The voice comes from behind a large chair, its back to a pretty girl with blonde hair and blue eyes that look like they may, once, have sparkled. The girl looks old beyond her time, and she talks to the bodiless voice.

'It is done, my Lord,' she announces, triumphant. 'The trap has been laid.'

'Good,' the voice, quite disillusioned from its looming persona, is pleasant; friendly, even. 'And how many times have I told you, my dear, my Lord is my father.'

'Just once more then!' the girl laughs easily. The chair turns and a handsome young man of around twenty-four smiles at her. He is brown-haired, with light eyes and a sense of cheerfulness. He beckons to the girl and they kiss passionately, knowing where this victorious night – after years and years of preparation – will end. His hand creeps up the girl's top, and for a moment, it looks a little like the girl doesn't want to be there. But the flash vanishes and they fall back together onto the chair, wrapped in a false embrace.

August

I sweep around the tea shop, picking up plates and teapots and empty cups where the dregs of clotted cream remain. Three siblings, I guess, have just sat down around a table and the oldest, a good-looking guy with black hair and brown eyes, is eyeing my boobs.

I hear his brother admonish him and he lies, claiming that he was just checking my name for when I serve them.

'Lay-o-eeze,' he says with a flourish. 'There, I told you, Al, didn't I? Nothing dirty at all.'

His sister rolls her eyes.

I roll my eyes, and decide to go and serve them. They are a little young to be in my parent's tea shop. People their age usually walk the ten steps down to the American-esque diner along the road. We normally just get these upper class old women who think that by being served by me they are getting younger. My parents agree with them. It's why I work in here for nothing at all. Cheap labour, for my too-wealthy parents.

'It's pronounced Lee-sha, actually,' I say, with a smile, opening my pad to a fresh page. 'What can I get you?'

The oldest boy has the grace to look embarrassed whilst his brother sniggers. 'A cappuccino, please,' he asks.

'Erm, this is a tea shop. If you want coffee, there's a Starbucks across the road.' I point to emphasise this fact. He looks like he's never heard of Starbucks before.

To be honest, most tea shops probably do offer coffee (what if you don't like tea?) but my parents point out that Starbucks monopolises the industry in our village (they were fully against getting a Boots and an H&M too) so why should we offer it? Their argument, not mine.

'We'll both have a Devonshire cream tea, please,' the girl (who has bright red hair and beautiful chocolate eyes and looks strangely familiar) says, glaring at her brother, who again looks like he has no idea what she is talking about.

'And I'll have a hot chocolate and a caramel slice,' says the second boy, politely, of course sounding just like those old women because he forgot to add the crucial non-word 'innit' to the end of his sentence. Like it would make sense even if it was a word.

I fetch their order and serve them, leaving them to it. I serve various other customers, most of them regulars, before I realise just who the girl looks like.

'Ginny Weasley!' I cry, thinking aloud. 'You look just like Harry Potter's girlfriend!'

'Wife, actually,' the first boy snorts.

'Why are you talking about our parents?' the girl asks suspiciously. 'I thought you were a muggle.'

I'm offended. I know that at one point the fact that I am the first in my family to have magic for centuries would have made me look bad, but I thought times had changed.

'What my sister means is that we've never seen you at Hogwarts, so we don't know you,' the middle boy smiles.

His sister starts to sulk. Judging by the amount of make-up she's wearing on her face to make herself look older and by default makes herself, in fact, look younger, she's about fourteen.

'Oh, I'm home-schooled. Kind of. My parents don't like magic much, so I've taught myself it ever since the Ministry wizard turned up to explain to them that I'm a witch. They don't know,' I grimace. It's such a lame sounding story, like something that one of my old friends used to cook up: 'My boyfriend's just been told he's got a week to live…' sob, sob, sniffle. She was ten; we didn't know anyone outside of school, and a boyfriend in those days meant holding hands with someone who sat next to you in Literacy and sharing grapes. Believable.

However, their faces clear. The middle boy smiles, ready innocence on his face. 'So you'll know all about Dad, then. There's so much stuff out there; it's fascinating!'

I pretend not to be disturbed by the fact that he seems to have researched his father and spot my mum glaring at me for chatting to customers. I move on, picking up the crockery an old couple have left behind and trying to look busy. Suddenly it begins to feel very cold and clammy. I glance around, shocked, trying to fathom what could have brought on my sudden bought of illness, as if I could accuse the tea shop itself, and notice that the three wizards are staring at something in horror. I follow their gaze and spot something tall and grey with scabbed skin and a large hole where its mouth ought to be. The muggles nearby are looking horrified but of course they cannot see the Dementor.

'Quick, Al, cast a Patronus!' the oldest boy says. The middle boy glares back at him.

'Firstly, I only know the theory – you cannot just perform it whenever you wish. It's a highly complex spell. You do it. Secondly, whilst I know that you would like me to end up in Azkaban, I do not wish to break the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!'

'You wouldn't be breaking it, it's desperate measures!'

By this point, the Dementors are inside our tea shop and the muggles are looking increasingly confused, not least because of the strange, heated argument the two boys.

The girl glares at her brothers and begins to dig into her handbag, apparently searching for something furiously. Across the room a baby starts crying sadly. My worst memory creeps into my mind and I drop the plate I'm holding. I've never had any practical experience with real, live Dark creatures and I panic. Where's my wand? I can't think of anything other than that awful night when I was eleven…

'Expecto patronum!' the girl cries, her eyes closed and a strained smile on her face. A brief burst of white light erupts from her wand and jolts her brothers into action. They both cast the charm and two Patronuses, fully-formed, burst out.

'Al, take Lily back home,' the oldest boy says firmly, as the Dementors back away from the Patronuses. 'I'll take Laoise.'

Before I can protest or even ask why I'm being taken back to someone's house when I've only ever served them tea, the oldest boy grabs my hand and suddenly there is a huge weight pressing down on me and I can't breathe. When everything re-materialises I see a pretty medium-sized cottage and a garden with sumptuous vegetables that look like they probably ought to have flourished a few months ago, but are still healthy now.

'Mum! Mum!' the boy cries, dragging me through the house and into the kitchen. 'Mum, Al's splinched himself and Lily's distraught. We were in a café in the next village and some Dementors attacked us. I don't know why –' he continues to babble on as his mum dashes around the room, banging drawers. She huffs.

'Accio chocolate!'

The chocolate soars through the air towards her. With another flick of her wand two pieces are sent towards me and the boy and I catch it and eat it. I feel better instantly.

'Thanks, Mum. Erm… this is Laoise…' he frowns at me, and his mum glances from me to him and down to our still clasped hands. We jerk apart immediately.

'Erm… Laoise Penny. Waitress,' I promptly stalk across the room and shake hands with her. 'You must be Ginny Potter? I would love to see you perform a Bat-Bogey Hex!' I compliment her. I'm acting like a snobby know-it-all but I'm scared, in an unfamiliar situation. What else can I do?

'Oh, well, thank you,' she says, embarrassed. 'I should go and see Al and Lily, excuse me. James, look after… Laoise.'

She hurries out, and I grimace. I've scared her out of her own home…

'Oh, snap!' I slap my hand to my forehead. Cartoon-character, I know. 'My wand – my clothes – they're all at home in my room!'

'You have a wand? I thought your parents didn't like magic. How have you ever been to Diagon Alley to buy one?' he asks suspiciously.

I'm caught. How do I answer this?

'I bought one off the Internet,' I say, a little too casually. 'You can find anything on there if you look hard enough.'

'What's the Internet?' he asks, confused. I open my mouth to explain, close it again, re-open it, and close it again. He sniggers.

'You look like a fish.'

'You look like a pug,' I retort.

'You look like a gnome.'

'You look like a house-elf.'

'You look like a Wrackspurt.'

'You look like a – what?'

He laughs, 'I win!'

I stick my tongue out and sit down at the large oak table in the middle of the room.

'Don't worry about your clothes and stuff. We can go to Diagon Alley and buy some more.'

'With what money? And why do you expect that I'm staying here? Tell me why I shouldn't just turn around and go home right now!'

'Well – I thought maybe you'd want to stay. You could go to Hogwarts and learn real magic. And you can change pounds for Galleons at Gringotts…' he trails off, imploring me to agree. I nod sharply and exit abruptly.

Truthfully, I do have money – I've saved up tips ever since I started working at the tea shop, and when all the customers are super-rich, a twenty-pound tip is considered small. I serve about one hundred customers a day. Well, it adds up.

I wander throughout the large house, and find various rooms. It seems they support the Chudley Cannons. I find this odd… I'm no Quidditch expert, but I'm pretty certain they haven't won a League in over a century.

The youngest girl (whose name is Lily, according to a sign on the door) has a large, tidy room in a pale blue colour with white skirting boards. It's very pretty. She has apparently just finished her homework, because a large, heavy-looking, leather-bound book lies open on a page entitled 'The Unforgiveable Curses – a guide'. I investigate closer and am repulsed. They're so cruel. The room looks like a typical muggle room, except instead of Stephenie Meyer and Enid Blyton and JK Rowling and Roald Dahl adorning the bookshelves, there are things like Bathilda Bagshot, Miranda Goshawk (four, well-battered editions from this author), Adaalbert Waffling, Emeric Switch, Beedle the Bard… Her wand and cauldron are to one side, the cauldron being stuffed full of dirty laundry and on top, a tattered copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, labelled with 'Property of Harry Potter,' scored out, 'James Potter,' also scored out, 'Albus Potter,' scribbled out angrily and then, 'Lily Potter,' with a smiley face and the word 'finally' written in tiny writing before the paper runs out. I laugh and turn to walk out before she can find me here, and criticise me for breaching her privacy.

'Why are you in my room?' Too late.

'I was just leaving. You have a very nice room,' I say hopefully, giving her an award-winning smile.

'Yes, I do. And you're ruining it. Out!' she shrieks and I jump. Hot-tempered, much, I think. She continues to glare at me as I skulk towards the door and leave. I cross the hallway and see the eldest boy – James, judging by his name being just under his father's on that book – smirking at me.

'You're a girl. Don't you get that mad when your siblings go into your room?'

'I don't have any siblings. And not all girls are like her. I think she has PMT.'

'She has that all the time, then,' he laughs. 'Mum says you can have the spare room. And we'll take the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley tomorrow, because the last time we Flooed, Al turned up in Knockturn Alley and Lily complained about the soot she got in her hair. She didn't used to be like that. She used to be fun,' he grimaced. I wonder what his idea of fun is.

A large crack interrupts our awkward silence, and a voice calls, 'Dad's home!' He shrugs and takes my hand, leading me down the stairs into the kitchen.

' – so now I have to go and clear up this mess, and figure out why someone let Dementors breach the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Thank God the Obliviator Squad have already done their bit,' a man with jet-black hair and startling green eyes is saying to Mrs Potter. I recognise him immediately. 'We should've known not to have kids, Ginny – not with my track record for trouble!' he laughs easily, and apparently I'm the only person to notice that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Either that or they're used to it.

'Yeah, but Dad, you couldn't live without me,' Lily says, to all-round chuckles. 'Has Uncle Ron figured out who Rose is dating yet?'

'No, but I'm sure we can all guess. I'm looking forward to his face when he figures it out!'

James laughs and says, 'Well, Scorpius is all right really. Ron's just jealous because he's a dad.'

'You will be too, one day,' I point out.

'Why, are you offering to be the mother?' he retorts immediately.

I smirk, glancing down at our hands, 'Maybe,' I say slyly. I think he must have something about holding my hand, because that's twice now. But I'm not letting go if he's not. And I'm certainly not admitting how aware I am of him.

'Ew!' Lily covers her ears with her hands. 'I can never un-imagine that!'

James roars with laughter, as does Albus.

'On that note, I shall take my leave,' Mr Potter says. He hugs his daughter and kisses his wife, before Disapparating.

'You have a sick mind, Lily,' Albus says. 'Only you would actually imagine someone having sex.'

'I blame Hugo. I used to be innocent before he hit puberty. I'm going to Avada Kedavra the guy who invented "That's what she said,"' Lily comments.

'That's enough of that, thank you,' Mrs Potter says. 'Tea will be ready soon, so don't go too far away,' she adds as we all stand up to leave. 'Could someone show Laoise where the spare room is?'

'I'll do it,' James offers, as if it's something incredibly difficult that only he can achieve. Albus sniggers, to a glare from James.

He leads me to the back of the house, still on the ground floor, to a small but secluded room with a lot of clutter and a sofa bed in the middle. It looks half-decorated, with odd bits of furniture and peeling wallpaper in a deep brown. The red curtains are shut, giving the south-facing room a warm glow. I love it instantly.

'Wow.'

'I know, huh? Who would've thought it would turn out like this? Mum and Dad wanted to convert it into a dining room, but then we started getting loads of visitors for some reason and they just chucked a sofa bed in here and now it's like a store room. Me and Al love it – we used to play in here when we were kids.'

He wanders around the room, stroking things and I know that he's remembering hide-and-seek, building indoor dens when the rain comes and playing tig. He's had such a different upbringing from me; his parents seem like cool people who care about him. He's carefree, and I, on the other hand, am bitter, because I missed out on being muggle-born. I'm just a muggle who tries to do magic. I walk over to him and lean my head on his shoulder.

'You know my Dad was my age when he defeated Voldemort? I've never done anything worthwhile in my whole life,' he sighs wistfully. 'I wish I was still small enough to creep into the gap between those two cupboards and hide away from everything.'

'You've cracked some pretty funny jokes,' I say, smiling. He laughs half-heartedly. I wrap my arms around him, trying to comfort him and he hugs me back tightly. I know he's just holding onto me because I'm there, but I can't deny that it feels pretty good. I don't think I've ever felt more safe or loved in my life. I feel his lips touch my hair and my heart does a back flip. How have we gone from mispronouncing my name to this in only a few hours?

'I really wasn't staring at your boobs earlier, you know. I was trying to meet your eyes again, because they're really, really deep.'

I'm flattered, but shake my head against his shoulder. He's lying. My eyes are burned out and empty.

I don't know how long we stay like that for, but after a while Mrs Potter calls, 'Dinner!' and the moment ends. We eat hurriedly, too embarrassed to hang around, and he goes to his room the minute he's finished wolfing down the meal. His family stare after him. I hang my head in shame, before leaving too, without another word.

I wake the next day to knocking on my door.

'Laoise! Hurry up; we want a full day in Diagon Alley!' yells a voice that sounds suspiciously like Al's.

I groan and shake my head to rid it of sleepy-birds and roll out of bed. The thud on the floor wakes me up. I swiftly pull on the clothes from yesterday, rolling my eyes at my lack of clean underwear.

There's a lovely, mind-numbing bustle in the kitchen, as people grab bits of toast and down mugs of tea and try to stop croissants from burning in the grill. I notice that Mr Potter's still missing. Mrs Potter is trying to hide her worried face from her children, but I notice it.

Eventually even Lily is ready to go, and Mrs Potter sticks out her right hand. Apparently this is normal behaviour, because no one bats an eyelid except me. A loud bang interrupts the quiet morning and a three-floor, bright purple bus thunders to a stop in front of us. I climb aboard, ignoring everything around me. I wish I had my iPod, not that it would work with all the magic around.

Albus and me indulge in conversation about nothing, and I catch a glimpse of Mrs Potter drawing random lines on her window. I shrug, and re-join the conversation, which Lily has now interrupted.

After a while, I get bored and lean my head on my window. I turn to ask Mrs Potter when we'll arrive at Diagon Alley, but my words are lost when I see the haunting, tragic and broken look on her face. She looks like someone who has just returned from war, and lost those closest to her. Only then do I realise that what she was drawing on the window were tear tracks.