Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter

Brace For Impact: Chapter One: Year One

AN: This is essentially Looking Beyond with minor editing and scenes referenced in Stand Tall thrown in. So that means more scenes with Nathaniel, Dean, and the Mirror Lady, who was mentioned in the most recent ST chapter.

There will be six chapters, six very long chapters, to which ST will be the sequel, so you can jump from this right over to that fic.


Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of Number Four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Which is why it came as much of a shock when they became the source of an investigation, particular one that had nothing to be with Mr. Dursley's job at Grunnings and everything to do with Mr. and Mrs. Dursleys admittedly rather peculiar niece, Hope Potter.

No one liked Hope Potter.

She always had that air about her, like there was something unnatural about her.

But she wasn't much to look at, either way, a slip of a girl barely ten years old with knobby knees, green eyes, dark red hair, a permanent scowl, and a scar like lightning cracking across her face. She had an eerie was of disappearing immediately when she was needed to be found and accurately predicting when people would die down to the exact day, something that ostracized her immediately from her peers.

Hope Potter had no friends, was bullied constantly -not that anyone would've been able to guess, because, as luck would have it, all of her bullies had parents in high places-, and was an orphan since the tragic death of her parents when she was the tender age of one.

Mrs. Dursley, who was the sister of Hope's late mother, always lamented of the trials of raising a niece like that, and the other neighborhood wives had to agree. If they'd had to raise a hellion like Hope Potter, they would've turned her out years ago to an orphanage.

Yet, rumors spread like wildfire when Hope Potter ended up in a very critical condition in the nearby hospital, from what she claimed was her cousin pushing her into traffic.

But Hope Potter was a liar.

(Wasn't she?)


Hope had counted exactly twenty-two cracks on the ceiling and she was starting to get bored. The pain was starting to bloom again and she was back to feeling perfectly miserable. She hadn't even been able to look at her leg, but she knew the doctor had said it was a miracle it had been salvaged at all.

She wondered if it wouldn't hurt less if they'd just cut it off. Hope could manage with one leg, or even a fake leg; she wasn't as shy about that possibility as other people were.

It was going to take a lot of work to get her leg back to being functional, and Hope wasn't really sure it was worth it. Going back to the Dursleys with her small cupboard under the stairs was hardly conducive for healing legs.

She clenched her fists tight, trying to focus on something else, anything else.

"Care for a story, dearest?" a sudden voice asked and Hope looked up, frowning at the figure standing in the door. There something…distinctly unearthly about him in a way that she couldn't quite describe. He was tall with warm brown skin and bronze curls restrained in a small ponytail. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses and he was wearing an EMT uniform.

He seemed eerily familiar and Hope was almost ashamed of how long it took her to place him.

The ice-cold grip on her arm, forcing her heart to beat once again as she bled out on the pavement.

"A story?" she asked thickly, trying to not think about the stitches upon stitches on her leg under the sheet and how she would probably have to go for another surgery. The Dursleys were not going to be pleased about paying all that money towards her and she was really going to get it when she was discharged.

She had never had the luxury of being told stories, or indeed someone to tell her stories. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What hand of story?"

"One about a girl in an impossible situation, a quest, a beast, and a great tragedy," the man smiled in a way that was little more than the baring of teeth. He held out a hand to her. "My name's Nathaniel. You can call me Nath. I was there when—"

"You're the one that brought me back," Hope said, staring at him. "I'm Hope."

"I know," he said and Hope's brow furrowed in confusion.

She stared at him for the longest time, but this Nathaniel didn't seem like a mystery easily solved. "You said something about a story?"

So, Nathaniel sat down in the uncomfortable chair next to her and opened his mouth and spun a story that would never leave Hope Potter's mind.


There was a flash of green and a cackle of high-pitched laughter that awoke Hope from her nightmare, terrifying her so badly that she had to sit up in her small bed, breathing hard. The movement jarred her, and she had to bite down on her lip to resist making a noise as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet brushing gently against the floor.

The pain had come from her left leg, the one that bore a deep and jagged scars from all the surgeries she'd had to had. They littered her leg from her shin all the way up to her thigh and Hope still wondered if it wasn't better just to cut it off.

According to her therapist, that was a very natural way to feel.

(She'd also wanted Hope to be put on anti-depressants, but the Dursleys had put their foot down on that, not really impressing her therapist)

It was all Dudley's fault, the little idiot, he was the one who'd pushed her into the street a few seconds before the car came speeding by. He may have seemed a bit regretful at the start of it, but that had quickly diminished (Hope suspected that might have had something to do with her sarcastic and angry nature).

Her fingers fumbled for the light switch and she blinked harshly once she managed to turn it on.

Her wand teetered dangerously on the edge of her bedside table, but she didn't bother moving it; if it did roll under her bed by the time morning came around, she'd still find it in the end. Hope stood up, the movement only causing a small twinge as opposed to earlier, raking her hands through her hair and scowling at the face of the girl her mirror reflected.

She knew the dark red hair was far less common than the brighter ginger, and if she wanted to, she could've changed the color of her hair to any color on the rainbow. She liked the color, but at the same time, she hated it. Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw what she always saw; the face of her dead mother. She could see it in the almond and shade of her eyes, in the color of her hair. She hated how much she looked like her dead mother, and she knew that was all anyone would see when they looked at her. She lifted a hand to pull on the ends of her short hair, not regretting cutting it from how long it had been before. It had been purely impulsive, but worth it in the end.

Hope palmed her forehead with a soft groan. Two more days in this hellhole before she could finally leave, to go to a magical school in Scotland called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, because Hope Potter was, in every sense, a witch.

She had initially scoffed at the idea; who had ever heard of modern-day witches, anyway? But she had to admit it was strange how she could sometimes change her appearance when she got emotional, or that one time when she had made her science experiment turn red –when it was supposed to remain blue and calm– and explode like a volcano, or how snakes would find her and whisper things.

Or how she could tell when someone would die, down to the exact day.

(Learning not to blurt that out had been a hard lesson to learn, but it had earned her the less than savory title of 'Reaper')

Well…maybe she had just been avoiding the signs. She was weird enough without all the magic throwing a curveball into her day. But Nath always said it was okay to be a little different.

The first thing he'd done when she'd left the hospital and started walking again was show her this small little café with a waitress named Sylvar who had ears a little too pointed and was determined to teach Hope to enjoy cooking.

Hope moved to lean her elbows on the windowpane, pressing her cheek against the glass to look outside and into the dark sky into which only a few stars were visible, most obscured by grey clouds. Hope scowled in front of her. If she squinted hard enough –even in the blackness– she could see a rosy shimmer, one that was characteristic of Blood Wards, according to one of the books she had read upon the discovery of her magical lineage. Though, she had to admit she had been far more interested in books on Ancient Runes than anything else, which was the only reason she'd recognized the Blood Wards.

Hope gave a mournful sigh, removing her eyes and face from the window to return to her bed and pull her heavy trunk towards her, feeling restless now and conceding that she probably wouldn't fall asleep for a while.

It may have looked like an average school trunk, but it had cost her a pretty penny and had been worth every galleon, as it came with an incredible extension charm. The trunk was almost full with her clothes, potion supplies, and second hand books that had once belonged to her mother—her aunt had apparently kept them out of sentiment, letting them gather dust in the attic—as well as a good dozen that she had either picked up from the family vault—the books being the only thing she could remove while being underage—or had bought at Flourish and Blotts.

Hope clicked the trunk open, pulling one compartment of it up, revealing a lengthy bookcase that was nowhere near being full of books but included a number that could send her off to sleep no problem, and that was what she was hoping for.

She frowned thoughtfully, considering the small amount of books for a moment before choosing at random and pulling out her Magical Drafts and Potions. She opened to the first page and began to read.


Their dad had been pretty specific about their foray into the Muggle World, there was to be no funny business -he'd given a hard look towards Fred and George, who'd shared amused glances- but it wasn't like any of them wanted to be the reason that a bunch of Obliviators had to come in on the weekend.

George Weasley couldn't remember the last time they'd gone to a zoo, and though he wasn't the kind of person to get distracted by some girl, he found himself pausing at the sight of a small girl sitting on the bench in front of an empty snake exhibit.

He'd never had a real interest in girls—though, he knew Fred was very much into their teammate and friend Angelina Johnson– but, he had to admit, she was definitely eye-catching, even only seeing her from the side.

Her hacked short hair was redder than his ginger, darker and more close in color to rose petals, with a single braid with a few beads strung in place. Her head was bowed over what looked to be a sketchbook with interest, but George thought she was around Ron's age, though a good deal paler and lacking proper nutrition -unlike Ron. Her jeans were ratty and peppered with holes and she had bunched her shirt into a hair tie at the back, turning the tail inward so it fit her frame better. One of her legs was stuck outward in an odd black brace; it looked uncomfortable.

People just passed her by, almost as if they didn't notice her at all. That was strange to George, because he thought she should have garnered a bit more attention being the only one not looking at any of the exhibits, with her focus entirely on the paper and book open on her lap.

"What happened to the snake?" he asked out loud, referring to the empty tank in front of her, faintly aware of his family leaving him behind and of Fred's curious glance back.

She paused in tracing out a symbol on the page, something that looked like a rune. She paused in her sketching, her pen stilling over the curve she had etched against the page. For a moment she did not move, far too stunned that someone had spoken to her than anything else, but then her head twisted upwards to pierce him with those bottle-green eyes. They were an unbelievably pretty color, especially on her, brighter than any green he'd ever seen. And though George knew people could be cute, he'd never met someone who immediately made him stop and go 'huh, cute'.

The green eyes narrowed slightly, filling with suspicion as she looked him up and down. She had a look like she was bracing for an impact that only she could see.

His eyes were a bright, impossible blue, clashing with the ginger of his hair, and out of his trouser pocket she could clearly see the carved hilt of a wand, far more intricate than hers, but Hope didn't really mind; her wand suited her just fine.

Her eyes returned to her paper, adding a few final touches to the rune. "It might have escaped," she said evasively with a shrug, "in a burst of accidental magic."

Her voice had a strange lilt, George noticed, one he'd never heard before, like she wasn't strictly from around there, but it wasn't unpleasant. And then he realized what she had said.

George's jaw unhinged as he stared at her. How did she know he was a wizard?

She arched a crimson eyebrow, before sighing and proceeding to stuff her things—several books that he now could see dealt mostly with magic, but looked too advanced for someone her age—into her bag. "Don't look so surprised; it's obvious." She rolled her eyes, even though it was only obvious if you were looking for the signs (such as wands sticking out of pockets, for instance).

"And what about you?" George asked curiously.

"What about me?" she asked, a little miffed, brushing her hair from her face as she stood, a beaded strand of her hair catching the light as she did so. "I'm just a witch."

Fred called his name in the distance and she smiled at him, glancing behind to see an identical boy. So, he was a twin, was he? It was the first time Hope had smiled in a while; it hurt her cheeks. "See you around, Wizard-boy," she winked and her green eyes shimmered an identical blue to his before returning to green in an instant as she disappeared through the throng of people with a fairly obvious limp, the brace making strange noises as it connected with stone and her cane clicking as she moved.

Only after she left did George realize she hadn't told him her name.


In retrospect, Hope should have asked Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts who had been her guide into Diagon Alley after knocking down the door at that little Hut-On-The-Rock, how on earth she got into Platform Nine and Three Quarters, but it had slipped her mind at the time.

Petunia and Vernon had been curiously happy to drop her off at King's Cross Station on the first of September. It all made sense when they drove off in laughter, leaving Hope with a train ticket to a platform that didn't exist.

Hope sat down in irritation on a bench just beyond Platform Nine, tapping her cane against the ground. She couldn't ask someone about the platform, because how was she to know if they were Muggle or Magical?

Hope gave a forlorn sigh as the minutes ticked by; she was going to miss her train…

"Come on, Ced! Hurry up!"

Hope looked up as a strangely dressed man strode past, his clothes slightly mismatched as though he was only wearing them to fit in, waving his hand towards a boy that could only be his son with similar brown hair and grey eyes like the woman following after him. He was pushing his cart and he had an owl.

Hope blinked once, and then again for good measure to remind herself that what she was seeing was indeed real. Since it was, this "Ced" had to be a wizard, why else would he have an owl in a cage like she did?

"Coming, Dad!" the boy called, his speed picking up as he passed his father, pushing his cart right into the dividing barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten.

A second later, Hope leaned forward in surprise, almost gaping; the boy had gone right through the wall! What the-?

And then his parents followed, doing the exact same thing, moments later.

Weird…

But better to try than to not, Hope had to concede to herself, on the upside, she might make it to her train on time, on the downside, she might just collide with the wall.

Hope opted to try, pulling herself up into a standing position, dangling her cane from the bar as she pushed it towards the divider. She first pressed it lightly against the wall, but it went right through the wall, so she added a bit more force only to find herself on what must be the opposite side, Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

Steam was rising around the scarlet train and more people than Hope could count were clustered around it, ready to send students off for the year. It made Hope feel awkward, considering that she had come alone and had no one to care enough to miss her, but that wasn't all she had a problem with.

(She hadn't even told Nath about where the school was or indeed what kind of school it was; she was certain there were rules against that)

If there was one thing Hope could say that she honestly hated, it was crowds. She was not at all in her element, being pushed to and fro, each shove sending a flare of pain up her leg before she finally managed to get her trunk to the train door, but there was no way she was going to be able to heave the trunk into the train with her leg in its condition. And her upper body strength left much to be desired.

Hope gave another sigh, mentally cursing herself when a sudden voice behind her caught her off guard.

"Want a hand?"

Hope turned so swiftly on her heel, that she almost sprained the ankle of her already-messed-up leg in her startled surprise. It was the boy from the previous day, the curious blue-eyed boy that had actually paid attention to her (an equally strange occurrence). She could feel embarrassment blooming inside of her, but she tried not to let it show.

"Wizard-boy," she said, her voice colored with the surprise she still felt.

"Mystery-girl," he mocked in return, his eyes glinting mischievously, an expression she suspected he was known for, and she had no idea how right she was.

Confusion replaced the surprise and she eyed him strangely. Mystery-girl? Had she come off as mysterious before? She certainly hadn't tried to be. Hope wasn't known for being mysterious…snarky and sarcastic, sure, but mysterious? Doubtful.

His eyes flickered to her thick black brace over her leg and Hope couldn't resist shifting uncomfortably, but he offered her no scathing remarks or piteous looks that she often garnered, much to her aggravation.

"That looks serious," he said instead, his voice kind. "Does it hurt?"

"Oh!" She said, her surprise returning and lancing through her like pain. Her eyebrows raised and her eyes widened at the question, looking down at her leg as though she had forgotten of her injury, but that was doubtful as it was hard to forget about. Though the pain did indeed bother her, she found that if she didn't think about it, it almost felt like it was nonexistent. "Not as much anymore, but, yeah, a bit," she admitted.

"How'd you really know I was a wizard?" he asked this time, more curious, and kindly not questioning her more about her injury as many often did.

Well, wasn't he a query-filled wizard? Hope threw him a rather dry expression. "I could see the handle of your wand sticking out of your pocket, happy?"

"Exceptionally," he agreed with a wide grin, failing to hide the flustered redness on his cheeks, before repeating his earlier words, "Need a hand?"

"Yes, please," she said gratefully, her cheeks still flushing slightly from when her eyes had met his vibrant blue ones. She wasn't used to someone keeping her attention so completely without resisting the urge to smack someone (because Hope did have a bit of a violent streak).

"I'm George," he added, extending his hand to her, surprising her even more, his lips still set in a smile. "Since you ran off before."

"Hope," she said simply, the flush fading from her cheeks as she slid her hand into his. "I can assure you running is something that I am hardly capable of."

George's smile shifted into a smirk before he called over his shoulder. "Oi, Fred! C'mere and help!"

It was the twin she had spotted in the crowd the previous day, and he raced over to assist him. Hope was grateful for the help; it wasn't like she really had the muscles to lift the luggage, and asking for help never really ended that well for her.

A boy took either side, tucking it with ease into a spare overhead compartment.

"Thanks," Hope said as they dropped back to the ground, brushing the fringe out of her eyes with an action that drew their attention immediately.

"What's that?" the second one, Fred, asked her, making a blatant gesture towards the scar that rested on her forehead. It was in the shape of a lightning bolt and Hope had had it for as long as she could remember, only recently had she discovered that it was a product of a murder attempt by a man called Lord Voldemort, the very same man that had killed her parents.

A scowl marred Hope's lips at the thought of how she had gotten it.

"Blimey!" George said, his eye widening comically in realization. "Are you—?"

"She is," Fred said before directing his attention to Hope, "aren't you?"

"What?" Hope asked, flummoxed by their behavior. It seemed to her that she was only hearing half of the conversation, they seemed to be having most of it in their heads. She wondered what that must've been like.

"Hope Potter," they chorused in unison.

She arched an eyebrow at them in return, mild annoyance setting in. "Yes."

"Why didn't you say anything?" George demanded, struck dumb.

Hope shrugged her shoulders disinterestedly. She didn't think there were many 'Hope's, it wasn't as common a name as one would think, but she suspected this had more to do with the events surrounding her parents' murder, and Hope really didn't want to talk about that, especially about what little she remembered. "It's just a name, nothing special, trust me."

She shifted uncomfortably under their stares before attempting to stumble onto the train, and she probably wouldn't have made it on if George hadn't gripped her elbows and lifted her up. A faint flush dusted across her cheeks at the seemingly effortless and thoughtless move and the warmth of his hands at her elbows. "Thanks."

His smile was nice enough as she shut the door, the pair disappearing once their mother called out their names. They turned back briefly, giving identical waves with smiles that lit their eyes. She waved back, feeling genuine for once.

And then she sat down on the cushion, glancing out the window towards where the two boys had run towards.

She blinked. That was a lot of gingers, but she was starting to see it was a family trait.

Their mother was standing with a little girl and a boy her age when her older sons approached and Hope could hear clearly from where she was sitting.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose," the mother said, and Hope assumed that 'Ron' was the youngest boy's name, rubbing at the end of his nose with a spare handkerchief, and it was clearly something the boy didn't approve of.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" one of the twins asked as the other sniggered. Hope supposed that was what it was like to have siblings, not that she would know.

"Shut up," Ron retorted.

"Where's Percy?" their mother asked, glancing around for what must have been another of her offspring. Hope arched an eyebrow; how many of them were there?

"He's coming now," one of the twins said (Hope couldn't tell which one at this distance), nodding to their left where an older boy with the same ginger hair as his siblings with horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He seemed much stiffer and restrained than his siblings if Hope was to go off of looks alone.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he told the woman in a serious manner that hardly suited his age. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves—"

"Oh," one of the twins gave a noise of surprise, as though this information had not been made aware to him, "are you a prefect, Percy? You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on," the other side, giving the pretense of thinking very hard, "I think I remember him saying something about it. Once—"

"Or twice—" his twin added.

"A minute—"

"All summer—"

"Oh, shut up," Percy shot out, his words holding a bit of fire as he bid his mother farewell, permitting his younger sister to hug him before he headed back towards the train.

"Now, you two—" the mother had turned to the twins who gave off the impression that they were innocent, though Hope doubted that very much. "—this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've-you've blown up a toilet or—"

"Blown up a toilet?" said the twin on the left, slightly incredulous. "We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though," the twin on the right added with a wide grin, "thanks, Mum."

"It's not funny," their mother said with an all-suffering voice. "And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us." They gave identical impish grins.

"Shut up," Ron retorted for the second time, but he was ignored. Hope suspected this happened a lot.

"Hey, Mum, guess what?" one of the twins said, glancing towards his brother. "You know that girl we told you that George was talking to at the zoo yesterday?" Hope couldn't help but turn pink, but that was nothing compared to the ears of the twin that could only be George.

"Yes?" she said in confusion.

"Fred," the other said in warning, and Hope suspected that this was George.

"She's here, and you won't believe who she is!" Fred added, grinning widely towards George, who actually shot his twin a frustrated scowl, despite the color on his cheeks.

"Who?" she asked in confusion.

"Hope Potter!"

Several pairs of eyes turned towards where she was sitting and she scowled at the twins in particular, before leaning back in her seat so she couldn't be seen.

"Blimey," said Fred, eyebrows arched high. "She doesn't look pleased."

George gave him an unimpressed expression that could've easily translated to: "You think?"


Ron knew all about that had happened at the zoo; George had fallen behind to talk to a girl. But the real question was why? George –according to Fred, at least, who hardly ever left his twin's side– had never shown an interest in a girl, ever, not even with Fred making eyes at Angelina Johnson (if Percy was to be believed). He was the quieter of the two who would rather find out how to come up with pranks rather than out flirting with girls.

So, it had to take something special for him to strike up conversation with a girl he didn't even know.

Ron resolved to find out more, seeking out the compartment that she had glared out of earlier.

Up close, she was very different than he expected.

An intricately carved cane rested beside her, but he didn't give it much thought –only later coming to realize that it was carved to subtly appear like a snake did–, focusing more on the girl.

Her hair was short and dark red, with a strand spun with green and blue beads, oddly enough. Her eyes were a bright green that were focused downwards on a leather-bound book on her lap, but her gaze lifted when he opened the door.

He wasn't sure what he expected, to be honest. She didn't seem much like the heroine she was glorified to be. She looked remarkably ordinary, except for the strange brace that rested on her leg.

"D-Do you mind if I join you?" he asked her a bit nervously when she'd looked up with a scowl. "All the other compartments are packed." And Ron didn't want to be the awkward one intruding on others' conversations just because he couldn't find a seat.

"I don't mind," she said, closing the book softly, "who else is going to sit here, anyways?"

Ron took this as an invitation, so he shut the door behind him and sat across from her, trying not to feel too uncomfortable.

"I'm Ron, er, Weasley," he said, hastily tacking on his last name. He didn't usually have to; most people knew who he was by sight alone, not that that was necessarily a good thing. "By the way."

"I'm Hope," she said, electing not to add her surname, shifting slightly in her seat, a movement that caused the fringe on her forehead to part slightly so that the lightning bolt scar was obvious.

Any further conversation was halted when the door opened once more and two identical heads popped in.

Fred winked at Hope who scowled in return, unimpressed, while George tried to hide his snorts. George tossed Hope an apologetic glance, making her huff slightly in exasperation.

"Hey Ron," Fred said, grinning widely, "listen, we're going down the middle of the train –Lee's got a giant tarantula down there."

Ron fought to not shiver at his words. Spiders…urgh…disgusting creatures. And he just knew that Fred was doing that on purpose; a lot of Fred's pranks on Ron tended to deal with spiders. "Right," he said, his voice low and quiet, almost not heard.

Hope leaned her cheek against her fist, giving off the vaguest impression of boredom. She arched an eyebrow at Fred as if she was expecting something from him while George clapped his hands to his mouth so that he wouldn't explode into laughter.

Fred coughed nervously as he turned towards her. "Er…sorry for talking about you behind your back, Hope."

Hope accepted this apology with stride and Ron got the feeling that a lot of people talked about her behind her back.

"I had a whole pub trying to shake my hand when I went with Hagrid to get my school things," Hope said in a dry manner. "Believe me, my name is hardly something to be in awe of, and neither is my scar."

Fred and George bid them farewell and George spared the Potter a roguish wink that Ron could have sworn made her cheeks pink.

"Are they always like that?" Hope asked Ron after a moment, blinking a few times as she stared at the compartment door that they had closed after them.

"Generally," Ron groaned, "but much worse."

"Something to look forward to," Hope said with a laugh, and that laugh made her seem far more approachable than before.

The first question that sprang from his lips but that he held back was concerning You-Know-Who and her parents, that night in October ten years ago, but he remembered how his mum was every year on the anniversary of his uncles Gideon and Fabian Prewett's deaths. Sometimes it was best not to ask about the dead.

"So…your whole family is magical?" Hope guessed before he could think up something else to ask.

"Er, I'm pretty sure," Ron said, screwing his face up in thought for a moment. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's a…stock broker, I think it's called, but we never talk about him."

Hope arched an eyebrow. "Oh…" She floundered, searching for another topic when Ron took initiative.

"I heard you live with Muggles now," Ron said, looking at her in fascination. "What was that like?"

Hope rolled her eyes in aggravation. "Well, I lived in a cupboard for ten years, until the letters started coming and then they moved me to the second bedroom."

"A cupboard?" Ron was agape.

"Under the stairs," Hope clarified.

"Wait…letters?"

"Well, Vernon, he'd married to my mum's sister—" Ron thought it best not to comment on her studiously avoiding the term uncle. "—and every time he saw the letters he would burn them, so…" Hope explained how her mum's sister's family had taken her and had tried to physically outrun the letters and how it didn't end very well for any of them, especially Dudley who had ended up with a pig's tail. By the end of it, Hope was feeling very glad that Ron had a light-hearted personality as he stifled his laughter into chuckles with great difficulty.

"Running away from letters?" he guffawed. "I wonder what they told people about the, leaving so suddenly?"

"Who knows?" Hope asked with a shrug before turning the conversation towards him. "How many siblings do you have?"

"One younger sister and five older brothers," he told her, "Ginny's not old enough to come to Hogwarts yet, then there's me, then the twins, Fred and George, then Percy, Charlie, and Bill. Bill and Charlie are the only ones out of school, though." He scowled slightly. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was Captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

He showed her the rat, Scabbers, though it was quite fast asleep.

"I like old stuff," Hope told him, unconcerned by his lack of wealth, she hadn't even known that she had any money of her own until her birthday and it was still barely touched. Nath had taken her to buy new clothes when he was finally certain that the Dursleys wouldn't take them away from her and Sylvar always gave her food on the house.

Ron stared at her. "You do?"

"Maybe I'm just weird," Hope considered briefly, "but I like things that my parents once had, like these." She lifted her hands to show him the two rings her fingers bore. One was so large that it had to be worn on the thumb until her fingers weren't quite as small, that one was set in gold bearing a black opal. The other rested on her ring finger like a silver snake twined around her finger with emerald eyes. "My dad left them for me."

"It must be strange that everyone knows you and your parents' names," he said instead, wanting to move away from how poor his family was.

"A bit, yeah," Hope had to admit, leaning down so that she could straighten her leg and Ron noticed how her brow creased slightly and her face contorted before smoothing out as she leaned back; he pretended not to have noticed.

"I was that girl the weird girl at school," Hope told him, "Dudley, Vernon and Petunia's son, was a menace to me for years with his gang of friends before he pushed me in front of a car and I got this." Hope tapped a finger to the black brace. "I was in the hospital for weeks…" Something flickered behind her eyes, but a second later it had gone and she released an embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry, that's kind of off track…" Ron didn't mind too much. "I don't much like being the center of attention and all everyone's said to me is 'You look so much like your mother.'" She'd originally not minded looking like her, because it always seemed to offend Petunia, but now she was beginning to wonder if it was worth it.

A scowl marred her lips, but Ron couldn't figure out why.

Luckily, at that moment they were interrupted by the sudden arrival of the candy trolley and Hope caused a distraction by buying what appeared to be a little bit of everything except for Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, which Ron could understand, not being a big fan of gum; Ron was more than happy to help her eat them, explaining what each sweet was, laughing as the two gagged their way through the Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

And Ron Weasley, who had been so worried that he wouldn't fit in or find a friend found one in Hope Potter who had feared much the same.


Hope and Ron were distracted from their good fun by a tear-faced boy with brown hair and eyes that Hope thought looked vaguely familiar.

"Sorry," he said after he opened the door following a polite knock, "but you haven't seen a toad, have you?"

"Sorry," Hope said as she and Ron shook their heads in unison.

"I've lost him!" the boy bemoaned, his voice rising to nearly a keen. "He keeps getting away from me!"

"I'm sure he isn't completely lost," Hope consoled the distraught boy. "I mean, there's only so far he could've gone."

"You're probably right," the boy said in a somber tone, still upset over the loss of his pet. "Well, if you see him…" And then he left them on their own once more.

"Can't imagine why he'd want to keep it," Ron told Hope in an undertone as though being wary of the boy in case he was listening in. "If I'd brought a toad, I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk." He nodded to the rat that had still yet to show any signs of life from where it lay on Ron's lap. Hope's mouth twitched faintly.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," Ron said, glowering slightly at the rodent. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work."

"Pity," Hope said with a toothy grin. "Want to give it another go?"

"Might as well," Ron said, struggling to pull his wand free from his trunk where he had stashed it in the overhead compartment with difficulty when he had first come in, dropping to the ground with a far more worn wand than Hope had ever seen in her life, but then he had said earlier that he had inherited his brother's wand, so that made a bit of sense.

Though she thought the wand chose the wizard…at least, that had been what Mr. Ollivander had said about the subject.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out," he grumbled as he sat back down with the rat in one hand and the wand in the other. "Anyways—"

He raised his wand, preparing to incant the spell when they were interrupted the fourth time. Hope hid her sigh of annoyance.

It was the boy from before, obviously still without his toad if the despondent expression was any indicator. But he was not alone, he was with a girl, first year as well, Hope assumed from the standard Hogwarts tie that all first years wore until they were 'sorted' into the four Houses. Though, Hope had to wonder why she had changed so early.

She had a similar slight build to Hope's, though but with that indefinable air of having been well-cared-for, even adored, that Hope so conspicuously lacked, brown curls framing a very no-nonsense face.

"Has anyone seen a toad?" she demanded a bit aggressively. "Neville's lost one."

Hope took Neville to be the name of the boy.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," Ron said in annoyance, but that didn't seem to deter her in the slightest, her eyes fastening onto his wand with a manic gleam that Hope wasn't sure was a good thing.

"Oh, are you doing magic?" she asked, her tone of voice brimming with excitement. "Let's see it, then."

Hope blinked, slightly startled when the girl, being incredibly forward, sat herself on the cushion beside Hope to watch, and clearly Ron was similarly minded.

"Er–alright," he said a bit awkwardly, swallowing before opening his mouth:

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,

Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

With an incantation like that, Hope wasn't surprised that it didn't work when he waved his wand.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" the girl asked. "Well, it's not very good, is it?"

This was a bit of a rude assessment, Hope thought as Ron glanced towards her with an incredulous expression.

"I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me," she continued, seeming to not notice the looks that were being passed between the two. "Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard –I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough– I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

Hope wasn't sure she'd heard anyone talk so fast without breathing, which was probably why her words were said so fast, so that she could breathe afterwards.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron told her.

"Hope," Hope said, before reluctantly adding her surname when Hermione's gaze did not waver from hers. "Potter."

"Are you really?" Hermione was beaming at her now and Hope wasn't quite sure why. "I know all about you, of course –I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

Hope blinked, startled by this information. "Really?" she said.

"Goodness, didn't you know?" Hermione asked. "I'd have found out everything I could if it was me." Hope was glad she'd only read one of the books Hermione had mentioned and it wasn't because she was in it, in fact, she'd skimmed through it and hadn't even realized she was a subject of interest.

"Do either of you know what House you'll be in?" Hermione continued. "I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad...Anyways, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

She was barely out the door when Hope called out to them, making them pause.

"You might want to try the Prefects," Hope suggested, (she knew what a Prefect was and she assumed because they were older that they knew more spells), "maybe they know a spell that'll help you find your toad."

Hermione contemplated her for a moment as Neville went off in search of someone wearing a Prefect's badge.

"And I wouldn't believe everything you read," Hope added, making Hermione's lips twitch slightly before she ducked her head back into the compartment, sliding the door shut and leaning back into her seat.

"Whatever House I'm in," Ron grumbled with a scowl on his face as he thrust the wand back in his trunk, sitting in a huff, "I hope she's not in it. Stupid spell –George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"He does seem the type," Hope had to admit, having been subjected to several tales concerning Ron's prankster older twin brothers. It seemed to her that the pair rather enjoyed more than a good bit of fun, and taking the mickey out on their younger brother was right up their alley.

"Do you know what House you'll be in?" Maybe it was different for those who had family for through the 'Sorting Ceremony' already.

"No idea," Ron told her, "you don't find out how they Sort you until you're in the Great Hall. I hope I'll be in Gryffindor, though."

"Why's that?" Hope asked.

"Well, the whole family's been in Gryffindor," Ron explained, biting the inside of his mouth. "Mum, Dad, all my brothers. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

Ron didn't notice how her hand tightened into a fist at the mention of Slytherin.

"What'd be wrong with Slytherin?" Hope asked as casually as she could manage.

"That's the House that You-Know-Who came out of," Ron said, saying the title in a hushed voice, "they say there wasn't a witch or wizard that went bad that wasn't in Slytherin."

Hope twisted her serpent ring uncomfortably on her finger as she looked outside, the sky growing darker as time passed on.

"What do your brothers do?" Hope asked suddenly in interest, as though the thought had just occurred to her, which was very likely. She hadn't really considered what you did once you completed seven years of schooling at Hogwarts, she always figured you'd just be a witch or a wizard, depending on your gender.

"Well, Charlie's in Romania at a Dragon Reserve," Ron explained. "And Bill's in Africa working as a Curse-breaker for Gringotts."

"Ah," Hope said, though she didn't really understand, though this didn't particularly matter as Ron had jumped to another topic.

"Did you hear about Gringotts?" he asked her and she shook her head. "It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles –someone tried to rob a high security vault."

That sounded like a very foolish thing to do in Hope's opinion. The only lock she tried to pick was the one that Vernon and Petunia had always put on her cupboard; bank robbing was something else entirely.

"How much trouble did they get in?" Hope asked.

"That's the funny thing," Ron said, his eyes sparking, "they didn't get caught! My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get 'round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Hope arched an eyebrow, wondering how people could still be afraid of someone that was dead, but that wasn't her business.


Ron was halfway through explaining the game of Quidditch –which involved seven players on each team, riding broomsticks, four very distinct balls, and two bats– when they were interrupted once more.

Hope was starting to find it grating every time the compartment door slid open, but she couldn't resist her mouth opening slightly in surprise at who stood beyond.

There were three boys, two appearing as though they were much too stocky for their short height, but the third, a pale boy with blonde hair and cold grey eyes, Hope recognized very well. They had run into each other in Madam Malkin's robe shop and he had sneered at her leg and cane, hardly trying to hide disdain towards her even when he had been questioning her about her parentage.

He looked her up and down as though he couldn't believe that Hope Potter was a cripple. Hope had never liked the word, though there was exactly one upside to her current situation, and it was that it gave Hope the opportunity to jab at people she didn't like with her cane and get away with it.

"Is it true?" he asked, his lip curling slightly as he looked over her and Hope found she didn't like the look at all. "They're saying all down the train that Hope Potter's in this compartment. So, it's you, is it?"

"It must be," Hope said sarcastically, rolling her eyes towards Ron who hid his sniggers into his hand. "Since I'm the only girl in the compartment."

His lips curled into an expression that was halfway between a sneer at her attitude and a smirk that he'd found out that she was indeed Hope Potter, even though Hope wasn't necessarily trying too hard to hide her identity.

"This is Crabbe," the boy said gesturing first to the boy on his left and then his right, "and this is Goyle. And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron hid another laugh and Hope could understand why. This boy hardly came off as frightening as a dragon –as 'draco' did mean dragon, she knew enough of Latin to figure that one out– that he was named for was meant to be.

However, Ron's actions in turn caused Draco Malfoy to turn on him with deep loathing.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" he sneered. "No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Ron's face and ears flamed a brilliant crimson and Hope felt a flare of uncommon anger on his behalf. Forget rude, this brat was crass with the intention to hurt, like all those bullies at her school, making jibes about 'the Reaper' being there ('guess someone's gonna die soon,' they'd laughed and Hope broke her pencil). And then Draco Malfoy was focused on Hope once more and she schooled her expression carefully.

"You'll soon find out some Wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort," he said, his eyes flicking towards Ron. "I can help you there."

He held out a hand to Hope and it was only then that Hope glared.

"I'm actually sure that I won't have a problem with sorting out the good from the bad, especially when I'm looking at you," she told him coldly.

Malfoy was not impressed by her attitude, but, then again, very few were.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," Malfoy warned. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Ron leapt to his feet in anger, but Hope did not.

"Ooh!" she said, grinning, "are you threatening me?" She'd heard threats like that before. Threats that followed a punch or a slap. Draco Malfoy was little more than a dog with all bark and no bite.

Hope had a painful bite, and she knew it.

"And if I was?" Malfoy retorted, though it was quite different threatening someone and having them be afraid, than threatening someone and having them be humored by the attempt.

"Well, who could really be afraid of you?" Hope asked, tilting her head slightly to the side as she pulled her cane free, shooting to forward so that it whacked against his head, sending him reeling out of the compartment before Scabbers caused a diversion by biting into Goyle's finger.

It sounded as though it was quite painful, and it took a good bit of effort before Scabbers' jaws released Goyle's finger, allowing all three boys to make a hasty getaway.

"Well," Hope said after a moment, "that was exciting."

Laughter bloomed from Ron's lips, and Hope couldn't help but think all that trouble had been worth it.


Hope almost fell flat on her face as she exited the train. This was yet another reason why Hope hated that girls were required to wear skirts, and being self-conscious of her scars, she was wearing incredibly thick tights, which at least kept her brace from rubbing against her skin too painfully.

Almost being the operative word. An arm pulled her upright before she fell completely, placing her gently on the ground.

Hope looked up, not at all surprised to see a pair of blue eyes looking down at her, but entirely flustered.

"Watch your step, Mystery-girl," George Weasley said, grinning as Hope swallowed her embarrassment as best as she could.

She released a short laugh almost against her will, only slightly covering her humiliation. "Wizard-boy, keep your mouth to yourself."

George sniggered as his little brother followed Hope out of the train, and George raised his hands in defeat, though the grin on his lips ruined the image.

"Would I really mock Hope Potter?" he queried with an air of innocence that Hope didn't for one second believe.

Hope rolled her eyes as best as she could, but her lips were twitching upwards into a smile, and George would take what he could get. "Are you always this impossible?"

"Only when pretty girls are around!" he called over his shoulder, disappearing into the crowd of students that were composed entirely of the years other than first.

"Bloody bonkers," Ron said at Hope's side. "And I always thought George was the sane one."

"Who's really sane, anyways?" Hope had to ask and Ron had to wordlessly agree with her there, the pair settling into an anxious silence that had only been brought on by their arrival at a new school, a school Hope had yet to see.

It seemed like Hope, Ron, and all the other first years were standing in relative darkness for a short while before a voice called out: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

A lamp swinging from a giant hand as well as the voice and partially illuminated face revealed to Hope that it was Hagrid.

He grinned down at her. "All right there, Hope?"

"All right," Hope laughed as Ron gaped at the Keeper of Keys as though he had never seen a man so tall, which Hope thought was incredibly likely.

"C'mon, follow me," Hagrid called over their heads, his lamp swinging with every move that he made, somehow managing to miss any of the small heads attached to equally short bodies before him. "Any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

And then he turned, lamp still swinging, heading down a path that the first years could barely see. Hope almost fell once more, her cane slipping in the mud, only managing to remain upright by fisting the robes at Ron's arm at the last moment.

If this annoyed him, he didn't mention it.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec, jus' round this bend here," Hagrid told them, his voice belling out and echoing in the silence, causing several people trip at the sound, including Ron, and this time it was Hope that stopped him from falling over his feet.

"Ron, Ron!" Hope tugged on his arm, her eyes fastened on the magnificent structure beyond them. Hope had never seen anything so beautiful in her short eleven years of life.

It was a medieval castle of perfection, that was the best way to describe it. Several stories tall with spires branching off from the main structure. Hope had seen similar castles –though far less impressive– in history textbooks but they were worn by age and elements, and this castle was in prime condition.

The only thing that separated them from it was a lake that glittered like black glass.

"Bloody hell," Ron said beside her and Hope had to agree entirely as several others "Oooooh!"ed in appreciation. The sight was so distracting that the first years had to remember to start walking again.

Ron glanced at Hope and despite the darkness and the nervousness that they both felt, they grinned.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called out, jerking them out of the awed trance that had been induced at the sight of the castle; several people started at his voice.

Ron and Hope got in the last boat with Hermione and Neville, but this might have had something to do with Hope not moving very fast with her blasted leg.

This day was turning Hope into a very clumsy person; Hope could not be blamed for this. And she couldn't blame Ron's older brother for everything, but she was going to blame him for the first time, and then the ground, and then the boat, in that order.

She was not going to think at all about when George had said "Only when pretty girls are around." No, she was definitely not thinking about that.

"Everyone in? Right then- FORWARD!"

Hope gripped the edge of the boat tightly, wary of falling into its depths, pausing when she saw a familiar reflection that had followed her for as long as she could remember. A head of dark hair and impossibly black eyes. Hope smiled as waved before she disappeared.

She leaned forward slightly, because she could've sworn she saw something moving down there. Then she had to recoil quickly when she saw a pair of yellow eyes shimmer in the darkness before vanishing with a flutter of what looked to be green seaweed but Hope would one day learn it was in fact hair.

Hope breathed out slowly, quickly forgetting about the eyes as she looked on to the castle with its lanterns flickering in welcome.


Forget how nervous Hope had been before, because it had doubled, or even tripled, Hope wasn't quite sure how much her fear had increased, but it sure as hell had gone up a lot, especially as they waited in the antechamber as the witch in emerald robes from before had indicated.

Professor McGonagall, gave off a severe air that told Hope that she might want to tip-toe around her, especially if she went off wandering at night, which Hope just knew she would; who wouldn't with a castle this big?

Not even Hope's leg was going to get in the way of her excitement at exploring.

Hope then had to wonder if the woman could hear her thoughts, because her calculating grey eyes flashed to meet Hope's.

She recalled from the letter she had gotten from Hogwarts listing a woman named Minerva McGonagall as the Deputy Headmistress, so that had to be this woman. Minerva, Hope knew, being named after a Greek primordial being herself, was the Roman equivalent of Athena, goddess of wisdom, and Hope got the sense that she was aptly named.

Professor McGonagall held her gaze for only a moment and confusion marred Hope's face as she abruptly broke eye contact with her, as though it caused her pain to hold her eyes to Hope's.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," she told the gathering of first years. "Please wait quietly." And then she turned on her heel and exited the chamber, leaving the new students alone with two suits of armor and several lit brackets that cast an ominous glow on the walls and the suits of armor.

Both the suits of armor, Hope noticed, bore snakes on their shields which were held stiffly in front of them.

The other eleven and twelve-year olds were conversing in low whispers when Hope noticed both bow themselves slightly in respect towards her. This resulted in Hope feeling much more flummoxed than before.

She opted to stare at the ground which held a strange swirling design, but looking at it made her dizzy, what with the swirls and the anxiety she was currently feeling.

"I think Fred said you have to do some sort of test so they can Sort you into your House," Ron hissed out of the corner of his mouth to her. "Fred said it hurt a lot…I'm sure he was joking, though," he added when her face went stark white.

Hope swallowed, trying to think of anything but leaving the antechamber. Surely Fred must have been lying. It would be cruel to subject them to something painful…so what would it be? Before she could even ponder that, Professor McGonagall had reappeared once more, causing all the murmurs to cease in an instant.

"Now, form a line, and follow me," was all she said as she led them through the doors.

Unsurprisingly Hope found herself behind everyone else, ignoring a few comments said in an undertone concerning her injury. If she hadn't been so focused, she might have turned her hair jet-black.

They left the antechamber to walk through the great magnificent oak doors and into the Great Hall, and Hope was awed by the hall itself. There were more candles than she could count dangling high up in the air without suspension, illuminating the four long tables and the Head Table at the front. Hope's eyes were drawn to the man at the center whose long white beard was as clear as day. Even at this distance, she could see his eyes twinkling.

But his face was only one of so many faces bearing down on them, including those of the many ghosts hovering above.

There was a shiver down her spine as she flicked her eyes along the various tables. She could see several people with an aura of death around them, those doomed to die. Thankfully, there were only three she could see, one of which was at the Head Table. That was a relief. When she'd been in that school with Dudley, she'd seen twelve auras in a single classroom and it had made her sick to her stomach.

Three amongst such a mass, was an enormous relief, though, this time she resolved to not mention it to anyone like she had so foolishly done before.

Hope allowed her eyes to drift upwards, trailing upwards to the ghosts and then past them once she saw the ceiling, which could hardly be described as a ceiling, resembling the night sky.

She was so distracted by the sky being inside that she almost ran into the person in front of her, and she was sure that they wouldn't have been very pleased with her, returning her attention towards a short stool before them all, upon which sat perhaps the most raggedy hat in existence.

Hope blinked furiously, barely managing not to gape in incomprehension when she heard the rustic singing, coming from a hat of all things! What kind of school was this, anyway, to have a hat that could sing? An incredulous expression appeared briefly on her face at the sight of an old and patched once-pointed hat, singing from a rip in the material.

Its song was one of the strangest things she'd heard, giving fine descriptions of each House, the words regarding Slytherin ringing in her ears ("Or perhaps in Slytherin, You'll make your real friends, Those cunning folk use any means, To achieve their ends.").

Putting on a hat did seem to be less trying than whatever Hope and Ron had imagined as Professor McGonagall began to read off names from a roll of parchment, starting with "Abbott, Hannah!", "Bones, Susan!", and "Boot, Terry!" who went into Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw respectively.

Professor McGonagall went through the names quickly, as the hat seemed to launch the House names out incredibly fast.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Ron groaned beside her as the bushy-haired first year was sorted into "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Greengrass, Daphne!"

A fair-skinned girl with pinned up blonde hair moved forward to barely sit on the chair, her blue eyes disappearing from view briefly as the hat called out "SLYTHERIN!"

"Longbottom, Neville!"

The last name of the boy who had lost his toad before on the train caught Hope's memory.

"I don't understand," she said, "the Dursleys weren't my parents' first choice for my guardians?" If that was true, then why was she living with them?

"No," the goblin behind the desk said, "that would be your godparents, Alice Longbottom and Sirius Black…unfortunately neither are in a condition to care for you."

Hope took this to mean that they were dead.

Neville must've been Alice's son. He was positively white in nervousness when he sat down on the stool and had the Sorting Hat dropped onto his head.

It took much longer than Hope would've thought for the hat to cry out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

But it wasn't long until "Malfoy, Draco!" came along and was immediately followed by a yell of "SLYTHERIN!"

It seemed like ages before "Potter, Hope!" was called, and by then Hope's heart was hammering in her chest. What if she was put somewhere she didn't belong? What if she wasn't Sorted at all? The butterflies in her stomach thickened into a swarm.

She leaned heavily on her cane as she walked through the now-small crowd of remaining first years, trying to ignore the whispers that had sprung forth at the merest mention of her name.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Hope Potter?"

"Ooh! Look at that leg!"

She hoisted herself up onto the stool and permitted the hat to be dropped onto her head as well, the faces of those watching her disappearing as the brim flopped down over her eyes.

She had expected a sudden cry of one of the Houses to issue from the hat, but it did not happen as immediately as she had anticipated.

"Ah," it said in her mind, "a curious enigma, aren't you?"

Hope didn't really understand what he meant by that, just as she hadn't understood why George had called her "Mystery-girl". Everything about her was pretty cut and dry, if you asked her.

"A remarkable mind," the hat continued and Hope had a feeling as though he was scanning through her memories, if that was possible –she hoped not, she didn't like people riffling around in her head. "Quite loyal too, with courage, such courage! And a thirst to prove yourself…but where shall I put you?"

She didn't offer any input, keeping her lips tightly sealed.

"What?" the hat's voice had grown amused; if it had had eyes, she was certain they would be twinkling. "No preference?"

"What's the point?" she thought back, feeling particularly snarky. "Aren't you supposed to choose?"

It chuckled at her response, still amused; Hope wondered if he'd ever Sorted someone who talked back to him. "Analyze yourself, Miss Potter, look beyond the shell and gaze within to who you truly are."

Hope nearly fell off the stool, and would have done so if she had not grabbed the edge of the stool, so surprised by his words. She had never had to analyze who she was before, what if she didn't do it right?

Hope closed her eyes and took a short calming breath. The four Houses each had certain traits: courage, ambition, loyalty, intelligence…

She was intelligent in some matters, she supposed, though she hadn't been allowed to score very high on her tests in the Muggle school she went to with Dudley, Vernon and Petunia wouldn't have been pleased. She was, in a way, street smart, as it was termed, as she wasn't really the studious type; trouble and her went hand in hand. Loyalty…she wasn't sure about that one. Ambitious…well, perhaps she was a little ambitious, but not overtly so; she wasn't the type to step over others to reach her goals. Brave…she wasn't afraid of standing up for what she believed in, so she supposed that counted.

A soft chuckle told her the hat must have been following her trail of thoughts. She could swear the hat was smirking when it spoke a few last words in her mind, before speaking her house aloud. "Very good, you really must come visit me…Your grandfather may not be pleased, Miss Potter, but I will be sending you to…GRYFFINDOR!"

Her face lit up at the loudest cheer yet filled the hall and she made her way towards the table, sliding into the area next to Hermione Granger, laughing aloud as Fred and George did a little victory dance, yelling "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Hope smiled widely as the hat was removed from her head and she limped towards the loudest table by far, and just like that, she completely forgot about the hat's comment about her grandfather.


Moonlight was streaming in through the window as Hope lay awake that night, her eyes turning silver to match it. It was impossible for her to sleep right now, with her nightmares bleeding through, of that terrifying blood-soaked tree that filled her with a fear she couldn't quite describe.

Hope knew it was irrational. It wasn't like when she sometimes dreamed about a flash of green and high-pitched laughter; she knew what that nightmare was from. This one she'd had as long as she could remember and she didn't know why or how she'd dreamed it up, she just knew that it terrified her.

Hope sat up in her bed, rubbing at her eyes. Her bed was the one closest to the window, something that pleased her more than she'd be willing to admit, as she had a perfect view of the clear sky and all of its stars.

Hope Potter, as many would later discover, was a lover of stars. Indeed, star-gazing had gotten her into trouble more than one time or another, including when she had sketched a large –and misshaped– constellation on one of her tests, thus earning her a detention for her troubles.

But Hope was not currently thinking of the stars, she was instead attempting to use the moonlight as a light of sorts, not knowing any spells to produce it herself, her fingers pulling a worn bit of parchment from an equally worn envelope onto which her name had been etched with a careful hand.

Hope, it read.

If you are reading this then your mother and I can no longer care for you, as I have entrusted this letter to the goblin in charge of the Potter vaults and subsequent Head of Gringotts, Ragnok, to be given to you upon your entry into the Wizarding World.

So, Happy Birthday at least ten times over, Hope, and I am sorry that I could not have stayed longer in this world for you or your mother.

Voldemort is no closer to discovering our hiding place, to our relief, and I can rest easy knowing that you are in the safe care of either your godmother, Alice Longbottom, or your godfather, Sirius Black, my closest friend.

Your mother is probably irritated enough with me –as she always is– for writing this letter; she thinks I am too pessimistic. So, I will offer you as much advice in as little words as I can manage.

I once made the mistake of judging a Hogwarts House by their reputation alone, so I ask that you learn from my mistakes. Slytherin blood runs in our veins, you and I, and there's no telling if it will shine more strongly in you than any other Potter. The world is vast and full of wonder, do not ever think to limit yourself when there is so much to see and do. I pray that you are reading this in a time of peace and knowing that we loved you so gives you some peace of mind, at the very least. You are the greatest gift I was ever given.

We love you more than there are stars in the sky,

Your father,

James

Hope slid it back into the envelope and placed it on her bedside table, not at all tired. When she'd first read it, she'd burst into tears –not that she would ever admit to it– and Ragnok, being quite out of his depth, had simply sat in his chair, waiting for her sobs to subside.

"More than there are stars in the sky," Hope murmured to herself as she grabbed her cane lightly from its resting place before maneuvering around slumbering girls to reach the door. She could do with gazing up at the stars, even if she didn't know her way around the castle at all.

What girl didn't like a good midnight adventure, after all?

The common room had a very comfortable feel to it; squashy armchairs and tables, the walls were decorated with rich reds, with windows to allow moonlight to filter through. The large fireplace dominated one wall, adorned with the portrait of a lion.

"Oh, sorry," she said suddenly, taking note of the one armchair currently occupied, "I thought-well- I thought I was the only one up."

She thought she wouldn't have to sneak past anyone to be specific.

Dean Thomas was his name, she remembered from the feast, and he was sitting with his legs crossed wearing checkered pajamas that were well-loved compared to Hope's ratty ones, a sketchbook in hand and a pencil that paused when he jerked upright.

"No, sorry," a younger Dean said quickly, , "I just—"

"—don't sleep well," they ended as one, pausing to stare at each other.

. His nightmares had been particularly bad and he'd needed air, he'd needed to get out and away -the insane desire to transform into a raven had sprung to mind even though he'd known it was impossible- so he'd come down to sketch, not expecting anyone else to be up.

"Dean," Dean offered her helpfully, "Dean Thomas."

Hope smiled lightly. "Hope."

She practically sank into an armchair to avoid the awkwardness that hung in the air. Seamus had told Dean all about the story behind Hope Potter's infamy, as Dean, being Muggle-born, was unfamiliar with most things magical. She hissed under her breath, rubbing at her leg that had been in a brace the last time Dean saw her.

Hope lifted the hem of her pantleg to see a jagged scar -one of many- across her leg that was red and puckered.

Dean must've made a sound because she said "Don't worry, it just looks like that when I walk too much."

"Does it hurt?" Dean asked curiously.

"Only when it's inflamed," Hope sighed. "Sometimes it twinges, but I think that's it just healing…I was on a lot of drugs when the doctor explained it."

She noticed his furrowed brow. "My cousin pushed me in front of a car a year ago," she explained helpfully and Dean gaped at her.

"Your cousin pushed you in front of a car?" He couldn't help but he aghast by it.

"Well, we don't like each other very much," Hope offered without a care in the world, like that made it any better.

"How are you still alive?" Dean couldn't help but blurt.

A wide grin split across her face, warped by the shadows cast by the fire. "Dumb luck, probably." Her eyes seemed to darken to a black briefly before she looked around with interest. "Anyways, I'm gonna go exploring."

"On that leg?" Dean asked, a wince clear.

"A little pain won't stop me," Hope grinned widely, even as she stood gingerly, grabbing up her cane. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," Dean parroted back, watching her carefully hop out of the portrait hole, before turning his attention back to his sketch: a twisted Elder tree with a thick trunk and gnarly branches, cut in a few places, burned in others, and seeping a fluid he knew was blood.

(One day he and Hope would talk of their shared dreams, but it was not this day)

Hope treaded carefully out of the portrait hole, the only sound that she made was the constant clicking of her cane meeting the floor as she climbed staircase after staircase until she found herself at a fork of two that she couldn't decide between.

"Take the left," a smooth voice to her left mentioned and Hope twisted violently to cast her eyes upon a handsome young man twirling a wand between his thin fingers. His eyes were a green, though much lighter than Hope's, and his dark hair hung loose around his face.

He smiled. "Trust me."

Hope wondered if that was the best idea as she glanced between the two staircases, but when she looked back the boy had gone. How very strange…

But Hope conceded to him, taking the one on her left and climbing it up to another corridor at the end of which she found a door that led out into the open air.

It was cold, there was no denying that, but it also had by far the best view, far greater than even the window in the girl's dormitory could ever hope to compare to.

Hope could see Sirius, the dog star, and the constellation Aquila, and more stars than she could usually see were visible, not hidden as they usually were by clouds gliding across the sky.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed there, transfixed by the heavens, but definitely long enough that she nearly lost feeling in her feet, and it was only then that she reluctantly left the tower to limp down the hall towards the staircases she had taken up to the tower in the first place, trying to remember which ones exactly they were.

Luckily, no one bothered her until she was nearly back to the portrait hole, and she froze, her grip tightening on her cane as she saw something ghostly pass in the nearby hall, a flash of pale skin and a dark cloak. It made her think first of the curious lad from before who had vanished so effectively that he must have been a ghost, but also of the man at the staff table that had glared at her when she had looked up. Hope couldn't imagine why…she'd never met him before.

She sighed. Making enemies on her first day; first Draco Malfoy, then him.

But she was distracted by a chiding voice that spoke from the darkness, startling her and sending a chill down her spine.

"My, my," it said. "Already sneaking out after dark, Miss Potter?"

She blinked a few times, a frown marring her lips slightly as she tensed her spine.

"A girl after my own heart," a second voice added as two boys stepped into the light, their grins the most obvious thing in the darkness.

Hope relaxed her posture, causing a white-hot flare of pain to shoot up her injured leg, something she had quickly grown accustomed to. She leaned her arm against the wall, and George was instantly apologetic.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," Hope said through gritted teeth, releasing a tired sigh as the feeling faded. "You get used to it after a while…" She scrutinized them with difficulty; their pockets seemed to be bulging with something that she couldn't quite tell what it was. "Causing trouble already?" she guessed, recalling Ron's words about his prankster brothers.

The identical smirks bore down on her as their answer and she chuckled under her breath.

"So," Fred began.

"What're you doing—" George continued.

"—out so late?" they both finished.

She stared, bemused. "Do you always finish each other's sentences like that?"

"Always," they chirped.

Her green eyes twinkled in amusement, but she didn't comment on it.

"You never answered our question," George reminded her, the pair becoming thoroughly confused and quite curious when a growing flush of embarrassment appeared on the girl's cheeks.

"I was star-gazing," she admitted, brushing past them and towards the Fat Lady, leaving the Weasley Twins rather puzzled as to why she was star-gazing.

Fred arched his eyebrows at his brother who gave a noncommittal shrug in return, watching her for a moment.

"Need some help, Potter?" he inquired to the night as Hope struggled to make it into the portrait hole.

He walked towards her and Fred winked at him, crossing his arms and watching the show as Hope's cheeks darkened even more.

"Erm…maybe just a little," she said at long last, taking the hand offered to her, allowing her to pull herself up.

"Thanks," she said, ignoring the grin that had graced his lips.

"No problem," he said, "always happy to sweep a girl off her feet."

Hope scowled at him but her bright cheeks ruined the image as she limped towards the girls' dormitories grumbling about troublesome gingers.

Fred followed his brother inside, impressed by how red George had made her, something which George seemed vaguely startled by, even if he didn't understand how fascinated he could have been with the small girl he'd seen at the zoo.


Hope awoke early the next morning, surprisingly refreshed despite having fallen asleep past midnight, however, getting down to the Great Hall was a different matter entirely. She lost her way so many times that when she finally sat down at Gryffindor table –though mostly empty as it was still early– the muscles in her leg felt strained and she was breathing a little harder than before from the exercise.

She swallowed her pumpkin juice thickly as she spooned some eggs and sausage onto her plate.

"So, you like to stargaze?"

Hope choked on her eggs as a ginger-haired lad plopped himself onto the seat opposite her.

"Do you ever give up?" she managed after taking a hasty gulp of her drink to clear her throat.

"Sometimes," George said, swiping one of her sausages, earning him a glare. "You know what I said about pretty girls yesterday." He was grinning as the heat slowly rose in her cheeks.

"That would make more sense," Hope snorted, "if I was actually pretty."

George's eyes narrowed slightly. "I think you're cute," he admitted, a light flush adorning his cheeks.

"Really?" Hope asked, vaguely startled by the prospect. She had yet to meet someone who didn't view her looks as undesirable. Jane Collins with her blonde curls and bright blue eyes had always scorned Hope and her odd dark red hair and too-green eyes and had been subsequently horrified when Hope turned up at school every other week with a different hair and eye color more appalling than the last. The mixture of disgust and horror on her face had pleased Hope greatly.

"Would I lie?" George asked, his eyes blinking innocently.

"You look like you would," Hope said, scrutinizing him intently.

His grin widened. "You're catching on, Potter!"

Hope couldn't even resist rolling her eyes at that.

"I like the stars," she said suddenly, catching him unawares.

"What?"

She gave him a rather direct look. "The stars. You asked me about stargazing."

"Ah, I mean, yes, I did," George floundered and Hope's lips twitched. "I guess you'll like your Astronomy class, then."

"Astronomy?" Hope perked up at that. What girl didn't like star-gazing for school credit?

George expertly hid his sniggers behind his own goblet.

"You know you can ask him to leave if he's bothering you," a voice commented and both looked up as Ron dropped heavily into the seat beside his older brother.

Hope's eyes glowed with mirth. "He's…manageable."

"Manageable?" George squawked in indignation. "I am not manageable, thank you very much!"

"Oh?" Hope's tone turned sardonic as Fred made his appearance at the table as sneaky as ever, delighting, it seemed, in how his twin was being ganged up upon. "Is that what you think? I think he looks quite manageable, don't you?" She directed her question towards Ron who grinned in response.

"Definitely," Ron said.

"Must you wound me so?" George cried with an air of drama. "I shall never forgive you!"

Hope arched an eyebrow towards Fred who was now sniggering.

"I think you'd best apologize," Fred said, his voice filled with humor. "Unless you want to see George get really upset."

Hope dubiously looked back towards George who was putting a great amount of effort into making his eyes shine with unshed tears.

She patted his hand with a simpering smile. "Try better next time," she told him sweetly.

"Is that a challenge?"

Hope stared at him. "Are you always this impossible?"

"Usually worse," Ron told her for his brother as Fred mimed something to his twin.

"See you around, Potter," George said, ruffling his younger brother's hair as he stood, moving to join Fred, causing a scowl to mar Ron's face as he glared, attempting to straighten his hair from the mess George had created. "Try not to get lost, little bro."

"Your brother is strange," Hope told Ron as he took George's vacated seat across from her.

"You don't even know the half of it," Ron said with a groan. "You're looking at their favorite prank victim…after Percy, I mean."

"I ran into them last night," Hope admitted, not in the slightest embarrassed to admit to sneaking out. "They were probably up to no good when I was heading back to the common room."

Ron goggled at her, aghast at her words; Hope wondered if she'd said something wrong. "You snuck out of the tower?" he asked, stunned.

His reaction only served to amuse her further. "Is that so surprising?" she asked, her mouth twitching into a smile.

"A bit," he confessed, "you didn't really seem like the type…"

Hope snorted. "I'm what you would call a 'troubled child' who's greatest skill is lock-picking."

Sylvar had given her a kit that was locked away in her trunk after finding out the Dursleys liked to lock her in her cupboard to keep her from getting into the kitchen after sending her off without eating. Sylvar had been furious and had given her extra food to make up for it, and then she'd taught her how to pick locks.

"Really?" Light glinted in his eyes as he gazed upon her, impressed. "Can you teach me?"

Hope blinked in surprise and then she smiled widely. "Sure…it might take me awhile to find my picks, though, they're somewhere in my trunk…I might have left them in the library portion…"

Now it was Ron's turn to stare at her. "You have a library in your trunk?" he asked her incredulously.

"Yup!" Hope said, beaming proudly. "What girl doesn't have a proper library in her trunk?"

Ron could only mouth wordlessly at her for a few seconds before spooning porridge into his mouth in an effort to cover his disbelief at his friend as Professor McGonagall came along the Gryffindor table to hand out schedules.

"And Miss Potter," the older woman added after she had given Ron and Hope theirs, "sometime this week please make time to see the Matron, Madam Pomfrey."

"Who's Madam Pomfrey?" Hope asked blankly after she'd gone.

"She's a Healer," Ron explained, "they fix people up, you know when they're injured? She's in charge of the Hospital Wing."

Hope sighed, looking down at her leg and trying not to be offended by the idea that she needed to be fixed. Besides, she didn't even know where the Hospital Wing was!


The first few days of classes weren't so bad, in Hope's opinion. Charms and Transfiguration were demanding but not overly difficult –though Hope had accidentally turned her hair purple during Charms class, thus ensuing a discussion concerning Metamorphmagi (Hope hadn't even known there was a name for it) and having several of her year-mates asking her to do certain colors for her hair and eyes, which was annoying–, Astronomy was very fun, and Hope didn't mind staying up late for it, History of Magic was a bit of a bore, and Herbology wasn't too bad, and now Hope and Ron only had Potions class left.

Hope rather thought that the professor didn't much like her going off of the rather unsavory expression he wore whenever she was in his presence.

Thus, Hope's hair had darkened and shortened to a mess of black tousled curls and her eyes had turned hazel by the time the door slammed shut and the class began.

Up close, Hope thought he didn't look like much. His skin was sallow from potion fumes, his dark robes making it more obvious, and his lips curled into a permanent frown. His dark eyes flashed dangerously as they glanced over her in barely a second as he reached her name on the class roster, the immense dislike clearly perceivable and it confused Hope.

"Ah, yes," he said, his snide voice soft, almost dangerously so, but not quite, "Hope Potter. Our new—celebrity."

Hope's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, his lips drawing downwards slightly in a frown at his words. She felt slightly insulted by his words, and she carefully ignored the sniggers of the arrogant Slytherins that she had met on the train.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of Potion-making," Snape began after he had checked every name for attendance. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquid that creeps through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads that I usually have to teach."

It was an enthralling speech, or at least, it would have been, had Hope been listening, but she was currently fascinated by the sheer number of potion bottles littering the room with varying colors and substances within.

"Potter!" He snapped out her name so suddenly that Hope very nearly jumped, making her eyes coming off a bit wilder than she had intended. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hope scowled at him, sulking briefly at how he was picking her out, ignoring how Hermione's irritating hand shot up off to the side of her and Ron. She wracked her brain briefly; she'd read something about that somewhere…she was sure of it…

"The Draught of Living Death…right?" she asked, half-expecting it to be wrong, but she was not, and he seemed surprised that she knew the answer, but it did not deter him from asking her more questions.

"And where would I find a bezoar?" Snape demanded, nearly snapping his fingers at her in an effort to make her respond faster.

"Inside the stomach of a goat," Hope recited, having read it in Antidotes to Common Poisons, being a bit startled that someone would actually want to swallow a stone from a goat's stomach; sounded right disgusting, if you asked her.

And why was he just picking on her?

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Now, Hermione's hand was almost connecting with the ceiling as she had stood up. And Hope was stumped; she didn't remember those ingredients much…

"Oh, I don't know, Professor, perhaps you should ask Hermione instead," Hope replied with a touch of exasperation leaking into her voice. A few people laughed, and Seamus Finnigan winked at her; she gave him one in return, her lips twitching upwards slightly.

Snape wasn't too pleased, though, and proceeded to give them a lecture on where and what they properly were.

"A point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter."

The second he turned his back, Hope stuck out her tongue in blatant disrespect, earning her an annoyed noise from Hermione, which she ignored.

The lesson went downhill from there, and Hope found herself wishing that she didn't have him as her teacher because, clearly he had some unresolved issues to work out.

Sadly, Hope didn't have a lot of restraint at eleven years old and this was made quite obvious later in the lesson when Neville melted his cauldron with the potion that he had been working on with Seamus, resulting in having to be taken to the Hospital Wing by Seamus.

This left Hope and Ron open for attack, as they'd been the pair working beside Neville.

"You –Potter–" He snapped to her and Hope couldn't say that she was entirely surprised. "–why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Hope was so furious that she ignored Ron as he tried to keep her quiet. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said with a sarcastic flourish. "It's not like I should have been paying attention to my own potion!"

"Detention, Potter!"

Hope growled, clenching her fist so tightly that her knuckles shone white. Hope had never hated a teacher, but as she stormed out of Snape's class half an hour later, she was sure she would hate him.

Her bag swung violently on her shoulder as she walked, even with her limp, leaving Ron behind, climbing the moving staircases as she dug out a bit of parchment from her pocket that had been given to her by Professor McGonagall earlier that day. On it were instructions of how to reach the Hospital Wing using the Great Hall as a starting point.

Today may have been the first day that Hope and Ron didn't get lost on their way to their classes but that didn't mean that Hope knew where the Hospital Wing was. She lamented to not joining Neville when he had to be taken to the room in question.

She sighed, her anger abating somewhat as she walked more and more, taking the stairs up to the third floor, turning left down the first corridor. It was surprisingly difficult to find, even with Hope's directions she found that she walked past it twice (which was pretty sad, considering how large the double doors were), a numb feeling running through her leg with every step from the force of her storming out of the dungeons not ten minutes earlier.

Her leg paid for her anger, unfortunately.

Hope shoved the parchment into her pocket with her only free hand, the other tightening over the cane as she pushed one of the doors slowly to peer inside.

"Er…hello?" she called into the silence, stepping more completely into the room. It was quite large, she supposed, though the other classrooms were perhaps a similar size, if there was an absence of desks. A number of simple hospital beds with white sheets lay on either side of the room for students if and when they fell ill or were injured.

There was a small back office from which a woman appeared as if summoned by Hope's voice. This woman, Hope assumed, was the Matron, Madam Pomfrey.

"I was wondering when I'd be seeing you, Miss Potter," she said, and whatever Hope had been expecting, it wasn't this. The Matron was a stern-faced woman with crow's feet at the corner of her eyes from smiling and laughing and her hair was tied in a much less severe bun than Professor McGonagall's was, though all the hair gathered into the bun was grey.

"Er, hello," Hope repeated, swallowing slightly as she looked up and down the woman, "you're the…Matron?" It was still a strange term to Hope and she said it slowly, in case she was wrong, but she doubted that.

"I'm Madam Pomfrey," the woman said, inviting her forward, her eyes focused on the leg that had been giving Hope trouble for a long time. "I understand you were in an automobile accident?"

"Who told you that?" Hope asked in surprise, pressing more of her weight down on her cane.

Madam Pomfrey nearly laughed. "You might have told Hagrid, but he's not exactly well known for keeping his mouth shut."

"Oh," Hope said with a bit of embarrassment. Hagrid had been surprised by her leg brace and cane so Hope had had to explain as best as she could manage how she had attained such an injury. "Right…of course he did."

Hope tried hard not to sigh, but it wasn't as if no one wasn't aware by now that the Girl-Who-Lived was a cripple.

As if that was a bad thing.

Hope didn't like the word, but being injured as she was meant people underestimated her. Hope couldn't have put all those tacks on the seats because of her leg, she couldn't have turned three of her teachers' hair different colors because of her leg…the list went on.

"I was expecting you to come in earlier," Madam Pomfrey admitted.

"Well, I'm not really known for being on time," Hope said with a shrug, gesturing towards her leg.

"Your father never was either," Madam Pomfrey lamented.

Hope looked up. "You knew my dad?" she asked.

"Well, he was a Quidditch player," Madam Pomfrey said with a light chuckle, "they always manage to find themselves injured in some way."

A smile twisted onto her lips at the mention of her father.

"Would you lie on the bed, please?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "I'd like to run a diagnostic spell on you."

Hope spared the Matron a curious glance before relenting and moving to sit upon the mattress, stretching her legs out against it, one hidden under the bulky brace.

"This won't take more than a few seconds," Madam Pomfrey assured her, "and it won't hurt a bit."

"Great," Hope drawled out as the older witch pulled her wand, earning her a rather bemused smile in return. She did not need to speak a spell, but Hope's leg glowed blue, so one must have been cast. Hope supposed this was more advanced magic than first years were taught.

A moment later Madam Pomfrey leaned back, replacing her wand once more as straightened.

"I could use a spell to hasten your healing," Madam Pomfrey informed her, "but I think it would be better for you to recover on your own. Your leg is healing up nicely, and I'd rather not interfere with the healing process if it can be helped."

Hope had to say that honestly, she hadn't been expecting some miraculous cure, even given that she was now living in a world of magic. And she honestly hadn't wanted one. The idea of someone using magic on her, even to fix her leg, made her violently uncomfortable.

"That's fine," she said as more of an afterthought, her mind drifting slightly.

"You won't be needing that brace anymore," Madam Pomfrey added.

"Really?" Hope asked in surprise, looking down at her leg.

"Yes, if you want to get the full use of your leg back," Madam Pomfrey said seriously.

Hope gave a mournful sigh. "Alright, then," she said, removing the annoying brace from her leg and handing it to the Matron who placed it on an empty bed.

"Of course, I'll want you to come back every so often so that I can check to see that your leg is healing the way it should be, if that's alright?" she inquired of the Potter.

"Fine," Hope muttered in an almost dejected manner, "I suppose that's better than having to be in here all the time."

"I suppose so," Madam Pomfrey said, her lips twitching just slightly. "I'll be seeing you again soon, Miss Potter."

"Yay," Hope said with as much enthusiasm as she could manage, but despite her attitude, she left the Hospital Wing in much higher spirits than she had entering, making her way down to the Library with difficulty to finish an essay. Something told her Ron was going to wait until the last minute to finish his, but that didn't mean that Hope had to do the same.

The Library was included in one of the few places that Hope actually knew how to find, though this meant a bit of backtracking since Hope hadn't really come up to this part of the castle before.

But, before long Hope found herself sitting at one of the worn tables, parchment before her, ink staining her fingers as she scrawled words across it, referencing two books on basic Transfiguration, trying her best to ignore the whispers that followed her everywhere she went in the castle. It was by far the most annoying thing about her year thus far.

The essay wasn't too difficult, considering the one that Snape had given them was probably going to take her all night, if she had to wager a guess.

She could tell that she was going to have an undying hatred for the subject as long as he taught it.

The essay took surprisingly little time, and soon Hope stoppered her inkwell and shut her books, replacing them back where they belonged. She glanced over to one of the tables, the one that was closer to the front than Hope's had been; she was still there.

The blonde hair gave her away, bound in a tight French braid that couldn't hide her face. Daphne Greengrass, Hope remembered her name was from the Sorting Ceremony, a Slytherin, but Hope didn't much care for disliking people based on their House (though many did not share the same sentiment, she knew well).

Daphne had come in the library around the same time as Hope, but now Hope could see that she hadn't had as much success as Hope had with finding a useful book for that Transfiguration, if the scowl marring her face was any indicator.

Hope looked at the book cradled against her side, then at the girl, then at the bookshelves. And then Hope made a decision that surprised many in the vicinity.

She took her book and walked slowly towards the table, dropping the book onto the table before the blonde, making her jump rather violently, startled blue eyes rising from the parchment to look at Hope.

Hope couldn't resist smiling, though it was halfway between apologetic at how she had startled her and amused at how she had responded to Hope dropping the book. "Sorry," she said, "just thought you'd want this for the Transfiguration essay."

Wide blue eyes stared up at her, stunned that Hope was even talking to her, before Daphne remembered her manners.

"Er…thanks," Daphne finally managed to say.

"No problem," Hope said in a slightly cheerful manner, pulling her bag a bit more up on her shoulders and gripping her cane under her hand, moving with a dignified limp –if that were even possible; Daphne suspected it might be– towards the entrance to the Library.

It hadn't occurred to either of them that that was the first instance of civility between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin in over a decade. And it certainly wouldn't be the last time the Gryffindor and the Slytherin conversed.

Hope was barely around the corner into a second hallway when she had to blink rather suddenly when her feet were lifted from the ground and she found herself with her arms around George Weasley's neck and her legs around his waist. Amusement and embarrassment warred on her features as she tried to gain the function of her tongue once more.

"Weasley, are you this sweet to all the new girls?" she asked in a would-be-light voice, winking to Fred who sniggered behind his hand at his twin's antics.

"Just the pretty ones!" George informed her in an equally light voice, making her cheeks burn as pink as they had the last time he'd said something similar.

"Mr. Weasley! Miss Potter! What in the name of Merlin are you doing?!"

Three heads twisted to the right to see a stunned Professor McGonagall who was startled, appalled and straight up exasperated. Putting James Potter's daughter with two pranksters was never a good idea.

"We're going on an adventure!" Fred said, striking a dramatic pose. "And the fair maiden is not permitted to walk, so we have brought this mighty steed to whisk her away!"

"I know you didn't just compare me to a horse, Freddie!"

"Oh, I think I did, Georgie!"

Hope couldn't help but burst out into peals of laughter at the combined antics of the twins and the expression coloring Professor McGonagall's face.


Professor McGonagall wasn't sure what she should have expected when she looked upon the three figures standing before her desk. Two were grinning shamelessly and one gave off an air of innocence that she doubted suited her.

Fred and George Weasley were covered in multicolored paint, the same paint that had been smeared across Hope Potter's cheeks. It appeared that Hope had been the one to prank the pranksters and the boys had retaliated by taking some of the paint she had lobbed at them and smudged it across her face.

James would have been so proud of his daughter taking up the noble art of pranking, or so he had thought at the time.

Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the trio.

"A prank war does not mean that you can cover a corridor with paint," she told them.

"In all fairness," Hope piped up, her face remarkably unrepentant under the paint, "it's not that much of the corridor."

Fred and George sniggered.

"Be that as it may, Miss Potter," Professor McGonagall said shrewdly, "you and your accomplices will still be cleaning it up until the corridor gleams."

"Accomplices?" Fred squawked. "We're innocent here, Professor! We were minding our own business—"

"A likely story, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall remarked with an arched eyebrow. "As the saying goes, it takes two to tango."

Hope didn't bother hiding her snort. "Innocent?" she scoffed. "Doubtful."

"My dear Hope," George cried, raising a hand to his chest as though injured, "your words cut like knives!"

"I'm sure," Hope said dryly in return.

Professor McGonagall very nearly sighed at the antics of all three of her students. "Report to Mr. Filch's office. He will give you cleaning supplies." She took out her wand and siphoned off the paint they were currently wearing on their skin and clothing so that more paint wouldn't stain the floor as they cleaned up their mess.

Hope gave a jaunty wave as she left, limping after the two third years, and not ten minutes later the three could be found with mops and buckets and rags.

"Well done, Potter, didn't know you had it in you," Fred told her with an approving nod that made her laugh.

"Thank you so much for approving of my rebellious streak," she returned with a grin. "But you're lucky I didn't take a picture of the looks on your faces when all the paint landed on you two."

"Very devious," George complimented, "no wonder I liked you."

Hope turned away, stabbing the mop against a stubborn spot of paint in an effort to hide her blushing face.

George smirked at Fred who grinned in return. If only Hope knew that George was purposefully trying to make her blush anytime they were together; it was kind of hilarious…though Fred would never admit that to the Potter heir, he doubted she would take kindly to it.

But it also wasn't purely for fun. Fred knew George well enough to know what he was thrilled whenever she fired back. Just like Fred also knew that George thought Hope looked particularly cute with her cheeks flushing like that.

"Did you think I wasn't going to get even with you for last week?" Hope asked after a moment, once the stain had gone so that she could move to another spot in the empty hallway. "After that horrible shade of green that you turned my hair?" She gave them a rather baleful glare and both boys turned rather sheepish.

They had been trying to see if they could come up with something that couldn't be changed by a Metamorphmagus –unfortunately, they had not succeeded, and thus earned paint-bombs to their clothes and skin for their efforts.

"We were just testing out a new product," Fred said innocently.

"And now that we know it doesn't work on you," George continued.

"—it's back to the drawing board," they said together, causing Hope to slap her hand to her face so soundly that she left a red mark on her forehead.

"You're impossible!" she decided.

Both Weasleys gave cheery bows in return and all three glanced up from their work of cleaning at the sound of approaching feet to see Ron come around the corner.

He looked over his brothers for any trace of paint. "Did the paint not work?" he asked his friend, ignoring the offended looks his brothers gave him for apparently rooting for the other side, as it were.

"Oh, no, it worked," Hope said with a grin, "right up until Professor McGonagall found us chucking paint at each other."

Ron stared at her and then at his brothers, and then back to her. "I'm not sure I should even be surprised anymore," he said at long last.

"It's best not to be," Fred agreed.

"Though we do enjoy when we surprise you, dear little bro," George added with a grin.

"One day it's just going to be me and Ginny here," Ron told him sourly, "and then I won't have to put up with the pair of you."

"Oh, look, Georgie! I think Ronnie's getting annoyed with us," Fred said with a snigger.

"Nah, can't be," George disagreed, "we're too much fun…right, Hope?"

Three pairs of blue eyes fastened on Hope who had been dutifully staying out of the sibling conversation up to this point.

She raised her hands in surrender. "Don't you turn this on me! I've got nothing to do with this!"

Hope squeezed one of the rags over the bucket as she scrubbed at the last of the paint left behind by her sudden attack. Well, if there was one thing for certain that she could say it was that she had one-upped the Weasley Twins in the most glorious way. And she certainly held bragging rights for the rest of time for doing just that.

And then she stood, humming softly as she did, lifting the bucket off the ground as she clutched her cane, rolling her eyes at how the Weasleys were still conversing.

Brothers…


Angelina Johnson could honestly say she had never met someone like Hope Potter in her whole life. No one had ever managed to prank Fred and George and get away with it. Though Angelina suspected that it might have had something to do with the pair being fond of anyone with a rebellious streak, and that included Hope.

She spent every other day in detention, it seemed, with Snape, and from the rumors Angelina had heard, Hope and Snape didn't get along at all.

But Angelina could also see that she was the first girl that George had ever shown any interest in, and was subsequently the only girl who mocked him.

Their relationship was half-way between strange and cute. Angelina wasn't sure if they really counted as friends with how they talked to each other, it could almost be considered flirting.

"Hand it over, Weasley!" Hope demanded, her cheeks bright pink.

"Not on your life, Potter!" George said with a wide grin.

Angelina wondered if they knew about the betting pool Gryffindor House had started. She and Fred were jointly betting on Hope's third year; it was a general consensus to not date until you could actually leave the grounds (now if only she could convince him to take her out to the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer…). Lee Jordan thought she could hold out until fourth year, but Angelina doubted that. Hope would know when she was caught, that she was sure of. Even if Hope was remarkably resilient, Angelina had noticed how her smile often met her eyes whenever Fred and George (though, generally only George) cracked a joke.

Currently, the pair was making quite a scene by George holding her book over his head –and he was already quite a bit taller than her– and she used her cane to elevate her upwards, but it didn't seem to be working, only serving to annoy Hope further. Angelina knew better than to take the pair seriously; it was obvious they thought of it as a game, much to the disgust of Ron.

She secretly believed the youngest Weasley boy to be a bit envious of how casual she was with the twins, but he never said a word on the matter. Ron saw her more than the twins, anyways, since she and Ron were two years behind them.

"If you give it to me, I'll tell you how I pranked you," Hope coaxed, her smile on the sly side. The newest prank was a bit spectacular in that she had actually managed to prank them without them having any knowledge of it until after it happened. For the whole day, their robes had changed color sporadically, and each color was more outrageous than the last. Hope had told Angelina that it was a rather simple spell, if Fred and George bothered to look for it.

The book was in her hands within seconds.

"—Later," she finished, the smile widening when the twins gave identical groans.

Ron snorted at her words, but he still raised his hand so that they could high-five.

"How does it feel to be played, boys?" Hope said, resting her hands on her hips.

Fred's pout was more pronounced as Angelina laughed with them.

"You two," Angelina called over to the only first-years that weren't scared of getting pranked for hanging out with them, "Your flying lessons start today, don't they?"

The mention of flying had an instantaneous effect; Ron grinned and Hope grimaced. Angelina was slightly surprised by Hope's response, as she had once had to clean the trophy room for a detention in second year (why she was in detention when she was generally so mild mannered, no one would ever discover) and the name James Potter was on a plaque for Quidditch Players of Winning Teams.

"Worried?" Lee guessed from where he sat with his legs looped under the stone bench, on which his crossed arms supported his head. It was a strange way to sit, but no one commented on it.

Hope laughed uneasily, shifting her weight uncomfortably as she did so. "It's just that I don't like making a fool of myself," Hope had to admit, "especially in the air, and especially in front of Malfoy."

It hadn't been hard to pick up the resentment between her and the Malfoy scion. The pair practically threw insults at each other when they passed the other in the hall (that resulted in both being put in detention for a few days by Professor McGonagall who hadn't been very impressed).

"Not making a fool of myself in general would be nice," she concluded as an afterthought, looking strangely resigned, as if she was used to making a fool out of herself.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Alicia Spinnet assured her, closing her book on her Charms essay. "Better than Lee or Fred and George; they tripped over thin air, if I recall correctly." Her dark eyes glinted as she smirked at the three males who started at what she had revealed.

"Don't tell them that, Alicia!" The twins wailed, appalled, but Hope cracked a grin and Ron burst out into laughter.

"Well, here's to hoping we don't do serious damage to ourselves," she muttered under her breath. "We'd better go, Ron," she added in a louder tone, "wouldn't want to be late."

Once they were out of earshot, Ron asked the question that was bugging him.

"Did you really prank Fred and George again?"

Hope snorted. "Yes, is that surprising?"

"Very," Ron admitted, staring at her with something akin to awe. "People don't generally try, seeing as they would never get away with it, let alone do it twice."

That seemed to amuse her, because the smile she tossed his way was very light-hearted, even as they strode across the lawn to the area opposite of the Slytherins. Draco Malfoy was quickly becoming one of the most irritating creatures she had ever had the unfortunate opportunity to meet, such as the instance when she took up residence beside a free broom.

"Perfect Potter finally shows up for class," he said with a distinct sneer.

"Class hasn't started yet, moron," Hope said coolly, "but I guess your education didn't cover telling time, did it?"

Malfoy's cheeks turned pink and he opened his mouth to retort as a few of the Gryffindors sniggered at the insult when Madame Hooch, the flying instructor blew her whistle, signaling the start of class.

When Hope had first caught sight of her, she had likened her to a hawk, and she wasn't wrong. With her grey hair and yellow eyes, she looked far more stern-faced than Professor McGonagall did.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she demanded, the irritation seeping into her voice as if they should have already known what to do even before she spoke. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Hope's gaze shifted downward to her broom. It didn't look very impressive, and she was certain that she didn't want to ride something that looked like it had been roughly taken from a tree. Hope had had a front seat when Fred and George had complained about how handicapping the school brooms were. Riding something that was clearly unstable was not in her top ten things to do before she died, but Hope sighed, dropping her cane to the grass as she did as instructed.

"Stick out your right hand," Madam Hooch continued as if she hadn't seen the many uneasy glances between her students, "and say 'up!'."

A chorus of "UP!"s filled the air, and Hope was faintly startled when her broomstick shot into her hand instantly, but those that did were few in number. Some didn't even bother moving; maybe some people were just meant to keep their feet firmly on the ground.

She couldn't resist laughing, however, when Ron's smacked him in the face.

Once they'd all managed to get their brooms into their hands –some ended up just grabbing the broom from the ground once Madam Hooch turned her back–, their instructor began to teach them how to properly grip and mount the broom. She did allow herself a small amount of mirth when Malfoy was told he'd been flying incorrectly for years; karma's a bitch, isn't she?

"Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground, hard," Madam Hooch ordered, glaring at them all. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle–three–two–"

She didn't have time to blow her whistle when Neville accidentally pushed off the ground too soon. It was quite obvious that he was completely terrified, so Hope couldn't help but wonder if yelling at him was going to get him to comply.

Neville was shooting upwards much like a rock shot out of a volcano, at that height, Hope doubted he could hear anything but his own whimpers of fear.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch yelled despite Hope's thoughts.

The yell, it seemed, could still be heard, because he gave a startled gasp and slipped from the broom to fall a good twenty feet to impact with the ground with a dull thud. Hope was sure she wasn't the only one that winced.

Their flying instructor was at his side in a moment as the Gryffindors watched anxiously and the Slytherins sniggered behind their hands. Hope listened intently for a few seconds, garnering that he'd broken his wrist a bit badly. That was never fun; Hope had that happen to her when she was nine, it made completing assignments a bit difficult.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing!" Madam Hooch's glittering eyes surveyed them all as if trying to glare them into compliance. "You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say "Quidditch". Come on, dear."

Not two seconds after she and Neville were out of earshot did Draco Malfoy burst into laughter, cruel laughter, Hope thought with a frown. What kind of person laughs at another person's pain? But this was Malfoy she was talking about; every bone in his body was rude and ignorant.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" He demanded through laughter as his fellows joined him. Slytherin really was a rather unpleasant lot, weren't they?

"Shut up, Malfoy," a voice snapped. Hope was almost surprised that it was Parvati Patil that had spoken; she had hardly heard her speak of anything that wasn't fashion-related, but right now her eyes were icy-cold.

Hope did her best to ignore the Slytherins, but she caught Daphne's eye and the girl rolled her eyes obviously to her. Clearly, she didn't approve of her classmates either. Hope's lips twitched in response.

"Look!"

This time, Hope did look, and instantly, her eyes narrowed into a glare; Malfoy was clutching Neville's Remembrall in his pale hand.

"It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him!" Malfoy jeered, lifting it up for all of them to see.

"Hand that over."

Hope's voice had taken on a quiet and a dangerous edge. The tone itself should have been a warning, but Malfoy it seemed was incapable of complying to warnings whether or not they were clear to see. It was times like these that Hope liked to fondly remember all those detentions she'd earned in Muggle school for her…explosive behavior.

Maybe he hadn't heard her.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere up high," he decided with a nasty grin that didn't much suit the nice weather they were having today. "How about in a tree?"

"Hand it over!" she snarled, but Malfoy had already taken flight, hovering above a rather tall oak tree that Hope would have probably climbed if her leg hadn't been so badly damaged.

"Come and get it, Potter!"

The jibe was there, waiting–

"Or are you as slow in the air as you are on the ground?"

Hope schooled her usually expression-filled face into a calm mask as she threw her leg over the broom and pushed off from the ground with more force than she probably should have. She could feel the gust of wind hitting her face, rustling her hair, and swirling around her as she rose and instantly, she knew flying would be one of her favorite pastimes; who didn't want to feel as if they were higher than the world?

"Hand it over," she repeated once again, her voice remarkably cool, "or I'll knock you to the ground and break your wrist while I'm at it."

"Oh, yeah?" Malfoy demanded, but his face was a little pale, because Hope was looking completely serious when she administered that threat to his well-being (though she was rather well-known for giving death threats and not going through with them). "Catch it, then, if you can!"

He really shouldn't have pressed his luck when Hope flew past him in the direction he had thrown the palm-sized ball. The ball was nearly invisible, but Hope could see the light glancing off it as it was flung through the air. She sped the broom between her legs forward, the noise around her blurring into nonsensical sounds. The world fell out around her as her focus sharpened; it was only her and that stupid clear ball of Neville's (he was going to owe her for this, she swore).

She ducked into a graceful dive, triumph coloring her face when she pulled up, the light orb clutched in her hand. That triumph faded rather abruptly, however, when she heard the yell of "HOPE POTTER!"

She opted for a single word response that she felt summed up the whole troublesome situation. "Shit."


The next day Hope was so tired that she and Ron almost didn't wake up at an adequate time due to the events of the previous night.

And it was all because of some botched midnight duel that she hadn't been much keen on to start with. By some miracle she'd managed to not be expelled for her actions the day before during the flying class–though she doubted one could really be expelled for a short fly– and even more miraculously had managed to land a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia had been impressed when they had heard the story from Ron –whom had elaborated on several parts, she'd noticed but had been too lazy to bother correcting him.

The attention they had paid her made her cheeks pink. But today she could hardly keep her eyes open as she attempted to eat her breakfast, and ended up resting her head tiredly on Lee Jordan's shoulder.

"I am never doing that again," she decided resolutely in exhaustion, her voice low and quiet as she contemplated dumping the milk jug on Ron's head, since it was his ludicrous idea. "Worst idea you've ever come up with!"

"On the bright side," Ron continued over her, "you can't say Fred and George have ever done something like that before."

"What haven't we done?" a pair of nearly identical voices inquired of them, announcing the arrival of Ron's older brothers.

"Had a midnight rendezvous go south, so south, in fact, that you nearly get eaten by a three-headed dog," Hope said in a remarkable deadpan. Neville and Hermione had been with them at the time (not by their choice, of course) and seemed as though they never wanted to go out at night anytime soon; a wise course of action, Hope thought, given the first time they had done so, they had run into what appeared to be a Cerberus.

"Well, no," Fred admitted in agreement.

"But who would we have to meet in a midnight rendezvous?" George added, giving her another one of his winks.

She gave him, in return, one of her baleful stares. "One day, Weasley," she muttered under her breath, slapping both of her cheeks so she could wake up a bit more, "I am going to one-up you, just you wait."

"I look forward to it, Potter."

She smirked. "Oh, you do, do you?" Her smile was a bit on the sly side. "I would like to see you try."

"Don't say that!" Ron hissed, his voice halfway between humorous and annoyed. "Now he'll be even more insufferable!"

"Has anyone told you that your eyes are unbelievably beautiful?" George asked instead, ignoring their friends and smirking as her cheeks burned a bright red.

"I am going to kill you," she threatened mildly, standing up so that the height difference wasn't quite so pronounced. "And I bet your mother will agree with my reasoning."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

The pair was leaning so close together that they were practically nose to nose, but, of course, they didn't notice this.

"You've never met my mother," George said with a smirk.

"Doesn't matter." Hope's eyes sparked an identical blue that made his face light up.

"If you two are quite finished with your flirting," Alicia added, giggling when the pair jumped back like they'd been burned. "Hope, Ron, don't you have class?"

"Oh!" The first years made identical noises of surprise and scrambled to collect their things, bidding them a hasty farewell and racing –and limping– off to class, cursing themselves for not keeping track of time.


Hope's bad day started on the thirty-first of October. She didn't much like Halloween for obvious reasons, since it was the day her parents were killed, but Ron made it worse with his big mouth.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."

Hope glared venomously at Ron who looked vaguely startled to be on the receiving end of such a look as Hermione barreled past, tears pouring from her eyes.

"You have no tact whatsoever," Hope told him before moving as fast as she could with her limp after the bushy-haired brunette. This was rather difficult given that Hermione was rather fleet-footed even with a heavy bag of books.

"Hermione! Hermione, wait!" Hope called, almost losing her before finding her as she pushed her way into a lavatory.

Hope sighed as she followed after her rather belatedly. She peered cautiously inside, entering quietly at the sound of sobs coming from the only closed stall.

"Hermione?" she asked gently.

"G-go aw-aw-away!" a voice sobbed from beyond the door, but Hope didn't listen.

"I'm really sorry about what Ron said," Hope told her with an earnest tone that couldn't have been faked.

Hermione said nothing, the only sound that could be heard coming from her was her crying so Hope settled herself on the ground, waiting for Hermione to calm down. It wasn't as though Hope actually had anywhere to go; Charms had been their last class and there was another half an hour until the Halloween Feast.

"Are you still there?" Hermione asked in a small voice after a short while had commenced. Hope couldn't be sure if the feast had started yet or not.

"Still here," Hope said.

"W-Why?" Hermione hiccupped. "You don't even like me!"

Hope scowled in a bit of irritation. "I don't not like you, that would take too much work. I don't like Snape and Malfoy, they've got a category to themselves."

Hermione choked on a small laugh.

"I don't do well at having friends," Hope admitted, "I'm used to being alone, thinking about myself and all…having friends this year is a bit new to me and sometimes I don't really know how to deal with people."

Hermione said nothing, but Hope got the feeling that she was listening intently.

"You're so smart and clever that it's kind of intimidating," Hope told her.

"Sorry," Hermione said meekly.

Hope scoffed slightly. "Why apologize? There's nothing wrong with it, you just threw me through a loop, that's all."

"Oh." Hermione swallowed on the other side of the stall, slightly pleased at how Hope said there was nothing wrong with being so smart.

"I think I just fit in with boys better because I'm so troublesome," Hope said with a shrug, "girls are just crazy, especially the ones at my old school."

The ones at Hermione's school always made fun of her for her teeth and her smarts, always stealing her homework.

"I liked to freak them out by changing the color of my hair every other day," Hope told her. Hermione could hear the grin in her voice. "They were all so scandalized."

A small giggle was released from Hermione's lips and following that was a short stint of silence.

"Did you want to go up to the feast?" Hope asked her.

"I-I think I just want to stay here," Hermione said, her words weak as she waited for Hope to get up and leave. She peered through the crack in the door, but Hope hadn't moved. "Aren't you going?" she asked.

Hope shrugged. "I don't really like celebrating the day my parents were killed," she said wryly.

It was almost easy to forget about Hope's parents when her name was so well-known to the general Wizarding public, but it was just as easy to remember who had to die in order for her to gain the title of Girl-Who-Lived.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said sincerely.

"It was a long time ago," Hope said with a sigh, leaning back so that she could feel the wall through her shirt, "I barely remember it…them…whatever…" Hope twisted the serpent ring on her finger. "So, it looks like we're both going to be here for a bit…I could read you something, if you want."

Hermione blinked her eyes red from crying. She hadn't expected Hope to offer to read to her; it made her wonder what she would read.

"I guess," she said, listening to the sound of Hope rifling through her bag and the sound of parchment being flipping through.

"It began as an idea and slowly grew into something so much more," Hope read. "Broomstick travel is so tedious even to those of us that are in still in our youth. Morea, my love, prefers travel over earth than by air, as it is. Thus, Flashing was born.

Flashing is a name for a new magick I have created which will be used in order to move from one place to another instantaneously. The act of moving from one destination to another will be so fast that it seems as though a flash of light has appeared."

Hermione rather thought what was being described was something similar to what the Muggles liked to call teleportation. Perhaps the book from which Hope was reading was describing the first attempt at such a magic.

"Morea fears I am spending too much time in my study working on this magic, however I believe it is well worth the effort, else I would not risk the wrath of my lovely wife," Hope read, amusement lighting her voice as she read the words on the page. "It, like many magicks is controlled by mere thought. To wish is to be. I can only hope I succeed when I test my theory on the morrow. It would be a shame for my wife to be told her foolish husband twisted himself into nothing before our first anniversary…"


Ron sat alone at the table, sulking as he picked at his chicken, hardly eating anything, his stomach roiling.

"You look like you're going to be sick," a voice commented to his left and Ron looked up as one of his brother's plopped himself into the seat beside him. It was George; he was the kinder of the two.

"Where's Hope?" he added. "Shouldn't she be sitting with you?"

Ron frowned. "I may have said something about Hermione," he admitted.

George arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Something not very nice?"

"Yes," Ron said sullenly.

"So, Hope went to comfort her and left you alone," George guessed. "Sounds like a fair trade, if you ask me."

Ron scowled slightly at his brother, but it wasn't as though he could deny the truth.

"You know when Ginny gets upset when she doesn't get to fly with us," George said, "and you say she can't because she's a girl?"

Ron nodded.

"And then Mum makes you apologize for upsetting her?"

"What're you getting at?" Ron asked.

"I'm saying that it might be best to apologize to the girl," George told him with a rather significant look that Ron was sure he'd picked up from their father.

"I guess it was rather mean," Ron had to concede, making George grin as he ruffled his hair, much to Ron's eternal annoyance, standing to move back towards where Fred and their Quidditch teammates and friends were sitting.

Ron was about to stand to do just that when he was quite distracted by someone, as was the whole Hall.

The distraction came in the form of Professor Quirrell, their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who barreled into the hall, nearly out of breath with a face so white and the turban that he normally wore perfectly straight over his head was nearly loose and almost falling off as he skidded to a stop before the Head Table.

"Troll," he choked out, hysteria evident in his voice, "in the dungeons! Thought you ought to know." And then the professor's eyes rolled back into his head as he fell forward to collapse on the ground, unmoving.

Ron knew very well what a troll was, as most Wizarding children did, given that if you were compared to one it meant that you were thought to be large and stupid, not at all endearing. Surely trolls were too stupid to make it into the castle, though? Weren't there protections against that?

Fear swirled in his stomach as chaos erupted around him, the fear spreading like wildfire across the Hall from the Slytherin table to the Gryffindor table and it took a bit of effort by the Headmaster to regain a semblance of order.

"Prefects," Professor Dumbledore called out into the silence, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Then there was a scramble to comply to his words, resulting in four different Houses trying to leave the Great Hall at the same time, and by the time Ron had forced his way out of the hall Percy's voice had grown distant as he led the first years along with the rest of the House up to the Gryffindor Tower.

And then a thought occurred to him. Professor Quirrell had said that the troll was in the dungeons, and his and Hope's last class of the day had been on the first floor and he'd watched Hope take the first staircase down to the dungeons when she was following after Hermione…

Ron wanted dearly to smack his own forehead with his hand. The two probably had no idea there was even a troll in the dungeons! Oh, what should he do? Ron contemplated briefly before making a sudden decision to follow the first Hufflepuff he saw –remembering what Fred and George had said about the Hufflepuffs common room being in the lower parts of the castle– following them down as far as he dared before ducking into the first empty and dark corridor he could find. He was almost caught by an older Hufflepuff, only managing to evade at the last second.

He knew his way around the castle more now, given that he'd been walking around in it for nearly two months now, and he was almost certain that the girls' lavatory was down the hallway and to the left so he rushed forward, making for the room in question when he was forced to hide behind a suit of armor at the sound of footsteps heading his way.

His first thought was a prefect, but it was Snape, and instead of staying in the dungeons he had taken the first flight up to the third floor, however, Ron didn't have much time to think on this, becoming thoroughly distracted by the horrible stench filling the air that didn't bode well for Hope or Hermione (or even himself).

And that was when he saw it and Ron nearly gagged at the sight of the monstrously tall misshapen grey-skinned creature with a large club held in his hands.

Ron had never seen a troll before, but he was sure that that was exactly how it was supposed to look.

He floundered on what he should do before he was spurned into action upon the realization that the room that the troll had just wandered into was the girls' bathroom.

And then he didn't really have time to think as he ran down the corridor towards the room from which a loud scream had pierced the air.

It didn't take much to guess that the owner of the voice was Hermione Granger.

Why, oh, why did it have to be a troll?


The first thing he noticed when he entered into the room was that the troll had done a lot of destruction in a short amount of time.

Hermione Granger was attempting to make herself as small as possible, looking as though she would keel over any second, her robes covered in dust and ripped by shards of porcelain from the shattered sinks. The troll, on the other hand, wasn't stalling in its lumbering movements towards her.

There was movement from under the broken wooden pile that could have only been from what used to be the bathroom stalls. With difficulty a head of dark hair –though, this didn't mean much as Hope had a habit of changing her hair color more than the average witch was willing to, so Ron thought it was better to memorize her face and voice than anything else– appeared as Hope forced her way halfway out of the pile.

"Distract it!" Hope called over to Ron, fortunately causing the troll to stop, but unfortunately its attention then shifted to Hope who turned as white as a sheet once she realized she was in its gaze.

"Oi, pea-brain!" Ron yelled on the fly, clearly not coming up with a very witty insult as he threw a metal pipe at the troll's shoulder. The troll didn't seem to notice the pipe, though it did hear Ron's voice.

That distraction gave Hope just enough time to pull herself fully out of the rubble to struggle into a standing position and limp badly around the troll to half-drag Hermione from the corner, trying to head for the door, but she was very resistant, staring at the troll in open-mouthed horror. That didn't really help their situation much, if you asked Hope.

"Come on, run!" Hope commanded, tugging harshly on Hermione's arm.

The yells echoing off the tile wall seemed to drive the troll insane as it twisted its head violently, quickening towards Ron, until Hope did something similarly insane: she had released Hermione and done a stumbling run and by some miracle had managed to link her arms around his neck. The downside: she'd accidentally shoved her wand up his nose; she imagined this was rather painful going by how it yelled, moving its body and club in such a way that Hope was sure it was going to be the end of her short life when Ron did something that she later swore she'd kiss him for.

He raised his wand and said: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club lifted from the troll's grip to hover in the air above its head before smashing into the skull of its owner with an ominous and sickening crack. Its eyes rolled up and its whole body collapsed, sending Hope sprawling and coughing, her whole body aching.

It was hard to say who was the most stunned, but Hope was sure she was the most in pain as she struggled to stand. The carnage was a haze of color, blurring together so that Hope had to lean against the wall to remain stable, feeling very much like she'd gone through the wringer.

"Is it-dead?" Hermione asked haltingly as Hope attempted to steady her heartbeat.

"Doubtful," Hope gasped, "more likely it's knocked out."

Ron pulled Hope's wand from its nose making a disgusted sound as he wiped the bogies on the troll's trousers before handing it back to his friend. "Are you alright?"

"Let me catch my breath," Hope said in exhaustion, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, pressing a hand to her heart in an effort to manually slow the frantic beats under her palm –this did little good– and Hope hoped that these incursions into her life weren't going to be constant, she didn't think her heart could handle the stress.

The Fates weren't really working in their favor it seemed, but then, she supposed, they probably had been making quite a racket with their yells and screams (this was including the troll, mind you, who was quite obnoxious with its noise). Somehow, Hope was a bit surprised that the professors hadn't shown up before then. Those moving staircases must not have been very cooperative.

Hope blinked thickly a few times, her vision clearing enough to see that Professor McGonagall was the angriest she had ever seen her, but Hope wasn't too perturbed; they hadn't done anything wrong, really. Hermione and Hope had been minding their own business when the troll had wandered in and Ron was the unsung hero.

"What on earth were you thinking of?!" she demanded, the fury in her voice echoing in the silence so loudly that her tone was nearly a shriek. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

"I was thinking," Hope said suddenly as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, "that if Ron hadn't come looking for Hermione and me, we'd both probably be dead." Her tired eyes were focused rather blearily on the ground, and it was then that she noticed the rip of Snape's robes, barely exposing the obvious bite mark on his leg.

"And why would you and Miss Granger even be here in the first place?" Snape asked snidely, his lip curling into a sneer.

Hope shifted her gaze upwards to glare at the man who had had it out for her since day one. Was he really going to blame this on her and Hermione? "I believe it would be something along the lines of recovering composure, sir." Her voice had grown as cold as it had when she was addressing Malfoy only two days previously. She wondered why Snape flinched at it, though, that was a bit curious by itself.

Ron looked vaguely uncomfortable and he murmured a quick and belated apology to Hermione, who, though still in a bit of shock, was grateful all the same.

Professor McGonagall seemed to have calmed down somewhat, though she appeared to still be heavily annoyed with them. Again, Hope felt the need to mentally point out that they really hadn't done anything wrong, not that their teachers could read her mind...or could they? That would be something interesting to look up. "Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first-years could take on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor House five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

Ron helped Hope into a standing position, and after a quick search found her cane, and the three set off towards the common room. No words were spoken between the three as they stood before the Fat Lady. The awkward silence settled down on them.

"So," Hope said quietly, "is this the part where we hug and make up?"

They both smiled as Hope gave the password and entered the room, following her after a second had passed. By then Hope had already been swept away by one of her Quidditch teammates, Angelina Johnson who was inspecting her face closely. "Ah, hell, what have been doing to yourself? George, keep an eye on her, I'm going to grab some things."

"Got it, Ang!"

Hope's cheeks filled with color as she was suddenly lifted over the older boy's shoulder much like a fire-fighter. "Hey-hey-hey! What're you doing?! Put me down!"

Ron snickered at her predicament and even an amused smile spread across Hermione's face.

"George! Hey! You're not helping!"

Before Ron or Hermione even had time to blink, George had practically chained her to Angelina's vacated armchair.

"Alright, Ron?" Fred called from the couch, glancing quickly over the boy as if searching for injuries, but it seemed that Hope was the one most prone to injuries, and thus, while Ron and Hermione had escaped the troll attack unscathed, Hope looked much like she had gone face first through a window. The cuts to her face were quite extensive, Hermione couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't been sent to the hospital wing, but then, this was Hope she was talking about. The only times where she hadn't gone voluntarily to see Madam Pomfrey occurred when she was forcibly carried there by either of the twins –who were consequently the only ones strong enough to carry her and ignore the derogatory comments spewing from her mouth at the exact same time.

"Fine," Ron said, slumping tiredly into the empty seat beside him. "How does a troll get into Hogwarts, anyways?"

"Well," Hermione spoke, her voice quiet from her encounter with the troll, "there are supposed to be enchantments that protect the entire school, hiding it from prying eyes."

"It's protected by blood wards."

Three pairs of eyes stared her and Fred snorted. George was smushing her cheeks in his hands where she wasn't cut. He seemed to be trying his hardest to annoy her, if you asked Hermione.

"George..." Hope's eyebrow twitched slightly.

He grinned.

She pulled his hands from her face (Hermione noticed George didn't let her hands go, his grip a little tight; he must have been worried about her) and turned her attention on Ron. "Blood warding is one of the oldest forms of magic in the world, the protection they offer is...substantial," she explained as the stares turned on her, a pale, barely noticeable flush dusting her cheeks. "My house has blood wards around it, but they're a bit different. Blood wards are the highest protection you can get; it's why Curse-Breakers have such a hard time breaking into tombs. Only an exceptionally powerful wizard could rip a hole in that kind of barrier."

"So," Fred continued, surprisingly subdued, "someone inside the school let it in, that's what you're saying, isn't it?"

"It does seem very likely," Hope admitted, her eyes locking with Ron's for less than a second, and in that instant, he was sure he'd read her mind.

The Gringotts break-in that had occurred on her birthday was a source of intrigue. Hope had said that the day Hagrid had taken her to Gringotts; he had removed something from a Vault 713, a small package. Whatever it was, it was worth something to someone if they went so far as to attempt to burglarize Gringotts. "Hogwarts business" was what she'd said he called it, so did that mean–? His eyes widened slightly and hers twinkled in return.

It took him a bit, but he was still a bit smarter than the average student. He noticed no one else had been able to theorize as far ahead as Hope, but then, no one had her inquisitive nature.

"Ow!"

Angelina had caught her off guard as she pressed what must have been the magical equivalent of Hydrogen Peroxide against the cuts on her face. "Holy Hell!"

"Oh, stop whining!" Angelina admonished the girl, but grinning all the same. "Don't be such a baby!"

Hope couldn't help but pout, making Ron and Hermione laugh, and they weren't the only ones.


The first thing that Hermione had learned about Hope Potter was that she was very easy-going. She was very amicable with her Quidditch mates, some on the level of how she spoke with her or Ron. Ron's brothers in particular, she'd noticed quite early on. The gentle teasing that occurred between her and Fred and George was a bit surprising; she hadn't thought they'd be people she would be friends with.

Hermione could tell when they were off on a prank, because Hope ran point, distracting Percy by picking his brain about the limitations of the metal a needle could transform into, or perhaps even why plants that were considered muggle weren't used in potions? They were really good questions (things that Hermione was curious about as well), and somehow the prefect didn't see through her misdirection because of how honest her face was.

The second thing that Hermione noticed was that Hope went up to the Hospital Wing every week to see Madam Pomfrey so that the older woman could make sure that her leg was healing up properly and that Hope wasn't overstressing the still-recovering muscle. Hermione hadn't noticed before how sometimes Hope would wince when she walked in a certain way.

But nothing got past Madam Pomfrey who seemed to know instantly when Hope had been walking around too much.

And this time Hermione joined Hope and Ron in the Hospital Wing, watching in slight apprehension as Madame Pomfrey tapped her new friend's leg in several places, the wand tip glowing slightly, illuminating her bare skin strangely. The scar on her leg -the bit that she could see, as she knew there were more further up- was a bit on the obvious side, with a jagged dark pink line marring across the front of her shin, but when Hermione blinked, she thought it looked a bit smaller and less cringe-worthy. Madame Pomfrey winked surreptitiously to Hermione, noticing how she had seen what she had done, before falling into a focused mask.

"Alright, now I want you to stand on your leg for as long as possible," Madame Pomfrey said, wanting to see if there was a change since the last time Hope had come in, to the girl who wrinkled her nose in distaste, but stood all the same, balancing with difficulty on her damaged leg. Ron held onto her cloak –since it was made of a heavier material than her uniform– and bag for her, being surprisingly patient.

It seemed her initial assessment of the youngest Weasley wasn't quite correct, but that didn't surprise Hermione, as Ron had been friends with Hope since they shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express on September first.

The seconds ticked by slowly as Hope's countenance faltered and exhaustion lined her fair face, clearly not much liking this exercise. Hermione hadn't even realized she was holding her breath until her chest began to hurt.

"I've got this," Hope grumbled to herself, probably not wanting Hermione or Ron to hear, so they pretended they hadn't, before pitching forward rather suddenly so that Hermione and Ron had to grab her elbows to keep her from face-planting into the floor. "Okay, maybe not," she admitted once they'd hoisted her back onto the infirmary bed, slightly breathless.

"Not quite, Miss Potter," Madame Pomfrey informed her with a curt voice that was similar to Professor McGonagall's in several ways, "but you are making much progress, faster than I could have ever imagined, perhaps by the end of next year you will be completely healed, if you're lucky."

"I can be very lucky," Hope said optimistically, her grin hopeful, her eyes bright.

Ron tried his best not to snort, but it came out strangled; Hope already had the worst luck than anyone he'd ever met. He doubted she would be lucky in this regard, but he wasn't going to say that to her face.

Though it didn't matter much, as Hope shot him a filthy look, interpreting the hidden snort accurately, looping her bag over her shoulder and stalking weakly out of the hospital doors to ram right into another body, sending her tumbling backwards gripped her face and groaning from the contact. "Aw, dammit, Weasley!"

Fred laughed from where he and George and Lee happened to have been passing on their way to class (or skipping, you could never really be sure with those three).

"It's not my fault you fall over yourself whenever I'm around," he replied with a grin that made his brother roll his eyes and friend snigger behind him. Though, if you asked Hermione, George looked slightly more annoyed.

"Oh, really?" Hope replied, arching an eyebrow, faintly amused at his antics, as she always was concerning the Pranksters of Hogwarts. "That's some delusion you're having, Fred."

"How'd you know I was Fred?" the twin asked in surprise; even their mother got it wrong sometimes, but Hope was on a roll, no slip ups yet.

Hope's eyes twinkled as she grinned up at him. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

George gaped at her. "How d'you know about that?"

Now all three first years were staring at them oddly. "Know about what?" they all asked with varying degrees of skepticism and confusion.

"Oh, er, nothing!" Fred said quickly, waving his hands frantically.

"Gotta run!" George added just as feverishly.

"Forget about that," Lee added.

And then the two twins dragged Lee away and beat a hasty retreat, leaving three pairs of eyes blinking in confusion.

"Are they always that odd?" Hermione voiced after a few moments.

"Pretty much," Ron said tiredly, "though they seem to have taken Hope as a personal challenge."

She rolled her eyes at them. "Oh, don't worry, they just appreciate my tenacity for trouble."

"I don't think that's a good thing," Hermione said slowly, but Ron just laughed and shook his head.

"Just go with it. She's not going to change anytime soon," he advised. "Hey, Hope! Wait up!"

"Time and tide wait for no woman, er, or man!" Hope called over her shoulder. "And neither does our next class!" She added with a quick glance to her watch.

"Oh!" Hermione quickened her pace to catch up them, determined not to lose her friends so soon after gaining them.


"I think I'd prefer a staff."

"I'd still fancy a wand."

Professor Filius Flitwick had heard many a strange conversation during his tenure as Charms professor at Hogwarts, but this topic was one he was certain he had never come across; whether a staff was better to use for spellwork or a wand was.

And it was even stranger when one knew that this was a first-year class and a conversation between Hope Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.

"Merlin had a staff," Hermione offered helpfully.

"Yeah, but where're you going to stuff it when you're not using it?" Ron demanded, his forehead creasing slightly as he raised his wand, incanting the spell that they had been learning in class. "Lumos!"

The tip of his wand lit briefly before the light stuttered and faded. Ron, predictably, scowled at the wand that had once belonged to his brother.

"You'd just shrink it and shove it in your pocket," Hope replied, rather unconcerned as she tried her hand at the spell, only to have her own light flicker out as her attention wavered and she caught sight of her short-statured professor. "Professor Flitwick! Can you help us?"

"Having trouble with your charm, Miss Potter?" Professor Flitwick asked, bouncing forward on his feet.

"We were wondering if it's better to use a magic staff or a magic wand," Hermione said, leaning around Hope to ask the question.

"Hm," the small professor hummed thoughtfully. "I can't quite be certain."

Ron and Hope groaned, clearly the two opposing sides of the argument, whilst Hermione seemed to be the voice of reason.

"It is true that staffs fell out of favor in the twelfth century," he continued, gaining their interest once more, "and there is some debate as to whether the wand is truly stronger than the staff, but I'm sure you'd find that it is the caster of spells that makes all the difference."

"Cool," Hope said, before her eyes drifted towards the wall and she raised a hand to her mouth in surprise. "Oops…"

Professor Flitwick turned around to stare. Hope hadn't quite been paying attention where her wand was pointing as he had explained this and had caused what appeared to be a poplar tree to sprout from the floor, its white branches spreading outwards.

The Charms professor turned back to Hope whose face had enflamed, turning her hair a bright ginger.

"Sorry," she said apologetically as Ron sniggered beside her and Hermione attempted to silence her own giggles.

"Perhaps it would be best to be wary of where you are pointing your wand, Miss Potter," Professor Flitwick suggested.

"Yes, sir," Hope said a bit meekly.

He turned away, causing the poplar tree to vanish with a wave of his wand, causing a chatter from his students.

"Back to your spells," he said, "anyone who doesn't manage to light their wand once will have to write a three foot easy on the benefits of such a spell."

There was a scramble by his students to light their wands before the end of class five minutes later.

"Alright, forget about the whole staff-wand thing," Hope said with a careless wave of her hand, a bright smile worming its way onto her lips as she grinned at her friends. "You won't believe what I found last night!"

"When you snuck out of the dormitory again?" Hermione asked, straightening her bag over her shoulders as they walked through the corridor, keeping their voices slightly low so others would have to try a bit harder to be heard.

"I regret nothing," Hope said, her nose high in the air before grinning once more, "don't you want to hear about what I found?"

"Is it a secret room?" Ron asked, screwing up his face slightly in thought.

"No," Hope told him, "it was a talking suit of armor!"

"But none of the suits of armor can talk!" Hermione said, aghast.

"This one can," Hope said, "and he can tell riddles! C'mon, I'll show you!" Hope grabbed Hermione's wrist and began dragging her through the left fork and Hermione grabbed Ron's elbow so he wouldn't be left behind (though the chances of that were rather low, especially when one considered how slow she was with that limp of hers).

They didn't travel very far before stopping in front of the first suit of armor that Hermione and Ron had seen in the hall.

"Sir Michael Richmond," Hope introduced, waving a hand towards the armor, "Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley."

"A pleasure," the words were spoken in a rustic tongue and both Ron and Hermione jumped.

"Bloody hell!" Ron said.

"Not quite," the armor said, clearly amused by his reaction, "if only you'd been in my presence during a full moon."

Hermione goggled and Ron took a step back. "You're a werewolf!"

"Was," Hope corrected, "you can't really transform without a body…isn't that right, Michael?"

"Indeed, Milady," the armor said. "Did you return for another bout of riddles?"

"Maybe," Hope wheedled.

"What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, and never in a thousand years?"

"The letter M," Ron piped up, moving forward cautiously.

"What fastens two people, yet touches only one?"

"A wedding ring," Hermione said, knowing that one from a book she'd once read.

"When one does not know what it is, then it is something; but when one knows what it is, then it is nothing," the suit of armor said.

Hope frowned, opened her mouth briefly, but then shut it just as quickly. "I don't know this one."

"It is a riddle," the armor informed her.

"How typical," Hope said dryly, before turning back to her two friends. "Cool, huh? When can you actually have a conversation with a suit of armor?"

Ron and Hermione had to concede to her there, though Ron thought it was a little strange that the armor had called her 'milady' (even if she was the heir to a Noble and Most Ancient House). Perhaps he was familiar with her family?

But Ron didn't have the chance to ask her before they headed out towards Great Hall for dinner.


"I've got this, Oliver, thanks," Hope told the older boy with a bit of a dry tone.

Oliver Wood was the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team as Hope had learned last week after she had been dragged away from flying lessons by Professor McGonagall. He was a fifth year and built more strongly than Hope could ever dream of being.

"Make sure you get some extra sleep tonight," he was warning her.

"Yeah, yeah," Hope said, barely managing to resist yawning in front of him as he disappeared up the stairs that led up to the boys' dormitory.

"He is such a worrywart!" she complained flopping back onto the couch, pulling her potions essay towards once more. She was halfway done, Hermione was nearly finished beside her, but Ron had barely started his and he was already dozing in the armchair.

"I suppose it's because it's your first game?" Hermione suggested; sports weren't really her forte.

Hope grumbled under her breath, releasing a short swear when a ginger head seemed to pop out of nowhere; Hermione glared at her.

"George!" she growled in near-aggravation as his antics had nearly upended her inkwell and would have consequently ruined the essay she had worked so hard on. "You complete and utter—"

"Handsome prat?" George offered with a wide grin.

"I dunno whatever gave you that delusion," Hope told him stoutly and Hermione hid her giggles behind her book. "I'm busy, you know, unless you know the best way to cut a sopophorous bean…"

"No, you're doing it wrong, you've got to crush it with the flat side of the blade."

"Eh?" Hope gaped at him, startled that he was actually offering some help. "But it says cut!" she said, stabbing a finger at her potions book before shoving it under his nose.

Hermione generally didn't pay attention much to the banter (though she would more closely relate it to flirting, but she opted to not say anything) that was common place between Hope Potter and George Weasley, but since this one was about a school subject, she listened in.

"Well, I'm telling you to crush it," George responded in amusement, propping his elbow on the back of the couch and leaning his cheek into his fist surveying the person that brought his cheekiness and joking nature to the surface in every conversation they held. "More juice comes out if you crush it."

"You're having me on," Hope decided.

"Would I lie?"

That comment earned him a rather unconvinced look in return. "Do you want an honest answer to that?" she drawled out.

George rolled his eyes. "You got your potions supplies?" he asked a brief second before riffling through her bag to pull out her silver blade and two sopophorous beans. "Alright, cutting..." He showed her a difficult time of cutting the bean which released only a small amount of juice, before crushing the second one, releasing a great deal more juice.

"Amazing!" Hermione breathed in surprise, scrawling it into the margin of her potion's revision (having completed the essay while Hope and George were talking).

"And you came up with this all by yourself, did you?" Hope asked the third-year dubiously, canting an eyebrow at him.

"Potter, must you wound me so?" George asked her in a dramatic manner. "You know I never do anything alone! I've got the other half of my soul!" Fred, who must have been half-listening to their conversation from where he was sitting across the common room with Lee, Angelina, and Alicia winked at her unamused stare.

"Of course, you do," Hope sighed, rubbing at her eyes to keep the sleep at bay as she turned her eyes back to the paper before her. "You're not going to go away, are you?" she said after a moment.

"You're catching on, Potter," George said with a grin.

"Or maybe you're just predictable," Hope fired back.

Hermione just sat back and watched, brown eyes flicking from one to the other; it was like watching a tennis match. She didn't think she'd seen anyone act the way those two did, and she still wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

If you asked her, George had a bit of a crush on Hope who would've had the same on George if she wasn't in such a muddle of confusion about her feelings.


Hope did not sleep well that night, as it was on the eve of her first Quidditch match, and her worries were clinging to her heart with razor sharp claws and grip that could not be shaken free. What if she didn't catch the snitch? What if she disappointed her team? What if she disappointed Professor McGonagall? What if… What if… There were so many different fears fluttering inside of her.

And then there was something else entirely bothering her, and it had nothing to do with the Quidditch match that would soon be taking place.

"Look beyond."

Those words echoed in her ears like a dull bell that tolled for hours on end. She didn't understand them at all. She hated not understanding things.

"Analyze yourself, Miss Potter, look beyond the shell and gaze within to who you truly are." Those were the words of the Sorting Hat, but she had a feeling that they weren't his. She opened her eyes, moving so that she was flat on her back on the bed, staring above her with a blank expression, before twisting on the mattress as if searching for the perfect spot to lie, but there wasn't one.

Look beyond…did it mean to see past disguises? Or perhaps to not take things for granted? Even her speculations sounded weak and feeble in her mind, and what was that jibe about her grandfather, anyways?

"Your grandfather may not be pleased, Miss Potter, but I will be sending you to…GRYFFINDOR!"

Hope's cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's, filled with air that she expelled silently in the quiet.

Finally, she couldn't stand it, and she threw her covers from her body and limped painfully down the stairs to the common room. She was a little surprised to find that it wasn't completely empty.

Neville Longbottom had found himself plagued by persisting nightmares, and, feeling trapped in his dorm, had made his way down the stairs to sit on the window seat. The peace and quiet seemed deafening; he couldn't stand it about as much as he couldn't stand his nightmares. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he jumped rather wildly when a soft voice said, "Do you mind if I sit?"

"Sorry," Hope apologized, when he twisted violently towards her, "I didn't mean to scare you." Her lips twitched slightly.

It was strange to see the Girl-Who-Lived out of the school uniform, that was the first thing he thought. Rather unlike him, her pajamas were mismatched with loose blue checkered bottoms that were so long they dragged on the floor and ratty shirt that hung loosely on her frame. The moonlight crossed her face, painting her hair with stardust and her cheeks with a silver blush.

It was equally strange to see her alone, but this could hardly be surprising, considering how late it was. Still, it was rare to see her out of the company of Ron or Hermione (the trio was practically inseparable these days) or the Weasley Twins who had taken a keen interest in her soon after she had arrived. Neville had opted to stay out of the betting pool concerning her and George.

He wouldn't have imagined that she was the type of person that would be awake at odd hours of the night or even be someone that would talk to him.

"Er…it's fine," he said a bit breathlessly from his embarrassment, "yeah, sit…I mean, if you want to."

Her smile was a bit on the indulgent side, it reminded him a little of his Gran.

"Nightmare or can't sleep?" she inquired, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. The lightning bolt scar on her forehead seemed to gleam in the darkness, clear as day against her forehead.

"Nightmare," he admitted.

Hope nodded in understanding. "I am no stranger to those." Neville felt grateful that she didn't ask him what it was about.

"You're Frank and Alice Longbottom's son, aren't you?" she asked, feeling like she already knew the answer but she thought it was best to ask anyways.

Neville's whole body went cold and his heart dropped into his stomach as his head flashed up, his eyes meeting hers. Her eyes were dark and somber.

She had never been in the situation he had, but she too had grown up without a parent's guiding hand, and he'd heard stories about the muggle family she'd been raised by –her mother's sister's family, he was sure–, like how her cousin had pushed her in front of a car (he didn't know what that was, but from Dean, he'd gathered that it was an object that could move at fast speeds) and caused her leg to be the way it was. He wasn't sure who between the two of them got the worst deal.

"I read about the Lestrange Trial in the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts," Hope said quietly. "I'm sorry about what happened to your parents."

Neville had never heard someone sound so completely downtrodden concerning his parents.

"Alice was my godmother, did you know that?" she asked out of the blue. "I only just found out when I was at Gringotts a few months back, they told me what happened to her and her husband."

Neville didn't say anything to that. What could he?

"Do you visit them often?" she asked.

"Every Christmas," he said, equally as quietly.

"Would you…" her voice faded slightly as her indecision, before it faintly revived, "next time you see them, would you tell them that I say hi?"

Tears pricked Neville's eyes as she asked that question.

"Why?"

"Why not?" Hope asked unperturbed, making Neville stare at her. It was times like these that he had to remind himself that Hope had been raised by muggles and as such viewed the world a bit differently.

"They…" His throat closed up, and he couldn't seem to force the words from his mouth.

"They won't understand?" Hope guessed in a wane manner. "Maybe they do, maybe they don't, but it's the thought that counts, Neville. What if they can hear and can understand but just can't speak or move in the correct way? Wouldn't you like to tell them things, anyways?"

Neville bit the inside of his mouth, but she wasn't wrong. Maybe he would try talking more next time, they might like that.

"Goodnight, Neville."

"G-goodnight!" he called after her quickly, watching as she used the furniture to help her to the stairway that led to the girl's dorms. "Good luck tomorrow!"

She just waved a casual hand airily, disappearing upstairs and leaving Neville to his thoughts.


The next morning Hope was a bundle of nerves and her hair had turned the color of snow, her eyes becoming impossibly black.

In short, Ron thought, she looked like a mere gust of wind would blow her over, which sounded a bit appropriate description, given that she would be taking to the air soon.

"Hope," Hermione said gently, tapping a nail lightly against the wood table. "Have you eaten anything?" She knew that she hadn't, but she asked anyways, more to get Hope to talk than anything else.

"I don't want anything," Hope said, her fork pushing the eggs around on her plate.

"Just a bit of toast," Hermione suggested.

"I'm not hungry," Hope said, dropping her fork onto the plate with disinterest.

"You'd probably just puke it up on the pitch," Ron added, earning him a glare from Hermione. "What? It'll probably happen!"

His words did nothing to calm her nerves and Hope's grip on her new broom tightened. It was the newest model, a Nimbus Two-Thousand that had been given to her by Professor McGonagall upon her making the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, but Hope had never played on it during an actual match. What if she screwed up?

The beaded strand of her hair (today red and blue for some strange reason) swung back and forth like a pendulum.

It seemed like an age had passed before Fred said, "We should probably head out," and Hope, following her teammates, filed out of the room with Hope moving at a much more leisure pace than her companions.

The only thing she could hear was the blood rushing past her ears.

"Nervous?" an all-too-familiar voice asked and Hope didn't even need to glance up to know that it was George.

"No," she said automatically, to which he simply raised his eyebrow at her.

"Maybe a little," she conceded.

The other eyebrow arched.

"Fine, a lot," Hope sulked slightly at being caught out.

"Don't worry," he said bracingly, "everyone gets nervous."

Hope released a choked laugh. "Did you?"

"My first game? Definitely," George said, wrinkling his nose slightly. "I don't remember much of it."

"Why's that?" Hope asked with curiosity.

"I mistimed with my bat and completely missed the Bludger," George admitted, "got myself knocked out of the air and was out in seconds."

This did not help Hope in calming herself down. She paled and looked away from him.

"On the upside," he continued, "I never made that mistake again."

He winked at her and a faint flush appeared on her cheeks. "Just stay out of trouble and you'll be fine."

She threw him an unimpressed look. "Sorry, I've gone these past three months thinking whenever people talk about 'Trouble' they were talking about you."

"Touché," he said in reply as the three Chasers and one Beater in front of them tried very hard not to laugh so that they wouldn't give away that they were listening, but it didn't really work very for them and Hope settled on glaring daggers at their backs.

But they still sped up their walk until they were in the changing rooms of the Quidditch Pitch and Hope was very nearly left behind, much to Hope's irritation.

When they were all settled in the locker room, Oliver began his pep talk for the game, which Hope had been well aware of weeks in advance as her teammates had seen fit to inform her of it on several separate occasions as well as including the warning of "try not to fall asleep when he's in the middle of it, it really irritates him."

Hope wasn't the only one who looked tired, though. Katie Bell, the Chaser that was a year behind Angelina and Alicia was rubbing furiously at her eyes while the two other girls blinked dazedly and the Weasley twins looked on, staring slightly blankly.

Hope was almost certain they would come around once Oliver started talking or once they had to head out onto the field.

It seemed as though a certain length of time had passed before Oliver even began his speech and Hope swore that she almost fell asleep right there, only to snap to attention at the sound of his voice.

"Okay, men," he started.

"And women," Angelina felt the need to interject.

"And women," Oliver had to agree. "This is it."

"The big one," Fred added cheerfully.

"The one we've all been waiting for," George added in a similar manner.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred informed the green-eyed girl who tried hard to contain her sniggers but failed, so she opted to hide them behind her hand.

"Shut up, you two," Oliver said in a weary voice that clearly said he had spent far too much time trying to rein the twins in than doing anything else during Quidditch practices. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

The way he was glaring at them was enough to threaten bodily harm if they lost which Hope was almost certain he might do if such an occurrence came into play.

"Right," Oliver said, practically vibrating with excitement (about as much as Hope's heart was throbbing in her chest). "It's time. Good luck, all of you." He gave Hope a rather significant look that did not help Hope as she dropped her cane to the ground and looped her broom over her shoulders, and expelling a long breath, a bit more of the blonde colour coming back to her hair so that it didn't look nearly as much like it was off-white.

And then she took a step out into the bright sunlight after Fred and George. At first, all she could hear was the sound of cheering that echoed around the pitch from all sides, but when Hope squinted her eyes, the world around her cleared and she could make everything out as her eyes adjusted to the brightness.

The fourteen players circled around Madam Hooch and Hope found herself opposite the Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs. Oliver had said that the Seeker was a pretty decent player –as opposed to the rest of his teammates–, typically playing by the rules more often than not, but he was also very good.

Both Seekers narrowed their eyes at each other, sizing one another up. Hope imagined she didn't look like much, but obviously smaller packages packed a bigger punch.

"Mount your brooms, please," Madam Hooch called out and the fourteen players did as asked and only after they had done so did she release a short and loud whistle that began the game as all the players kicked off of the ground and the balls were released.

The next few minutes passed in a blur to her, but this mostly had to do with the fact that Hope was feverishly searching for a golden ball the size of a walnut, the Golden Snitch.

Even so, she had to say that she liked the Potter for President sheet that was fluttering in the wind; she was going to have to thank Dean later for that; it was really a well-painted image of a lion, and Hermione's spell –it must have been– made it even better. The best part, she had to admit, though, was Lee's commentary. He never failed to make her laugh, much like his friends.

"Looks like Hope Potter doesn't have much to do but duck those nasty Bludgers! You lads be jealous –she winked at me this morning!" Laughter bubbled from her lips at that. She had almost been expecting this kind of behavior after how he'd been buttering up to each of the Chasers since the game had begun.

"JORDAN!" Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall didn't seem to appreciate it as much as Hope or many of the other Houses who clearly thought the dark-skinned Gryffindor was hilarious, if the loud laughter was any indicator.

"Sorry, Professor," Lee apologized swiftly, not meaning it in the slightest, "just telling it like it is!"

Hope rolled her eyes in midair, before swiftly dodging a well-placed Bludger, luckily Fred was around to wing it in the opposite direction, aiming the furiously rocketing ball in the direction of Marcus Flint, though Hope wasn't sure if it made contact with the Slytherin.

"Alright there, Hope?" he called over the wind.

Hope opened her mouth to say something in reply when a Quaffle hit her hard in her chest. It wasn't hard enough to break bones or knock her out of the air, but enough that she noticeably had the wind knocked out of her and had to cling to the shaft of her broom in order to stay on.

"A cruel barrage of a Bludger and Quaffle nearly unseats the Gryffindor Seeker, but, wait, was that the Snitch?"

The Quaffle, though it had recently been thrown by Slytherin, was back in Slytherin's possession once more, only to be dropped at Lee's exclamation.

Hope's eyes quickly scanned the surrounding area, catching it in the corner of her eye. A beaming grin spread across her face as she directed her broom downwards, bumping her shoulders into Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs in an aggressive movement. She probably could've –and would've– done more if the keeper hadn't blocked her, sending her spinning off course, forcing her to lay flat against her broom. After it had stabilized, she noticed –to her annoyance– that the Snitch had disappeared once more.

"Figures," she grumbled under her breath, adding in a few choice swear words that would've had Petunia washing out her mouth with lye, and would've earning her a glare from Hermione and a laugh from Ron.

"So-after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"

"Jordan!"

"I mean after that open and revolting foul—"

"Jordan, I'm warning you—"

"Alright, alright," Lee conceded. "Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone I'm sure –but don't be too surprised if he gets subjected to a public prank– so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play. Gryffindor still in possession—"

The next Bludger grazed the side of her head, burning over her hair and telling her just how close it came to hitting her by doing so. Once it had passed, though, she pointed the broom to the west, intending to start up her search for the Snitch there, when her broom gave a frightening lurch, moving against her will.

Her heart rate increased with terror –she was a hundred feet or so above the ground!– and her fingers went numb from how tightly she was holding onto the broomstick now. Every time she tried to turn it in any direction, it bucked more dangerously than the last, then it started to roll, jerking to the side in a last ditch effort that finally unseated her –causing her to release a short cry of alarm–, leaving her dangling from it with only her two hands.

The terror was truly gripping her now like an ice-cold fist around her heart as Fred and George flew close, trying to pull her onto their brooms, but the broom shot upwards every time they tried. The broom swung her to and fro when she tried to loop her leg over the side, forcing her back to where she was dangling precariously in midair.

Her fingers were slipping and had no way to get herself back onto the broom. What was she going to do?

Hope pried her eyes open to see Higgs racing after the Snitch that was steadily making its way towards her. What luck, just what she needed to make this day perfect.

"George?" Her voice was still shaking.

"Still here," the red-head said helpfully from where he was hovering, not completely below her, Fred having disappeared soon after to ward off some Bludgers from the Chasers, leaving Hope to his twin.

"I'm going to do something incredibly stupid," she said, her voice wavering in her fear, "will you catch me?"

Green eyes locked with blue. In that instant, he said one word that made Hope want to kiss him right in front of the whole school, something she would later deny fervently.

"Always." Her breath caught and her heart stuttered briefly and she swallowed hard.

Hope gritted her teeth, swinging precariously on her broom, gaining enough momentum to drop down from her broom to his and into his arms, missing Higgs as he flew past by inches. The raucous cheer that enveloped the stadium told her that she had succeeded. And then she choked.

"Hope?" George looked faintly alarmed as she hacked into her hand, until the alarm turned to shock once the tiny golden ball fell into her hand.

"A remarkable catch by Beater Weasley, and a remarkable catch of the Snitch by Seeker Potter! Gryffindor wins!"

"You are unbelievable," George informed her as he directed his broom down until she could jump lightly off it. "People'll be talking about that catch for years—"

He blinked in surprise when she leaned forward and upwards, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek suddenly, her cheeks pink.

"Yours was far more impressive," she informed him with a light laugh, before the crowd of gold and red swarmed around her, the cheering deafening her as Hermione and Ron pulled her into a very welcome hug. Despite their happiness, Hope could see that Ron's face was a bit pale –his freckles were standing out in contrast with the pallor– and Hermione had nail marks indented in her cheeks from clutching them in fear.

"Don't ever do that again!" Hermione told her feverishly, only serving to make Hope laugh.

She could see Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall in the distance, pulling her broom down from where it was still hovering a good hundred feet above the ground, but she didn't think too much of it as she was whisked away for a cup of tea with Hagrid as a congratulations for beating Slytherin.

Ron had to admit there was an obvious difference between the morning and now, since she had gone from pale and scared to bright-cheeked and beaming (her hair returned to its usual dark red) as she retold the tale to Hagrid from her point of view.

"Though," she added after she had finished her tale, "I wonder why my broom was acting like that...the only time I've had it out has been at practice and after that it was locked in my trunk..."

"That was Snape's fault," Ron explained to her befuddled look, gesturing to himself and Hermione, "we saw him. He was cursing your broom!"

"Rubbish," Hagrid refuted as Hope frowned thoughtfully, her eyes growing distant, "Why would he?"

"Dunno," Hope said slowly, glancing over at her friends, "but he did try to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween, so you have to wonder if he's plausibly sane—"

This subject had been discussed between the three at length when Ron had told the girls that he had seen the Potions Professor heading up to the third floor on Halloween and when Hope had told the other two about the wound he had sustained to his leg for his efforts that night. Needless to say, it didn't put the professor in a good light.

Hagrid made a racket dropping the teapot, smashing the ceramic and tea into the carpet as Hermione smiled and Ron sniggered at Hope's choice of words. "How do you know about Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?!" Three voices chorused with varying degrees of disbelief (Ron), shock (Hermione), and incredulity (Hope).

"Yeah, he's mine, from a Greek chappie," Hagrid said in a nonchalant manner. "I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"

"Oh?" Hope asked, arching her eyebrows, her voice filled with curiosity.

"That's top secret!" he growled at their eager faces.

"And if Snape steals it?" Hope prompted, her face placid as he glared.

"Rubbish! Snape's a Hogwarts teacher!"

"Then why was he spelling Hope's broom to toss her off; she could have died falling from that height!" Hermione cried.

"Whatever yer thinkin', it ain't that," Hagrid refuted with a scowl, "Snape wouldn't do anythin' teh Hope's broom, that was somethin' else. Forget about it, meddlin' in this stuff's dangerous. Forget about that dog and what it's guardin'! That's strictly between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—"

"Nicolas Flamel?"

The trio beat a rather hasty retreat after Hagrid revealed that little piece of information, because it was hard to tell if he was angrier at them or himself.

"Who's Nicholas Flamel?" Ron asked when they were nearly back to the castle.

"I'm sure I've read it somewhere," Hope said, screwing up her face with thought, "I just can't remember where…"

"I've never heard of him," Hermione admitted, vaguely surprised that Hope knew something that she didn't.

Two pairs of eyes looked upon her in surprise. "Really?"

She gave them both a rather direct look that told them she wasn't amused by them in the slightest. "Well, I don't know everything," she sniffed.

"Just most things?" Ron asked innocently and Hermione glared while Hope burst into sniggers.

"Oh, shut up," she told him. "We should head up to the library and start researching."

Ron couldn't hide his groan. "The library?" he bemoaned, his words almost coming out as a whine. "Can't it wait? Gryffindor just won against the Slytherins for the first time in years! Can't we just take a day and celebrate?"

Hermione and Hope shared a look of amusement at how put-out their friend was at the idea of spending a prolonged amount of time in the library. It was safe to say that he didn't like it nearly as much as his friends did.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to wait a day," Hope decided with a faux-mournful sigh. "And I was so looking forward to picking up a new book on Ancient Magicks!"

"Blooming mental," Ron muttered under his breath as they moved off in the direction of the castle.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Hermione pulled out the two rings that Hope had entrusted to her before the match and Hope blinked and looked down at her empty hands.

She had forgotten that she'd given Hermione her rings for safe keeping.

"Oh, right," Hope said as they walked through the stone courtyard, accepting her rings. "The things that slip your mind, huh?" She returned the black opal ring to her thumb and Hermione and Ron could've sworn that the snake ring tightened around her ring finger like the coils of a snake (which made a lot of sense, given what the ring was shaped like).

"So…did you really light Snape on fire?" Hope asked with mirth, causing Ron to laugh and Hermione to pale as she glanced around.

"Shh!" she insisted. "Don't say that so loud! I could be expelled!"

"And that's the worst that could happen," Ron snorted, "you know, after dying."

Hermione's cheeks flushed with heat as she glared at Ron. She'd said something similar the night Hope, Ron, Neville, and Hermione had gotten dragged into a midnight duel by Malfoy. "Oh, shut up!"

Hope sniggered as she watched her two friends argue back and forth; she would be lying if she said that it wasn't amusing.

But then she caught a pale green eye before it vanished into shadow and she paused searching for it.

"Hope, what's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"I thought I saw," Hope started to say, before saying, "never mind, it was probably nothing."

And she caught up with her friends, heading towards the Gryffindor common room, where, undoubtedly, a loud party was taking place.


Albus Dumbledore wasn't quite sure what to think of the only daughter of Lily and James Potter, and subsequently, the Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter. She was quite…enigmatic.

She was exceptionally minded, much like Lily in that aspect, and appearance-wise as well; the likeness was so uncanny, he could have sworn Lily Evans had survived that night in 1981 and de-aged herself. She excelled in Charms and Transfiguration, a perfect blend of her parents, though she lacked a bit in Potion. Despite that, she had a way to subtly insult people that usually ended with her serving several detentions a week with Severus for the witty tongue she had inherited from her mother.

He watched her interact with the Weasley Twins and their younger brother, Ronald, as well as the young Hermione Granger. He'd seen how the smile melted through her facade, how her eyes would light up and shift very much like young Nymphadora Tonks' would. George in particular paid close attention to her. It was much like watching James and Lily all over again, except that Hope did not despise George like Lily had James. Times like those brought a smile to his aged and worn face.

But Albus Dumbledore was also one for over-thinking situations and people, and even underestimating them, with Gellert Grindelwald and Lord Voldemort being the most prime examples. He had many regrets about how he handled those two situations.

And because of this thinking, Dumbledore could also view her as something akin to dangerous, for she reminded him of another student he had once had, though he had been in Slytherin, he had been as driven and as intelligently minded as she was, and that was worrisome.

When she had sat on the stool to be sorted, Dumbledore had been expecting her to be sorted immediately into Gryffindor as her parents had been and had been quite surprised when it had taken the Sorting Hat so long to decide where to put her. This made him think that she was wavering between two Houses, Gryffindor and Slytherin.

It made him wonder for a moment if she actually belonged in Gryffindor House, but only time would tell and soon he would see if she would be the girl he had hoped she would be when she arrived at Hogwarts.


"There's something very wrong with Binns," Hope decided one day, scrutinizing the many ghosts that haunted Hogwarts.

It was the nicest day they'd had in weeks, since the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, despite it being already half-way through December, which was why a great deal of the Hogwarts occupants were curiously absent. Including the twins and Lee Jordan, who were off playing a less competitive form of Quidditch. Hope was envious, but she had refused apologetically when they had asked her to join them, opting to remain in the Great Hall and wait patiently for Hermione and Ron to finish their homework.

She was actually a bit astounded that Hermione of all people had fallen behind in school work, because even Hope, who had Quidditch practice three times a week, was ahead in her studies.

Currently, she was flipping through her muggle playing cards –the first thing she'd ever bought, if how worn and frayed they were was an indicator–, playing her fourth game of Patience. She wasn't very good at it, but her only opponent was herself and when she was younger, that had a lot of appeal. She flipped over the card on top of her "excess" deck; Three of Hearts. She moved it to the pile that ended with a Four of Spades. She had said those six words out of sheer boredom, but they were completely true.

"Yeah?" Ron grunted. His fingers were spattered with ink, smudging his essay a little. It was supposed to be on the uses of the levitation charm, but he was quickly running out of reasons (and Professor Flitwick had pulled him aside to say that he couldn't use knocking out a troll as one of them).

"All his lectures are portraying goblins as vicious creatures," Hope said in a voice that made it seem like Ron was agreeing with her, "which seems a bit biased, since I've never met a particularly vicious goblin?"

"Have you met a lot of goblins?" Hermione asked, glancing up from her Herbology paper to glance over at her friend. That thought made her lips twitch at the corners. Having friends was still a new concept for her, but she liked it, and it was never boring when you were best mates with Hope Potter and Ron Weasley.

"Well, no," Hope admitted, realizing her whole argument was a bit flimsy, with rather large gaping holes in it, "but Ragnok and Griphook weren't like that when I met them. Granted, they weren't technically pleasant, but-"

Ron was staring at her like he had never done before (though, Hermione was sure she'd seen that same slack jawed expression on George's face one time or another). "You're on speaking terms with goblins?"

Hope shrugged her shoulders, placing a King of Diamonds onto the empty space between two piles. "It wouldn't do to annoy the ones in charge of my vaults." Her lips twitched. "I think they were the first ones who ever gave me a choice in anything." Her relatives, and she used that term loosely, has never given her any options, and even Hagrid, whom she liked well enough had carted her off without taking her opinion into account.

Hermione's eyes grew sad at that; she couldn't imagine not having a choice with anything. Even Ron looked a bit disconcerted.

Hope's attention had shifted from her friends to land on the ghost of Ravenclaw House, the Grey Lady. Her dark hair –it must have been– fell past her translucent waist, and she was clothed in a medieval sort of garb. Hope supposed she was beautiful, but she could hardly look at her straight since she kept turning invisible whenever she looked in the ghost's direction. Hope got the feeling the spirit wasn't really looking at her though. She frowned, hardly noticing when her hair colored black, set in bouncy curls.

Hope hissing slightly in pain as she banged her leg suddenly against the table. "Ah…"

Hermione and Ron had grown used to the brave face she put on when in pain. She never tried to draw attention to it, and that was what impressed Hermione the most about her, so Hermione followed her lead and didn't mention it.

She messed the cards with her hand, the distinct frown lining her face from what thought, Hermione couldn't be sure. It was times like these that Hermione had actually see why she liked George so much; he was the brightness that banished the shadows that lay behind her eyes.

She brightened quickly, and this time it was half-genuine. "Hey, we should go exploring after this!"

Hermione was a bit stunned by how quickly she'd changed, it was as if someone had flipped a switch inside her head, but Ron, who'd known her the longest, wasn't quite so surprised.

"Exploring?" he repeated, glancing down. "Won't that irritate your leg?"

The soft-eyed smile she gave him in return startled him, but only slightly. One of the great things about Ron was that he didn't walk on eggshells around her concerning her leg. Most people were careful about what they said, but he was a bit blunt. Fred and George took her mind off it, yes, but Ron accepted it. My best mate has a serious injury, but it's healing, seemed to be his mindset.

"I'll be fine," Hope scoffed, waving her hand in a careless manner, "a little exercise could do me good."

"Ah, Miss Potter!"

Hope blinked as the short-statured Charms professor came up to their area of his bench, holding Hope's Nimbus Two-Thousand in his wrinkled hands.

"Professor?" she asked, her voice colored with confusion; she hadn't seen the broom since the Quidditch game when it had undergone several extensive tests to see if there weren't any more charms on it.

"We've checked it over a dozen times," he assured her as he handed it back to her, "but the most we could find was an Expulsion Charm, and it has been removed."

Hope couldn't come up with a response to that. She had been a bit apprehensive concerning her most recent possession.

"It's not going to throw me off again, is it?" she inquired slowly, scrutinizing the broom in such a way that the Ravenclaw Head was distantly reminded of her mother so many years ago, staring intently at a teacup that she was attempting to make tap dance.

"I am certain, Miss Potter," he assured her, smiling slightly as the lines on her face disappeared and she relaxed. Or had they? As Professor Flitwick walked away, he glanced back and saw the lines had returned. The worry on her face was almost palpable, but he had a feeling that come a few days she wouldn't have to worry much at all.


Contrary to Hope's belief, the twins and Lee Jordan were not playing an epic game of pick-up Quidditch (how could they play when the best Seeker was stuck inside?). It was the last Hogsmeade visit before Christmas break, so everyone –including the aforementioned students– was out finishing their Christmas shopping.

Coming up with a gift for Hope was turning out to be more of a trial than George had originally thought. Of course, he, Fred, and their friends had clubbed together to get her some reasonably mild Zonkos products, but he wanted to get something else...something that meant a bit more.

The only problem was, he didn't know what to get her. She liked to cook (or, at least, she was good enough at it), he knew that, but Hermione was getting her something that involved that. She was smart, so he could get her a nice book, but that would be more like something he would get Percy (gag). They were passing by Tomes and Scrolls when he caught sight of it. T&S always set out free books that didn't sell well outside on the last Hogsmeade visit before Christmas, and they didn't disappoint.

The book in particular that had caught his interest was the Tales of Beedle the Bard. It was a collection of children's stories that their mum always used to tell them when they were little, but Hope had grown up Muggle, and she certainly hadn't heard any children stories. He lifted it from the pile. It was still good as new, he noticed. He thumbed through the pages, noting that the art was a bit better than the one his mum had, so he pocketed it.

If Fred noticed, he didn't mention it, because, either way, George still had to come up with a really nice Christmas gift.

"Oi, Angie!" Fred called over to Angelina where she was talking to Alicia, having just exited the local jewelry store, holding a small bag. He tried not to notice that his heart began to race when she lifted her head and smiled brilliantly.

"Yeah?"

"Got some advice for George?" Fred queried, his lips still upturned, gesturing with his shoulder towards the boy who was doing a mental analysis of his friend-whom-he-liked-a-great-deal and what she could possibly want as a gift.

Angelina grinned, an oddly feral grin not unlike Hope's, now that he thought about it. "Oh, I've got the best thing…"

Taking both twins by the arm, she dragged them inside the nearest shop, directing George's attention to the object in the corner.

It was perfect.


Hermione found herself pulling apart the curtains that hid Hope's bed from view the very next day, paling at once at the sight within. Hope, who had been complaining only of mild tingling in her leg the day previously, now looked worse for wear. Her skin was nearly a sickly sheen of grey and shimmered from sweat and her forehead was scrunched up in pain.

"Hope? Hope!"

She shook the girl hopelessly, before all but fleeing to find Madam Pomfrey.

Unfortunately, Hope was awake and grumbling by the time the Matron arrived, being in a very bad mood.

"Argh...I hate stomach flu!"

Hope certainly didn't look as though she was enjoying her time being sick, but then, no one ever seemed to. Perhaps she wouldn't have felt quite so bad if her leg hadn't been acting up as well, but her friends thought it best not to comment; who knew how she would react?

Hope's arms were currently tightly wrapped around her middle, as if that would assuage the pain, but no such luck. Her face was pinched and pale, but not nearly as pale as the day before. And she looked less miserable, so that was something.

"Moving will only make it worse," the Matron warned from her office, "I'm afraid you will just have to wait for it to pass."

Hope muffled her frustration in her pillow. "And how long is that supposed to take?"

"It should be only a few minutes," Madam Pomfrey assured her, "but the effects might last for hours; you may feel a bit drained."

"Fantastic," she grumbled.

Hermione was still noticeably concerned for her friend, hovering close to her side. "Are you sure it's just flu?"

Madam Pomfrey's smile was a bit sad as she watched Hope stubbornly turn her head away, a frown set firmly on her face.

"It's not just the flu," she admitted, gazing intently at her patient who was doing a spot-on impression of James Potter that it was almost scary, almost, but not quite. "It's her leg as well."

Hermione looked closer and saw that the scar horizontally across her leg was angry and puckered, looking very infected.

"She's overstrained the muscles somehow," Madam Pomfrey explained.

"I am right here, you know," Hope said sourly, crossing her arms, looking extremely petulant.

"Hush!" The Matron admonished the girl as if she was an impertinent child interrupting an important conversation.

Hope's scowl deepened, but the healer wasn't perturbed. Hermione guessed that she had gotten so used to her attitude from having Hope as a patient for so long.

"The muscles need time to recover, so you'll have to be off your feet for awhile." This time, her words were directed towards the red-head who was still sulking. "This time, try to actually follow my instructions." The despairing voice she used was enough to earn a quirk of the lips from Hope, but nothing else.

"Keep an eye on her," Madam Pomfrey warned the brunette as she left, "you know how she is about following rules."

"Sadly," Hermione agreed with a sigh.

By some miracle, Hope had managed to get through a shower and pull on her clothes and hop down the stairs to the common room without using her leg, though, with her luck, she was beginning to suspect that she would over-strain the muscles in her good leg. And that would not do.

"I can't stand sitting still," she said in an aggrieved tone. "This sucks!"

The other Gryffindors who happened to be in the common room as she said this smirked and snickered.

"Maybe if you hadn't insisted that we go exploring, we wouldn't be in this mess," Hermione admonished from where she and Ron stood beside the armchair.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Hope grumbled, hardly under her breath.

"You're impossible," Ron said, almost in awe.

"I do try," she drawled in response, waving them off. They were going to the library to try to look up some information on Nicolas Flamel. "Have fun."

Ron rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. "See you in a few."

They shared a smile at her huff of annoyance, leaving her to her devices.

Hope pulled an aged book from her bag, which had been conveniently left where it was the previous night. The Origins of Blood Magick, that was what it was called. It was a pity that Britons were so narrow minded when it came to truly extraordinary branches of magic. They quickly outlawed any magic that they couldn't and wouldn't understand, and Blood Magick was one such thing.

Sometimes Hope didn't understand wizards at all.

Blood Magick is one of the two most ancient forms of magic known to wizard-kind. It came into favour in the early Dark Ages and has been used in several well-known branches of magic, such as: Wicca, Alchemy, Astrology, Necromancy, Sigil Magick, and Hoodoo. Blood Magick is the magic that resides in one's blood, impregnated with the blood on a cellular level. The most common way to activate the magic within the blood is through what is commonly known as Blood Warding which was highly popular amongst the Pharaohs of Egypt. The frequent use of it deterred grave robbers so much that legends spread that the tombs were cursed—

"All by your lonesome?"

Hope lifted her head to gaze at the Weasley Twins.

"Peace and quiet is very nice once in a while," she said with a slight smile, splaying her hand over the page so the curious third-years wouldn't know that she was reading about a subject that had been banned from the country. She highly doubted that they would recognize its contents but there was still an off chance that they could. "Not that you would know," she added dryly.

"Silence is so boring, though!" Fred complained.

"Noise is a much better alternative," George agreed in the same light sort of voice.

She smiled.


"You two."

Ron and Hermione –who had only just left the library after a fruitless search– turned back suddenly, remarkably tense, to face the owner of the commanding voice. It was a young boy, maybe fifteen with tousled black hair falling into his pale eyes. He wore a black robe but no house symbol or a distinguishing tie to allude to his house.

He was holding out a rather thick tome towards them. "Give this to Elpis, would you?"

"Elpis?" Ron asked blankly in incomprehension. "We don't know an Elpis."

But Hermione frowned, understanding the allusion. "Isn't Elpis the name of the Goddess of Hope in Greek myths?"

The boy's smile twisted until it was condescending. "Aren't you a clever girl?" he mocked, smirking as her cheeks colored. "I suppose Muggle-borns have gotten smarter since my day."

That was both a compliment and an insult. Hermione struggled to settle her face into a stoic mask like Hope did, but she was sure her eyes had flashed in irritation as he had dropped the weighty tome into her hands. She read the title curiously. "Ancient Magical Languages?"

"Elpis has a distinct fondness for ancient history. She is rather fascinated with Greek and Celtic, I gather, from her frequent trips to this library," he gestured to the one they had just exited after coming up with nothing on Nicholas Flamel.

Ron stared at him oddly, his eyes narrowed in suspicion at how he knew so much about his friend. "How do you know that?"

"That is hardly a matter to concern yourself with," he said with scorn, bearing a superior smile as he gazed down on them. "Tell Elpis it is a gift."

In the time it took them to blink, he had vanished, and they were befuddled, but they hurried back to the common room all the same, finding themselves unsurprised that Hope was being entertained by Ron's elder brothers.

She looked better than when they'd left, for now the pallor that had adorned her face had faded, leaving her with the light rosy hue that she had always had. She did look a bit tired, but that was normal, as Madam Pomfrey had said.

"How on earth did you manage to set off those Dungbombs while being surrounded by witnesses?" Hope was saying, tossing her friends a smile and a nod as they approached. "I didn't know there was such a thing as a spell that could delay the explosion time!"

They bore self-satisfied smirks.

"Ask us no questions—"

"And we'll tell you no lies."

She snorted, glancing over Ron and Hermione. "Find anything useful?" she queried, frowning at the thick tome in their hands.

"Not re-"

Hope was goggling at the title. "Where the ruddy hell did you find that?!"

She practically ripped the weighty book from Hermione's arms, gazing at it in awe.

"A boy said you'd like it, he said it was a gift for Elpis, you know, the Godde-" Hermione started to say.

"The Goddess of Hope, yes, I know." Hope nearly sighed. She knew all too well the tale of Elpis. "I wonder who it was…?"

She was speaking more to herself as she inspected the locked keyhole ("why would there be a keyhole on a book?" "If you don't know how am I supposed to?"). Hermione and Ron were surprised to note that it opened without an ounce of resistance, but they didn't see the small prick of blood collecting on Hope's thumb. Hope opened it slowly, flipping gingerly through the pages in complete awe.

There were so many symbols, so many runes…it must be Christmas.

"I think you killed her," George mentioned dryly as he waved a hand to and fro in front of her face, but she never let on that she could see it.

"This is…perfect," she said disjointedly in complete shock.

Three of the four watching her allowed themselves to be faintly amused by the jealous frown that had settled onto George's face.


Hope tried to smother her giggles the next day as she watched Fred and George carefully enchant a series of snowballs while standing behind a tree so that they would bounce against Professor Quirrell's turban as he walked past. Christmas break would start tomorrow and the Christmas spirit was heavy in the air. A large portion of the school was feverishly packing up their things for the break, but obviously the ones that weren't were staying behind.

Hope wasn't too choked up (in fact she wasn't choked up at all), not even after Malfoy's jibe about her not being wanted at home. Sadly, it was true, and if there was any chance that she could actually have fun on a holiday, she would take it.

"Hey."

George sounded out of breath as he sat down on the stone bench beside her, barely glancing at her broom which lay forgotten beside her. He grinned; she had probably come down to fly but had gotten distracted by their enchanted snowballs.

"Hey." Her lips twisted into a smile, bringing attention to her light blue eyes and now strawberry-blonde hair. "Having fun?"

"Always," he chortled.

It lifted his spirits when she laughed with him. Her heavily gloved hand dropped to squeeze his.

"So…flying?"

Her eyes pooled with anxiety, surprising George. She liked to fly quite a bit, though, now that he thought about it, she should be nervous about being on the broomstick that tried to send her off it if not for George's interference.

"Do you think I'm being stupid?" she asked him suddenly, her eyes imploring. "Being scared of a big, bad broomstick." Hope gave a shaky laugh.

"Not at all," George refuted. "I'd probably be scared if it had been me."

"Really?" She sounded surprised, but then Fred and George had never seemed like the sort of people that would or could be scared of something as trivial (possibly) as being tossed from a broom.

"Really," he said, sounding oddly serious. "I'll go up with you, if you want."

She seemed to be caught between two decisions, biting the inside of her cheek as she did so. Finally, she sighed and nodded as George pulled her into a standing position, settling himself over her broom and gesturing for her to do the same. Unlike him, her movements were not eager, more like they were resigned, but she replicated his moves and linked her arms around his stomach; George could feel how tense she was.

"But, if you kill me," she said in a surprisingly calm voice, "know that I will haunt you until the day you die."

George laughed, disregarding the comment, since he was rather used to the death threats she typically threw his way. They were generally coupled with a smile. "Duly noted."

Slowly, very slowly, he pushed off from the ground, pointing the broom upwards in a gentle manner, but he could feel Hope's arms digging painfully into his sides, even so.

"It's alright," he hummed in a contented voice that he usually adopted when speaking with Ginny after she woke up from a nightmare. "Look down."

Hope did as he requested and laughed aloud; they were barely a foot above the ground. He spun the shaft in a lazy figure eight. "Want to go higher?"

"All right."

Trust was something she had always had an extraordinary amount of difficulty with, but here with George, with him being the only thing that kept her from falling downwards, she didn't find it so hard. She smiled into his back as the nervousness and the anxiety melted from her body, fading into the snow and frost that caked the castle like the icing on a gingerbread house.

"George?" she whispered.

"Hm?"

"Don't let me fall."

He chuckled ahead of her, one hand squeezing hers where they were still locked around him. "Never."


The cold had long since numbed Hope's toes where they were bared to the harsh winter wind as she gazed upwards at the stars. They were brighter tonight than they had been previously, or, at least that was how they seemed. She was a little chilled (really, what had she been thinking going up onto the Astronomy Tower in nothing but her bed clothes and bathrobe?), but that was to be expected. She doubted she'd been up there very long, but when one's feet begin to feel like icicles, the time would seem much longer. Finally, she sighed and shifted her gaze from the Pleiades, stumbling back inside, where it was only slightly warmer.

Hope kept to the shadows, wary of any prefect or professor out on patrol, when something startled her.

"You must be cold."

Hope tried very hard not to jump at the soft voice, far more startled that the Grey Lady had appeared before after looking so pained. Hope glanced down at her bare pale feet, almost having forget they were there since she had lost feeling in them (she was sure that wasn't a good thing).

"It's not so bad," she assured her, though it was a lie (but not an obvious one), her eyes still confused. "I thought you hated me."

The Ravenclaw ghost's smile lacked feeling. "My apologies. You simply reminded me a bit of myself."

Hope's mouth dropped open; whatever the reason could have been, that wasn't one she would have anticipated.

"I...I did?" She asked bleakly. Sometimes that was good, but sometimes that was bad; Hope was sure that this was the bad.

"Intelligent and seeking a way to prove oneself," the Grey Lady said with a voice filled with scorn, making Hope automatically flinch. "I have been watching you most closely, Hope Potter."

"You're being rather rude," Hope said equally coldly, her eyes turning a frigid grey. "You're more than Ravenclaw's ghost…you're Ravenclaw's blood, aren't you?"

Now it was time for the ghost to flinch, but that only gave Hope a small amount of pleasure. She liked to put people down when they insulted her, but someone like the Grey Lady seemed sadder and angrier than anything else. It would be cruel to insult a dead woman.

"Only Rowena didn't have any siblings, just a daughter, a daughter who vanished from all record." Hope wasn't trying to be mean, only direct. She'd looked up the Four Founders histories in Hogwarts, A History and the most interesting, she had to admit, were the lives of Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw. "With all due respect, I'm not like you. I'm not as smart as you and I'm not as vain." Vain was just a guess, but Helena Ravenclaw did seem to be a bit in her opinion.

The Grey Lady seemed caught between the compliment and the insult, but then she smiled, but it was rueful, filled with so many different emotions that Hope quickly lost track. "You remind me of your grandfather; he, too, often spoke of blunt truths when he was riled up."

"My grandfather?" Hope asked in confusion, her irritation dropping from her face. "What do you mean?"

"Aisle Four, first row, A History of the Founders," she said as an answer, "I'm sure you'll find it most...enlightening." And without a single utterance, Helena Ravenclaw faded into a wisp of wind, breezing past her and towards the Ravenclaw common room.

Hope frowned in thought, but she did as she asked. Getting into the library was no easy feat, mind you, especially with her leg the way it was. She almost ran into Percy Weasley trying to avoid Professor Burbage. With some luck she managed to slip past the library's doors with a barest squeak of hinges, but finding the book was more difficult than she had anticipated, since the binding was rather worn (she passed by it three times without noticing).

When she found it, she was sure she stopped breathing for a few seconds, and she had gone stock still as she gazed at the youthful face of Salazar Slytherin. He was just as Hope remembered the boy from September, the one who had told her which way to go that reach the Astronomy Tower; dark tousled hair, pale eyes, sharp features, and a cocky smile. She was far more surprised that he easily stood beside Godric Gryffindor, someone whom he had apparently hated –if the current rivalries were anything to go by–, smiling secretively, as if they knew something that no one else did.

"Your grandfather may not approve..." that was what the hat had said, and now she understood why. It must be quite scandalous for the descendant of Slytherin to be sorted into Gryffindor. Slytherin had a bad reputation, and she doubted she would earn any favors by being of his blood. Remaining silent of her relation to him would probably be a good idea for now, just as she was about the whole being able to predict death thing; she wasn't quite sure how any of her friends would respond.

She shut the book with a snap and shoved it back into shelf, but when she glanced at her hands, she saw that she was still shaking.


The early afternoon wind was still quite cold, almost a scorching cold, but the students making for the Hogwarts Express still battled against the fierce wind.

Hope had accompanied some of her friends with her broom locked under her arm as she ignored the jeers of the Slytherins, but she caught Daphne Greengrass giving her a slight nod, and she gave one in return. Their relationship was…odd, to say the least. They weren't really friends, but they weren't really enemies, either.

Hope was pulled from her internal musing when Hermione hugged her tightly around the middle as Lee Jordan pushed her trunk into the train, securing it with his and Alicia and Angelina's, who would be riding back with her (Hermione confided to Hope that she was grateful for the company). "You have a good holiday, Hope, and Merry Christmas!"

Hope grinned, squeezing her affectionately as well. "You too." She was sure she was the only one who came out to say goodbye –no one else had wanted to brave the cold (though she was sure she could have used her puppy-dog eyes on George and he would have bent like wet paper)-, but she didn't mind, even if the wind tangled her hair with snowflakes and pinked her cheeks with cold.

Angelina, Lee, and Alicia each gave her respective hugs, wishing her a Happy Christmas as well as they boarded the train.

Lee, in particular, ducked his torso out of the window and winked conspiratorially. "Don't have too much fun without me, Potter!"

Hope couldn't silence the laughter that bubbled from her lips, leaking through her fingers. "I'll try, but no promises!" She blew him a jaunty kiss that made the girls laugh as they ('they' referring to Angelina and Alicia, since Hermione wasn't that forward) pulled him back into the compartment.

The train was starting to move and she hobbled alongside it, studiously ignoring the flare of pain at her shin and she waved after them, before stopping and just simply raising her hand in farewell. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but it was only when the train had completely disappeared, the red vanishing in the white, that she mounted her broom and hightailed for Hogwarts. She only touched ground again once she'd reached the Great Hall (yes, she flew inside Hogwarts, don't everyone get surprised at once), loping gracelessly over to the Gryffindor table to sit opposite Ron.

"I'm starving!" she bemoaned, resting her broom beside her. "I can't believe I slept through breakfast!" As she said this, she began to pile steak and kidney pie onto her plate while spooning some split pea soup into a spare bowl.

"I can't imagine what that's like," said Ron who had never missed a meal in his life.

Hope rolled her eyes, slurping the soup in an unlady-like manner. "Just because you eat all your meals doesn't mean everyone does."

He snorted at that. Hope had a bad habit of getting so caught up in her reading that there would be some days where she skipped a meal, like last night. She had been so engrossed in her new book that Angelina had to coerce the twins into taking her to the kitchen to grab the girl some grub. Of course, they had had to add a preservation charm to make sure it was warm when she ate it, since she hadn't noticed it sitting beside her the first hour after its arrival.

"How late were you reading that book anyways?" he asked as she started in on her steak and kidney pie.

"Past midnight, I'm sure," Hope said, well aware of the soft grey shadows beneath her eyes, "I just couldn't put it down. There were Norse figures that I've never read before! It was so fascinating!"

"I'll take your word for it," Ron said dryly. "You really like this stuff?"

"A bit," she admitted with a flushed grin. "I probably wouldn't want to make a career out of it, but at the rate I'm going at, they'll have to name me Official Knowledge-keeper of Magic."

Ron burst out into laughter at the ridiculous title she had apparently come up with on the spot.

Hope stuck out her tongue, but she was grinning all the same, content to not even spare a thought to the lack of Christmas gifts she was sure would not be in her room the next day.

And so Hope awoke the morning of Christmas Day not particularly anticipating any presents, so she went about her business as usual, gathering her clothes and entering the showers, not giving much around her a glance until after she had left the loo. She raked a hand through her dampened hair, noticing that it had grown a little longer in the passing months. She fingered the ends of the strands in speculation; perhaps she would grow it out longer.

She walked past the bed to dump her dirty clothes in the hamper by her bed, only to backtrack once she caught sight of the pile of packages at the edge of her bed.

Her mouth dropped open. She hadn't been expecting anything really, but her face couldn't help but light up with childish wonder.

The first parcel was from Hagrid. It was a roughly whittled flute and Hope couldn't resist playing a few notes, her fingers dancing across the holes, the air escaping it sounded distinctly like an owl, reminding Hope of Hedwig.

The second was a rather lumpy parcel that confused Hope until she opened it and found a box of homemade fudge and a thick jumper made of emerald green. The note said it was from Ron and the Twins' mother, Molly Weasley. Hope couldn't help but wonder if her own mother would have done the same if she had still been alive.

Then Hope scrubbed furiously at her eyes, wiping the remnants of tears from her green eyes, resolutely focusing on what a nice gift it was and pulling it over her head.

The next two gifts were sweets from Ron and Hermione, with Hermione adding to hers a small booklet, a cookbook, with a book filled with recipes that she could cut out and add to the blank cookbook. It was a lovely gift, Hope had to admit as she thumbed through the pages of the recipe book, she'd never had her own cookbook before.

The Weasley twins (and co.) had gotten her a box filled with more prank items than she could ever hope to use –at least, that's what she thought–, just glancing over, she recognized a few Dungbombs and Chinese Fortune Sticks. She couldn't help but smile as she set it aside and pulled one last package towards her.

The first item in the bag was a small book, proclaiming The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Was it children's stories? She placed it with her other gifts, removing the last one.

Convinced Angie to steal a couple of your pictures, hope you like it and don't mind.

-George

She blinked; glancing to where her camera that she used a bit sparingly laid by her bedside, next to the box that contained all the pictures she'd taken at Hogwarts. So that was why she thought she'd been missing some photos…

She pulled the wrapping to reveal a leather bound scrapbook with 'Year One' embellished at the center. Her smile brightened as she flipped through the pages; her camera was one of the most used items in Gryffindor House, so she wasn't surprised that there were pictures there that she didn't recall taking. There was a lot of her with Ron and Hermione…and there was a surprising amount of her being manhandled by either of the twins (her arched eyebrow twitched a bit at that), but in almost every one of them she was smiling, much like she was now.

This gift was perfection. It was a hundred times better than the book on magical languages, if she said so herself. Hope traced a thin finger over the images painted across the cover with a soft smile.

Only one parcel remained now.

She removed the slip of parchment from the brown wrappings.

Your father left this is my possession before he died.

It is time it was returned to you.

Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you.

The ring set with the black stone warmed in her hand as she lifted the garment from its packaging. It was silvery-grey, feeling and looking almost like fluid, gleaming in the sunlight that pooled through the window. It was gorgeous. Hope pulled the cloak over her shoulders only to look down at herself, stunned. Where was her body?

A cloak of invisibility…was there such a thing? She marveled silently at the gift, picking up the slip of parchment as if trying to will the writer's signature to the surface, but it was hopeless. And she was clueless.

"Ron! Ron!"

Ron, who had been unwrapping his own presents was surprised when a flurry of dark red assaulted his face. "Hope?"

Hope's eyes weren't quite as haunted as they had been yesterday; they were bright and filled with life as she shook something at Ron. "Ron, look at this!"

It was a cloak, and once she threw it over her shoulders, Ron's jaw dropped. Her body had completely disappeared!

"No way! If that's what I think it is, they're really rare and really valuable!" Ron said in astonishment, walking in a circle around Hope's disembodied head. "It's an invisibility cloak! How'd you get it?"

"The note said it belonged to my father," Hope explained as she pulled it off and folded it in her arms. "Did you open my present?"

As a matter of fact, he hadn't, but he wasted no time in ripping the wrapping paper form the square-like item.

"Wow! Hope, this is cool!"

It was a brand new chessboard.

Hope smiled. "I saw it when we were in Diagon Alley the first time around. I remembered you saying something about your old chessboard and thought you could use a new one."

He hefted it in his hand. It wasn't very light, but it wasn't very heavy either, so it couldn't have cost as much as he would have thought.

"Thanks!"

"No problem." She grinned devilishly. "I got the twins a prank book."

"Of course," Ron sniggered at the precise moment Fred and George bounded inside.

"Merry Christmas!" Fred chirped.

"Oh, look!" George noticed with a grin that had Hope blushing. "Hope's got a Weasley jumper, too!"

Fred and George were wearing ones much like the emerald green one she had pulled over her torso…though, if she was correct, they were wearing each other's. Her lips twitched in amusement.

"Hope's is better than ours, though," Fred added, a mock-thoughtful expression on his face as he rested his chin in his hand. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family, or are a girl."

Hope tossed him a filthy glance, speaking with a dry voice, "Gee, Fred, thanks."

He tipped an invisible hat to her, earning yet another eye roll. Seriously, he could make a lot of money by betting how many she went through daily.

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George was demanding of his youngest brother, diverting all attention to the first-year Weasley, giving Hope the opportunity to hide the cloak under her jumper; she wasn't sure if she wanted to share it with anyone else yet. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm!"

Ron only looked half-annoyed as he pulled his over his head. "I hate maroon," he groaned.

"Ah, no letter," George observed. "I guess she thinks you won't forget your name, but we're not stupid; we know our names are Gred and Forge."

At that point, Hope lost it completely, clutching her stomach as she roared with laughter, so much laughter that she had tears falling from her eyes. George seemed very pleased by that as Fred elbowed him.

"What's all this noise?" a demanding voice came from the doorway. Percy Weasley didn't anticipate all the noise to be coming from Hope Potter who seemed to be at her wits end, hanging off of Ron's arm in an attempt to stay vertical. Before he could say anything further, Fred –it was Fred wasn't it? (he was assuming that the twin closest to Hope was George)– snatched the lumpy jumper from his hands.

Hope seemed to be recovering slowly as Ron thumped her back as if she had been choking on something. Fred took advantage of that distraction.

"P for Prefect!" Fred chortled, seeming strangely hyper. "Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Hope got one!"

Hope was indeed wearing a lovely dark green jumper over her shirt.

"I-don't-want—" Percy started to say, looking immensely annoyed as he did so, but it was too late. Grinning identically, Fred and George had pulled the thick sweater over his ginger head, messing up his hair and knocking his glasses to the side slightly.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today," George added with a crazy grin, "Christmas is a time for family!"

Hope had to stifle another bout of giggles as they marched out of the dormitory with Percy sandwiched between them, his arms locked at his sides by the jumper.

"Is it sad that I'm getting used to their antics?" Hope asked Ron after they had left.

Ron groaned. "Very."

He swore he could hear her smirking, if that was even possible.


The wind whipped around Hope's head as she flew, yelping at the flash of crimson that chased her through the skies.

"Got you!"

She pouted when she saw that Ron's hand was tugging on her boot.

"You're it!"

A loud yell pierced her from the left where she could see two more patches of red; her grin turned oddly feral. She pointed her broom in their direction, shooting past Ron so fast, she was sure that he had yelled out as well. Their game of pick-up Quidditch had quickly devolved –seeing as there were only four of them– since they didn't have any access to the Quidditch balls, and they had ended up playing a game of "Tag" which the Weasley brothers hadn't really understood at first until Hope had explained it several times.

She did a few lazy loops to give them a head start, seeing as she had the fastest broom, before speeding towards the closest one –she couldn't really be sure which twin it was in this snowstorm-, reaching out a hand when the edge of the shaft hit into one of the stone structures in the courtyard. The movement dislodged the girl who let out a small scream as she was tossed into the side of one of the many stone arches.

She lay in a crumpled heap where she had been thrown, more stunned than in pain when three pairs of feet dropped down beside her.

"Hope?"

She groaned in response. "Ow."

"I'm starting to wonder if there is something wrong with your broom," Ron added as he helped her up, noticing her wince. "Did you hit your back?"

"Just a little-"

"So a lot?" Fred and George said at the same time.

"Hospital Wing it is."

Hope groaned again, pressing a hand to her chilled face. "And I was having so much fun," she muttered mutinously as Fred linked her arms around his neck and George went off to find her broom.

Her mood went down the toilet as they hauled her up to the medical wing of the school, but Madam Pomfrey wasn't too surprised by her most frequent patient's appearance.

"Back again, Hope?" she sounded almost resigned as Fred deposited her onto one of the beds. "What is it this time?" she asked in a benign voice.

"This time it's not my fault!" Hope said suddenly.

Madam Pomfrey arched an eyebrow and Hope relented in a small voice, making the Weasley boys snigger, "Well…maybe a little."

"And where…"

"My back."

Hope's face settled into a sullen frown as Madam Pomfrey rolled back her shirt so she could see the injury. The skin betrayed no sight of damage, but then it typically took about a half hour for bruises to fester, so Madam Pomfrey wasn't surprised by the lack of evidence. She tapped her wand against the skin, blinking in surprise.

"What did you do? Run into a wall?"

Hope scratched her cheek, chuckling sheepishly. "Err…sort of…"

Madam Pomfrey made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat as she murmured a spell and unrolled her shirt where she had pulled it back.

"It's going to be a little stiff, but try to be more careful next time," she warned as Ron helped pull Hope into a standing position.

"I'm always careful, Poppy," she said with a wide grin, ignoring the eye twitch at her use of the Matron's first name, "you know me, always walking on eggshells."

Madam Pomfrey, it seemed, wasn't the only one that found that idea to be ludicrous, if the assortment of snorts and laughs were anything to go off of.

Hope just huffed in annoyance, her cheeks stained a pink that hadn't come from the cold. She was immeasurably relieved that the color had faded by the time they had returned to the ground level, heading for the Great Hall.

Astonishment was the first emotion she felt when they sat down, because the sheer amount of food was completely insane. There was so much turkey, potatoes, cranberry sauce, buttered peas and much more.

"Are Christmas dinners always like this?" she asked in awe as they settled into the open seats by Percy –who had stuck to his promise and was not sitting with the prefects.

"Typically, yeah, great, aren't they?" Fred said with a grin, holding out a cracker for her to pull apart with him.

Bemused, she gripped the opposite end and pulled, giving a yelp of surprise when it exploded and hid them in a blue cloud. The shocked expression was still on her face when it had cleared, revealing an admiral's hat…and some very alive white mice. Hope stared after the rodents as they scampered away, completely dumbfounded.

Ron had already dug into his food, but Hope was still in a bit of astonishment when something soft brushed against her cheek. She turned and smiled, grabbing the end of George's cracker, but jumping again when the loud noise erupted from it, this time covering them in a cloud of bright red. The gift in the center was a band new chess set –much like the board that Hope had gotten for Ron. She grinned, setting it with the hat and finally tucking into her food.

Of course, everything was delicious, and even that was an understatement. Somehow, the food was even better than it generally was, but that was probably because it was Christmas. She laughed with them all as she carried her pile a new gifts (which now included a grow-your-own-warts kit and a few packs of non-explodable, luminous balloons) up to the common room.

"Ready for a snowball fight?" George grinned as she returned from the stairs to her dormitory, carrying her thick hat and gloves in one hand, the other using the railing for assistance on the way down.

"Oh, absolutely," she laughed. "Get ready to brained by my awesomeness!"

She ran off before he could respond to that, leaving him blinking in surprise, musing aloud. "How can she be so fast with that limp?"


The snow was falling heavily and deep around the Granger's house, making it look remarkably like a gingerbread house that had been recently iced. All the houses on the street looked like that, though, so Hermione couldn't really complain as she unwrapped all of her presents giving the appropriate amount of joy for each gift. Hers were mostly book-related, true to her love of the written word. Once she had finished unwrapping all the packages, she pulled out a small pile of photos that Hope had given her to show to her parents.

"This is me, Hope, and Ron," Hermione was telling her parents, showing them a few pictures of her friends at Hogwarts. They were still in a bit of awe that the images could move.

"Hope, Ron, and I," her mother corrected automatically with a kindly smile as she took the pictures from her daughter. Her daughter's friends (oh, how she would never tire of using that word!) were both red-haired, but the girl's was far darker than the boy's. The girl was the one she automatically drew attention to, as she was the only girl of her daughter's friends. Her smile was tired, but happy all the same, leaning heavily on a cane with one leg leaned on more heavily than the other as her other arm looped over Hermione's shoulders.

"Who's this boy?" she asked, looking at the next picture, watching in fascination as a slightly older boy bent down to toss the red-haired girl over his shoulder despite her protests and embarrassment. He looked a little like the boy Hermione was friends with.

"Oh, that's probably George, Ron's older brother," Hermione supplied with an amused grin, "he's fascinated by Hope."

A crush, then, it was sweet, Mrs. Granger had to admit, smiling reflexively at Hope's wide smile.

"He's a bit of a troublemaker," Hermione added as an afterthought, "but then so is Hope. She doesn't like authority much."

Her father arched a brown eyebrow, glancing at the pictures his wife handed him. "Wouldn't have figured that you would befriend troublemakers," he said slowly, ignoring the look his wife shot towards him.

Hermione shrugged, a fond smile melting onto her lips. "Hope only causes trouble mostly when we're in Potions class, like with our potion's professor, he hates her. He picks on her every day and she just insults him to his face."

Both parents look startled at that, but Hermione only grinned, one hand still playing lazily over the cover of the book Hope had gotten her, The Magick of Wicca. The note enclosed had said:

I saw this and thought of you, her letter had said. Happy Holidays!

"I got her a cookbook, but only because she said she has trouble keeping recipes straight in her head," Hermione admitted, "what she really likes is discovering things, old and new."

Her father reached over to ruffle her bushy hair that was so like his. "She sounds lovely, they both do."

Hermione just grinned, knowing that they didn't really understand a bit about her life at Hogwarts but supporting her nonetheless.


"Take this!"

Fred yelled as a ball of icy-cold snow hit him in the face, knocking him back to the snow-covered ground.

Hope's laughter echoed on all sides before silencing rather suddenly as she pitched forward slightly by a blow to the back of the head.

"Ronald!" she yelled after the boy that had begun to race away soon after the ball had made contact with her face. The youngest Weasley boy ran as Hope hobbled after him packing snow into a compact ball. Fred was more impressed by how fast she was going with that limp of hers than the size of her orb.

"Mmph!"

"Oh!" Fred felt a bit sheepish as he went to unearth George from the pile of snow he had been encased under after the weighed-down branch above him had deposited it on him only moments before. "Sorry, Georgie!"

His twin hacked up a glob of white as he regained his breath, blinking around blearily, before his eyes shot wide and he ducked quickly to avoid a snowball that embedded in the tree behind him.

Fred wasn't so lucky, getting a shot to the stomach courtesy of Ron.

"Firsties versus Thirds!" Hope yelled, her thickly gloved hands clutching two impressive snowballs. "We're gonna cream you!"

"Bring it on, Potter!" they said, dodging quickly to avoid the barrage, ducking quickly behind an oak tree, making their white orbs in its safety.

She shrieked at the snowball that jarred her in the back. "You brats!" she yelled, scooping up the snow beside her as she leapt after the madly cackling twins. "I'm gonna get you!"

George yelped as she flung her body onto his back, shoving the ball of ice down the back of his shirt, making his body arch in an effort to make the cold ball not touch his skin. "MERLIN'S BALLS!"

Hope laughed loudly as he fell into the snow, thus adding more snow to his skin.

"Better luck next ti-ah!" Hope rolled off his back, dodging Fred's snowball aimed at her forehead. "Bring it on, you arse-hole!"

"Switching sides already?" he jeered back, only to yelp as she lobbed a new snowball at his big, fat mouth. "I'm gonna get you!"

"You can try!" she yelled back, dancing out of the way as George's snowball flew past her face by a few inches, a few scant inches at that. And then she fell over. Three ginger heads swiveled in her direction, but the funniest part is that none were more surprised than Hope herself. The stunned expression was priceless as she stared down at her now immobile leg.

She swore. Loudly.

The boys laughed. Louder.

"Unfair!" she complained as she struggled into an upright sitting position, bending the leg at the knee in an attempt to force the tense muscle to relax. "I've got-oh!"

She tried hard not to blush as she was swept up into George's arms, but she had lost that battle a long time ago.


"Hand it over, George!"

The twins were grinning ear to ear as they tossed Percy's prefect badge back and forth causing a general ruckus in the Gryffindor Tower with their older brother. Hope smiled through sleepy eyes, stuffed with the Christmas dinner they had just had. Ron had bypassed her completely, dozing in the armchair closest to the fire. Sometimes she wished she could fall asleep as easily as him, but that was far from her reach.

"Freddie!"

George lobbed the badge to his twin, ducking under Percy's arms, dancing out of reach. Hope chuckled softly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she did so in an effort to focus a bit more on the impromptu game. Fred and George were nothing if not persistent, at least that could be said of them.

She leaned back suddenly so it wouldn't bash her across the head as it passed, turning a baleful stare towards Fred, her face no longer amused.

"Whoops!"

She rolled her eyes as Percy took that brief lack of attention to steal his badge back from his brothers.

"That's enough!" he snapped, their antics grating on his last nerve.

"Boys," Hope said in a tired voice, "play nice." She turned her big green eyes on George. "Please? For me?"

"Sure!" George said with a wide grin, the tips of his ears a little pink, making his twin snort. "Yeah, we'll just head up to bed now—"

Fred winked at her as they ascended the stairs after their younger brother who quickly –and sleepily– bid his friend goodnight. Percy made to follow them when Hope stalled him with her words.

"Spare a moment, would you, Percy?"

Percy Weasley glanced over her, taking in her sleep-lined features, despite her lively green eyes which glowed strangely in firelight. She looked very exhausted, as if she hadn't slept well in a long time.

"I have an academic question," she added at his confusion (and concern). "I wanted to do an extra credit paper on Nicolas Flamel for Professor Binns, but I'm not quite sure what kind of book would have something about him."

"Nicolas Flamel?" Percy repeated. "The famous alchemist?"

Hope snapped her fingers, a grin touching her lips. "That's the one! So, do you know what kind of…?"

"Well, the man is over six-hundred years old," Percy admitted, "maybe the books you're looking in are too modern?"

Her surprise melted quickly. "Thanks, Percy!"

Percy smiled gently as she dug through her bag for her books. "No problem, just try not to stay up too late, alright, Hope?"

"You got it," she responded, her finger tracing down the page as she skimmed for the name. Percy got the feeling that she wasn't really listening to a word he said, but there was no use in responding, she probably wouldn't hear it either way. So, he muttered a hasty goodnight and ascended to his empty dormitory, leaving her in silence.

He was over six-hundred years old? That would explain why he wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time, or Important Modern Magical Discoveries, or even A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. Those books would all be to up-to-date for him to appear in.

Hope sighed a bit forlornly. She didn't feel like going upstairs to grab any of the ancient books in the library of her trunk, but as she sat there in deep thought, she decided she would to grab her new (and old) invisibility cloak.

Use it well, her note had said, and what else could she do with it but walk about the castle when most others were fast asleep? It was almost too hard to resist and five minutes later she was moving invisibly through the halls. She was mildly tempted to investigate the Restricted Section of the library, but as she already had the general idea of who Flamel was, there really was no point to, so she merely wandered about, simply gazing at the pictures she passed. She had never particularly noticed how beautiful some of them were.

Then, she had to stop, to scowl at the suit of armor that was staring right at her even with her invisibility cloak. Sir Michael Richmond was a strange suit of armor. Its visor creaked as if it was smiling underneath. Hope wasn't sure how long she stared at him in aggravation, before she stepped backwards, almost bumping into a professor but catching herself at the last possible second and teetering away from him suddenly.

It was Snape. She held her breath, her hand covering her mouth and nose effectively as he stared right at her. It was quite a bit like the way the suit of armor had, but his was unnerving, because she knew he couldn't see her, but she had the feeling that he knew she was there.

She backed away from him slowly, careful to make as little noise as she could, moving backwards until she was out of his sight and she could breathe again. She gulped the air greedily, resting her back against the door that she had hidden behind. Her lungs felt as though she had swallowed fire; exactly how long had she been holding her breath?

It was only when she opened her eyes that she realized she had no idea where she was.

The cloak fluttered to her feet as she stood, gazing inquisitively at the only item that lay in the room. It was tall, nearly reaching the ceiling and hidden behind a lengthy maroon sheet. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she limped forward to grasp a bit of the material and yank it from whatever it was hiding. She gave the barest of tugs and the sheet fell, pooling at her feet, revealing what lay beneath.

It was a mirror. That stunned her, because why on earth would someone want to hide a mirror? It was beautiful too, she had to admit, standing on a pair of golden clawed feet that matched its intricate golden frame. Carved into the frame that was spread across the top were letters and words that made no sense to her: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. They weren't from any language she'd ever read, not that she'd read many to begin with, so it must have been a code. A code written on a mirror… her eyes narrowed, her lips moving soundlessly as she read the letters backwards, as words often appeared in reverse when shown in a mirror: I show not your face but your heart's desire.

Heart's desire…that was a bit foreboding. Her breath shook as she breathed in and out slowly, her eyes closing before she could even look upon the reflection.

Theoretically, she could leave this room and pretend she'd never gone exploring, but at the same time, she wished to know what her greatest desire was. So, at long last, her eyes finally fluttered open to stare at her reflection.

At first it was simply her, standing there, twisting the black stone on her ring with a sorrowful expression. Hope knew that expression well. Then she was shifting and changing. There was a woman standing there now, one Hope barely recognized as herself. Her hair was pure white and her eyes incredibly black, scarred and with a broad grin, hefting a crossbow in one hand. At one shoulder was Nath was a casual smile of his own and at her other…

Hope reached out a hand to brush her fingers against the surface of the mirror.

Nath never liked her talking about Mirror Lady, the woman Hope saw from time to time in reflections…the gentle hand and smooth voice she dreamed about. But there she was.

Her skin was dark, her hair a mass of black curls, and eyes as dark as Nath's. A cloak made of raven feathers cascaded from around her shoulders, and there was something vaguely like Dean about her smile.

She'd lost count how many times she'd dreamed about her and thought she was her mother until she'd actually seen a picture of young Lily Evans. And the first thing she'd ever felt towards her mother was disappointment, as sad as it was.

Mirror Lady leaned forward to press a kiss to the back the head of Hope's older appearance in the mirror, squeezing her shoulder, and Hope could've sworn she'd felt it.

She stumbled backwards in shock and a spiteful voice inside her head whispered, There you go, Hope, what you really want is a family of your own with two adults that are the closest things to parents for you, one of which isn't even real!

She felt at a loss as she stumbled backwards and away, but it wasn't like she could change what she wanted to see, could she? Her eyes fell instead to the floor so she would not have to feel the obligation to stare upon the mirror's reflective surface once more, because she had felt the keen sting and ache that enveloped her heart, leaving a residual pain that lingered.


It was late at night when George slipped soundlessly down the stairs, shivering at the cold. He wasn't sure why it was that he was so cold, because Fred had been sleeping soundly in bed next to him. So, he had left the dormitory to make his way down the stairs to sit before the fire.

"What are you doing?" a tired voice proclaimed from the couch.

George swore as he stumbled and fell on his face, twisting to stare at Hope.

Her eyes were closed, giving off the impression of sleep, though her lips twitched into a smile. She had a number of blankets wrapped around her and the Tales of Beedle of Bard and a small book had fallen open to the ground perhaps minutes or hours before.

"Er…nothing," George said quickly, feeling secretly pleased that she had been reading his book.

She opened one sleepy green eye, the fire dancing in her eye, making it appear as mystical as the moon outside, before closing it rather lazily. "What're you doing down here?"

"I was sleeping," she said in irritation, "you know, dreaming."

"About what?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Some inventive ways to shut you up, now go to sleep." Which was a bit hypocritical of her, if you asked him, because he could no longer count on his fingers the number of times he awoke early in the morning to find her in the common room, usually in the company of Dean Thomas, their books open on their laps, snoring on each other's shoulders. Ron had said Dean had nightmares just like Hope so George had to wonder if the pair of them actually got any sleep.

"Oh yeah?" George quirked his eyebrows in amusement. "Like how?"

"Go away!" she groaned, burying her face in her pillow that had been pushed against the arm of the couch.

"No, seriously, what are you doing down here?" he asked her.

She lifted her head, her eyes twinkled. "Sleeping, Weasley, now, off you go." Then she paused. "Wait…why are you down here?"

George shifted uncomfortably, garnering her unabashed interest. She didn't comment on how obviously cold he was, simply crooking a finger towards him, inviting him closer. As soon as he was near enough to touch, she cupped his cheeks with her warm hands, letting out a hiss of surprise.

"You're ice cold!"

She dragged him slightly closer, brushing the back of her hand against his forehead and cheek. "What have you been doing, Weasley?" she admonished him as she pulled one of the blankets from around her to tuck around him like a majestic cloak. "Geez! Have you been sitting in an open window?" she demanded, her eyes sparking in the firelight.

George opened his mouth to refute, but his cheeks had flushed so suddenly with heat that he found himself at a loss of words. She looked so pretty when she was angry on his behalf, and at him, at the same time.

"That's very helpful," Hope added dryly, ignoring the blush on his cheeks as best as she could, though she couldn't help but wonder what had brought it on. "You're a menace, you know?"

"It's been said," George agreed, regaining the use of his tongue.

"I hope so," she said in return, ignoring the unintended pun on her name that she had used. "I didn't get to tell you earlier, but I really liked your present."

A pleased grin lit his face. Hope tried not to blush at the sight of it. "Really?"

"Yeah," she agreed, "but what are the Tales of Beedle the Bard?"

"Oh, they're a collection of children's stories," George informed her with a smile. "Mum used to tell them to us when we were kids. Did you like them?"

"I haven't had the chance to read it yet," Hope admitted, blinking harshly in the half light, rubbing her eyes and giving a wide yawn. "Are they any good?"

"Depends on what you like," George offered, "Everyone's got a favorite, I suppose, and everyone's got one that they'd rather hear first to get it over with."

Hope quirked a curious eyebrow, a soft smile lighting her lips, making her face seem more alive. "Oh? Why's that?"

George looked at her oddly. "Well don't you have a least favorite and favorite fairy-tale? Don't muggles have fairy-tales?"

The smile her face now bore was on the bitter side, but also filled with deep longing. "They do, but I never read or had any read to me, I preferred the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings a hundred times over to those unrealistic fairy-tales of theirs," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "Nath only ever told me one story, anyways and its tragic."

George had no idea who Nath was, but whoever they were made her entire countenance brighten, the opposite of when people brought up her mother's family.

"What's a hobbit?" George asked in confusion, thinking it better not to ask about the unknown Nath.

Hope's eyes lit up as she laughed. "It's a being that lives in the fantasy world of Middle-earth, and they're very short and walk barefoot. They don't approve of adventures but one of them always manages to go off on one…I wanted to be a hobbit when I was a little girl," she said stoutly.

George was staring at like he'd never quite seen anything like her (which was quite true, but never mind that). Short, he could see, barefoot, also, and seeking an adventure, that was a given. "I think you'd be a good hobbit."

She smirked. "Coming from someone who doesn't really know what a hobbit is?"

"Nope!" George said.

Amusement lifted her lips. "I could read it to you, if you like, The Hobbit."

His blue eyes watched her for a long moment, which would have been unnerving if she wasn't so used to looking into his eyes. She wasn't sure what it was that he was looking for in her eyes, but she was certain whatever it was couldn't be found there.

"I'd like that."

She was so focused on his eyes, she'd almost missed his words. She blinked twice. "Huh?"

His lips twitched. "Storytelling, I'd like it."

Her beaming smile outshone his as she scooped the fragile looking book from where it lay atop a book on Greek Mythology. George noted that the spine was falling apart from how often she'd read it.

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit," Hope began, the bright smile still lighting her face as she read the long-familiar words. "Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort."

"Why does that mean comfort?" George found himself asking, much like a child interrupting their story-telling parent with needless questions.

"Because homes are filled with comfort, now hush!" Hope admonished with a grin. "It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats – the hobbit was fond of visitors."

Neither knew how long they sat listening or reading from that book, but Hope's gentle earth-enriched voice paired with the warmth of the fire lulled George to sleep in no time, the last words he heard and understood being: "Bilbo went to sleep with that in his ears, and it gave him very uncomfortable dreams. It was long after the break of day, when he woke up…"


Hope worried Ron. It wasn't the normal worry either, as she typically worried him with that leg of hers and that clever tongue that got her into so many detentions with Snape. She worried him because she had an obsession with that old mirror.

Ron had seen it's strange, mysterious powers himself –him, Head Boy, Quidditch Captain!– but the way Hope was drawn to it couldn't be healthy. Her temper was rearing its ugly head too, so now Ron had to be extra careful about what he said to her. He could only hope that she'd snap out of it soon.

Hope, on the other hand, though Ron was being ridiculous. She was not obsessed! Hardly! She just couldn't help but be fascinated by a mirror that could show you what you wanted, whatever you wanted. What kind of magic was that, exactly? The mirror was certainly old, perhaps older than Hogwarts, and had carvings reminiscent to the Celtic Tree. She'd seen the same carvings at the main level of Hogwarts –at its foundation, appropriately– only in stone.

And so, on the third night, she returned once more to marvel at the ceiling-high mirror. This time, though, she wasn't alone.

"You can come out, you know," she said, her voice tinged with annoyance, "I can hear you."

For one startled moment, Hope was almost certain that she had imagined it, but then a smooth voice answered her.

"Your eyes are keen, Elpis." The words echoed in the silence, hiding the speaker's location, until-

She twisted around to glare with angry black eyes at the speaker. "It's Hope, you arse-hat!"

The soft chuckle emanated from the space of the doorway as a young man walked through it, seemingly unaware of Hope's venomous stare as he moved forward to stand beside the first-year, gazing into the mirror as well. She wasn't too surprised by his appearance, considering she'd already seen a picture of the youthful Salazar Slytherin and she'd already seen him before, albeit months previously.

"Quite a marvelous display of magic, no?" he inquired, his lips twitching slightly as he did so, glancing down slightly towards his many times great grand-daughter. "Took me a very long time to craft it, you know."

"You made it?" Hope was much too surprised to be angry this time. "I mean, I knew it was old…and the pattern is almost identical to the pattern on the bricks at the foundation of Hogwarts."

"Caught that did you?" He sounded a bit pleased that she had noticed. "Aye, I made it for your dear old grand-mum." He ran a hand along its surface, recalling when he had etched it by hand so very long ago, though, to him, it seemed like only short years as opposed to centuries.

"Oh?" Hope said, though her voice was soft. Salazar took note of it immediately as he glanced back at her, trying to gauge her reaction, but the dark –for her hair was now pin-straight and black– fringe hiding her expressive eyes from view.

"Morea was a very difficult woman," the man said with a laugh that far more light-hearted than he was portrayed, "and she was set on being a powerful, unmarried witch at the time, she wasn't someone you could simply woo."

"No matter how hard you tried?" she asked dryly.

He chuckled nervously, rubbing his chin with one hand. "Well, she was a beauty and had such a fiery spirit. She turned me down a total of thirteen times."

"For marriage or just courting?"

"That was just to court her," he admitted, "took me seven tries to propose marriage, but anyways, back to the mirror. I was trying to show her that even she had something that she desired more than anything."

"Hm," was all Hope said to that. "You are a very strange man."

Her grandfather's eyes dropped to her leg that was in the thick wrap she wore while sleeping. His magic was weak as it was and his time in this realm was short; he could not heal her leg.

"I'm not asking you to."

He blinked his pale green eyes, meeting hers. Oh, he must have spoken aloud. The stony stare was one that he'd often been on the receiving end of, courtesy of Morea. He reached out a hand to steady her as she struggled into a standing position, but she ignored it, using her own strength to stand.

"I love a good challenge," she said with a smirk reminiscent of her father's, "and I don't need some century-old ancestor of mine keeping tabs on me. Go," her voice dropped, becoming soft, "be with your wife; she's waited long enough for you, don't you think?"

Salazar's eyes softened, raising a hand to cup her cheek as he did so. "You remind me a good bit of her," he said quietly, smoothing his thumb over her cheekbone. "Spirited with fire in the heart…and curious, ever curious. She had the same kind of curiosity that drove my son mad."

Hope froze into an ice statue under his hand, but he feigned ignorance at the effect his words had on her.

"He was a bright, fascinated creature, until he delved too deeply into the very arts you yourself are drawn to," he said quietly, his eyes shadowed and his face unreadable. "I pray that the same does not become of you, granddaughter."

"And if it does?" Hope whispered, her mouth dry.

His eyes glowed as he met hers, one last time. "It won't," he said with certainty, "because you have something that keeps you safe from the corruption magic leaves in its wake."

And then he faded from the world of the living completely, leaving Hope alone before that mirror of his.

Something that kept her safe from the corruption of magic? Hope had never heard a wizard or witch talk about it like that. Like magic was something invasive and bad. She couldn't help but think about how uncomfortable she was when magic was used on her.

"Back again, Hope?"

She screamed, loudly, twisting around wildly, her wand tangling with her sleeve as she pointed it aggressively at the speaker. Not really a good thing, as the person who had spoken was Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Don't do that!" she gasped, her heart still throbbing in her chest, too startled to realize how rude she was being. "I don't like to be—" She waved the hand that held her wand around for effect, giving her a chance to get a few gulps of air.

An amused smile settled on his lips and his eyes twinkled behind his crescent spectacles. Crazy old man… Her heart rate picked up for a moment when she thought that the headmaster had heard the words she had exchanged by arguably the most dangerous of the Founders of Hogwarts, but then she realized that he hadn't been standing there long, so he couldn't have. She relaxed slightly as that knowledge seeped through her, reminding herself that some things should be kept secret, for more than one reason.

There was a reason she didn't tell anyone about knowing when people would die. And knowing that Quirrell's death date was fast approaching didn't really help things.

"So," Dumbledore continued with that mild voice of his, "you, like hundred before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

Her eyes drifted back to the reflective surface, almost involuntarily. She could call Nath anytime, he'd given her a mobile that seemed to work anywhere, but Mirror Lady wasn't even real.

"Delights?" she grumbled under her breath. "Hardly." Delight was not a good word to describe this situation she found herself in. Taunting, perhaps, but not delightful in the slightest.

"I expect you've realized by now what it does?" Dumbledore continued, not having heard her grumble.

Hope twisted slightly to glance back to him. Was it her, or did he look a little sad? Perhaps he saw something he had lost once, he was certainly old enough for that. "It shows us what we want most in the world, even if it can't be granted to us."

The answer surprised and impressed Albus Dumbledore, who had thought she would need a bit of prodding to come up with it. Lily's daughter through and through; he shouldn't have expected any less.

"Yes," he said in agreement, "however, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men and women have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible." As he said this, her lips turned downwards, irritation settling onto her face.

Was that a jibe at her? She knew the difference between reality and illusion, thank you very much. "The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Hope, and I ask you not go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, please remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

"In the mirror," Hope said suddenly, before he could leave, "in the mirror, what do you see, if I may ask?"

She saw a flicker of that aged sadness before he gave her a kindly smile. "I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

The dubious stare Hope's face bore told tale of disbelief. Was that the best lie he could come up with?

"One can never have enough socks," Dumbledore said, giving her a conspirator wink. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People insist on giving me books." And with that being said, he left the Gryffindor to mouth wordlessly in his wake.

"Argh!" she burst aloud, slapping her cold cheeks feverishly with her hands until she was sure they were red from the movement. "Stupid-stupid-stupid! Should've listened to Ron in the first place! No good- foolish- rotten piece of sh—"

"Hope?"

Hope swung around on the heel of her good leg, her hands still on her cheeks. She must have looked quite the picture. "Ron?" Her first friend wasn't too surprised of her situation (she could see his lips twitching at how she looked, though), though a little exasperated. "What're you doing here?"

"Trying to keep an eye on you," he said with no short measure of annoyance. "You and that mirror are a bad combination, you know."

She wrinkled her nose at that, resisting the urge to get one last look at the mirror. It had, after all, been a creation of Salazar Slytherin, and could –arguably- be as dangerous as he had been in life. She grimaced. "Well," she mumbled, punctuating her words with a tired yawn, "you aren't wrong there, mate."

"When was the last time you slept?" Ron demanded as she stumbled forward, pulling one of her arms over his shoulders as he did so, the other wrapping securely around her waist.

"Mm…dunno," Hope slurred in exhaustion as he pulled her through the door (bending down to grab her cloak because she'd probably kill him if he forgot it), down the corridor and up a few stairs. Her brain wasn't functioning as well as it should, because she asked: "How many hours are in three days?"

Ron crooked an eyebrow at her, almost tripping over a step. "You haven't slept in seventy-two hours?!"

"Wasn't really tired at the time," she murmured as they came to a stop in front of the portrait hole, taking but a second to get into it, "but I'm really sleepy now…weird…"

Ron rolled his eyes at his friend who had collapsed onto the couch –which had become her makeshift bed during the holiday break–, hoisting the thick blankets up around her small body and curling her arm over her pillow and under her head. He was more than slightly amused when she fell instantly to sleep.

No sleep for three days? Ron could only shake his head at that. You wouldn't catch him doing such a thing as foolish as spending hours upon hours staring into a mirror that showed you something you would never have. He'd prefer sanity instead.


Hope slept through the whole next day, which was an impressive feat on its own, as Fred and George often forgot that she was slumbering away on the couch, unaware of all that transpired. Which was really lucky, because Fred had taken to concocting scenarios to how she would awaken; George kissing her awake was quite popular (George gave his twin a glare for that).

It was only the day after when she finally awoke, well rested. It was still dark out, but Hope hurried into the shower and into a fresh set of clothes before leaving the common room in a rush. It was a miracle none of the Weasley boys awoke from the noise she made, but she paid it no heed, limping down the stairs with her cane in hand, making for the viaduct bridge.

The sun had only just begun to paint oranges and pinks across the sky, luckily for Hope, who had long desired to see a winter sunrise, yet never seemed to awaken early enough to see the former.

"Miss Potter?"

Professor McGonagall was surprised to find one of her students leaning against a stone window of the viaduct. Her face was set in a surprisingly bright expression and her eyes –dark brown– were millions of miles away. She was positive she hadn't heard her. "Miss Potter?"

No response.

She reached out a gentle hand to rest it upon her thickly clad elbow when she jerked away suddenly, twisting violently, her eyes wild and turning bright hazel in her surprise.

"Oh," she gasped, resting a hand against her chest. "Professor! You startled me!"

"I can see that," Professor McGonagall said dryly, "shouldn't you be sleeping Miss Potter?"

"Sleep—?" she started in confusion before staring out at the early morning sun. She waved a hand dismissively, laughing lightly. "Oh, I slept the whole day away; Zeus knows I don't need any more rest."

Her professor's face grew concerned, but she just laughed and waved it off. "Don't look so worried, Professor, my mind's too active for sleep."

Her eyes grew to the same color of pink that was painted across the horizon as she leaned her elbows on the stone. She didn't know why, but she had an utter fascination with the sky, whether it be night or day, stars or not.

"And why, may I ask, are you out so early in the morning?" McGonagall asked primly, glancing her over with a careful eye.

The grin she gave her in response reminded her of the girl's deceased father a bit too much. "Why, to see the sunrise of course." She could hear James' amused sort of mocking way of talking.

"Can I ask you something, Professor?" she asked suddenly.

"Of course," she said automatically, reminded distantly of a young Lily Evans asking her if it really mattered how she had inherited her magic.

"Do you ever not compare me to my parents?"

The tone of her voice was strangely blunt. It made McGonagall feel oddly guilty, as if she was the child that had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Honestly, she was startlingly like either of her parents that it was difficult to not view her as such, and she told her that (voicing it as delicately as she possibly could).

Hope's eyes turned an icy-blue and she gave a small huff of annoyance, muttering something unsavory under her breath. "I don't like when people compare me too much to my parents," she said finally, brushing her hair from her face, curling one strand around her finger as she did so. "They often forget that I am not them." Her eyes fastened on McGonagall as if to say "like certain professors, for instance."

McGonagall's smile was thin. "You have my sincerest apologies, if I have offended you." And she meant it.

"You haven't," Hope said with an air of amusement. "I was just going to see if you were going to admit it."

It was so utterly backhanded and Slytherin that McGonagall was impressed. She had enticed an apology out of her with very few words.

"I do not think your parents would have dared to do something like that," the older woman said dryly.

Hope laughed, her laughter bringing a new light to her eyes. "That is good to know." This whole situation was a bit odd, as students didn't typically have casual conversations with their teachers, unless it involved their grade or schoolwork in general.

"Then, would you mind if I asked you a question myself?" she asked, to which Hope gave a light inclination of the head, her eyes once again on the sky beyond.

"You're a metamorphmagus, so why is it that you don't change the color of your hair and eyes as often?" She had only seen it a few times when it was not that dark crimson that she had inherited from her mother.

"I was told that it suited me," Hope said calmly, though her cheeks had flooded with color, greatly amusing the professor. Like father, like daughter, she thought, being attracted to red-heads, and all.

"George Weasley is not wrong."

Her cheeks turned the color of beets and she stared, stunned at McGonagall. "Now, wait a mo', I never said—!" Her words quickly faded into incoherent ramblings that she couldn't decipher, but at the same time, didn't need to.

McGonagall's lips spread in a slight smile as Hope turned up her collar against the wind and turned on her heel, still sputtering about professors and troublemaking red-heads. That was something she had often heard Lily Evans complaining of (though her thoughts involved "toe-rag" and "black-haired fool" more often than not), with slight variations, of course. But, now that she'd thought about it, she'd never heard George and Hope fight so vocally or rudely, if at all, as her parents had.

It seemed Hope really was a bit different than her parents.


Fred wasn't quite sure how he got roped into helping Hope make a snowman, but the fact remained that he had. One would have thought that she had confused him with his brother, but Hope didn't make such mistakes. As it just so happened, George hadn't finished his homework and had been forced by Percy to remain inside (with Ron as well, who had left his holiday homework to the last minute) and finish it. Hope had pouted and begged until finally Fred gave in (mostly so she would simply cease her behavior) and was dragged out into the freezing wind.

Hope's intense eyes –because, make no mistake, they were intense; he didn't know how George could stare so easily into them every day– were narrowed in concentration as she knelt in the snow, packing the snow together into a large ball.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked her with a quirked eyebrow.

She laughed lightly. "Of course, but this snowman is going to be the best snowman in the world, so I must give a little to gain a lot," she said stoutly in an almost childish gesture that got him for about five seconds until he realized she was joking. "'Course I'm cold, you numpty! I just want to make a snowman, that's all."

Fred stopped where he was making the body while Hope was making the base of the snowman. "Have you ever made a snowman?" he asked cautiously, silently wishing he had George to deal with all this.

Hope's thickly gloved hands stilled over the snow. "Why do you ask?" she inquired, her voice strangely high, giving her away.

"I just do," Fred said bluntly. "So? Have you ever made a snowman?"

A sigh of visible fog left her lips as her eyes fluttered closed for a short moment. Fred wasn't quite sure why, but she seemed to be gathering herself, like whenever his dad got angry. "No," she said finally, "I've never made a snowman in all my life."

"Why not?" Fred asked, honestly curious.

Hope pursed her lips at the question. "Because Petunia didn't want me mixing with her son, or having any kind of fun, now that I think about it. She thinks I'm a bit unnatural, so does her husband." She grinned suddenly. "Hence why I've been a complete utter bitch for the last few years."

"You are unbelievable, you are," Fred said with a bit of awe, staring at her as if he had never quite looked at her properly.

"Thank you," she said, a smirk twisting into place, "but I think George might get a little jealous if you keep talking like that, Weasley."

Fred snorted at her comment as she pulled a carrot missing its tip out of her pocket and stuffing into the center of the head, using an assortment of colored buttons as the eyes, mouth, and (obviously) the buttons that went down the front.

She grinned feverishly, clapping her hands together in happiness. "See, told you! He's perfect!"

Fred wasn't so sure with a bulging belly like that (he wasn't quite sure how exactly it had gotten so big, but here it was, oh well). "Are you sure? He looks a bit on the plump side…"

"What are you talking about?" Hope chortled. "He's beautiful! And I'm going to call him Bombur!"

Fred couldn't help but stare at her as if she had a second head as she hummed the lyrics to the song she had sung –embarrassingly– for George not several nights earlier whilst reading that first chapter of her beloved book:

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates!

Blunt the knives and bend the forks!

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates—

Smash the bottles and burn the corks!"

It finally made sense when George and Hope explained it a dinnertime, but at the same time, made no sense at all. And, thus, Hope became the not-so-official storyteller of Gryffindor House, reading the Hobbit late into the night until her three-boy audience had fallen asleep. She shook her head; Weasleys never changed, did they?


The weather was downright terrible when Hope had gone down to practice for the up-coming Quidditch match, and it hadn't improved at all during the few hours that they'd practiced, in fact, it probably got worse. Hope could hardly see her hand in front of her, though Oliver's voice was loud and clear, his irritation leaking through at the twins pretending to fall off their brooms (which was a bit foolish, Hope had to agree).

"Will you stop messing around!" Oliver demanded, barely being heard over the dull roar of the storm around them. "Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

It was not a pleasant taste that mud had, just ask George Weasley who had fallen from his broom only moments previously, swallowing a bit of mud as he did so. He struggled to spit it out, howling, "Snape's refereeing?! When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if-argh!"

Five heads swiveled in the George's direction, trying not to laugh, because Hope, who had just landed, hadn't been able to see very clearly in the dark and mud, and had tripped, falling onto his back, pressing his face into the mud again.

"Sorry," she groaned into his ear as she rolled off him into the mud as well. "It's kind of dark, you know…"

Angelina hid a smile –though Fred was roaring with laughter– as she helped the younger girl stand, but the smile soon slipped from her face. "What's wrong? You're really pale."

"Snape," she muttered simply, "the bane of my existence…why do the gods curse me so?"

Alicia Spinnet snickered behind her hand as Wood called out the end of practice. "Come on; let's get you changed, maybe that'll get you in better spirits."

"Doubtful," Hope grumbled, but complied all the same, limping in the direction of the changing room until Oliver had to run after her and tug her in the opposite direction, the real direction of the changing rooms. The girls ended up deciding to shower in Gryffindor Tower, because it was a much better prospect compared to the showers in the changing room, and so, not ten minutes later (because one could move very fast when a shower was near at hand) the Chasers and Seeker were washing the mud and grime and sweat from their bodies.

One thing everyone had to get used to in Hogwarts was the shared showers, meaning there wasn't much time to be self-conscious of their bodies. Of course, there were separate stalls, but with thin shower curtains. If you wanted to make sure your clothes didn't get wet, you usually had to strip before entering one of the stalls (something that Hermione wasn't a fan of).

Hermione wasn't really surprised to find her best friend and her teammates having yet another discussion as they showered; it happened more often than it didn't. Angelina Johnson was leaning on the tiled separator between her stall and Hope's, her chin propped on her arms.

"A bad feeling?" she asked dubiously. "About what?"

Hope shot her an annoyed glance, rinsing the shampoo from her hair. "You know what: Snape."

Hermione slipped into the stall beside Hope, flushing darkly when all the girls called out greetings to her.

Angelina arched an eyebrow at the younger girl. "What, you think he'll play dirty?"

The direction of this conversation was quite confusing to Hermione as she tossed a glance to Hope who in turn tossed a glance to Angelina that said "Snape always plays dirty."

"Snape's going to be the referee for the next Quidditch match," Hope supplied with an annoyed wrinkle of her nose. "And I have a bad feeling," she added as an afterthought. She couldn't quite describe it, it was like knowing when people were going to die, something she could feel in her bones.

"A bad feeling?" Hermione repeated Angelina's previous words. "Why?"

Hope's eyebrows creased in irritation, her eyes dark pits. It wasn't a look Hermione was fond of being on the receiving end of, though, thankfully, she rarely was. "Oh, I don't know," she said, her voice bitingly sarcastic, "maybe it's 'cause he's a cock."

The air was suddenly thick with coughs and gags and gasps, but Hope paid none of them any heed, seemingly more focused on her hair than anything else.

"What?" she demanded when the stares were turned on her. "Oh, come on! He's the biggest piece of—" she called Snape something that made Hermione say "Hope!"– "that ever lived! He doesn't teach us anything! The only thing I'm ever going to learn in his class is how restrain myself from taking my silver knife and shoving it—" She mimed the action, much to Alicia's amusement. "He has something against me, mark my words; he'll make the match a living hell."

Angelina couldn't help but arch an eyebrow. "Maybe he's just got something against Potters and Weasleys," she said, trying to sound reasonable, but not really hoping to change her mind about anything.

Hope gave her a baleful stare. "Or maybe he's got something against Gryffindors, the ruddy tosspot."

Katie sniggered quietly as Hope dressed in silence, still muttering obscenities under her breath, before bidding them all goodnight, leaving several pairs of round eyes staring after her.

"Do you…do you think she's alright?" Hermione asked quietly, still staring in the direction that her friend had left.

"Meh," Angelina said carelessly, with a wave of her hand, "don't worry, she's just been pushing herself really hard lately, and her leg's been bothering her; I wouldn't be surprised if she started hexing some people by the end of the week."

Hermione grimaced as the others left her in silence and solitude.

Angelina was right about one thing; Hope had been pushing herself very hard, harder than she should have. Hermione thought maybe something had happened over the holiday, but no one ever mentioned anything, so she assumed it was just her being irrational.

Hope had been so preoccupied before the holidays, it had almost seemed as if she was missing out on an assortment of things, but now she was lively, very lively indeed. Hermione had almost stayed at Hogwarts for the short vacation because she was worried about her friend, but Hope had convinced her that she was fine and didn't need any looking after.

She had been sure that there was something wrong with her leg, because she'd gone to her last few appointments without her or Ron, but she never said a word about it. However, when she had asked Madame Pomfrey about it, the woman had seemed surprised. She said that there was nothing of the sort wrong with her, more likely than not, it was the stress of the on-coming exams or the Quidditch match, or maybe she just wanted to be alone for a bit.

Hope had never worried about Quidditch matches before, not since her first one, but then those matches hadn't been conducted by the professor who hated her the most.

Maybe she was on to something with that bad feeling of hers.

The next few days didn't help Hope's mood, and she actually had to have both of the Weasley Twins restrain her from killing that blonde-haired ingrate by the name of Malfoy.

"Don't play," Hermione advised one night as Hope rested her cheek on her fist, her homework lying unfinished on her lap.

"Say you're ill," Ron added from the armchair, "you look the part, at least."

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione offered.

"Really break your leg."

Hope rubbed a tired hand over her eyebrow, trying to ignore her low throbbing headache (or soothe it with the movement, she couldn't be sure which). "I can't," she refused simply. "Oliver'll kill me if I back out because of some unjust ruling, besides, if I did, we'd have to forfeit, because we don't have a reserve seeker."

"You're too nice!" Hermione moaned. "What if—" What if you're right? What if something bad happens? She didn't say anything, but she was sure the rest of her question showed on her face.

"I'll be fine," Hope assured her with that kind smile that suited a much older face. "You'll see—" Whatever else Hope had intended to say was cut short when Neville toppled into the room. The response: the whole common room erupted into loud laughter, annoying Hope as greatly as it had Hermione who had stood instantly, freeing his legs with the counter-curse.

Neville stumbled shakily over to the couch, on which Hope and Hermione had cleared a spot.

"Malfoy?" Hope asked sympathetically, sighing when he nodded mutely. "I tried to get me on my way out of the library earlier, but I knew the counter-curse."

"He got me there too!" Neville moaned into his hands. "He said he'd been looking for someone to practice it on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione said adamantly. "Report him!"

Hope tried to hide a snort; when did anyone take students seriously? She remembered how many times she complained to her Muggle teachers of Dudley, whether it be cheating or other forms of bullying, and how they never seemed to side with her, or at least always believed whatever lie Dudley put out. Like when he told everyone "She slipped", and that was how she got in the car accident; so, she was a klutz on top of being an attention-seeking liar. McGonagall may be nice, but at a certain point you had to stick up for yourself.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron was saying (had she zoned out? She must have). "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"Ron!" Hope warned.

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville said in return, his voice becoming throaty and choked, as if he was holding back tears.

"That's not what Ron's saying," Hope disagreed, her eyes latching onto his imploringly. "There are different kinds of courage and the Sorting Hat saw that in you. Ignore Malfoy, you're worth twelve of him, and he knows it," she said with finality to the round-faced boy, handing him a chocolate frog, "besides, he's an attention-seeking prat not worthy of yours." Sometimes when Hope spoke one had to take her words for granted, and this was one of those times.

"Thanks, Hope," he said, noticeably happier as he handed her the card that came with the chocolate before thanking Hermione as well and heading up for bed. Hope set the card on the small table beside the couch, staring into the fire once more.

Ron couldn't help but wonder what she saw in it, but Hope wasn't thinking about the fire at all.

She stared into the fiery depths, lost in thought. She hadn't told the other two that she had a rough idea about where they could read up on Nicholas Flamel, and she knew that she should have, but... Hope frowned slightly. The search for his identity had been put on hold after the whole Mirror of Erised incident, but now she really didn't have a reason not to look him up.

"Hope? Are you coming?" Hermione's voice could be heard in her periphery and Hope dragged her eyes away from the fire to look up at her friend.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Hope said automatically, grabbing her cane from the floor and standing with as much grace as she possessed –which, frankly, wasn't much–, following her friend up the stairs to the first-year dormitory.

She changed in silence and climbed in her bed, laying asleep there for what seemed like hours, waiting for her dorm-mates to drop off to sleep, which took a surprisingly long time.

And once they had done so, it was only then that Hope finally decided to look into Nicolas Flamel once more. She threw off the covers of her bed and grabbed her wand before climbing out of the bed to walk around it to where her trunk was located.

She fumbled with her trunk, using a very faint "Lumos!" so that she might see the contents within. Hope mouthed the titles that the spines of the books bore, before finding the one she wanted and withdrawing it, locking her trunk once more, and climbing back into bed.

Greatest Wizards of Ages Past was the book she had been searching for. It looked to be a bit of a bore, but the man who'd sold it to her had said it would be useful for History of Magic, and he wasn't wrong, there. And if it had something about ancient wizards, Nicholas Flamel would definitely have to count, since he was over six hundred years old.

Her illuminated wand tip was hidden behind the thick drapes so she wouldn't awaken her dorm mates, and tucked behind her ear as she skimmed the pages for one passage in particular.

A Short Synopsis of Alchemy:

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. An incorrect assumption was that the Stone could turn a base metal such as lead to gold or silver, when it can only turn metal to gold. The Philosopher's Stone has been a symbol of enlightenment or complete perfection, another reason for alchemists' to strive to create it.

There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera-lover, who celebrated his six-hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six-hundred and fifty-eight).

At last! Success!

A stone that could make one immortal, well, that would be something that a large number of people would desire. And there was the question of why Dumbledore would have it in Hogwarts; surely there were more secure holdings?

"Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want to keep safe— 'cept maybe Hogwarts." Wasn't that what Hagrid had said?

And then a vault had been broken into the day she'd gone with him to Diagon Alley, the same vault he'd emptied. If what he had removed from the vault was indeed the true Philosopher's Stone, then why hadn't the vault it was in been of a higher class? Or would that have attracted too much attention?

She frowned, tapping her chin thoughtfully, theorizing for a few minutes more –some theories possible, some not so much– before calling it a day and cancelling her light, replacing the book and wand beside her on the bedside table, closing her eyes and slipping into a deep slumber.


Hope leaned forward on her arms, the cool air brushing against her hair as she looked out upon the terrace. The weather was fair, not completely lovely, but then, it was only March, so she shouldn't have expected any less. Thick red gloves covered her palms and fingers so that her hands wouldn't freeze quite so much while clutching her broom. She frowned in annoyance at the soft noises her cane made with every movement.

Now Hope had a reason for why she hadn't told her friends of her recent breakthrough concerning Flamel, and that was mostly because she was feeling a bit more than slightly vindictive.

Bad feeling were real, they existed. Hope was more than a little annoyed that everyone thought she was being silly about the whole thing. Sure, Snape was a tosspot, but there was something else that sent a shiver down her spine. Bad things seemed to follow her onto the Quidditch pitch. So, Hope walked silently out onto the field, trying to calm her racing heart as she disappeared into the changing room, returning just as morosely.

"Hope?"

Her eyes shifted upwards to regard George's concerned blue ones. "Hm?" she mumbled quietly, her voice a little raw from trying to defend herself so much.

"Are you alright?" he couldn't help but ask her. She looked very anxious, more anxious than he'd ever seen her.

"Just fine," she murmured in the same quiet manner. He wasn't sure if she could raise her voice much higher than that.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" he prodded.

She gave him an odd look. Maybe she looked tired (which she was; tired of trying to explain herself over and over again) "I slept fine."

"Hope!" Oliver sounded relieved when he saw that his seeker was already there and in uniform. "Good you're here! I need to talk to you for a second."

She nodded mutely, rolling her stiff shoulders to follow her captain.

George shared a glance with his twin. "Did she look a bit…worried to you?"

Fred's face was marred in a frown. "Angie says she's been a bit anxious about this match, something about Snape, I think."

Well, George couldn't fault her there.

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter," Oliver was saying to Hope, "but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch, it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much."

Hope gave a lazy salute, trying not to roll her eyes at him. "Yes, sir."

"Are you sure you're alright?" he pressed after a brief moment of assessing her, catching sight of her over-flushed cheeks and slightly glazed eyes.

She threw him an annoyed glance. "I'm fine, stop asking."

And Oliver relented after she gave him a firm glare.

"The whole school's out there!" Fred commented from the door. "Even-blimey– Dumbledore's come to watch!"

"Really?"

Fred turned towards Hope's voice and balked slightly. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing?"

Hope had bent over forwards so that her body, reaching down to the ground and then kicking her legs up, keeping them as straight as possible. She rolled her eyes –the most life he'd seen in her today– and scoffed. "It's called stretching, genius."

If Hope was already that annoyed this early in the morning then the day was already off to a bad start. George winced behind him.

Hope pulled herself into a standing position, her eyes a brown so dark that they were almost black. "I still have a bad feeling," she grumbled under her breath as she fell into line with the rest.

"Nothing's going to go wrong," Angelina said in exasperation, and just a bit of annoyance. "Stop worrying!"

The dark glare that settled on her face pulled Angelina's words up short, but, luckily, there was little reason to talk or even argue, as not several seconds later both teams marched onto the pitch. Hope couldn't but feel a little glad that Snape looked a bit angry, though she couldn't fathom why; it was a beautiful day. Her eyes shifted upwards slightly, or at least it was a clear day.

They said their pleasantries, which consisted of a tough handshake by both captains and an agreeable nod –since it was Hufflepuff–, and the whistle perched between Snape's lips began the game.

Apparently Hope had already begun to gain a bit of a reputation, because the first Bludger she saw was the one hurtling towards her collarbone. She rocketed her broom upwards, but she needn't have worried; George battered it away sending it –whether accidentally or on purpose, she couldn't be sure– towards Snape.

A penalty was awarded to Hufflepuff, but Hope thought it was worth it. She winked at George, who was grinning as he flew past. He almost missed the next Bludger; Hope took full credit for that.

Hope circled the pitch, eyes trained on anything that was gold, but in this crowd, that could be anything. Catch the Snitch fast, he said, before Snape gives Hufflepuff too many penalties, he said. Fine. Her eyes flashed to something that small and golden fluttering by the Ravenclaw stands. She didn't dare glance to the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory, to see if he had seen it, already speeding towards it in a dive that few ever dared to do and even less at the speed she was going at.

Sharp dives were starting to become a signature of hers, something that both pleased and annoyed Oliver greatly (she suspected he was only annoyed because of the possibility of her getting ploughed). No one else minded as long as she made an attempt to worry about her own skin for once, which was rare.

She shot past Snape, hiding a smirk as she angled her elbow in such a way that it rammed into his side, but before he had the chance to call for a foul, Hope had pulled up, waving a clenched fist in triumph, inside which the silver wings of the Snitch fluttered weakly.

The roar was deafening; it had to be a record, someone catching the Snitch so soon after a match had starte-

Wham!

Hope didn't see it coming when something hard and round slammed into the back of her head, sending her toppling off the broom and into a freefall. She was barely conscious enough to hear the screams, but her world faded into blackness once her body collided with the earth. She was conscious long enough to feel her bones crack and to feel the pain that resulted from them.

The whole school spilled out onto the field when the Gryffindor Seeker didn't move. Barely anyone had time to even think as Madam Pomfrey all but flew to her most frequent patient's side, her face pale with worry as her wand fluttered over the girl's body. If she had looked back, she would have seen the barricade the professors had to make to force the students back. If she had looked back, she would have seen how horrified both the Quidditch teams were. If she had looked back, she would have seen Hermione Granger in tears and Ron Weasley as white as a ghost. But, Madam Pomfrey had no time for such things, because, as it was, Hope Potter's life hung in the balance.

She needed to take her to St. Mungo's; this level of healing was out of her hands. She twisted the pearl ring on her pointer finger, cradling the back of Hope's neck so that the portkey wouldn't jar her head too much, before girl and Matron vanished from a sea of worry.


"It's called flashing," Hope explained.

"Flashing? Why do you call it that?" Ron asked, canting his eyebrow slightly.

It was a few weeks after the troll incident –as it was now called, rather famously– and Hope had finally agreed to tell Fred and George how she could get around Hogwarts so fast. Ron and Hermione had opted to tag along, wondering just what exactly she was going to show them.

Hope's eyes rolled towards George who sniggered lightly. "'Cause one second you're there and the next you're gone," Hope said with a shrug, "like a flash; I guess it was the best name my granddad could come up with."

Hermione's mouth dropped. "Your grandfather invented that teleportation method?!" He was the owner of that little leather bound book that Hope had read from when they were in the lavatory during Halloween? He would have to be incredibly advanced–

"Yup!" Hope said, popping the 'p' loudly as she smiled at George. "So, Weasley, apple or orange?"

He blinked, not quite understanding, but he answered anyways, in a completely flummoxed way. "Apple…why?" But by the time he blinked, she'd disappeared.

Fred twisted around, glancing in every direction. "Okay…so—"

"Here you are." An apple was tossed lightly into George's open hands and four pairs of eyes looked at it as if it was some sort of alien creation or forbidden fruit...or something...

Then, Hope had the audacity to yawn as if disappearing and reappearing just as quickly was as common as breathing (which it most certainly was not). George looked down at the apple then back up at her with a bit of incomprehension.

"It's not poisoned," she said in amusement, "don't worry, Weasley, if I wanted to kill you, I would at least be more creative than that."


George felt awkward sitting beside Hope as she slumbered, but he had been volunteered, so he had little choice. It was a wonder McGonagall hadn't asked his younger brother or the Granger girl ("Her name is Hermione, George," Hope admonished) to sit by her bedside. She was on the mend, the whole school had been assured of, but would be out of commission for a few weeks while she recovered from the extensive injuries she had sustained.

Hermione and Ron were taking it the worst, being her best friends, but even Angelina was feeling a bit guilty for tossing her worries aside. She had been right; every Quidditch game she'd played this year had been quite dangerous, so why didn't anyone believe her when she said that she had a bad feeling?

George exhaled loudly, curling his fingers around her limp hand. She was so pale and so small, the purplish smudges under her eyes stood out against her skin. Her hair was a silvery-blonde, almost hiding the blue-wait, what blue?

He frowned, gently brushing her hair from her shoulder to see the bit of blue coloring. What on earth was that?

"Still here?" a kind voice asked, making George quickly remove his hand and twist around to see a young woman in a healer's uniform. Her smile was kind. "You should get some rest."

"I'm fine," George said, but his stomach gave a loud growl.

The healer smiled. "Come on, I'll show you to the floo-"

"What's the blue mark from?" George asked suddenly, gesturing to his slumbering friend.

She gave him a strange look. "What mark?" she asked, moving forward and pulling out her wand and hovering it over the area he had specified. "Oh," she said, relieved, "it's just a transfigured burn, nothing to worry about. Was she in a fire when she was younger?"

"I, I don't know," George admitted. "She barely talks about her childhood."

She said nothing to that, a slight smile brushing her lips as she glanced over the mark again. "The person who made it probably thought they were being clever."

"Huh?" George said in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"It's an iris," she explained, straightening up as she did so, "and its blue; that is symbolic of hope."

"Oh," he said dumbly, but neither said anything else on the matter. George frowned again, dropping his hand onto hers to squeeze it gently, and he could have sworn that for one moment, she squeezed back.

Hope shifted slightly in the bed, her shoulders tensing slightly as her brow furrowed.

"Is she…in pain?" he asked in concern.

"A bit," the healer admitted, "but that's expected, because we have to make sure everything's healing up properly; if we loaded her up with potions all the time, she wouldn't be able to know what was what."

"She would hate that," George agreed. "She hates when she gets sent to the hospital wing, always says the potions mess with her head."

She laughed lightly. "I know the type. Probably always has her nose stuck in a book?"

"Sometimes, but she's not much of a bookworm." This was very true. Where Hermione often spewed random dictionary definitions, Hope dumbed down or simplified her knowledge.

She winked after pulling the blankets more securely around her patient. "Don't worry, she'll be fine after she's rested a good bit, you'll see." And she left as swiftly as she had entered, leaving him in silence once more.

A soft sigh left Hope's lips as her tensed muscles relaxed and her fingers curled tightly around his, but she made no other movement.

George leaned down to lift a small spine-broken book from the pocket of his cloak, setting it down beside her. She would get bored with nothing to read when she ever woke up, besides, it was her favorite.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "You better wake up soon, Hope Potter, you hear me? Soon."

He didn't see the ghost of a smile on her lips as he left, her mind still a muddle of pain and potions, but his voice rang familiar to her, though she could not place it yet in her memory.


Madam Pomfrey peered intently over her patient, her face lined with worry as she looked over her charts. The bones were healing nicely –at a much slower rate so as not to damage her internal organs– held in place by the bandages that were wrapped around the majority of her body, spelled to keep the bones beneath the skin in their proper places, and only a few of her organs were still bruised.

"So, she's doing much better, then?" Madam Pomfrey guessed to the healer in charge of the student, Healer Archer. The girl hadn't stirred for nearly two weeks.

Archer smiled, patting the older woman's hand kindly. "Much better, Madam Pomfrey," she assured her, "she's tougher than she looks."

Madam Pomfrey's smile was a bit wry. "Oh, I know."

She reached down to smooth a loose crimson lock from her face when her eyes fluttering open at long last. They were the palest shade of green she'd ever seen, but it was the first sign of life in her that she'd seen in weeks.

"Hope!" she said in rather obvious relief. "You're awake! Finally!"

Those green eyes which had been staring at a spot on the ceiling above her shifted sideways to meet hers.

"P-Poppy?" her voice croaked, weak and raspy. "Wha-what happened?"

Madam Pomfrey couldn't even be a little annoyed that she used her first name –so much like James often had–, too relieved that she was awake, before she became quickly appalled at her attempting to sit up. "Don't do that! You'll—"

Hope groaned loudly in aggravation, cutting her speech off as she raised a hand to inspect the thick bandages around her arms. "Do I look like a mummy?"

"Only a little bit, Miss Potter," Healer Archer said in amusement, stepping into the space beside her, opposite Madame Pomfrey. "I'm Healer Archer; I've been monitoring you since you arrived."

Hope blinked owlishly at her a few times, looking the young woman up and down. "Healer," she said slowly, "like..." Her mouth was still a little numb from the potions and the lack of moisture so she settled on pointing at Madam Pomfrey.

"That's correct," Healer Archer said as Hope descended into a brief coughing fit, handing her a cup of water that almost slipped from her hands due to how weak and badly shaking they were.

"Ah…" Hope said tiredly, her eyes staring vacantly around her as if trying to ascertain where she was.

"You're in St. Mungo's," she added, but Hope only stared blankly at her. "It's a magical hospital."

"Of course," Hope said bemused, glancing at the healer that was running her wand over her body. "What are you doing?"

"Hm?" Archer glanced up. "Oh, just checking your vitals, making sure everything's working correctly."

Hope's eyes didn't trust, but she made no other comment concerning the matter. "What happened exactly?"

"What do you remember?" Madam Pomfrey countered, instead.

Hope's eyebrows furrowed as she attempted to recall the events that led to her accident. "I had just caught the Snitch," she said slowly, curling her fingers inward until they made contact with her palm, as if still feeling the tingle of the cold metal. "And then something hard hit me in the back of the head and I fell off and fainted."

"Well," Madam Pomfrey began slowly, "the Hufflepuff Beater who hit the Bludger had actually been aiming in the opposite direction, so the ball was charmed to head towards you. He's been feeling rather guilty about the whole thing."

"I would assume so," Hope grunted over the growl of her stomach. "Damn, I'm starving!"

Archer chortled slightly and excused herself to bring the Girl-Who-Lived her long awaited food.

"Be honest with me, Miss Potter," Madam Pomfrey warned, reverting back to the girl's surname, "how do you feel?"

"Like lead," she said bluntly, lifting her arms experimentally with difficulty, "are they supposed to feel like that?"

"Lead is good," Madam Pomfrey said, pleased. "The bandages are a bit heavy, but the weighted feeling means that they're healing properly."

"So when can I get out of here?" Hope asked bluntly, collapsing back into her pillows with another low groan. "I hate hospitals."

"I had no idea," Madam Pomfrey said sarcastically, "though I suspect you will be leaving sooner rather than later, now that the healers can use undiluted potions—"

"Uh, I guess that's…good," Hope muttered awkwardly.

Hope seemed to be a bit lost in thought, sliding one of her two rings onto her finger where they had rested on the bedside table. It gleamed in the barely lit room.

"What's that?"

Her attention had been directed to a small pile of gifts at the foot of her bed. Their presence seemed to surprise her, making Madam Pomfrey smile. And then her gaze shifted sideways to the worn book that lay on the bedside table.

"Was George here?" she asked suddenly, straining the muscles of her arm so that she could reach the book and lift it with difficulty towards herself.

"Oh, yes," Madam Pomfrey agreed with a sly smile, "he was probably the most upset after your…fall."

Hope's cheeks darkened, muttering under her breath, "We're just friends."

She didn't notice the amused smile Madam Pomfrey cast her way, and she had no way of knowing that Madam Pomfrey was going to return to Hogwarts and inform her friends of her awakening and perhaps subtly (or not so subtly) suggest to the Weasley Twins a possibility of a truly spectacular welcome back gift.


There was no one to greet Hope when she took the portkey Healer Archer gave her and was deposited out in the stone courtyard.

"You have been greatly missed, Milady."

Hope very nearly sighed at the sound of Sir Michael Richmond's voice, as she had now discovered why the talking suit of armor was always following her around (owing, no doubt, to Salazar Slytherin's last request) and she couldn't say she was impressed by how seriously he was taking it.

Hope opted to scowl at him instead, but the cool wind whipped her hair around, making it difficult to look at him without restraining it with her hands.

Hope was sure she would've preferred to Flash to the castle if she could've gotten away with it, but what could you do?

"I doubt that," she said calmly, "but you might want to be less obvious, Michael, people are going to notice when a suit of armor keeps following me around."

"I keep mostly to myself," a voice from within spoke defensively.

Hope arched her eyebrow again, dubious, but she settled on rolling her eyes at him instead. "To your post, Sir Knight."

He gave her a low bow and lumbered off, the sound of metal clashing together with every movement. He looked so utterly ridiculous, Hope could silence the small giggle that burst from her lips (she still blamed her grandfather for the whole thing; honestly, she didn't need to be watched like a child by someone who had been dead for at least a good thousand years).

She'd left the hospital despite them wanting her to remain for another few days, but Hope really hated hospitals. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with hospitals in general, or even doctors or healers, it was just that she didn't like being strapped to a bed. Not being able to move at all was possibly the most torturous thing she had ever endured; quite ironic considering her leg required her to not move for extended amounts of time.

She pulled her jacket a little tighter around her, hoping that it would shield her from the wind a bit more effectively, because, despite the fact that it was April, she was still in Scotland, and even they had cold weather. She glanced down at herself, noticing how muggle she looked and it made her smile.

The jacket was baggy on her, but she liked it too much to complain about the size (she'd grow into it), as usual, her legs were covered with thick tights, but her skirt was denim and worn, and her shirt depicted a band called the Weird Sisters, which she had no way of knowing that it was actually a Wizarding band.

She looked perfectly muggle, which was good.

"Hope?"

Hope turned to see Dean and Seamus gaping at her, surprised to see her in the empty courtyard, let alone standing.

"Hey," Hope gave a helpful wave before they both raced over to envelop her in a tight hug. "Oof!"

Dean was a steady presence early in the morning when she couldn't sleep, sketching that tree, the Blood-Soaked Tree, that they both had so many nightmares about. Hope knew people weren't supposed to share dreams, let alone nightmares, but she couldn't help but feel like there was something different about her and Dean.

Waking up in that hospital without company through her nightmares just reminded her of being ten and in agony in the Muggle hospital, wanting nothing more than to leave, which was probably why she'd decided to leave early.

"You all right?" Dean asked, ever concerned.

"Were you really in a coma?" Seamus asked, ever curious.

"Uh," Hope articulated helpfully, "I guess?" She scratched her cheek. "How has everything been here?"

Seamus waved his hand. "The same. Ron and Hermione have been worrying up a storm, they're in the Great Hall—"

"Thanks, I'll head that way," Hope grinned, "see you guys later!" And then she was moving as quickly as she was capable to pass beyond the doors and enter the rowdy hall.

A harsh light danced in front of her eyes, making her step back, almost tripping, even with her cane, and blinking frantically to clear her vision.

It was a star. Well, not a real star, but this was as close to a star as one could get. In awe, she tentatively reached a hand out to the floating light.

She had told them she liked to star-gaze…it could be no one else. She laughed out loud and swung her cane forward, heading further inside.

At first, no one noticed her –strange, to say the least–, but people began to notice that something was amiss when the reflection of the sky above them shifted suddenly to a night filled with stars and the moon painting a lovely picture.

She was almost too busy admiring the scenery to notice the red blur heading her way, only catching sight of the twin a fraction of a second before she was swept into his arms with a hearty laugh.

"George Fabian Weasley, you put me down right now!" she ordered, despite her smile, ignoring the rising noise behind them.

"You are so…" George struggled to find the right words.

"Me?" Hope offered with a grin. "Oh, I know." Her green eyes glanced upwards briefly. "I like the present; very impressive magic."

His eyes lit up, and so did his ears, but that was nothing compared to his cheeks when she kissed one of them. "You are far too sweet," she said amused. "Oi! Fred! Get over here, I know you helped!"

Fred's casual smile never slipped as he gave her a tight hug. "I figured you wanted some privacy with Prince Charming over there-OW!"

Hope shook her cane aggressively at him, her cheeks only slightly flushed. "I have a cane, mister," she warned, "and I am not afraid to use it."

Her attention was now drawn to the pair that she had missed the most, the two that looked the most like Hell. Red rimmed eyes and light bruising under the eyes told her all she needed to know.

"So," she began slowly, "which of you morons do I hug first?"

At those words, Hermione burst into tears, only slightly alarming Hope when she flung her arms around her and sobbed into the shoulder of her coat.

"Er…it's alright, see? Good as new. Well, I say new, but if I was as good as new then I wouldn't have any imperfections, which is impossible, since everyone's got those—"

"Shut up!" Hermione muffled into the material, before pulling back and quickly wiping her eyes. "You oaf!"

Hope held up a hand making a small space between her first finger and thumb as if to say "Just a smidgen."

"Miss me, Ron?" she grinned, her eyes glimmering blue when he gripped her into a hug as well.

Hugs all around, really. Hope lost track of how many people she actually hugged, in fact, she didn't remember much of that lunch until later when she had to empty it into a toilet after stuffing her face a bit too much. Being back in those walls gave her such comfort and relief, like coming home after being away for such a long time. She had missed it.

"Miss Potter."

Hope turned and grinned as her Head of House finally approached the table that she had been forced to sit at, squashed between her best friends. "Hey, Professor! Miss me while I was away?"

Her cheeky grin almost made the professor give a derisive snort, but her restraint was tremendous.

"Welcome back, Miss Potter," she said simply.

Hope's beaming grin widened and her eyes lightened to a hazel identical to her father's. "Thanks. It's great to be back."

And she wasn't lying.


"What d'you mean you found out about that ages ago?!" Hermione wailed. "Why didn't you tell us?!"

It had hardly been several days since Hope's return to Hogwarts, and she was hard at work, trying to catch up in all of her subjects, something that was proving incredibly trying for her. So, here she sat with her book open and her wand tucked securely behind her ear.

"The incantation in which to alter the metallic nature of an object i-hm? Oh, that might have to do with the fact that you lot thought I was a bit bonkers, wouldn't it?"

Hope skimmed through the pages, biting gently on the corner of her mouth as she highlighted bits of the next passage with a pink marker. She was too busy to notice how embarrassed and uncomfortable that made her friends. She was good at that.

"What'cha talking about?" Fred asked in confusion, lifting his gaze from the small lock he was trying to open with Hope's lock-picks. ("Give me that!")

"Nothing," the trio said quickly, earning several suspicious stares.

"That's really quite a convincing act," Lee said dryly from beside her, where he was attempting to assist her in Transfiguration and utterly failing.

"I am the Queen of Convincing!" Hope said, affronted, twirling her quill in one hand and curling a lock around her finger with the other. "I can lie my way out of anything!"

"Liar," coughed Alicia under her breath, earning a pout from the girl. They weren't necessarily wrong; Hope could never lie to Nath or to Sylvar, but her supposed relatives? No problem. Of course, she hadn't really done it as much as people thought, mostly because she was always assumed to be a liar, so why bother?

However, Hermione's horrified expression was truly hilarious, if the laughter was anything to go off of. Secretly, though, she was pleased that Hope was so lively as opposed to her time in St. Mungo's. On the other hand, everyone was practically smothering her, and poor Hope wasn't quite sure how to deal with all the attention. Oliver Wood, in particular, was quite difficult, in fact, he had been practically in tears the day she came back and hadn't ceased being an overprotective mother hen since.

Hope's lips twitched slightly as she tried to restrain the smile, but it didn't last long. Her eyes drifted to the watch strapped to her wrist and she swore colorfully. "Crap! I've got exams in five minutes!"

She stood up so fast that Ron would have been surprised if she hadn't gotten a head rush. Her eyes met his for only a second, but he could read that expression well enough. "When I get back, we're going to have a talk about whatever you haven't told me."

Sometimes he really hated how well she could read people.

Hope barely made it down to Professor McGonagall's classroom on time (conveniently forgetting about her ability to Flash at the time).

"Sorry, Professor!" she gasped, completely winded as she clutched the stitch in her side, attempting to regain her breathing.

Her Head of House seemed startled by her condition. "Did you run here, Miss Potter?"

She sounded faintly worried, or maybe that was just Hope.

"Yup!" Hope said with difficulty, restraining from wincing as a hot flare of pain shot up her leg (like usual), though not as painful as it had been months prior. "Don't worry, I'm fine," she added when Professor McGonagall's face grew more concerned. Seriously! Everyone around her was turning into overprotective mother hens!

She took the large pile of papers (almost moaning in horror) from her, astutely ignoring the look and limping towards a desk, taking out her quill and ink and beginning a very long afternoon.

Very soon there was no other sound in the room other than the repetitive scratch of the quill against parchment and the sound of exhaled air. Hope hardly stopped writing from the second she started her exams to when they ended, but her facial expressions were a source of entertainment to Professor McGonagall. The relieved looks told her she knew some of the questions, but then the creased forehead (she knew some of the question) and the irritated frown (she didn't know how to answer the question at all) soon followed.

The steady tapping of her foot never halted, something that had always caused her classmates a bit of ire during exams like the ones she was taking now. However, they soon grew used to it, because it was highly unlikely that she would ever stop.

Hope's lip curled back in disdain when she glanced down the Potions Exam that had been assigned to her. Honestly, these questions were too high up! She was almost certain that her year-mates didn't have the same question, but who was she to complain? It wasn't like Snape would get called out for it.

What are the ingredients of a Shrinking Solution and if brewed correctly, what color should it be and if brewed incorrectly, what color and state should it be?

She sucked on the edge of her quill, pondering that one. The Shrinking Solution wasn't even in the First Year Syllabus, but Hope actually liked Potions –it was just like cooking, if you ignored the instructor–, so naturally she would have looked ahead.

The known ingredients of the Shrinking Solution include: minced daisy roots, peeled Shrivelfig, sliced caterpillars, rat spleen, leech juice, cowbane, and wormwood. If brewed correctly, the potion turns a bright green color. If brewed incorrectly, it turns orange and can be highly poisonous.

The questions that followed were remarkably similar, which was good, because Hope excelled at memorization, if nothing else.

It must have been at least three hours later when she finally put her quill down and turned in every –blasted– piece of parchment and bidding her professor goodbye and limping out of the room with a relieved smile.

The corridors were practically empty, which wasn't too surprising, as it had been a Hogsmeade weekend (though the Laughing Gas and Co had too much homework that they couldn't go, or so they said) and most of the upper years were gone.

So, she had been very surprised when a voice called out "Potter?"

Almost involuntarily, she stiffened, only relaxing minutely to turn towards the owner of the voice –a voice she wasn't sure that she recognized. She turned swiftly on the heel of her good leg to scrutinize the speaker.

There were two of them, both boys, both wearing the black and yellow tie of Hufflepuff. The one who had spoken couldn't have been older than Fred or George. His eyes were a startling grey, and paired with the dark brown of his hair, she remembered him first as the boy who she had followed through to the train platform and then as the Hufflepuff Seeker. The second was rather plain in comparison with straw colored hair and dark eyes.

"May I help you?" she asked in a clipped tone that she had copied –quite expertly– from Professor McGonagall. She didn't bother hiding the smirk when they both shifted uncomfortably.

The one with chiseled features spoke first, Cedric Diggory, as he had been the speaker to begin with, seeming incredibly nervous about something as Hope watched on a bit bemused. "Er…my name's Cedric Diggory, and this is Anthony Rickett…"

She blinked staring at them oddly.

"It was my Bludger!" The younger one, Anthony, burst out suddenly. "It's my fault you were in the hospital!" He sounded so beside himself that Hope wasn't quite sure how to respond.

At long last, she sighed, tightening her grip on the cane as she did so. Her eyes met Cedric's briefly. "Would mind giving us a few minutes?"

Curiosity colored his pale eyes, but surprisingly not suspicion, which was something. Cedric had barely left when Hope spoke again, making the boy flinch. She wasn't that scary, was she?

"I would have thought the other professors would have told you by now," she said, speaking slowly with a distinct frown on her face. "That the bat you were holding was charmed so that any Bludger you hit would aim towards me." She remembered ducking the first one, with no time for the second.

"They did," he admitted, his cheeks such a deep beet red, "but…"

Her eyes softened minimally and a small smile lit her face. "You Hufflepuffs…too honorable."

His head shot up instantly, his mouth open to refute the insult, until he saw the look on her face.

She chuckled lightly. "Don't worry about it, it wasn't your fault."

And then she limped away from him, linking her arm around George Weasley's as he bounded up the stairs, free from a detention with Snape. Anthony could see his wild gestures from where he stood and hear her bright laughter.

Poor Hope had no way of knowing that Cedric later tracked down Fred (who was conveniently in charge of the Hope-George Betting Pool) to tell him "Five galleons on second year."

The foxy grin on his face was enough to earn him a wary glance from Hope, who subsequently treaded lightly around him for the next few weeks, for fear of a prank. The fact that one hadn't occurred caused her to be even more paranoid, much to his humor.


"What d'you mean Hagrid's got a dragon?!" Hope all but yelped before Hermione and Ron could shush her. Her appalled expression was perfect: mouth gaping, eyes so wide that it was almost comical. It would have been comical if she hadn't been so horrified. "When did this happen?"

"Er…" Her two friends shared uneasy glances. "Well, we just found out about it a few days ago."

"Wherever did he get it?" she demanded.

Ron took over from there. "Er…he said he won it off of a stranger in a game of cards."

"He's bloody mental," Hope decided, still thunderstruck. "Do you think he knows that dragons breathe fire and he lives in a wooden house?!"

"I don't think it's dawned on him yet," Hermione offered helpfully.

"Of course not," Hope grumbled crossing her arms. "What on earth is he thinking?"

This whole conversation was one of many concerning dragons and their foolish friend. Over the next few days, they theorized if it was indeed possible to raise a dragon in secrecy within a wooden house. The answer was rather obvious: No. It was a terrible idea, they all had to agree.

"I wonder what it's like living a peaceful life," Ron wondered mournfully not three days after their initial explanation to Hope.

"Probably very boring," Hope said with a yawn, her drooping eyes fastened on the text in her Charms book which she had propped up against the pumpkin juice jug. The amount of homework was unbelievable, but Hope still had make up what she missed (something everyone agreed was totally unfair), thus amounting to many sleepless nights. She had taken to sleeping most of her weekends away. "And I hate boring."

"You would have to," Ron mumbled under his breath, "to put up with Fred and George for so long."

Hermione giggled, but Hope –who had missed the mumble– looked confused, blinking furiously at him. "Did you say something?"

"Me? Nope," Ron disagreed quickly, earning a suspicious stare.

Hope opened her mouth to say something, probably a few choice crude words, but Ron was saved by Hedwig who swooped down to deliver a small note.

Her face fell as she read it before showing it to them, and the smiles slid from their faces at the two words scrawled hastily onto the parchment: It's hatching.

Now Hagrid was really going to be in trouble. How exactly did one go about sneaking a dragon off to a dragon reserve when it was out of its shell?

Ron, of course, was all for going down to see it as opposed to attending Herbology class, but neither Hope nor Hermione would hear of it. Hermione, for academic reasons, Hope for…

"If you don't show up to class and your best friends don't and you don't have a plausible excuse, then people will know you're up to something," Hope advised calmly.

"I suppose you would know," Ron admitted grudgingly.

"Of course," Hope said with a wide grin. "Always have an exit plan." Her gaze shifted out of the corner of her eye, where she could see Malfoy lurking in the shadows. She frowned, instantly suspicious. "Let's talk about this later, alright?"

Once they heard the steely edge of her voice, they agreed instantly, but only after Hermione conceded to Ron to run down and visit Hagrid once lunch came around.

However, once Hope found herself opposite the large egg with deep and obvious cracks appearing on the shell and listening to the strange clicking noises from within, she was beginning to think that it wasn't such a good idea. It wasn't that she had something against dragons –they were incredibly fascinating creatures– only that this was one that was coming into a world surrounded by creatures that weren't dragons and didn't know the first thing about taking care of a baby dragon (Hagrid didn't count because his knowledge that he had obtained from the school library was minimal at best). What if it reacted violently? Hope couldn't help but worry.

She was distracted rather suddenly from her worries when a loud scraping noise came from inside the egg which then cracked open, revealing the baby dragon. Hope wasn't quite sure if she'd seen anything like it.

It was very ugly, was what she meant. It was midnight black with the vague appearance of a crumpled umbrella that gave Hope the desire to straighten it out. Its eyes were orange and flickering about the cabin, with a long nose and tiny little horns protruding from its small head.

Its head reared back quite suddenly as it sneezed, dislodging a few orange sparks from its snout.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid said in a voice so affectionate that Hope couldn't help but stare. She opened her mouth to say something –she wasn't quite sure what– when Hagrid reached out a hand, intending –no doubt– to stroke the beast's head, but it only snapped at his fingers, probably thinking they were something to eat.

"Bless him," Hagrid chortled, "look, he knows his mummy!"

Hope caught Hermione's eye and was incredibly glad that she wasn't the only one who thought he sounded ridiculous.

"Hagrid," Hermione said, her voice a little strained, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid opened his mouth to tell her, possibly, when his face suddenly turned the color of sour milk, as he moved quickly to the window, seeing something the three students had missed.

"What is it?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains – it's a kid – he's runnin' back up ter the school."

Hope looked out the window as well, her eyes narrowing as she saw Draco Malfoy's light hair disappearing into the courtyard. Now they really were in trouble.


By the end of the week Hope was convinced they should get rid of it, but Hagrid wouldn't hear of it. It seemed he was beyond the point of reasoning as they visited him on a Friday. And it was then that Hope thought of something rather brilliant, if she said so herself. Ron's older brother Charlie worked with dragons on a dragon reserve. His superiors wouldn't think too much was amiss if a rare breed suddenly appeared in Romania, especially since it happened at times –if that small article they had found was to be believed. It only took them a few days to get Charlie's reply:

Dear Ron,

How are you? Thanks for the letter – I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon, though your friend is right about how some of the rare dragons come here.

Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark.

Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love, Charlie

The plan would have been prefect, if not for several kinks along the way, such as Ron's new injury. The youngest Weasley male had taken to visiting Hagrid, helping him with Norbert, as he had now named him. It was nice of him, if he hadn't been bitten by the dragon for his trouble ("When it bit me he told me off for frightening it! And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby!"). And the next day it had swollen and bloated, turning a shade of green and being so numb that he had to go to Madam Pomfrey.

Of course, she didn't believe him when he told her a dog bit him, but she didn't press the issue. Perhaps it was that she was far too used to students getting into trouble and then lying about it. And then Malfoy added more to the chaos by "borrowing" Ron's book which conveniently had Charlie's letter in it.

The plan was unravelling, so Hope had to use some drastic measures.

Her hand closed around George's wrist. "Fred, d'you mind if I borrow your twin for a moment? I've got something I need to talk with him about."

Both of the twins blinked at roughly the same time, staring at her for a few seconds, before Fred said, "Er…alrigh-" He hadn't even finished talking when Hope began to drag the third year away.

"I need your help," she said seriously when they were alone. "And it's highly illegal."

"How illegal?" George asked, furrowing his eyebrows together in contemplation.

"Well," Hope said dryly, tugging on her beaded strand of hair, "it involves a dragon; use your imagination."

Eventually, the whole story came out, and Hope talked so much that her throat felt like sandpaper by the end of it.

"So, Hagrid has a dragon and you lot are trying to get rid of it by sending it off with some friends of Charlie's?" he asked finally, his voice strangely high pitched.

"That's the gist of it, yeah," Hope agreed, tapping her foot lightly on the ground, watching his reaction carefully. He seemed strangely closed off. "George? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine…it's just, first a troll, now a dragon? You don't ever take the easy road, do you, Potter?" He said with a shaky smile.

"Danger and trouble follow me constantly," Hope said with an amused grin, leaning forward with a devilish smile that always made George worry. "Now, are you going to help me or not?"

George wasn't sure how, but somehow, he had been convinced by a short, red-haired, stubborn, snarky, unyielding first year into illegal activities. Of course, George couldn't keep any secrets from Fred, so by the end of the night, he knew as well. And he had to be threatened within an inch of his life to keep his silence, which he did.

Hermione felt a little better about having one of the twins help, mostly because she was worried that it wouldn't work, which it would, Hope kept telling her.

So, Saturday night found Hope and George holding the crate that held Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback on opposite sides, mounted on their brooms and preparing to push off from the ground.

"Fred'll watch for anyone," he whispered to her, "just in case…you know."

Hope nodded, swallowing thickly. "I know. Ready?"

"When you are." He grinned as she rolled her eyes, pushing off gently from the ground, until they both hovered side by side with the crate making some suspicious ripping sounds (no doubt the dragon was dismembering the teddy bear that Hagrid had packed with it). "Up we go."

Getting up to the tower via broomstick was much easier than using the various staircases, Hope had to admit as she steadied her broom with careful precision. It had been Fred's idea, actually, who had said it completely as a joke, but somehow had been turned into this.

The tower was very high up, and by the time they had actually touched down again, Hope's heart was still beating rather rapidly against her ribs and her arm felt like lead.

"All right?" George asked as he watched her wring out her arm once they'd set the crate down.

"Fine," Hope muttered, "just pins and needles, that's all." She rolled her eyes at his half grin. "Oh, like you don't feel the same."

His grin spread, encompassing his face. "Oh I don't, I'm all brawn, you know." He gestured to his arms, making the slight muscle bulge and look far bigger than they were.

"And no brains, it seems," she said with a small giggle at the pout he gave her.

"Ah, but you're the brains of the operation," he said cheekily.

"And you're the flirt," she retorted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as it had flown up and into her eyes by the wind. "How on earth do you ever get anything done?"

"I have skills," he said in a lazy manner that made her bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud. "Oh, look, there they are."

Hope was a little surprised by how cheerful the small group was, considering that what they were doing was incredibly illegal. George knew one or two of them, but the rest were strangers.

"Thanks so much for doing this," Hope said gratefully once they'd buckled the crate into the harness they had made for it before hand. "I know it's not really…"

"It's no problem," the oldest one assured her, "trust me, this isn't the strangest request Charlie's given us." They all shared a private laugh, though George looked as if he wanted to find out what exactly was the strangest thing his brother had asked of his friends.

They gave one last goodbye as they all shook the pair's hands and went on their way.

"Interesting night," George commented mildly, looping his broom over his shoulder.

"That's a word for it," Hope muttered, pulling her invisibility cloak from out from under her shirt and beckoning him downwards. "Bend over, George, you're too tall."

"Too tall for what?" he asked, befuddled as she threw her cloak over them, making them disappear entirely. "What—?"

"I'm a woman of mystery," Hope said smugly, wishing she had her camera to take a picture of his complete and utter shock.

And that simple act was all that spared them from a fate of detention with Hope's irritating and annoying "rival", Draco Malfoy. But Hope wouldn't discover that until the next morning when the Malfoy scion glared at her as if hoping to vaporize her with his very eyes.

How unfortunate that Hope was a master of that look and unfazed by other's use of it.


With Hagrid's crisis averted, Hope, Ron, and Hermione could turn their attention once more towards the Philosopher's Stone. Obviously, it was still under that trap door on the third floor, and still protected by enchantments, as Ron and Hermione had discovered from Hagrid during her brief coma. How long it would remain there, they couldn't be certain.

Either way, Hope wasn't too worried when she went to sleep days after the dragon removal -Ron was still roaring with laughter that they'd managed to not get caught while Draco had detention and a loss of points.

The first thing she felt was the collision. The pain was ripping through her leg as if she was being torn apart. The force of the hit threw her back, landing heavily on the pavement. Her vision shook as if she was moving feverishly back and forth, she couldn't get a clear focus on anything. She could distantly hear the sound of screeching tires and screams of people passing by, but they did nothing to help; the only sound she could be completely certain of was her heartbeat, fading and strengthening at different intervals. The ringing in her ears intensified as she lifted a hand with difficulty, feeling very much like her limbs had turned to stone, blood seeping out.

The air was getting heavier, thicker, more difficult to breathe in…the world was getting blurrier, and that was before several blobs appeared beside her, lifting her up onto a stretcher, causing pain to jar through her. Then they tried to stanch the flow of her blood from her side, and Hope swore that everything turned white.

"Hope! Hope, stay with me!" The paramedic was trying to keep her awake, keep her alive, but it wasn't working. The lightheaded feeling was spreading from her toes up. "We're losing her!"

Giving up was much easier than she anticipated. There was no one who was going to mourn her death, either way.

And then she was floating, up and away from her body. Freedom…she had never tasted it before.

Then there was a cold grip on her arm, and Hope felt life return to her, eyes barely opening enough to see a smile and hear a "There you are, dearest, keep breathing for me."

Her eyes flickered open finally and she almost screamed.

What the ruddy hell was she doing in the forest when she was supposed to be asleep in her bed?! She looked around frantically; of course, this would happen to her! In her bed clothes, in the Forbidden Forest, at Hades knows what time! Seriously, whose idea of a joke was this?!

She whirled around, fighting to make a sound other than branches cracking under her feet. In the quiet and in the blackness, Hope could see why Dumbledore had warned students away from the forest. As she thought about it, she could still hear his words from the beginning of the year:

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils."

It wasn't a wonder why.

She twitched, twisting around at the sound of something moving in the dark. She gulped. Fred and George liked to sneak out here when they were first years, she knew, but why, she still wasn't sure. Of, course, they had never really run into anything remotely bad, mostly because they'd gotten chased away by Hagrid before they could do much damage.

Unfortunately, damage seemed to be something that Hope excelled at, much to her displeasure.

Well, there was no point in hanging around if she was only going to get attacked by creatures of the dark. And so, she began to take a number of cautious steps in the direction she thought led out of the forest. She had to focus her eyes on the ground rather than her surroundings not one minute later after she almost fell face first into the undergrowth, tripping over a big root that was sticking out the ground. Every so often a thread of moonlight would shine through the branches overhead, but she didn't pay much attention to it until it made contact with something that was a silvery-blue color.

Ever curious, Hope moved cautiously forward until she was only a couple feet away, and it was then that she stopped dead. Was that some kind of magical animal's blood? She clamped a hand over her mouth, feeling bile rise in her throat.

And then there was the question of what actually bled that color to begin with.

Hope mentally cursed her curious nature as she followed the nearly invisible trail of blood, barely standing out against the dark leaves that lay crumpled and strewn throughout the forest. She had a very bad feeling, much like before. The blood was now thicker and in larger amounts than before, dripping from jutting roots that Hope had to be very careful to avoid.

Hope jerked herself to a stop as she peered through the branches of an oak tree, gasping aloud at the sight before her.

It was a unicorn. The blood must have come from it as it attempted to escape whatever had attacked it. Hope wasn't sure if she'd seen anything quite so beautiful in all her life, so beautiful and at the same time, so sad. Its legs protruding out at odd angles as though they had broken, or at least tangled with each other as it had fell, with the silvery-white of its mane contrasting brightly with the dark leaves. Was it even alive? It wasn't moving, but maybe—

Hope took one step towards it when she froze rather suddenly, at the sound of something slithering, like a snake, but bigger, much bigger. Oh, please say there weren't massive snakes here!

But it wasn't a massive snake, as Hope had believed. The sound came from a bush on the edge of the clearing that trembled and shook as if someone had stepped on it, and then, the creature came out. Hope held her breath, hoping it wouldn't see her as it crawled across the ground like some human-reptile hybrid (Hades, she hoped there was no such thing). It didn't take long for it to finally reach the unicorn where it lay, and then it did something that made Hope choke on the breath she was holding; it had lowered its head and began to drink the blood pooling from the body.

She took one step back, wincing when her bare foot connected with a branch, making it crack under her weight.

The head jerked up suddenly, fixing her with a stare, even though she couldn't see its face. It was then that she realized that the moonlight had fallen over her, making her almost as obvious as unmoving unicorn. Shit!

It got to its feet and began to move swiftly towards Hope who was rooted to the spot in a mix of horror and morbid curiosity.

Then pain exploded around her. It was as if her head had been split open and lit on fire at the same time. The pain was so great that as she stumbled backwards, falling harshly onto her back. The pain did not pass even as she heard the sound of hooves battering against the ground, only leaving her when eighty-three seconds had come and gone. She, exhaustively, propped her elbows into the ground, leaning forwards slightly.

The hooves belonged to one person, and person was a relative term. He had four hooves that were connected to a horse body, only instead of a horse's neck and head, a human's body was connected to the front. It would have looked a bit like a twisted mix and match, if Hope hadn't been such a mythical nut.

Hope scrambled to come up with words, completely dumbstruck. "You're a-a-a-centaur!"

She hadn't even known they existed outside Greek myths! Oh, she was going to do a lot of reading over the summer…

"I am," the centaur agreed, seeming a little bemused by her reaction as he extended an arm to pull her up. "Are you alright?"

"Er-fine-yes, thank you," she stuttered quickly, "what was that?"

To that question, the centaur seemed to have no answer, instead he simply stared at her with his very pale blue eyes, lingering over her forehead where she was sure the scar stood out angry and red as if burned.

"You are the Potter girl," he said, looking her over, no doubt taking note of the twigs and leaves in her hair and the dirt clinging to her clothing. "You had better get back to the school. The forest is not safe at this time ("No arguments here," Hope muttered) – especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way." He bent his front legs forward into a sort of half-bow that was low enough for her to clamor on. "My name is Firenze."

"Are you sure?" she asked, slightly suspicious and slightly concerned. Were centaurs even supposed to give humans rides? Somehow, it seemed like a demeaning gesture.

"Completely," he assured her as she hoisted herself onto his back, but before anything else could be done, the sound of more hoofs filled the air and two more centaurs burst into the clearing. They must have been galloping a good bit to be as sweaty and out of breath as they were. The one on the right had the body of a chestnut colored horse, with a tail and hair that was a reddish color, while the one on the left was completely black –black hair and a black horse's body, looking as though he was part of the darkness itself.

The one that was as black as night spoke first with a voice that echoed in the silence. "Firenze! What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

So, Hope had been correct in guessing that it wasn't a good thing to offer yourself as a ride to a human. It was official; Firenze the Centaur was awesome.

"Do you realize who this is?" said Firenze, ignoring the centaur's crude words. "This is the Potter girl. The quicker she leaves this forest, the better."

Hope wrinkled her forehead in confusion, not quite understanding why it was such a problem for her to be in the forest, well, apart from the obvious, that is.

"What have you been telling her?" the dark one demanded lowly. "Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

His red-haired and red-tailed companion pawed the ground with one of his hooves, betraying his unease. "I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best," he said, speaking in a solemn voice that wouldn't be out of place at a funeral. Depressing sort of bloke, wasn't he?

The dark one's legs lifted and slammed into the ground in anger. "For the best!" His voice echoed loudly, making Hope glance around nervously. "What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!"

Hope frowned a little at that, but wisely kept her mouth shut, and not two seconds later she had to clutch at his shoulders to stay on his back when he reared back suddenly, kicking his front legs up.

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze demanded. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

His vehemence seemed to temporarily stun the other two who couldn't even find the words to speak as Firenze turned around and made off through the thicket of branches, only slowing to a walk after there was a good bit of distance between them and the other two.

This finally allowed Hope the opportunity to talk.

"What was it that you saved me from?" she queried, an eyebrow quirking as she ducked under a low hanging branch.

He did not answer that, only offering a different question in its stead. "Hope Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

Hope pondered that for a moment. "I thought that using any part of a unicorn other than the tail or horn was strictly forbidden under the Potion Claus—" And she had only read about that because she had been completely bored in St. Mungo's.

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," Firenze said in a solemn voice that quite similar to the one who was with Bane. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."

Oddly enough, it sounded very much like when people were put on life support in muggle hospitals. Technically speaking, they were alive, but at the same time, it was almost as if they were dead at the same time. During Hope's visits to the physical therapist (she always choked a little when she said 'therapist', gods, it was like she was messed up in the head!), she sometimes passed hospital rooms like that. She'd always thought how terrible it would be to decide whether or not your family member should live out their days on a respirator or die painlessly.

"Wouldn't death be better?" she asked. "Why be cursed when you can live however long without being cursed?"

"Death would be better," he agreed with her first words, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else – something that will bring you back to full strength and power – something that will mean you can never die. Miss Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

Hope's eyes became the size of dinner plates as realization rippled through her. "Oh! Of course, the Philosopher's Stone can make the Elixir of Life!"

"And can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?" he asked her in such a way that there was only one conclusion to be drawn.

She was reminded of the first time she had asked Hagrid about how her parents died, and, more specifically, who had been the cause of their deaths. "Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die."

The breath was strangled temporarily from her lungs. "You mean Voldemort," she whispered.

"Hope! Hope!"

Hope blinked in surprise as Hermione came vaulting down the path to come to a stop before her and Firenze. It was hard to tell which girl was more surprised.

"Hermione!" Hope said aghast. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't find you anywhere!" Hermione said pitifully. "I got worried—"

"And rightly so."

Hope winced at the sound of Professor McGonagall's crisp no-nonsense tone. Crap. She was in so much trouble, and none of it was her fault. Talk about bad luck; she was probably the unluckiest person in existence.

"I know what you're thinking, Professor," Hope said quickly, because that was the only way the strict professor was going to hear her case, "but I was minding my own business –sleeping, mind you– and when I woke up, I was here and there are things in there that make weird noises!"

The look on McGonagall's face said that she didn't believe her for a second. Hope could practically feel the weight of the points she was going to lose.

"Accidental apparition…I've never heard of it happening during sleep," McGonagall said finally, making Hope's head jerk up.

The expression on her face was one of horror. She clapped her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, no! I was Flashing!"

"I thought you could only Flash to places you'd been, personally?" Hermione asked, befuddled.

"That's what I thought too," Hope agreed, the pair unaware of the confusion that Professor McGonagall felt, out of the loop of what they were talking. "I've never been anywhere near the Forbidden Forest except when we go visit Hagrid…I dunno how that works, really."

It was when she stopped to ponder this that she realized she was still on Firenze who spoke suddenly, as if to remind her of his presence. "This is where I leave you. You are safe now."

Hope jumped off his back with a movement that jarred her foot. "Thank you, again," she said sincerely, "you saved my life."

"It was no trouble," the centaur said in a rumbling voice that told her how grateful he was that she was grateful of him. "Good luck, Hope Potter. The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times."

Those words felt a little more than a bit ominous to Hope who tilted her head upwards to look up at the planets. Only one of them was bright red dot in the sky…Mars, probably.

"I really didn't mean to end up here, Professor," she swore as they trudged back up to the castle. "And I'm really sorry that you got woken up. Please, please don't take any points!"

She was trying to look as cute as possible, pressing her hands together in front of her lips and making her eyes look rather large.

"I will not take off points…this time," the transfiguration professor warned, "but do try to not make a repeat of tonight, Miss Potter; you have already caused me a large amount of stress."

"Thank you!" Hope cheered.

"However," Professor McGonagall continued, "I want you to write a short essay in the stead of detention."

"Aw!" Hope complained, pouting and making Hermione giggle, but that was just a façade. She was still thinking about what she had seen in the forest. The creature, Voldemort, drinking the unicorn's blood…the very memory of it made her gag. She couldn't imagine falling so low as to drink something like that.

It was much later when Hermione asked her, whispering so that they didn't wake up their dorm mates, "Did you see anything in the forest?"

To which Hope had replied with utter surety: "Nothing human."


The problem with exam week wasn't the exams themselves –gods knew Hope had spent too much time reviewing with Hermione and Ron–, but that it was so bloody hot! She was starting to think that was the point of having exams in June, so that it was too hot for anyone to even think straight. So, it was very much a relief when they left their last exam to relax on the sunny grounds.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," Hermione said as they plopped their bodies down onto the grass, soaking in the sun under the willow tree that overlooked the Black Lake. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

Hope did her best to ignore her friend, massaging her bruised brain. She had definitely over-studied, if that was possible, which it was. And then she had recently been getting a number of frequent stabbing pains in her forehead, making Parvati and Lavender think she had exam nerves since she wasn't sleeping, but it wasn't that. She was just having terrible nightmares that gave her little peace, more terrible than usual.

She'd taken to avoiding looking at Professor Quirrell, with his death date nearly upon them.

The Weasley Twins weren't far off, tickling the Giant Squid, making Hope smile before she frowned, rubbing her forehead, aggravated.

"Hope, go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested as she watched her friend rub at her forehead until it was bright red. "If it hurts that bad, then go."

"She'll be of no help," Hope said dismissively. "Scars aren't supposed to hurt. Besides…I think it's a warning or something, like danger's coming…"

However, Ron and Hermione didn't share her opinion there, much to her irritation.

"Hope, relax, Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around." Hope tried not to roll her eyes at how unconcerned Ron was about the stone that could both make you rich and live forever. "Anyways, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets down Dumbledore."

Hope sighed, but conceded that some of that may be true. Then she tugged off her falling-apart shoes and her socks, standing up.

"What're you doing now?" Ron asked warily.

Hope winked. "Relaxing." She limped over to where the Twins and Lee (plus the girls who waved at her from a couple meters away) were in the Black Lake. The water was soaking through the pant legs of their uniforms, but they didn't seem to mind.

"Hey, Potter!" George gave her an enthusiastic grin that her heart do cartwheels. "Come to join the fun?"

"I suppose, Weasley, if that's what you call fun," Hope said in a mock-disdainful voice.

"Oh, absolutely," he said with a saucy wink.

"Is the water cold?" Hope continued conversationally, glancing into the shallows.

"Just a little," he said, holding out a hand. "Want to meet the Giant Squid?"

"Is he nice?" she asked, taking his hand.

"Very nice," he assured her, "has a thing for red heads, too."

"Uh-huh," she said sarcastically, taking one cautious step into the water. "Not bad…a little coo—"

"What did you do to your head?"

Warm fingers cradled her forehead in his hands as he inspected her brow. It was still red from where she had been rubbing it, but the scar was the color of blood, as if it was still fresh. Irritated, she pulled her face from his hands.

"It's nothing," she insisted, "I'm fine."

The look he gave her told her that he didn't believe that for a second. However, she was spared from the words when someone called off to the side: "For the love of Merlin! Just snog already!"

Both red-heads turned the color of cherries, but then a flat rock shot out to smack against Lee Jordan's forehead, courtesy of an angry Hope. The throw had enough force that it actually made him fall backwards into the water.

"You. Complete. Utter. Arse!" Hope seethed. "Get over here so I can kill you!"

Thrown through a loop, Hermione and Ron watched from the sidelines as a water battle ensued.

"Do you think they realize they walk right into those moments?" Hermione asked Ron, slightly amused as Hope tripped and got soaked in water all the way up to her waist.

"I don't think so," Ron said after a moment, "but I think Fred and George think it's hilarious how she reacts. Well, George thinks it's cute, I guess, Fred's the one who finds it the funniest."

Well, no one said they weren't good for comic relief, that was for sure. Alicia and Angelina joined in the fight to even things out, when Hope fell into the water, almost submerging her whole body as she shook her wet hair out of her eyes which then fell on Hagrid's Hut, the smoke rising out of the short chimney.

"Of course," she murmured before fighting her way towards Ron and Hermione with a dumbstruck expression on her face, soaked completely to the bone.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked in confusion.

"I've just thought of something," she said with an insistent tone of voice, though her cheeks were a few shades off of the color of snow. "We have to go see Hagrid. Right now!"

And then she was hobbling barefoot in the direction of Hagrid's cabin, much to the annoyance of her friends who had to race to catch up with her, which was sad by itself, seeing as she was notorious for being slow.

"Why are we going to see Hagrid?" Hermione gasped once they'd caught up.

"Isn't it just a tiny bit strange that what Hagrid wants more than anything in the world is a pet dragon and some stranger in a pub just happens to have one? I mean, they're a First Class Non-Tradable Creature, how many people would go around carrying one in their pocket? A bit lucky, wasn't it that they happened across Hagrid, wasn't it? Why didn't I see it?"

"What are you going on about?" Ron demanded, but she didn't answer him, banging loudly on the door.

Hagrid answered it immediately with a bright grin. "Hullo. Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Ye-" Ron started to say, but Hope cut across him before he could much.

"We can't, we're in a bit of a hurry. Hagrid, you know the night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing against look like?" Hope asked, slightly out of breath, her heart beating frantically in her chest.

"Dunno," Hagrid said with a shrug, "he wouldn't take his cloak off."

Hope was appalled and Ron and Hermione were stunned.

"It's not that unusual," he assured them as best as he could, "yeh get a lot o' funny folk at the Hog's Head – that's one of the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn't he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

Oh gods, he wasn't that gullible, was he?

"But when you talked," Hope pressed on, "did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

She watched as his forehead creased into a frown as he tried to recall what had actually been said. "Mighta come up," he admitted. "Yeah…he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here… He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I looked after… so I told him… an' I said what I always really wanted was a dragon… an' then… I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks… (Hope gave a quiet groan at that) Let's see…yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted… but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it to go ter any old home…So, I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…"

"And, the man, was he interested in Fluffy?" Hope asked in a voice that was deathly calm.

"Well," Hagrid seemed a bit surprised by the line of questioning, "yeah – how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep – "

Oh, gods. He knew how to get in. The day had just gone from bad to worse.


It was a complete bloody miracle no one had suspected them of anything, because Hope was pretty sure the three of them looked pretty suspicious. With Dumbledore out of the school and with Snape knowing how to get past Fluffy, the Stone was up for grabs.

After Lee had finally meandered up to bed, Ron had nodded to Hope who then pulled her father's invisibility cloak from under her shirt.

"We'd better put it on here," she said barely higher than a whisper, tucking her wand behind her ear for safe keeping as she held the cloak out, "just in case it doesn't fit over us completely, we wouldn't want anyone to see three pairs of feet wandering about disembodied."

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, Neville," Hope tried to assure him, but even though her face was convincing, Ron and Hermione's were quite guilty.

"You're sneaking out again," Neville guessed, his eyes turning a little frantic. "You can't go out again! You'll get caught and Gryffindor will be in so much trouble!"

"Neville," Hope said tiredly, "you don't underst—"

"I won't let you!" Neville said, seeming to gather his wits slightly. "I-I'll fight you!"

It would have been comical, if they weren't so pressed for time. Moving faster than Hermione would have dared to think Hope could, Hope had grabbed the heaviest book she could find closest to her and struck it against the base of his skull. Neville crumpled instantly to the floor, boneless.

Ron and Hermione gaped at her.

"What?" she demanded. "We're running low on time."

And they were, so, for once, they didn't complain as Hope threw the cloak over the three of them, making them vanish from visibility. The trek there was as terrifying as the enchantments they knew were ahead. Every step was laced with uncertainty and every breath was weighted with worry. It was almost miraculous when they finally made it to unscathed in their minds.

When they reached the corridor, the door was already open, and seeing it there made the danger they were facing more real.

"You can always go back if you want," she said quietly, "I'll understand if you don't want to—"

"Don't be thick," Ron said.

"Of course, we're coming," Hermione added.

Hope glanced at them, her smile touching her eyes. "You two really are the best mates a girl could have."

Even entering through the door caused noise and through some talented flute tunes, courtesy of Hermione, the beast began to slumber once more.

"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," Ron surmised, looking over Fluffy's back. "Want to go first Hermione?"

The thunderstruck expression on Hermione's face didn't need a translation. Hope and Ron pried the door open.

"It's too dark," Hope whispered, glancing at Ron, "can you see anything?"

"No," the Weasley boy admitted, "just blackness. I don't see a way of climbing down."

"We'll have to drop," Hope said. "I'll go first, shall I?"

Ron nodded mutely.

"If anything happens," Hope continued, trying to keep her voice calm, but Ron and Hermione could hear the tremor, "go to the Owlery and get to Dumbledore. Tell him what's happened."

"All right," Ron agreed.

"See you in a minute…I hope."

And she scooted so that her legs hung over the side of the trapdoor and with one mighty push, she was freefalling into the shadow. It took only seconds, but Hope felt as though it was longer when she collided with the bottom landing against something that felt a combination of soft and firm. She was instantly suspicious of the softness, but she still called up to her friends that the landing was soft, and they soon followed.

Hope touched it lightly. It felt like a plant…was this one of the challenges? Probably Professor Sprout's, then. Hope could barely make out Hermione who was at least two feet from her, so she jumped when the girl spoke.

"We must be miles beneath the school…"

Hope looked back up to where the trapdoor was, a little surprised that it was so far away. Had they really fallen so far so fast?

"Lucky we had a plant to cushion us," Ron was saying as Hope began to struggle. What the—?!

"Lucky?" Hermione had shrieked. "Look!"

There were thick, snake-like vines already wrapping around Hope and Ron, but Hermione had actually made it to the safe side.

The tight grip on Hope's injured leg was cutting of the blood flow and she could feel her ribs and wrists starting to bruise from how tight the creepers had wound about her body. A tendril had snaked around her neck and her vision was beginning to waver.

"Stop struggling!" Hermione called. "This is Devil's Snare! Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare… 'It's deadly fun, but will sulk in the sun!'"

"Then make a fire!" Hope gasped, clawing at her throat.

"But there's no firewood!" Hermione almost wailed.

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?!" Ron roared, making Hope wince and jump at the sound. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?!"

Hermione didn't seem to be able to dignify that with a response and not three seconds later, Hope could feel the vines that had wrapped around her receding, giving her the opportunity to crawl weakly to the wall where Hermione was.

"Oh God!" Hermione said in horror. "Your neck!"

Hope flinched as she reached out to touch the bruised flesh. She couldn't see it, but she could imagine how it looked.

"I-I'm fine," she croaked, massaging her throat a little. "We should get going, we've wasted a lot of time as it is."

There was no disagreeing with her there.

For a few moments as they walked down the passage, the only thing they could hear was the steady dripping of water, but then something else echoed in the quiet.

"Is that—?"

What Ron thought it was, Hope never found out, because Hermione had opened the door to the next trial. The next chamber was a little smaller than the last, but then, it wasn't filled with a massive plant, so that was good. Instead of a plant it was filled small, jewel-encrusted…what a second—

"Are those keys?" Hope asked dumbstruck. "Keys with wings?"

"They can't be," Hermione disagreed, but she looked closer. "On my god, they are!"

"How can keys be winged?" Ron demanded, staring up at them as well.

"Enchanted, probably," Hope wagered, tilting her head as she looked to over to the door opposite them. "One of them must be the key to that door…we probably'll have to catch one."

"Look!" Hermione was pointing into the cloud of metal and wings. "One of the keys! It has a crumpled wing!"

Hope followed her hand, to the key it was pointing at. She was right; one of the keys was having difficulty remaining aloft with its injury and its weight.

"So, what's the plan?" Hermione asked Hope, but she looked back at her friend, she wasn't there. She whirled around in time to see Hope mount one of the broomsticks and launch into the air. If Hermione had been the swearing type, she probably would have uttered a few vulgar words. Why couldn't Hope just think before she acted?

Hope swerved dangerously, looping and turning as all the keys aimed at her as if she was the enemy, but she never lost sight of the blue-winged, silver-colored key. It was rather quick for having a busted wing, but Hope was faster, and she cornered it against the wall, slamming all of her weight on it, cracking it onto the wall.

She would have felt a little sorry, if the thing was alive, but it wasn't.

"Next time," Hermione said, a little irritated as Hope turned the key in the hole, opening the door, "tell us the plan before hand."

"I'm a think-and-go kind of girl," Hope said with a wink as they entered the next chamber. "Oh, please tell me the next one's how to cross a darkened room without light, I'm really good at that."

Ron wasn't sure he wanted to know why she was good at seeing in the dark. He took one cautious step forward, and then they all had to blink quickly, the light catching them all by surprise.

"Oh…" Hope said a little weakly. "Er…guys, this really isn't my forte."

The light above had revealed a massive chessboard set with just as huge chess pieces.

"Lucky thing it's mine, then," Ron said from off to the side. "Do you think we have to play our way across?"

"Probably," Hermione said weakly, gesturing past the white pieces on the opposite side of the board, "there's the door."

It was short work for the three of them to find their own spots on the board. Ron was a knight, Hermione a castle, and Hope was a bishop. And then the game began.

Hope had never quite remembered playing a game of chess where the stakes were so high. It didn't really hit them that this game of chess was exactly like wizard's chess, until the white queen slashed her sword through the other black knight.

"Ron, not to question your skills or anything," Hope said shakily, looking over to her friend who was now so pale that he almost looked like one of the white pieces, "but you do know what you're doing, right?"

"Y-yeah," Ron said weakly, "don't worry Hope. This is what I'm good at. Hermione, take the bishop."

Still, he seemed to get so into the game that three times he almost missed that Hope and Hermione were in striking distance. That was the thing that worried Hope the most, and one look at Hermione told her that she was just as terrified. This was one area Hope did not excel at, but even she could see that there were only a few moves left to make, and none without losing a piece, and there was only one that's loss would give them the win.

"I've got to be taken," Ron said in the same blunt manner that Hope sometimes adopted.

"NO!" cried Hermione.

"That's a bad idea," Hope agreed, conflicting emotions warring on her face.

"Some pieces have to be sacrificed!" Ron yelled back to them. "Once I make my move, that leaves you free to check the king, Hope!"

Hope opened her mouth to say something, but then Ron's eyes met hers, and the words were strangled from her lips. It was strange to think how alike Ron and George's eyes were and yet different at the same time. There was a pale fire burning in his eyes; determination.

She gave a jerky nod.

Hope had to throw up her arms when the queen struck her friend, sending him tumbling to the ground where he moved no more. Vaguely, she thought that this must have been what it was like for Ron and Hermione when that Bludger hit her in the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game.

And then she made the final move. Three spaces to the left.

Hope tilted her head back to survey the white king. "Check mate," she intoned duly and the king dropped his crown from his temple to the space before her feet. And then Hope and Hermione were gone from their spaces and at Ron's side in seconds.

Hope moved Ron's head slightly away from her so she could survey the damage.

"Is it bad?" Hermione whimpered.

"There's no blood," Hope noticed, "it's just a nasty bruise. He'll be fine, but we have to get going. We'll come back for him."

Hermione looked as though she wanted to say something, but then she changed her mind, linking hands with Hope and entering the next door.

Luckily for them, that trial had already been taken care of, if the unconscious troll was anything to go by. However, the next one was not. As soon as they had stepped through the door, eerie purple flames had erupted behind them, ensuring that they were trapped in the room with a table holding a row of potions.

"Let's get this over with," Hope grumbled as they came up to stand before the table and read the contents of the parchment that lay beside the row.

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in a line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide,

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those that stand at either end,

But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different sizes,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second on the left and the second on the right,

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

"A riddle," Hope said in relief, "oh, I'm good at riddles. Shall we?"

Hermione nodded, looking a bit relieved at being able to use her cleverness in a logic puzzle.

"Okay," Hope said, cracking her knuckled. "So, the second on the left and the second on the right can either be poison or nettle wine, right? But the second on the right is the 'giant' so it has to be nettle wine." She moved those two back, still in position, but behind the rest.

"And poison can be found on the wine's left side," Hermione added, "so…" She moved back the bottle furthest to the left and the green pyramid-shaped bottle.

"The blue one has to take you forward," Hope added, lifting the little light blue bottle into the air, inspecting its contents, "because its already been used."

"And the purple one on the right has to take you back," Hermione continued, lifting it up, impressed by their combined brilliance.

Hope glanced into the blue bottle. There wasn't much left, only enough for one person. So, being the reckless, noble git Hermione would later claim she was, she downed it in a gulp and rushed through the blazing fire even as she heard her friend cry out her name.

The last chamber was occupied by the person who had been her second suspect after Snape himself, because, honestly, he was in too many places at the wrong time and was too jittery…and he was supposed to die today.

"So," she said remarkably coolly and calmly, "it was you after all."

The turban-wearing man turned from the mirror, the very same mirror that had once so entranced Hope, to face her. Quirrell no longer seemed to by the twitching mess he always was during school.

"Me," he said with scorn, "now, tell me, Miss Potter, what was it that gave me away?"

"You gave me a bad feeling," Hope said bluntly, side-stepping the aura around him predicting his death, "and you're terrible teacher."

His lips curled into a sneer, making Hope feel silently pleased that she still excelled at being irritating.

"You spelled my broom to throw me off," she continued frigidly, "and when that didn't work, you made sure that Bludger would hit its mark."

"It was a pity none of those killed you," Quirrell told her, "but it matters not, because I'm going to kill you tonight."

With a snap of his fingers, ropes appeared out of nowhere, tightly binding Hope where she stood. She strained against them, wincing as they pressed into her bruised skin.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter," Quirrell continued. "Scurrying around the school at Halloween like that with your miserable little friends, for all I knew your friend Ron seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You give us too much credit," Hope said snidely, her rings digging into her fingers.

"Or you don't give yourselves enough," Quirrell said absently, turning away from the bound first year to gaze upon the Mirror. "Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

Hope made an irritated huff that was ignored.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured to himself, his fingers brushing over the arched frame, as if searching for some secret compartment. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this…but he's in London…I'll be far away by the time he gets back…"

Hope frowned, peering intently at the back of his turban. Was it just her or was something moving under the cloth?

"I see the Stone…I'm presenting it to my master…but where is it?"

"First sign of insanity," Hope sang behind him, "talking to yourself."

"Can you be more annoying?" the man snapped, turning to glare at her, but she was unfazed.

"Oh, absolutely," Hope said, nodding seriously, "this is just the tip of the iceberg, I can do this all night."

He made a derisive noise as he turned back to the mirror, missing Hope sticking her tongue out at him.

"You were my second choice," Hope said as he continued ignoring her, "after Snape."

"He does seem the type, doesn't he?" Quirrell sneered. "He's always hated you. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead."

"Such a comforting thought," Hope said dryly, rolling her eyes as Quirrell cursed.

"I don't understand…is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

"Well," Hope said contemplatively, even though he wasn't really talking to her, "if you do break it and it's not there, that's all on you."

"Will you shut up!" Quirrell commanded venomously. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

Hope opened her mouth to add in something rather derogatory, but then her heart stopped completely when a voice came from within that wrapped turban.

"Use the girl…Use the girl…"

Hope was released from the ropes and dragged forward until she was before the mirror, her legs so numb that she almost fell over.

"Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Hope felt as though her tongue had been glued to the bottom of her mouth and her heart beat frantically against her chest.

It was the second image that she had seen when she had found the mirror the first time around. Her older self with Nath and Mirror Lady at her side. Hope lifted a hand to press against the surface of the glass as her older self turned to look at her.

And then she held out a red stone to Hope with an amused grin, winking as she slipped it into her pocket. And Hope could feel it in her own pocket!

"Well?" Quirrell snapped with impatience. "What do you see?"

It was such an intensely private thing to ask about that Hope didn't feel fear at all when she turned and spat angrily. "Go fuck yourself."

She saw that slap coming a mile away, but that wasn't going to stop her, and she collided harshly with the ground.

"That was pathetic," she growled as she pushed herself up off of the ground, her cheek throbbing, "my cousin can hit harder than—"

His foot collided with her rib and she was pretty sure she felt it crack as pain blossomed through her side, leaving her choking on pain.

"Tell me!" he yelled. "What did you see?!"

The high voice from his turban spoke once more. "Let me speak to her…face-to-face…"

That idea seemed to make Quirrell very nervous. "Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough…for this…"

Hope pushed herself off the ground again as Quirrell unwound the turban and turned so that his back was to her.

Hope's mouth opened in horror and she was certain that she would have screamed if she could have, but she was once again rendered incapable of speech. Where the back of the head should have been smooth, a face had risen out of the flesh. It was chalk white with red eyes that had her frozen in fear and instead of a nose, it had slits like a snake.

"Hope Potter…" the face rasped, sending a bad shiver down her spine. "See what I have become? Mere shadow and vapor…I have form only when I can share another's body…but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds…Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks…you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest…and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own…Now…why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

Hope's heart beat frantically, her blood surging in her veins as she pulled out her wand and pointed and made a quick jab, causing the stone floor a foot or two from Voldy-Quirrell to explode, giving Hope the opportunity to scramble to her feet and limp towards the flame door.

"SIEZE HER!"

Hope screamed as Quirrell grabbed her from behind, tugging her back.

"Let me go!" she screamed, battering her fists against his hands, her pain amplified by his arms hitting against that damaged rib and her scar exploding in almost blinding agony. She raised a hand to strike at his face from behind her, and it was only then that he released her, and she fell, crumpling into a heap in a haze of pain, the world fading into blackness.

And then she knew no more.


She could hear a steady thrum of voices that her head was too hazy to identify. Some were quiet, some were loud, but she really couldn't be bothered; she was just so tired and whatever she was sleeping on was just so soft…

But the sleep was fading on fast wings and finally her eyes fluttered open to see a pair of deep blue eyes.

"You are in big trouble, missie," George said as she gave him a sleepy smile.

"Whatever for?" she murmured in amusement, rolling back her shoulders.

"The Quidditch match against Ravenclaw's tomorrow," George grinned, "and Wood's beside himself."

She chuckled lightly. "That doesn't surprise me…how bad am I?"

"Now?" George helped her hold the cup of water that had been set beside her on the bedside table and take a long drink. "You're pretty much healed, but when you came in?" He screwed up his eyes, trying to recall the list of injuries Madam Pomfrey had given McGonagall and Dumbledore. "Cracked rib, bruised limbs, a couple scratches…not too bad, considering your track record."

"Cute," she said dryly, sitting up in the bed, running a hand through her loose hair, "your bedside manner is so wonderful, Georgie." She patted his cheek, amusing herself at how it flushed at the touch. "How are Ron and Hermione?"

"As right as rain," a different voice answered her as Angelina sat down beside her. "Their injuries weren't as…extensive…as yours, so they've been healed up for a while. Fred's making sure they get some food." Angelina's careful eyes looked over her healed body. "I'm glad you're awake," she added with a grin, "you've had a lot of us worried."

"As usual," George coughed, earning a glare from Hope.

"Don't be such an arse, George Fabian Weasley," Hope said, rolling her eyes at him in disdain. "Saving the world is hard work."

Her gaze shifted to the end of the bed and she goggled at the large pile of gifts and sweets that lay there. "Whoa. What's all this for?"

"Saving the world?" George mocked. "The rumor mill's been bursting since the three of you had your little adventure…I almost wanted to send a letter home to tell Mum what Ron's been up to just to see how much punishment he'd get."

"George," they both said reproachfully, chastising the boy.

"How did I get here?" Hope added, looking around the hospital wing, "the last thing I remember was falling in the…wherever I was."

"Oh, I heard some of the professors talking about that," Angelina said brightly, pleased that she had answer. "Apparently one of the suits of armor carried you out. They were surprised by the amount of devotion it paid you."

"So, it was Michael," Hope mused to herself, smiling fondly, "that idiot won't leave me alone."

"Who's Michael?" George asked suspiciously, but Hope just waved off his concerns.

"Sir Michael Richmond was young in the tenth century, George," Hope admonished, "he was once allied with my great –gods know how many– grandfather. He tries to keep an eye on me, keep me from causing too much trouble."

"Not very successful, is he?" Angelina said with a grin.

Hope shrugged her stiff shoulders. "Well, I have told him to not interfere with my life, so… I'm surprised he even came and got me from that chamber…or how he even got there."

She frowned at that, a little befuddled, until Madam Pomfrey came out of her office. "Poppy! Did you miss me?"

The Matron clicked her tongue in irritation as she had her patient lay back down so she could run another diagnostic spell over her. "Not particularly, Miss Potter, I was growing so used to having all the beds in my ward empty, but then, I should have expected this…you and trouble go hand in hand."

"You know, I always thought 'Trouble' was your nickname for this bloke," Hope said with a laugh, jutting her thumb towards George who blinked and rolled his eyes, remembering what she had told him about 'Trouble' before her first Quidditch match.

"Not quite," Madam Pomfrey said in amusement.

"Hm," Hope appraised George with her eyes, "you look highly troublesome, George; I can see why we're friends."

A pale flush rose on his cheeks and he looked to Madam Pomfrey, a bit at a loss of words.

Madam Pomfrey mouthed "That's the potions talking."

"Okay…"

Hope twisted her head from side to side, making it crack. "Gods, I can't stand hospitals. When am I getting out of here?"

"Soon," Madam Pomfrey promised, "but your muscles are going to be a little sore either way."

"Well," Hope said dryly, "isn't that just lovely." One of the fingers of her hand tapped across the arm of the opposite one as she frowned thoughtfully. The last thing she remembered was Quirrell's screaming, clutching at the body parts her skin had touched. It was almost as if her touch had been like acid to him, but she'd touched other people loads of times, like when she hugged her friends or like when she just patted George's cheeks. Her touch hadn't affected them, and Quirrell had shied away from her hand the first time they met too, in Diagon Alley, when she'd offered her hand for a shake. So, it must have only affected him…or Voldemort. But why wouldn't Voldemort be able to touch her? It was all a bit strange, if you asked her.

"Hope?" Madam Pomfrey was looking at her in concern. "Are you alright? You just zoned out a bit."

"Oh," Hope said quickly, "don't worry, I was just thinking."

"Maybe that is a worrying thought," Angelina teased, standing up. "I'd better go tell Ron and Hermione you're awake…and we only just forced them to get some breakfast too." She sighed mournfully as she left, ruffling Hope's hair in a sisterly fashion that made the younger girl smile.

"Am I going to be free by tomorrow?" Hope asked Madam Pomfrey as she replaced her wand in her pocket.

"Worried about disappointing your House?" she asked.

"Worried about disappointing Oliver Wood," Hope corrected, winking to George who grinned, "I'm afraid he might drown himself in his sorrows if I don't show up."

Madam Pomfrey actually cracked a smile at that, and Hope knew there was hope.


Oliver Wood looked caught between crying and kissing Hope when he saw her dressed in full Quidditch gear awaiting them in the Gryffindor changing rooms, complete with a bright smile.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Oliver," she admonished of the boy, looping her broom over her shoulder. "We haven't won the Cup yet." Her eyes sparked with life. "But don't worry, we will."

Hope's enthusiasm was infectious that the rest of the team couldn't help but feel optimistic.

For Hope, this would be the first time she was on a broom where something (or someone) wasn't going to try to get her killed. It was great! She couldn't wait to feel sun on her face and the wind whipping her hair with every move.

She looked up from struggling to tighten her arm guards to find George gazing at her fondly. Flushed, she tucked a lock of hair behind her eyes, making her new beads more obvious (she'd braided them red and gold for the occasion). "What?"

"I just don't think I've seen you smile so much before," he admitted.

Her grin widened. "Oh, I don't think so…I've never smiled so much until I met you."

His smile became a tad roguish. "Now don't go getting sentimental on me, Potter, I had such high hopes for you."

"Shut up," she said, rolling her eyes in good humor, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet, jittery with excitement before they finally made their way out onto the field amidst raucous cheering. The sea of red and blue made her blink a few times before her attention was drawn to the Ravenclaw Seeker.

She had never played against Cho Chang, but Oliver had drilled it into her to "know your opponent". She knew that the girl had a fondness of tailing others as opposed to actually doing the seeking, but she was light enough that she could out-fly her opponents. Unfortunately for her, this was not her lucky day, because Hope had both the eyes for it and the speed. She didn't bother hiding the smirk; she hoped it unnerved her.

Cho was a second year, she believed. She was a pretty Asian girl who had to be at least a little smart to have been sorted into Ravenclaw, but other than that, Hope knew nothing about her. As sad as it was, other Houses rarely associated with those outside their own; cross-House relationships were much fewer than ones within the same House. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with it, it was just that those that were in the same House saw more of each other than they did of anyone else.

Besides, Cho had always come off as a smarter version of Parvati or Lavender, being far too giggly. Gods, she hadn't ever thought there was such a thing.

The whistle blew and the fourteen players pushed off from the ground.

"And a warm welcome back to Hope Potter after her little adventure out of bounds!" Lee Jordan was saying from the microphone. "Hoping for a win for Gryffindor today, no offense to you ravens!"

But Hope wasn't too surprised that they took offense, really, Lee was such a charmer. He had thought he was being clever when he brought in flowers that had had letters on the side spelling out "S-N-O-G G-E-O-R-G-E", she'd given him a very nice slap for that.

Hope spun her broom backwards so she could avoid the Quaffle that had been thrown towards her head. Honestly, everyone loved aiming at her head, didn't they? Unluckily, the movement turned in the favor for Gryffindor as Katie caught the large red ball and went speeding towards the opposite end of the field, giving Hope the chance to circle the pitch, searching for that flash of gold, but it was nowhere to be seen.

She glanced back, her face tinged with annoyance at the girl who was following her closely.

Cho waved.

Hope rolled her eyes, attempting to increase her speed so that she would lose her, but the girl was wily.

"And the Seekers seem to have engaged in a flight version of tag…"

Hope shot downwards into a dive, a very steep dive, before pulling up just as abruptly, pleasing herself with seeing how much force Cho had to exert to right her broom before she could get ploughed. She sniggered, a pleased smirk plastered across her face.

"Yet another reason why tailing the Gryffindor Seeker is a bad idea for people who don't want to end up in the hospital…"

Professor McGonagall couldn't help but feel a bit nostalgic when she saw that smirk, the superior smirk that James Potter had always worn. Even though she and Hope had had that talk about not comparing her to her parents, she just couldn't help it, they were just so alike. But that wasn't to say that Hope was arrogant, maybe confident, but not overly so. She wasn't much of a flaunter unless it was in a joking manner.

Hope looped through the air, high-fiving Alicia in the air as she went back to circling the pitch, her eyes intent on any flash of gold.

She must have caught sight of it –and they were only about a half hour into the game; not as impressive as the last one where she had caught the Snitch in under five minutes, but still– because then she was hurtling in the opposite direction, Cho closely following her, frantically trying to keep up, but Hope had the upper ground. She was outstretching her hand towards something that Professor McGonagall could hardly see, and then she pulled up. A bright, beaming grin was spread across her face as she waved her closed fist in the air, the silver wings fluttering weakly.

To say the crowd went wild would be an understatement. It was the first time in several years that Slytherin hadn't won the Quidditch Cup, and that made it unbelievably amazing. The Ravenclaws were good sports because, even though they lost, the Cup went to someone that wasn't Slytherin, something the other three houses had been trying and failing at for years.

Hope wished she had a picture for when Angelina, Alicia, and Katie all hugged her –screaming with elation; her ears would never recover– and when Fred and George kissed one of her cheeks at the same time, and then when Oliver promptly burst into tears, almost collapsing on her. The Twins had to haul him off long enough for Oliver to hand over the Quidditch Cup (tearfully) to his Head of House.

Hope wasn't sure she she'd smiled so widely in a very long while.


"Should you really be balancing on that?"

Hope looked up from where she was sitting on one of the stone rails, the rail squarely between her with one of her legs dangling in the free air. She grinned. "I like a little danger in my life, Georgie, didn't you know?"

"I might have guessed," he joked, leaning against the stone. "What's wrong? You left the party rather early."

Hope stared out into the beautiful terrace that Hogwarts was a host of. There really was no place more beautiful, was there?

"I'm just…thinking about what happened down in those chambers," Hope said quietly, strumming her fingers against her arm, "and I don't want to leave here and go back to Number Four. Hogwarts is…home, I guess."

"Don't worry," George said with a grin, "I'm sure Ron'll convince Mum and Dad to let you spend some of the holiday at the Burrow."

"The Burrow?" Hope said, flummoxed. "What's the Burrow?"

"Oh, that's our house," George informed her, "don't people name houses these days?"

She rolled her eyes at his antics. "Not generally, no."

"Well, you should come anyways," he continued. "It'll be fun."

"If you say so," Hope responded easily, moving her body so that she was leaning against the rail as opposed to dangling precariously on it.

"Was there really a mirror down there?" George asked her suddenly, earning him an odd look. "Everyone's been talking about it, everything that went down in the chamber, and that was before you lot all got those points for your valor, or whatever it was… Was there really a mirror that could show you your heart's desire?"

A frozen smile appeared on her face.

"There was."

"Only one who wanted to find the Stone –find it, but not use it- would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking the Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes-"

"But how did you get the Stone inside of the mirror?" Hope persisted. "That mirror's at least as old as Hogwarts, you can't just put things inside of it."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but he offered no explanation, irritating Hope in ways that she would never understand. She didn't like his eyes, there was something about them that always put her on edge…

"Would it be a bit… rude to ask what you saw?"

"A bit," Hope agreed, raking a hand through her hair, a soft smile lighting her face, making George wonder what it was that she saw, "but maybe one day I'll tell you."

"I'm going to hold you to that," George warned her.

"Can I ask you something?" Hope countered instead, and once he nodded, she continued: "What's it like having siblings?"

"Having siblings? But you live with your cousin, isn't that like living with a sibling?" George asked in confusion.

Hope scoffed, crossing her arms. "Dudley doesn't count…he's practically part whale."

George snickered.

"Besides, we've hated each other for as long as we've known each other, and understood what hate is," Hope said offhandedly. "Is it like that with your siblings?"

"Not really," George admitted, "I mean, sure, we get into fights now and then, but I don't think I could really imagine living without them."

"Especially Fred?" Hope grinned, bumping her shoulder against his.

"Life would be very boring without Fred," he agreed, grinning as well.

"Speaking of Fred," Hope continued, "I need a favor from the two of you."

"What kind of favor?" he asked as he was tugged none-too-gently back towards the castle.

"Nothing too strenuous," Hope laughed, "come on!"

If Hope, Fred, and George had anything to do with a number of Dungbombs dropped in the Great Hall as a last prank for the year, they would never admit it.


Fred and George weren't too hard to make out in the crowd, much to Molly Weasley's relief (those two always caused her such worry, not unlike how her elder brothers had been). And then she had to pause, because George was helping a girl get down off the train.

It didn't take her but a second to recognize the face of the deceased Lily Potter. The resemblance was uncanny. They hugged their various friends, waving goodbye. As she approached, she could hear Ron speaking to Hope and the brown-haired girl that must be Hermione, "You must come and stay this summer, both of you –I'll send you an owl."

"Sounds fun," Hope said with a grin, "anything to get me away from the Dursleys."

"Bye, Hope!" called Angelina and Alicia as they made their way to their folks.

"See you!" she called.

"See you, Potter!" Lee yelled over the noise, making her laugh and wave.

"Still famous?" Ron guessed with a grin.

"Maybe a little," Hope laughed, "but trust me, no one's going to know my name where I'm going."

Molly thought they looked very sweet, Hope smiling lightly, leaning not quite so heavily on her cane as she had before, her things already miniaturized and in her pocket as her other hand was linked with George's. George leaned down to whisper something into her ear, making her color at the comment. She attempted to detach herself from Molly's son, but he caught her hand again, giving her a wink.

"You are such a flirt," Hope complained.

"I work very hard to be like this!" George retorted amidst the laughter of his twin.

"This way, Hope!" Hermione called, tugging her towards a muggle couple off to the side.

"I'm catching a ride with Hermione," Hope said, "so I'll see you later, alright? Stay out of trouble!"

She should have given that advice to herself, but then, if she had, she would have never followed it. For once, maybe the summer holidays wouldn't be too bad if she was counting down to the silver lining…