Chapter 1: The Wickedly Wondrous Gilderoy Lockhart

"Kill her! KILL HER!"

Hands grabbed my arm, and pain tore through me… I screamed… agony raced through me… something heavy landed on me… I thrashed, kicking out… "Lettie, Lettie!" someone was saying… dying, I was dying… red eyes stared down into mine, enraged… hands on my shoulders, shaking me…

Green eyes stared down at me, and I jerked away, screaming… I slid off the bed… no, no, Quirrell was going to kill me… I hit the ground with a dull thunk … "Lettie! Lettie !" I scrambled backwards… bumped into the nightstand… my heart pounded in my chest… the professor stepped forwards, and I screamed again… I wasn't going to die, I would fight–

"Letitia Rose!"

The name reverberated through my mind, a name that Quirrell hadn't called me, and… I blinked. Standing above me was not Professor Quirrell, with his turban and Voldemort's face hidden beneath. Instead, it was a pale, skinny figure, pink bathrobe wrapped tightly around her.

"Auntie?"

Surprise flashed through her at the name I hadn't used in years, memories of a tiny little girl with such large green eyes flickering through her thoughts. "It was only a nightmare, Lettie. That man… he won't hurt you again."

I stared up at her, trembling, my heart pounding, pounding, trying desperately to escape my chest, to be free, and… No, Quirrell couldn't hurt me. Professor Quirrell, and Voldemort, too, if still a ghost, was dead. I had killed him myself. Monster , a voice hissed, and I shuddered.

"Thank you," I told her, my voice quivering.

She stared down at me with eyes so, so similar to my own - the Cooper eyes, she'd once told Iris, inherited from great grandma Rose - and nodded. "If you… the headmaster wrote to me, about what happened. If you think you need help-"

"I'm fine."

Aunt Petunia didn't believe me. No, she had raised me, knew me, had seen me cold and harsh, devastated and weeping, yet she'd never seen me look so broken . And she wanted to push, to pry me open, to make me talk like she always did with Iris… It was so odd, her thoughts. The softness she very rarely showed for me, those occasional moments where I wasn't the monster who lived in her house, but Lily's daughter.

"Careful, Aunt Petunia," I whispered, "you're leaking."

She flinched violently at the reminder of my gift. Muggles would call it telepathy, however, in the wizarding world, it was more commonly known as Legilimency. Now, this was further complicated by the fact that there were two kinds of Legilimens: those born with it, who had the talent develop gradually over many years and were supposed to register with the Ministry of Magic, and those who had mastered the spell, which was but a diluted version of what a natural Legilimens could do. I was the former, a born Legilimens… and, as useful as it was, it was also terrible because I couldn't turn it off . It was always there, blaring in the back of my mind, thundering at my skull, everything between 29 Wisteria Boulevard and 10 Privet Drive, and at Hogwarts, it was worse . But, recently, I had found help in that regard.

"You should go," I told her, barely keeping my voice steady and empty, "Vernon's getting angry."

She hesitated but a moment before fleeing, hurrying back to her walrus of a husband.

I sagged back against my nightstand, trembling, my heart still thundering on. A tear slid down my cheek. Why did this keep happening? Why couldn't I make it go away ? I shouldn't… I hadn't done anything wrong, had I? Quirrell had tried to kill me. Surely, I shouldn't be so… so… broken over it.

Closing my eyes, I counted back from ten, like the books Snape had given me said to do, imagining all my thoughts floating away, vanishing… everyone else's cluttered, volatile dreams and emotions washing by me… Deep breaths, in and out… everything was fine, soothing… taking it all and locking it in a box, and… And nothing. Emptiness. The anger, the sorrow, the hurt all carefully sealed up in a box at the back of my mind.

Who knew Occlumency would help with compartmentalization?

Not that I was a master at it in any regards. No, everything I knew of it came from some dusty books found after I'd bribed the Weasley twins into telling me how to break into the Restricted Section, and none of them went into the details of the more advanced forms, such as creating mental palaces and false personalities. It was all "clear the mind" and "meditate, meditate, meditate" and the great dangers of Legilimens, particularly born ones - like me. I was one of those rare few wizards born with a natural talent, and for that, many would persecute, imprison, or force me into the equivalent of indentured servitude. The books, and Snape, had made that very clear.

Shaking aside those gloomy thoughts, I wandered over to the window and looked out on the darkened street. Privet Drive was a very calm and orderly street, unnervingly so, in truth, with its dozens of little houses, each identical to the next, and the neatness of everything, not a blade of grass out of place, not a single child's toy left in a yard. The only variants from house to house was the car in the driveway, the different colored curtains, and the little number announcing the address.

A pale shape moved across the sky, flying closer, bright in the darkness, and I unlatched the window. Hedwig swooped down, landing on my windowsill. No letters were tied around her leg, and she hooted unhappily at me.

"Hey, there," I murmured, petting her feathers.

She nipped at my hand, a dark glint in her eyes, very clearly unhappy. The foggy cloud of annoyance, vexation, a hint of anger , hung over her head, and images flashed through her mind when I prodded… Dark sky and clouds… a figure appearing, fingers snapping… a letter handed to her, tied to her leg by a red haired girl… It was the same thing that had happened the last three times I'd sent her off, and it had become very clear that someone was stealing my mail.

My magical mail, that is. I'd sent a letter to Hermione in the normal Muggle post, and it had arrived easily, but Elaine? Not a word to her - I'd had to ask Hermione to pass on messages to Elaine, even to arrange for our meeting in Diagon later today, like a schoolgirl passing notes on to a boy in class.

To make it up to Hedwig, I gave her two owl treats, instead of one, to which I received a still annoyed hoot before she devoured them. "I know," I told her softly, "but, I'll just have to find another way, won't I?"

The look she gave me was withering.

Now, to many it may seem a tad preposterous, the idea that Hedwig could understand me, but I knew she did. I'd seen it in her eyes, and her mind seemed to experience a similar series of emotions to a human's. All wizarding owls did, their minds oddly clear compared to the other birds I'd been around - and, yes, in my curiosity, I'd gone out to find other owls and their minds were not nearly so complex. My only conclusion was that it had something to do with the ambient magic they were exposed to, or perhaps the spells that had been used to allow wizarding owls to carry letters. There had been a similar difference between common snakes and magical ones.

Perhaps that was why magical snakes were so much more interesting to talk to.

Sighing, I turned away from the window and started getting dressed, and several minutes later I descended into the kitchen, the scent of bacon filling the downstairs. Petunia was finishing up breakfast, platters of eggs and pancakes already on the table, while Iris slumped over, face in her arms and blonde hair inches from the syrup dish, and Vernon read the paper, his whole body twitching as I dragged a chair back, legs scrapping on the linoleum flooring, but he said nothing, staring almost violently at the paper, his mind not taking a word as he chanted, Ignore the brat, ignore the brat , over and over again.

After all, he knew far too well what happened when he didn't.

"You know, it's rude to put your arms on the table," I remarked, taking a pancake.

"Shut up, you freak," she mumbled into her arms, the words sounding more like "shupufreak", right as Petunia strode back into the room with the platter of bacon.

"Don't be rude to your cousin, Iris," Petunia chided as she sat down.

Vernon flinched back slightly, his chair scraping as he inched away from her as if she were some sickly, rotting creature who'd plopped into the seat next to him and he were trying desperately not to indicate how horrifying it was.

"And sit up straight when you're at the table," Petunia continued, forcefully not looking at her husband. "I can't imagine what people would think if they saw you lazing about like that."

Scowling, Iris sat up, dropping her arms from the table.

I popped a piece of bacon in my mouth.

"I don't see why it matters," Iris murmured, "nobody at school cares."

The mention of our school always caused a wide range of reactions for those in the Dursley house. Vernon's hands tightened around the paper, the delicate pages crumbling and ripping in his white knuckled grasp, while Petunia sucked in a breath, her fork trembling in her hand. If anyone else had been eating with us, they likely would've thought the reaction most peculiar, however, those people would not have known a rather important fact: Iris and I went to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the Dursley family did not care for wizards or witches… even if it was their own daughter.

"Well," Petunia said after a too long pause, "I don't know what they're teaching you at that… place, but in this household, we will eat properly ."

With that, quiet fell over the table, and we all ate our meal in perfect silence, then watched Petunia clear the plates and finally, finally, Vernon stood up. "I best be off. Jenkins will have my head if I'm late."

Iris started. "You're not coming with us?"

His entire face wrinkled up, revolted, then quickly smoothed out. "This golfing outing has been on my calendar for weeks." For eleven days, to be precise, since I'd told him that I was meeting the Weasleys on the 25th of July, and Petunia had decided it would be a good idea to make it a family outing. "I can't miss it. Absolutely not. It's a very important business meeting."

It's a few men past their prime dicking around , Petunia thought viciously as she swept back into the room, her expression perfectly flat. "Come along, girls. We'll be late."

Iris huffed angrily, whirling on her heel and stalking from the room. I trailed after her without the melodramatic flair, pretending I didn't hear the unpleasant thoughts radiating from each Dursley:

What did I do wrong? Why does he hate me so much? It's not my fault , Iris thought viciously.

My marriage is falling apart, Petunia disparaged.

I wish my daughter was normal. I should've never married Petunia, I should've left her when that brat was dropped on our doorstep. No, as soon as I learned about her freak of a sister, Vernon concluded.

The Dursley family was falling apart around me, and I wondered how long it'd be before it shattered.

The Leaky Cauldron was a rather shabby looking place, the building tipped a little, like one good gust of wind would knock the whole thing over. A sign overhead read The Leaky Cauldron in faded red letters. Aunt Petunia glanced around, scowling. Her eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the music shop on the other, her mind skipping right over it in this odd, jolty way, seeing it for one second, then jolting right over to the next building and forgetting that odd, tantalizing glimpse at another world. A simple mirage, nothing to consider.

It was quite odd to see magic working on Muggles.

"Come on , Mum," Iris said, tugging on Petunia's arm and dragging over to the door. It groaned loudly in protest, and we spilled inside.

The interior was dark and shabby: the tables beaten and chipped and scratched, the chairs rickety and creaking with every shift of these few who dared to sit in them, the navy curtains fraying at the ends and with holes. Even the people – wizards and witches, I mean – within were tattered and beaten, such as the old barman, who was quite bald and very weathered, skin all wrinkled, the seams of his vest fraying, and was talking to a tiny man in a shiny black top hat. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry, all of them in dresses and long robes that had seen far better days. One of them was smoking a long pipe.

We seperated here, Petunia and Iris continuing on into the alley, while I ordered a butterbeer and sank into a nearby table with a book to read while I waited. The Weasleys wouldn't be here for another hour - and if shopping with them took too long, I was expected to make my own way home.

I kept watch of the clock as it ticked ever onwards towards eleven o'clock… and then pass that, with no sign whatsoever of the Weasleys. 11:05. 11:17. Then, finally, at 11: 24, the Floor flared and a red haired boy ducked out.

As he wiped the ash from his robes, the Floo flared again and two more boys stumbled out, practically on top of each other.

"Morning," I said, dropping that subtle compulsion convincing people that there's nothing to see here, just bleak background, move on . Otherwise, I likely would've been mobbed by eager fans like last year.

One of the boys jerked, whipping his head around. "Lettie! I didn't see you there!"

"Yes, how shocking," one of the twins said – which, I didn't know entirely, their minds blended oddly together.

"It isn't as if we were expecting her or anything, Perce," the second twin added.

Percy's ears turned a brilliant red, and then a fourth Weasley came tumbling out of the fireplace and nearly fell flat on their face. This time, however, it was a girl: Elaine Cedrella Weasley, firstborn daughter, Gryffindor, and one of my two best friends.

She shot a vicious glare over her shoulder, right as her younger sister strolled out with a smile that could've been innocent, if I didn't know the visual running through both their minds: Ginny, eager to pass through, shoving her sister into the floor and shouting out the address, then apologizing meekly to her mother when chastised despite feeling no guilt whatsoever. Honestly, her siblings were always so slow .

Elaine, still upset at her self-centered sister, turned away and spotted me. Oh, thank Merlin . Relief spread through her. She hurried over, squeezing between the twins, and very nearly threw herself at me – I flinched back a step – then she caught herself, lowering her arms, cheeks reddening.

"How's your summer been?" she asked frantically, thinking of her own dreadful few weeks - all the noise, all the insistence from Mrs. Weasley to behave this way and not that way, her father's rare appearances. At least, Bill would be coming to visit soon. "It's brilliant to see you!"

"Pretty ordinary. Yours?" I asked as the Floo flared for the sixth and final time.

"Fine, but–"

Then, Mrs. Weasley was swooping over, smiling warmly – the same look that Petunia often gave Iris. "Oh, Lettie! It is so good to see you again! How are you, dear?" She's so skinny, poor dear, does she even eat?

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley."

Oh, so polite! Her mind was as loud as a siren's horn, wide open and I didn't even have to peek, because her thoughts blared right into mine. "And your cousin? Is she here?"

I had to force my smile, now. "No. She and Petunia went on ahead. I think Iris was meeting Sally-Anne?" I shrugged carelessly, as if I didn't know precisely what had been planned.

"Oh." Mrs. Weasley nodded, but was distracted from further prodding by the arrival of the Grangers.

Or rather, by Hermione.

The girl came up from behind me, but I could see her perfectly through Mrs. Weasley's eyes. Her bushy hair seemed to be engaged in battle with a tight bun, poofing up at the back of her head, strands of hair wrestling their way free, and the rest of her outfit seemed to be a struggle between bookworm Hermione and some sedate orphan: a heavy black velvet coat , a thick pleated skirt and a black-blue blouse that she was untucking as she approached, and gloomy grey socks sticking out of shiny, shiny Mary Janes. Who had dressed her this morning?

More than noticing all that, though, Mrs. Weasley was looking beyond the girl, looking for the two figures if her parents… who weren't there. Did they just leave her alone here? A spark of anger flared through her.

"Hello again, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione addressed the woman first, thinking it was only polite. "You may not remember, but I'm Hermione."

Mrs. Weasley hugged her – the poor girl looked so glum , like she needed it – and a flare of panic went through Hermione's mine, before… she clutched the woman back, and I could feel her tears as keenly as if they were my own.

" Mother ," Percy cut in, "may we hurry along? I'm to meet with some friends at noon."

Pretentious prat . The thought echoed between the twins, both of whom were glaring at him.

Mrs. Weasley drew away from Hermione. "Yes, yes. Of course." She glanced disgruntledly at the doors, half-wishing that Hermione's parents would step through. But they didn't. "Well, come along then. Gringotts first."

We followed her out of the Cauldron and into the long, winding street. Gringotts stood a few loops and turns from the Leaky Cauldron, a story higher than most of the surrounding buildings, bright and white and blinding in the morning sun. It formed an awkward, slightly crooked V shape, perched as it was, with Diagon Alley curving off to the left and Horizont beginning on its right.

Along the way, as Mrs. Weasley began to berate the twins for some callous comment, I fell in with Elaine and Hermione - the latter of whom seemed to be focused on changing the color of her socks to a vibrant yellow, red, and blue.

"So… having a good summer?"

Both girls responded in near unison.

"Not even close," Elaine murmured, eyeing her mother.

Hermione, meanwhile, winced and said, "It's been normal."

Elaine tore her gaze from Mrs. Weasley, brown eyes fixing sternly on me. "What's with the letters? Have you figured out who's stealing them yet?"

I shook my head.

"It's preposterous," Hermione said. "Isn't there a way to report it?"

"I doubt the auror office will care that someone's stealing my mail, Hermione," I pointed out.

"It's a crime," Hermione insisted.

"Nobody cares, 'Mione," Elaine retorted blithely.

"Well, they should," Hermione said, "Someone can do all sorts of awful things with the information in your mail. And don't call me that."

Elaine made a rude gesture behind Hermione's back.

"Like what?" I asked Hermione, ignoring both girls' antics. "Blackmail me? Who would do that to a child ?"

"You are the Girl-Who-Lived," Hermione replied rather predictably, and I bit back a sigh. I hated that stupid title - they may as well have called me "The Girl-Who-Didn't-Die-Along-With-Her-Parents-Like-She-Was-Supposed-To", but I suppose the papers wouldn't have found that as catchy.

"She does have a point," Elaine admitted grudgingly. "People'll probably target you all the time. Especially the ones who supported him ."

"By stealing my mail ?" I asked incredulously. "I highly doubt that some Death Eater is carrying out a dastardly plan involving mail theft."

By this point, we had reached Gringotts, cutting off any conversation that we'd want left private - no one trusted the goblins. I nodded politely to the guards as we passed, both of whom sneered back at me in response.

Inside, the round lobby somehow managed to gleam even more than the exterior, everything - from the long, curved counter goblins self-importantly counted out jewels or wrote in ledgers heavy enough to beat someone to death with, to the columns lining the room, to the marble floors - white as pure as freshly fallen snow. A series of silver doors sat at intervals, and the ceiling overhead domed and held an ornate mural. However, instead of the typical happy images of cupids on clouds or beautiful angels, the mural showed a vicious, bloody battlefield, goblins and wizards clashing, heads being cut off with mighty axes, goblins falling under vicious green spells, rather realistically painted blood pooling beneath bodies, and all giving a simple message: Never, ever forget the viciousness of goblins.

Mrs. Weasley moved to the first teller, but I skipped further along, Hermione and Elaine trailing after me like baby ducks, to the fourth teller along the row. The goblin didn't look up from his ledger, even as I stretched on my toes - seriously, why were the counters so tall? The goblins were shorter than me! - to prop my arms on the counter,though his writing became even more furious. "Hello, Agnok."

"Hello, witchling," he replied in a voice that was quite nearly a snarl.

"How's your summer going?"

His writing stalled. "Rather well." He looked up, deep, black eyes that may easily be described as soulless meeting mine, and smiled widely, showing sharp, sharp teeth. "I was allowed to slaughter a traitor a few days ago. His body is still displayed in the Hall of Trade."

I nodded idly, not letting his words disturb me as he wished they would. "Hmm… Can't say I'd enjoy that. The blood, you know? It's so hard to get out of clothes."

One of the very interesting things about goblins was that I couldn't read their thoughts - mostly. There was this heavy wall around their minds, a deep blackness that I ran headlong into if I looked too closely, and this awful, odd cold feeling that clung to them, a murky, deep chill, like after tumbling into a frozen lake, where one was wet and shivering and curled up under blankets and yet still couldn't get warm. A bog, perhaps.

However, I was still a natural Legilimens, and so I still felt the occasional snatches of… something . And right now I was getting the general feeling of wariness and perhaps a desire to skin me alive. Which. Goblins. So friendly.

"I'd like to make a withdrawal from the family vault, if you please?" I told him without letting my smile fall, as if I hadn't noticed anything. "50 sickles."

He nodded as if that said everything – which, it did, since I could only access the family vaults for school funds until I turned seventeen – and shoved a slip of paper at me.

I quickly wrote the withdrawal amount, then signed my name – ignoring the pinch of the Blood Quill – then passed it back to him.

He stared at it for a moment, hummed, then the slip vanished from his fingers. With a snap of his fingers, a small velvet bag appeared on the counter.

"Thank you," I said, picking it up, and slipped to the side to allow Hermione to approach him. The other girl quickly exchanged her pounds for sickles and knuts, dumping them into her little beaded bag that she then shoved into her pocket.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley was gathering her own bag of coins, expression pinched. Their accounts were short, she was worried about money and weather they had enough, wondering if perhaps she'd have to sell a few more of her family trinkets, that her transfiguration work wasn't skilled enough to simply make the school robes, which were one of the more costly expenses, and Elaine should be able to use Fred's old copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 , it wasn't too battered. Gilderoy Lockhart's works would cost, though.

We left Gringotts, then, and back out on the marble steps, we all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill, when really he was off to see his secret girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater. Mrs. Weasley was shuffling the twins and Ginny off to a second hand robe shop, fussing over how theirs were too short, and calling to us to meet them at Flourish & Blotts.

And so we found ourselves free.

"Thank Merlin, " Elaine breathed, "She's been like that all summer. It's driving me bloody mental."

"She loves you, that's all," Hermione pointed out.

Elaine sighed. "I know. It's just…" She shook her head. "Sometimes, it feels like she wants me to be someone else, you know?" More like Ginny , echoed through her mind with a twist of her heart.

Hermione flinched. "Yeah. I know," she said dully.

"Come on," I said, catching their wrists - a sharp spike, their thoughts clearer, pain and longing and disappointment echoing through both - and dragging them towards Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor . "I'm craving blueberry lemon ice cream."

Several minutes later - after Florean saw past the subtle compulsion, some minds were simply sharper than others, and recognized me, insisting vehemently that I didn't need to pay - we stepped back onto the street and wandered along the alley, happily eating our ice cream.

Elaine gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies, and… She wanted to be like that, up in the air on a broom, a star chaser… but her mother would never approve, never allow it, and her father would agree, to make Mum happy and because he was busy and he never really saw anything.

Then, we'd finished our ice cream, and Hermione dragged us off to replenish our supply of ink, parchment, and quills.

"You know you're terrible with a quill," Elaine noted. "Why don't you just use those pan things like Lettie?"

Hermione, scowling, went into a rant on how it would just take practice, and then she'd be brilliant. Tuning her out, I drifted along the rows, making a note to buy more pens in the Muggle world before school started.

In Gambol and Japes's Wizarding Joke Shop, we stumbled into Fred, George, and a couple of their Slytherin friends, and the twins were far too interested in "Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks" for comfort. Through the window of a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, wonky brass scales, and old cloaks, I spotted Percy, immersed in a small book titled: Prefects Who Gained Power.

"A study of Hogwarts Prefects and their later careers," Elaine read aloud off the back cover, a mocking lilt to her voice. "That sounds fascinating…"

"Go away," Percy snapped, brittle and tight.

"Course, he's very ambitious, Percy, he's got it all planned out … he wants to be Minister of Magic…" Elaine told us in an undertone as we left, not that I needed her to tell me, the ambition reeked off him.

An hour later, we headed for Flourish and Blotts, and the rattling, echoing noise in my head got louder as we neared, a heavy clog in the street before the large shop, voices loud and a pang went through my head.

"Do we have to go in there?" Hermione asked, eyeing the, mostly, witches jostling their way inside.

The reason was declared in a very large banner over the upper windows (and every witches thoughts):

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiography

MAGICAL ME

today 12.30 – 4.30 pm

"Brilliant," Elaine murmured, scowling.

"Who is he, anyway?" I asked.

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Oh, he's brilliant ! I've read about him in the Prophet. He apparently defeated the Bandon Banshee, which-"

"Yes, yes, it was very great," Elaine cut in, catching Hermione's wrist and drawing her towards the shop. "Come on ."

Irritation, sharp and vicious, in Elaine, and more muted annoyance from Hermione - even after a year, they still didn't care much for each other.

I trailed after the pair, and we forced our way through the throng - several people rearing back when that little compulsion pushing them to look away, to ignore me slipping and they recognized me - to a harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please ladies… don't push, there… mind the books, no…"

A long queue wound right up to the balcony at the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart himself leaned against a table stacked with books - printed with a cheerful Lockhart, waving and winking on the glossy blue cover, with the words Magical Me written in gold. He smiled merrily at the witches as he signed their copies, and his robes were a jaunty periwinkle blue.

We grabbed our copies of The Complete Compendium of Dark Creatures, by Gilderoy Lockhart from a display near the door, then made our way up to where the Weasleys waited. Well, most of the Weasleys - there was no sign of the twins.

"Oh, there you are, good," Mrs. Weasley said breathlessly, patting her hair and thinking about how brilliantly grey Lockhart's eyes were, like storms. Ugh. "We'll be able to see him in a minute…"

We had, after all, neared the front of the line, only three people away from him.

"... yes, I am single," Lockhart answered a flirtatious witch, "however, I am entirely devoted to my work!"

A man holding a camera bumped into us, stepping right on Elaine's foot. "Out of the way, there," he snarled, angling the camera for a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet!" He took another picture with a blinding flash and a puff of purple smoke .

"Big deal," Elaine muttered, and Mrs. Weasley chided her for her rudeness.

Gilderoy Lockhart looked up at us… and his eyes met mine, going wide… and it was like crashing into a solid wall, my mind bouncing right off his. The world spun. "It can't be Letitia Potter?"

The world spun around me, an odd echoing, and what was that?

Lockhart strode forwards, stopping right in front of me, and… offered his hand? I blinked at it. "It's an honor, Miss Potter."

I glanced up at him, and his smile never wavered… but his eyes… his eyes had this odd, dark glimmer to them. And everyone was staring at us now. Stomach twisting, I took his hand, forced my own smile in response. "For me as well, Mr. Lockhart. I heard about your work in Bandon."

He titled his head, everything so bright and happy, except for his eyes. "Yes, I do seem to recall a good amount of press over that."

A bright flash, a whiff of acridic violet smoke.

Both of us turned to the photographer, who flushed, his mind twisting oddly in his nerves, and he quickly lowered his camera. I glanced back at Lockhart, realizing that he still clasped my hand tightly, and I drew back, my skin crawling.

"I believe you have people waiting?" I asked.

Lockhart blinked, then stepped. "Yes, yes." He clapped his hands together, a charming smile slipping easily into place as he surveyed the crowd. "Why don't I sign yours and your friends?"

And so the mostly Weasley group made our way to his desk, and he happily signed each copy of his works - seven copies of The Complete Compendium and the single, battered Guide to Household Pests that Mrs. Weasley clutched tightly - and, after signing my own, he slipped a copy of Magical Me on top with a smile.

"Free of charge."

I jerked my head up, about to protest-

"I insist."

I wanted to protest, to insist that I didn't need a free copy, it was hardly fair and the Weasleys were right there , but he looked at me with this odd, fascinated glimmer in his eyes, and I did want to know more about him, but more than anything I wanted out , away from his attention, like a mouse desperate to escape a cat's gaze, and so-

I took it.

Then, Gilderoy Lockhart turned to the crowd below, beaming widely. "Now, I have a little announcement for you all. The papers, and I'm certain all of you, have been wondering where my travels will take me next, and it is my great pleasure to announce that Miss Potter and all her peers will, in fact, be getting the real magical me!"

I had a moment to stare, one of Elaine's favorite curses running through my mind, and then-

"Is he serious?"

"He's taken the DADA position!"

"Maybe he wants to break the curse!"

"Yes!" he announced cheerfully, smile never breaking. "I have the great pleasure and pride in announcing that I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts!"

The crowd cheered and clapped, and during the ferror, the Weasleys, Hermione, and I made our way to the front of the store , Ginny struggling under the weight of her new cauldron.

"Famous Letitia Potter," a drawling voice said behind me, as Mrs. Weasley set her stack of books down at the checkout. "Can't even step into a bookshop without making the front page."

I turned around, a lazy smile sliding into place, and said, "Well, that's the unfortunate downside of defeating an infamous dark lord."

His eyes sharpened. "I bet you love it, don't you? The fame, the adoration ."

"Leave her alone!" Ginny cut in, and his gaze landed on her, and she flushed, flinching back under the weight of it.

"Ah, a Weasley. " Distaste clung to his voice. "I expect your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for that lot." He nodded towards an oblivious Molly Weasley, who was now paying for her children's books.

Before anyone else could say anything, Lucius Malfoy appeared behind his son. I'd seen the man only once before, walking out of Azarius Shafiq's office with a pinched look of distaste, and he was no more pleasant now, tall and with long hair as pale as his son's, and this unpleasant chill to him as he laid a hand on Draco Malfoy's shoulder.

"Come along, Draco," he said, "there's no dignity rolling around in such muck."

Elaine and Ginny went bright red, Hermione glared, and Percy flinched.

The two Malfoys swept away, Malfoy Jr. knocking over Ginny's cauldron with an oops, and strode from the shop.

"I hate him," Elaine snarled under her breath, as Ginny and Percy gathered up the spilled belongings.

Then, Mrs. Weasley was shuffling us from the shop, right as Fred and George entered, pockets bulging suspiciously, and she began to berate them for their tardiness. The three of us fell easily to the back of the group.

"You don't think it was Malfoy, do you?" Elaine asked quietly, and Hermione frowned at her.

"You think he's stealing my mail?" I asked, and… well, that wasn't something I'd considered. Still, though, if he had been the culprit, I doubted he'd have been able to avoid thinking about it - his intent had been all but screamed at me last year when he challenged me to a duel.

"Malfoy?" Hermione repeated incredulously.

Elaine nodded, expression serious. "He does hate you, Lettie, and we've all heard the stories about him. He might've thought it'd be a great way to mess with you, given you're an orphan and, well…"

"Living with Muggles?" I finished dully.

Hermione gave Elaine a wicked glare. "Muggles are not awful. There's nothing wrong with-"

"I never said there was!" Elaine cried out. "Just that, to a family like Malfoy's, living with Muggles is like rolling around with pigs." Hermione's nose wrinkled at that. "He probably thinks it's funny to know that you, Lettie," she shot me a desperate look, "are trapped with that and have no means of communication."

"Well, Malfoy's a right prat then." I couldn't imagine what it would've been like, if I'd never become a Legilimens, trapped alone with the Dursleys all summer… Agonizing .

Hermione glanced at me, worried and sad and something else, something odd and unpleasant that I didn't understand. "You are okay there, aren't you, Lettie?"

I blinked at her. What exactly… It was hard, peering at her mind, that thick fog hovering around it, but I pushed a little, and… She was worried about my safety, afraid that perhaps the Dursleys didn't treat me well. Which was odd - I didn't think I'd ever said anything bad about them, had been careful when discussing my "home" life, but, somehow, she had rightfully concluded our poor relationship.

Sometimes, I wondered if Hermione would be a good Legilimens.

"I'm fine, Hermione," I told her quietly, while Elaine frowned at us, not understanding - but she wouldn't, couldn't, not surrounded as she was by a loving family, however irritating they could be. "They can't hurt me."

A stricken expression flashed across her face, there and gone, words sinking into her. Then, she straightened up and nodded firmly, all worry carefully tucked away again. "Okay." Okay, I believe you. For now.

"Girls," Mrs. Weasley called from ahead, and I realized, dimly, that we'd come to a stop, the rest of the Weasley family ducking back through the archway to the Leaky, "Hurry up, now."

The three of us exchanged one last look, then hurried ahead, leaving all attempts at serious conversation behind. A few moments later, after many goodbyes and the chaos that always accompanied the Weasley family, we all seperated: Hermione exiting the Leaky out into Muggle London, the Weasleys back through the Floor, and me, sitting alone at a table, waiting for the eventual return of Iris and Petunia Dursley. Once again, I was alone. And I hated it.