughts. The mind. A scar on the forehead. My brother Chris has a scar on his arm. He received part of Voldemort's body. When The Dark Lord is weak, Chris is weak. When The Dark Lord is strong, Chris is strong. It is bitter sweet. Recently, Chris is incredibly strong. Good, and bad. Finally, I have a scar over my heart. I received the Dark Lord's soul. Not that I want it. I can feel the hatred of him when he is about to kill. The fear of knowing that there is one who can destroy him (3 to be precise). The joy of knowing that he is powerful. Many people find it strange, this "gift" gives me terrible mood swings.
I don't know much about my childhood. I was taken away from the rest of the Wizarding World and taken to a remote little wizard school in the Americas. It is older than the others, but far less developed. Since we don't learn as much I have taken it upon myself to learn more magic than any of the others. I studied my brains out but it was worth it. I am now a licensed wizard at a mere 16. I still plan to travel to a new school, so I can train to become an auror.
Recently I have been living in Egypt, learning to crack the codes of the ancient Egyptian wizards. There, I met Ron, best friend of the Boy Who Lived. I met him in one of the pyramids. He nearly hexed me while chasing after his brother, Fred. Oh Fred. Fred and I hit it off after I thoroughly hexed Ron. Fred was cute and sensitive. Loving and kind. We spent a lot of time together, until he had to go home. We wrote for a while, but last night things changed.
I was reading one of his letters when I decided that living in hiding was not what I wanted. I ran away from the ministry, hopped on the nearest broom, and flew to this train station so I could travel to England. I have written Fred. He is sending me directions to get to his house. I finally get to see him! The train has stopped. Time to find Fred.