Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. All I own is my original characters and settings that will come up later is the story.

I am rewriting/adding parts of this story to improve it and get rid of inconsistencies. If you see any let me know. Guys, there are so many inconsistencies in this story that it's not even funny. Why didn't anyone tell me? Oh well. More have been erased at this point. Tell me if you still find some in these rewritten chapters.

Another chapter rewritten and extended. Tell me if it's improved if you've read it before. And if you're a 'virgin', so to speak, just drop a line and tell me how it's going.

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"Harry, right?" She leaned against the doorframe. Her jeans were skin tight, stopping three inches below the bottom of her glowing pink shirt, black mesh sleeves revealing ivory white skin. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, stray pieces falling over her face. "Right. Not a big talker. That's ok with me. Since most people complain I talk too much anyway I suppose it doesn't matter. Have you read House of Spirits? It's by Isabel Allende. You should. It's an amazing book. Clara doesn't talk for like seven or eight years or something. She dreamed that her sister Rosa died. She told the family about her dream. Then when Rosa died she thought it was her fault. That she didn't just see it happen, but made it happen because--well I really don't know why. Anyway she stopped talking. She did talk again though, suddenly, as if she'd never stopped. I think she finally realized that she wasn't to blame for what she saw in her head. It's a good book. A little violent, I can see why it's been banned, but it has a lot of moral aspects to it. I'm still talking, aren't I? It's a little disconcerting not to have someone talking back, not that I mind, but especially someone I've never actually been introduced to. I don't even know your last name. I only know your first name because I was eavesdropping on my mom's conversation and I know everyone else at this school. I don't think I'll ever get used to her talking to someone in a fireplace, or sending letters by owl. What's so wrong about using the phone and the post office? And I'm still talking. Ok. Stopping now." She dropped onto the couch next to him. "If I knew you I'd probably say 'I'm bored, entertain me' but since I don't know you I think I'll just sit here." She shifted back into the corner of the couch and pulled her knees to her chest. She brushed the stray hairs behind her ears. "They want to take you somewhere else. I thought you had the right to know. I wouldn't want someone talking about me and not know about it. Mom's worried about you. She's so used to dealing with my problems, and I solve everything by talking it out. She's terrified that she's not going to be able to help. That she'll only make things worse."

Harry locked his eyes on the journal in his lap. "They can't get worse."

She shifted and squirmed until she was sitting on her feet. "No?"

He tightened his fingers around the corners of the journal. The corners digging into his palms grounded him. "No."

She tilted her head to the side and flicked her tongue back and forth over her top front teeth. "Do you have friends? People you care about?"

He forced his eyes away from her tongue. "Y-Yes."

She shrugged and slid to the side off of her feet. "Then it can get worse. It can always get worse."

He snorted and pulled the pen out of the journal pages. "That's inspiring."

She patted his knee. "No. But it's true. The inspiring part, the best part of the world, is that even though things can get worse, sometimes they don't."

The fabric around the button on the couch was frayed. The yellow stuffing poked out between the worn fibers. "My parents are dead. I don't even remember them."

She drummed her fingers on the back of the couch. "Ok."

Her eyes were locked on a strand of her bangs that she pulled over her nose. She twisted it around her finger then pulled it toward her chin as if measuring it. "There's an evil wizard who's main goal in his newly reinstated life seems to be to make my life miserable before he kills me and thereby fulfills the prophecy."

She released the hair and flung it back onto the top of her head. The strands slowly slipped down to frame her face. "Ok."

Harry flung his journal onto the coffee table. It slid across the polished surface, pushing magazines to the floor. "The prophecy that he doesn't even know. A bloody prophecy that got my Godfather killed."

She covered a yawn with her hand. "Ok."

He sprang from the chair and spun to face her. "I killed him! It was my fault! I didn't listen. I didn't block it out. I didn't even try. I wanted the dreams to come. I wanted to know what was behind the door. I killed him. He's dead because I thought I was always right and no one else could ever possibly understand. I'm no better than him. He should have killed me. Everything would be better, easier--"

She stood and flailed her arms in front of her face. "Stop. No. Where would you being dead get anyone? Would there be world peace? An end to all suffering in the universe? We're human. We do stupid things that have huge consequences. Things we can never take back. But that's why we're here. You live another day and never do anything that stupid again."

The lace drapes forced the sunlight through the holes. The patterns moved over the floor as the sun rose higher. "I killed him. He loved me and I killed him."

She flopped back onto the couch and propped her feet on the edge of the coffee table. "Would he want you to be dead too?"

He grabbed the journal from her curling toes painted bright blue. "No. But he shouldn't have died. He died to save me."

She scooted to the edge of the couch. She put her hands on her knees and pulled herself up. "I can't tell you that everything's going to be ok, and it wasn't your fault, and dying to save the ones you love is the perfect sacrifice because half of it's crap and the other half hinges on me knowing what happened. But here's the great life lesson from the mouth of my little sister. Life Sucks. Things never go the way you hope and you're always disappointed and disgruntled about what you don't have."

He sniffed. The bookcases on the far wall were barely organized. Books were lying in piles on the shelves, some sections appeared to be organized by color, and there were a bunch of books lying in piles on the floor. "It gets worse."

She sighed. The coffee table groaned as it scraped across the stained wood floor. "Usually does."

Maybe he'd organize the books. He could earn his keep. Maybe they'd let him stay if he started doing work. "It makes me sick just thinking about it."

She rested her chin on this shoulder. "Then we'll be sick together."

He jumped and stepped away. The floorboards didn't even creak. "I don't even know who you are."

She smiled and curtsied. "My mom's the headmistress. I'm Cali."

He raised his eyebrows. "Cali?"

She shrugged. "Short for Morganna Caliope Richardson."

Okay. I don't get it. Must respond though. Normal people respond to comments other people make to them. "Yikes."

She giggled. "Exactly. So don't call me Morganna or anything. That's just a Mom thing."

Her green eyes were locked on him. That is not a natural color. They're almost glowing. What does she want? Oh. She introduced herself. I guess it's my turn. "I'm Harry."

She held out her hand. She smiled, reached out and grabbed his hand from where it rested at his side, and shook it. "It's nice to meet you."

He pulled away and moved toward the door. "Harry Potter."

She tilted her head to the side and shrugged. "Better name then mine. Shorter at least."

Harry chewed on his lip. "You haven't heard of me?"

Cali shook her head. "Should I have?"

Harry hugged the notebook to his chest and smiled.

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