Harry regarded the strange scene warily, staying near Hagrid, uncertain what to do. The whole scene was a little surrealistic – a young girl with dark hair was literally clinging to the doorframe, chewing nervously on her nails, eyes wide and anxious. She was a plain looking girl – dark hair, slightly wavy towards the ends, held back by two barrettes over her ears, with too-big glasses slipping down the end of her nose. An old but clean skirt stopped at the knee, and a dark sweater with a few pulls on it hung awkwardly on her lightly built frame. The unconscious Headmistress was lying on the stiff divan in the parlor, and she was just coming about now, thanks to a sip of mysterious liquid from a bottle in Hagrid's coat pocket. The other children had crowded into the parlor, all of them gaping quietly and murmuring amongst themselves, and the woman sat up unsteadily, spluttering and coughing from the burning liquid poured down her throat. She took one look at Hagrid and her eyes widened. Rubbing her temples, she hiccupped and said weakly, "They didn't say anything about sending a ... giant," The woman squeaked. She fanned herself, hands shaking a little. "I take it you're here to take Jean?" She asked tremulously, looking at her charge.
"On'y fer today," Hagrid answered brightly. "Goin' shoppin' fer a few t'ings 'n then I'll bring 'er back. 'Ogwarts don't start 'till September, anyhow."
"Wait, what?" The girl spoke up, looking bewildered and somewhat frightened. "Are you telling me ... this letter ... it's true?" She asked, voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm a ... a witch?"
"She's a what?" One of the children piped up. Miss Simms immediately went to the door, shooing the children out, shutting the door firmly behind them. There were little groans of disappointment, but no patter of feet leaving, so Miss Simms rapped on the door several times to make them leave. Peeking out from the door, she affirmed that they had indeed gone, and then shut it again, leaning against the door with her eyes closed.
"Naow, don't tell me yeh ain't never 'eard ..." Hagrid looked from the bedraggled Miss Simms to Jean once more. "Oh, ruddy Muggles," He grumbled. "Yeh didn't tell 'er about wha' 'appened? Didn't tell 'er she's famous?"
"I'm what?" She sputtered, looking positively alarmed. "Miss Simms, what's going on?"
"Listen to him, dear," Miss Simms said faintly. "He knows better than I do."
Hagrid muttered a few things under his breath, and then shook himself. "Yeh're Jean Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived! Yeh're parents were sum o' teh bravest wizards alive!" Hagrid seemed deeply disturbed, and he shot a dark look towards Miss Simms. "Didn't she ever tell yeh?" He asked, and Jean dug her chewed nails into the doorframe, brown eyes blinking rapidly. Miss Simms spoke up weakly.
"I didn't know very much – other than that bearded man told me that she was special, and that I would be getting a letter in a few years time! He said that would be the signal, to send her off to a special school ..." She trailed off, and looked worriedly at Jean. "I'm sorry, dear, I really didn't know. And I knew you were ... different ... but I didn't want the other children to tease you about it."
"They already do," Jean pointed out, but her body was quivering with excitement and bewilderment. "They already do tease me. You could have told me," She added, but it was impossible to stay angry at Miss Simms. The young woman tried so hard to keep the orphanage a loving place for them, and most of the time she succeeded
Miss Simms reached for her and patted her thin shoulder, pushing back a few dark curls away from her face. "Oh, dear, I am sorry," She whispered. "I truly am."
Jean offered a nervous little smile and accepted the hug Miss Simms bestowed on her. She looked at Hagrid, brows drawn sharply together behind her glasses, and blinked hard, trying hard to understand what was going on. Her brown eyes were fiercely determined beneath her brows as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. "I'm ... a witch," She said hesitantly. "And I'm going to a special school." She trailed off helplessly and looked up at Hagrid. "What do you mean, the Girl Who Lived?"
Hagrid scratched his chin beneath his beard. "Blast it, didn't think I'd 'ave t' explain t'is twice today," Hagrid grumbled, and looked at Harry. "Yeh're twins. You 'n 'Arry." He finally rumbled.
"We're what?" The two of them said simultaneously. They looked at each other, twin to twin.
He was about her height, with the same build – light, skinny, and coltish, a patchwork of angles and elbows and knees. Startlingly green eyes looked curiously at her from behind round glasses, Scotch-taped in the middle, and he wore baggy, awkward clothes at least three sizes too big. Unruly black hair stuck up in tousled spikes around his head, tumbling messily into his eyes thanks to a messy cowlick. Their features were roughly the same – high cheekbones, thin lips, large eyes – but the similarities were not instantly visible. A curiously shaped scar zigzagged down his forehead, shaped exactly like a bolt of lightning – at least, that's what it looked like, seeing it was half-hidden beneath a bolt of black hair. Under close scrutiny, Jean decided that the main similarity were their glasses, and they wore them differently – Harry pushed his up to settle on the bridge between his eyes, and Jean's slipped down to the edge of her nose. Harry checked her over with a fresh eye – she seemed to carry herself differently, more subdued, closer together, and her dark hair appeared to be just as unruly, save that she kept it back with her barrettes. She kept pushing down her left knee sock with her foot and dragging it back up again, a nervous habit which seemed just as unconscious as her nail-biting.
"I don't understand," Harry said finally. "Why was I at the Dursley's and she was here? Why were we separated?"
"Who were my parents?" Jean spoke up, interrupting Harry. "I mean our parents," She added, with an uncertain look at Harry. "And where is –" She checked her letter – "-Hogwarts? Where can we get all this stuff?" She asked.
Hagrid laughed, a deep, booming laugh. "Full 'o questions, aren't yeh?" He chuckled. "Can't answer some of 'em. But I can say t'at yer parents were Lily an' James Potter, and they were murdered by ..." He broke off, looking at Harry, and swallowed hard.
"Lord Voldemort," Harry spoke up. Hagrid shuddered violently, and Jean looked confused.
"Who?" She queried.
Hagrid shook his head. "Evil, 'e was," Hagrid growled. "Those were dark times, those were." He shuddered again, and clapped his hands together. "Ain't gonna talk 'bout it twice in one day. Bad luck."
"But –" Jean began, but Miss Simms cut her off.
"Jean Potter, you are going on an outing," Miss Simms said crisply. "And I won't let you go out dressed like that, especially with your face in such a state. You may be an orphan, but I won't have you going out looking like one, especially when you come from this respectable establishment."
Miss Simms strode out the door, Jean following behind her. But before they turned the corner, Jean turned back to look at the boy again, the boy with the curly black hair and vivid green eyes. And a very small part of her, the part closest to her heart which had so longed for a family, glowed in approval. I'm not an orphan, she whispered to herself. Not anymore.
It was hard keeping up with Hagrid. He strode down along the streets, taking gigantic strides to match his huge legs, and both Harry and Jean had to trot to keep up. They drew a lot of strange looks, which they rather expected, but neither of them liked to be stared at. Not to mention they drew an inordinate amount of attention on the Underground, where Hagrid sat on three seats and kept rambling on about dragons. Harry and Jean were embarrassed and fascinated at the same time – if Hagrid were not quite so large, the stories he told would have captured their immediate attention. However, the bizarre looks from the other passengers were downright distracting, and Jean was turning slightly pink around her eyes, behind the frames of her glasses. When they got off the Underground, both of the Potter twins breathed a sigh of relief – but their relief was short lived, seeing as Hagrid had an strange habit of pointing to absolutely regular items, like telephone poles, tracing the wires with one thick finger, and saying in his loud voice, "See? What else will Muggles dream up, eh?" This, of course, led to Jean wondering what on earth Muggles were, which Hagrid was only too happy to explain. As long as the subject wasn't Voldemort – whoever that was – Hagrid seemed perfectly content to talk continuously.
Harry and Jean followed Hagrid down several crooked streets, where the buildings towered close and frighteningly tall around them, and he turned seemingly randomly into a dingy back alley. Jean skirted a dark oily puddle as they drew closer to a small pub, where a battered wooden sign spelled out The Leaky Cauldron in weathered letters. Hagrid barely fit into the doorway, and when he opened the door no block of light spilled into the dim alley – light pushed at the darkness within, and Jean had the thrill of danger every child receives when about to enter someplace dark and reeking of foreboding. When they stepped inside, the dimly lit pub illuminated scant details; dusty glass bottles along the bar, strange looking patrons grouped in quiet huddles, chatting mildly in corners. The rafters were high, and Harry could have sworn he heard the sleepy twitter of owls from the exposed beams above their heads.
"Well, if it isn't Hagrid!" Cried a voice from behind the bar. "Here for the usual, Hagrid?" The man speaking was a short, balding man with a gap between his front teeth – he seemed amicable enough, and was idly wiping a glass clean with the hem of his apron.
"Not today, Tom," Hagrid said importantly, puffing out his barrel chest a few more inches. "'Ogwarts business." He looked meaningfully at Harry and Jean. Tom's jaw went slack as he looked at the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead, and the emerald green eyes blinking at him from behind taped glasses.
"Bless my soul," Tom gasped. "If it isn't the Potter twins!"
The whole atmosphere of the room changed – an electrical current passed through the air as everyone turned towards the doorway. There were dull scraping noises as chairs were pushed back, and people came over like moths drawn to light. There was a woman with thick brown hair smoking a pipe and blowing purple smoke rings staring awestricken at Harry, and a short man with a lopsided top hat babbling excitedly. Harry started as he looked at the man with the top hat. "I saw you!" He exclaimed suddenly. "You bowed to me once in a shop! Aunt Petunia was ..." He trailed off. He had been going to finish it "been frightfully angry" but decided against it at the last minute. However, it didn't appear as if the man noticed, for he just beamed and continued shaking Harry's hand.
Names and faces flew crookedly through Jean's mind as she bewilderedly shook one hand after the other, listened to people's constant stream of comments, and tried to be polite. A bite of reality was seeping in – if this was a dream or a lie, would all these people have such genuine smiles on their faces, the eager stories spilling from their mouths? No, she decided, this was all real – she felt a little dizzy and uncertain of what to do. They were all so excited, so happy, and the air was positively charged with euphoria, and Jean realized that she was a celebrity. Everyone seemed more interested in Harry and his scar – it was quite interesting, Jean realized, and such a strange scar. Still, their reactions towards her were startling.
"'At's enough," Hagrid announced when the people began to get too excited. "We gotta be gettin'- Oh! Professor!"
A tall, thin man with darting, nervous blue eyes smiled anxiously at the trio. Dark slate-gray robes hung on his lanky frame, and a purple turban covered his head. He wrung his hands a little and gave a little wave, and Harry noticed that he bit his nails, much like Jean. He gave a quivering little smile and offered a limp handshake to Harry, and then to Jean. "P-p-Professor Quirrell," He stuttered. "How p-p-please I am to m-make your acquaintance."
"Teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hagrid informed the twins cheerfully.
"N-not like you'll need it, eh, P-Potter?" Quirrell joked feebly. Harry nodded, a little put-off by Quirrell's stammering and weak personality. Hagrid steered the twins away from the eager crowd, but Jean turned her head to catch a last glimpse of the Professor. A Professor who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at her new school. The last few whispers of the surrealistic aura began to ebb away, and she smoothed her curls away from her face again, trying to stop the bright flush which spread over her cheeks.
Because in less than an hour, she had gotten a new life and a new family handed to her. And what girl could ask for more, really?
A/N: Sorry for this chapter. Family troubles. Needed to write and get it out of my system. Please review!