Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

Note: Feeling supremely sorry for myself today, so decided to post another chapter.

Also: Around this point, I normally get asked about the Dursleys, so let me mention something early on. I find a lot of GWL stores feature fem|Harry being very well taken care of by the Dursleys, which I really hate. I just want to state here that, if you're looking for a story where the Dursleys see the error of their ways, that will not happen here. You may possibly see a softer side of Snape later, but he will still be the jerk you've come to love.

Hope you enjoy, and as always, please review.

/-wujy

Chapter Three – A Lightning Scar

For Dudley's ninth birthday, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had rented a small two-seater airplane for an hour so their precious son could go flying. Whitney had spent the day with Mrs. Figg, searching for Professor Wiggins, a fidgety tortoise-shell who it had later turned out had been cowering beneath the sofa the entire time.

Dudley had bragged for weeks after about how wonderful his trip had been—how he had so loved seeing London from the air and how the pilot had done barrel rolls and loops upon his command. Whitney only remembered having to scrub ice cream throw-up out of Dudley's clothes later that evening, so she had always assumed that flying was a terrible way to travel.

In the air over London, however, with the wind blowing her hair back from her face, Whitney experienced a true sort of happiness that was unfamiliar to her. She didn't know what to do with that kind of emotion, so she just leaned her head over the side, looking at the scenery below her, silent tears wringing themselves out onto her cheeks. Thinner air and fast winds suited her, apparently.

When the bike began to fly back toward the ground, Hagrid put one trashcan lid-sized hand over Whitney to make sure she didn't lift right out of the sidecar. The landing was surprisingly soft compared to the turbulence she'd been expecting, but her legs were still a little shaky when Hagrid helped her out of the car.

"Here's yer school list," Hagrid said, handing over a piece of paper that looked much like she one she'd thrown away earlier that day. "Follow me, now."

Whitney read over the list as she followed Hagrid, but she was very confused by all of it. Even if they could find everything on the list—and something told her that Hagrid could find anything in London—how would she ever afford it? Maybe Hogwarts did a scholarship program for children with good grades. She'd always had good grades in school.

"Mr. Hagrid," Whitney asked, following him straight through the pub and out the back door.

Hagrid chuckled and said, "Jus' Hagrid."

Whitney cleared her throat but didn't restate. "I don't think you realize that getting my aunt and uncle to just buy me glasses was like pulling teeth. They'll never buy any of these things. Especially if you did something to Dudley."

Hagrid shushed her at this, looking around to make sure no one was listening to them. "Nothin' abou' that, hear?"

Whitney said nothing as he lifted his umbrella and began tapping bricks in the wall outside of the pub. After the last tap, the wall slowly peeled back its own bricks until there was a gap large enough for both of them to walk through. Whitney's mouth fell open as she watched, but she had enough presence of mind to follow Hagrid as he walked onto the street in front of them. "This is Diagon Alley, m'dear," he told her. "We'll get all o' yer school supplies righ' here."

Whitney jogged alongside him and said, "But I can't buy anything here."

"Yeh can after we stop at Gringott's, the bank," he said. "Yer parents left yeh some gold. Don' ye worry yer head."

Whitney flushed a little pink at this thought. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had never permitted questions about her parents, and after years of being punished for asking, she had started to give up on learning anything at all. In fact, it had been so long since she had dared to speak aloud about her parents that she had nearly stopped thinking about them entirely. In fact, despite herself, she had even begun to resent them for leaving her alone with her aunt and uncle. Knowing now that they had been murdered and had still made sure she was provided for, she could only feel a rush of shame. Shaking her head, she followed Hagrid to the bank, wondering if she could ask him more about her parents.

Gringott's was an impressive building, all white marble and imposing threats of doom. The goblins were truly fascinating, too, and Whitney found that she often had to physically stop herself from staring at them. She tried to smile politely, but worried that they might think the worst of her. When one of them—Griphook—was assigned to take them down to her vault, she had to restrain herself from asking him what would probably be considered quite personal questions. He seemed to notice her staring at him, though, and when the cart stopped at her vault, he looked at her and grinned widely with all of his pointed teeth. Whitney found herself crawling as quickly as possible out of the cart.

Griphook led Whitney and Hagrid to the vault door where Hagrid handed the goblin a small key that he used on the door before handing it back. When the door was opened, Whitney felt her mouth flop open at the sight of the vast stacks of gold and silver inside.

Wow, Mum and Dad, she thought to herself. Emotion stung the backs of her eyes and she almost succumbed to tears. She took a few steps forward tentatively and managed to sputter, "Is this… is it really… I mean, really?"

Hagrid chuckled a little and grabbed several of the coins, shoveling them into a small pouch that he handed to her. The weight of it was a little unexpected and she stared at the pouch wordlessly while they rode the cart further into the depths of Gringott's. She didn't step out of the cart this time, for whatever it was that Hagrid had come for was putting the large man in a secretive mood. She looked up long enough to see him grab a brown paper-wrapped package and place it in one of the seemingly infinite pockets of his coat before returning to the cart. He was looking a little shifty, like he was doing something shady, so she didn't ask him about it. Instead, she tucked her pouch of gold away and smiled to herself, humming as they rode up and back into the sunlight.

Hagrid looked a little queasy once they were topside, but Whitney was also glad to no longer be breathing stale air from the underground. After the excitement had worn off, something about being underground and never being sure if she'd ever see the sun again make her skin clammy. Once they were outside, Hagrid pointed over to a darkly-lit shop across the street and said, "You go righ' over there and get yerself a wand. I'll, er… I'll be back in a mo'."

He ambled toward the pub at the entrance and left her standing there on the street, giving Whitney the opportunity to finally get a proper look around Diagon Alley. The shops that lined the cobbled street were old, but quaint, full of things the girl never would have guessed you could buy in a store. There were no cars or scooters, only people walking from place to place, which made Whitney feel more at ease. Without the loud, angry sounds of the city, the only sounds in Diagon Alley were cheerful conversations, shop owners calling out specials, and childrens' laughter. To Whitney, the harsh world she'd grown up in had vanished, leaving something softer, kinder, and all-too foreign to her.

After a few moments of absorbing what was quickly becoming her favorite place, Whitney suddenly became extremely conscious of what she was wearing. Her triple extra large sweatshirt hung to her knees, hiding the belt with six extra holes punched into it so her pants would stay up. She grimaced at herself and looked around, spotting another store that had black robes in the display. She glanced from the clothing store to the wand store before making her decision.

"Madame Malkin's," she said out loud to herself, sure that Hagrid would find her eventually. Besides, she was all right on her own. When she stepped inside, a stout, little witch, presumably Madame Malkin, walked over to her and immediately began to take her measurements.

"Er…" Whitney began to say. "I need—"

"Your school robes, yes dear," the woman said.

"Well, I was… also hoping maybe you had some other clothes, too? To go under the robes, you know?" she asked, lifting up one arm where the sweatshirt sleeve engulfed her wrist and hand and hung off her like an elephant's trunk. "Clothes I could… wear out in London?"

The witch stood back from her as if just noticing the girl's strange apparel and said, "Quite, right. These are atrocious, aren't they? Even for Muggle clothes" The measuring tape kept measuring her even without Madame Malkin holding it.

That word again, Whitney thought. I'll have to find out what it means…

The witch plucked the measuring tape out of the air and shook it once. A stretch of red fabric popped out of it and the witched tugged on it. Like a magician pulling scarves out of his sleeve, she continued to pull on the fabric, which seemed to be tied to a length of denim, which was next to be pulled out of the tape measure. It was just a simple t-shirt and pair of jeans, but they looked like they were just the right size. Looking quite pleased, Whitney took them to the changing room in the back and put them on, discarding Dudley's old hand-me-downs in a nearby bin.

"They're brilliant," she said to the full-length mirror in the changing room. Her reflection smiled back and agreed in a male voice, "Quite an improvement, I must say." Whitney's jaw dropped, but her reflection just continued to smile pleasantly until she slowly backed out of the room, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.

The witch, Whitney saw, was now measuring and fitting a young boy with a round face and a distressed expression. There was an old woman nearby who was fussing over him at the same time as Madame Malkin and both were fighting for elbow room.

"I'd love you to bring it in here," the old woman said, gesturing to the shoulder, "and let it out here," she said, tugging on the materials around the boy's stomach. "Give him a few inches to grow into it at the bottom, but try to get the sleeves about right. They can be adjusted later."

At the same, exact time, Madame Malkin was saying, "I've been doing this for more than twenty years, Ms. Longbottom, I can tell where a child is going to grow and where they're going to shrink and your grandson has time to grow into his shoulders and lose his baby fat. I've already trimmed back the sleeves and lengthened the whole outfit, so please."

Whitney grinned as she watched. It was interesting to watch the two women bicker over the robes. The utter look of horror on the boy's face when Madame Malkin mentioned baby fat was truly entertaining.

"I'll be with you in a moment, dear," Madame Malkin said, throwing a smile in Whitney's direction when Ms. Longbottom had finally taken a step back.

"No hurry," Whitney said honestly. The longer she stayed in Diagon Alley, the longer she stayed away from Privet Drive, and that was okay with her.

Madame Malkin smiled and say to Ms. Longbottom, "Such a dear, that one, I can tell. Very polite."

Whitney blushed slightly and, without thinking, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. A low whistle from the group in the store caught her attention and she looked over to see Ms. Longbottom looking at her with wide eyes.

"Merlin's eyes," she said, walking over to the girl and settling a small pair of glasses on her nose that had been hanging around her neck.

Whitney was quite alarmed when the woman reached out to touch her face. Ms. Longbottom caught herself before actually touching the girl and stepped back as though only just realizing what she was doing. "Oh, my," she said, simply.

Whitney was left unsure what to do, but as she was thinking, Ms. Longbottom wrestled her grandson away from Madame Malkin and led him over. He looked just as confused as Whitney did, but his expression was apologetic, at least. Whitney smiled in brief, uncomfortable appreciation. The boy's grandmother cleared her throat meaningfully and he took the hint with a jolt.

"Neville," he said, rather in a hurry. "Neville Longbottom. I mean, I am. I am Neville Longbottom and… Neville is… me." He cleared her throat and looks to his grandmother with uncertainty.

Ms. Longbottom scowled heavily, but Whitney giggled, which was a sound she hadn't made in a very long time. Neville blushed, but looked a little relieved.

"Whitney," the girl said, putting her hand out. "Whitney Potter."

Instead of taking her hand as she'd expected him to, Neville simply looked dumbstruck and stared at her. After a long, awkward moment, Whitney put her hand down, looking confused and slightly hurt. Here, in this new world where magic was possible, she had almost begun to believe that people might be nice to her. She put her hands in her pockets, not sure how to conduct herself after Neville's stunned silence.

He wasn't the only one looking surprised, though. Madame Malkin looked up from the fabric she was cutting and stopped paying attention to her wand, which was now cutting through a seam.

Whitney's fear of rejection jumped to the forefront in those few, silent moments and she immediately stammered, "I-I-I'm sorry. Did… Did I do s-something wrong?"

At that, Ms. Longbottom jabbed Neville in the ribs and he finally came round, turning red to his ears. "Er, s-sorry," he apologized. "But, really? You're really Whitney Potter. With the—" his eyes looked up to somewhere around her forehead. "With the scar?" he finished in a whisper. His grandmother gave him another jab, and he rubbed his sore ribs slightly.

Whitney looked very confused at this, but pushed aside the hair from her face, revealing the lightning-shaped scar above and slightly to the left of her right eye. "This?" she asked. "I've had it since… since I can remember..." She let her voice trail off, not sure what the fuss what about. She cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable on the spot. "I don't remember what from, really…" she finished rather lamely, letting her hair fall back down again.

"No, I don't suppose you would," Ms. Longbottom said sagely. "You weren't more than a babe when the Dark Lord killed your parents."

"D-D-Dark Lord?" Whitney asked, sensing the foreboding in the woman's tone. "Who's… who's the Dark Lord?"

"My dear child, don't you know?" Ms. Longbottom asked, looking positively scandalized.

"I… I just found out this morning that I'm a witch," Whitney said in a small voice, feeling slightly guilty for not having asked more questions about her parents from Hagrid before she'd gone off on her own.

"Only just found out?" Madame Malkin ventured after having stopped her wand from cutting clean through the robes she was working on. "It'll be an awful shock, then, when you start to realize that everyone in our world knows your name, child!" the woman said, cackling as though she'd said something terribly funny. Whitney, however, just looked terrified.

Everyone? she thought wildly. Everyone knows who I am? Unsure if she could handle this news, Whitney changed the subject.

"What…" she began to say, but had to wet her lips before beginning again. "What do I owe you for the clothes?" Whitney asked Madame Malkin, leaving behind the gawking boy and his grandmother. She pulled her pouch of coins out of her pocket. "And the school robes I need?"

The shopkeeper helped Whitney count out the odd coins and told her to come back in three hours to collect the finished robes. Whitney nodded wordlessly and slipped out of the shop without a backward glance at the Longbottoms.