The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.

The sentence was elaborate in the mind of an eleven year old, and Jean couldn't remember for the life of her where she had gotten it from. The tiny slip of paper was yellowed with age, and she remembered quite clearly tearing it from a old, dusty book and stuffing it into the pocket of her skirt. Now, it was being pressed between the pages of her school text book – Standard Book of Spells, Grade One – and being packed along with all of her other new belongings. She was suddenly popular in the orphanage – Hagrid's visit, combined with her sudden acquirement of these new, strange instruments, had made her the chief source of gossip among the young children. Jean stacked her books into the sleek, gleaming new trunk which she had gotten at Diagon Alley – there were expanding compartments which seemed to fit anything, no matter of the size or weight. Weeks had passed since the eventful trip to Diagon Alley had commenced, and Jean had spent nearly every minute reading the books she had gotten, trying on her new robes, and attempting to befriend her new pet. Harry had gotten an owl, a magnificent snowy white creature which Jean insisted they could share. It had been horrendously expensive, and both of them were dazed at the thought of actually having enough money to spend that amount on a pet. Jean had never had a pet before, except for a bowlegged, flea-infested cat which occasionally came mewling around the back door of the orphanage. Owls were the sensible choice, she remembered thinking as they scanned the aisles in Magical Menagerie, seeing as they could carry mail and the like. But, selfishly, she wanted her first pet to be cuddly. And sweet. Cats were the other obvious choice, but Hagrid claimed he was allergic, and Jean didn't want to hurt his feelings by ignoring his statement and getting a feline anyway.

And that was how she ended up with Remmington, a black rat with glittering black eyes and a coat of slick fur the colour of ink. At the moment, Remmington was nibbling contentedly at the corner of Jean's pillow, and squeaked in protest when she scooped him up with both hands and set him down in his wicker cage. He sniffed at the bars, craning his neck up at her, and she shut the door to his cage with a decisive snap! With her clothing and books packed, and her pet safe, Jean looked around the room, afraid and a little nostalgic. She was going to be leaving this place, and despite how alone she often felt, at least she had been safe. Protected by Miss Simms, her guardian, and given three meals a day and a roof over her head. Now, sent spinning into the unknown, Jean was armed with a rat, a wand, and a gigantic pile of books which were filled of things which made no sense to her.

Part of the odd things she read in her textbooks were the occasional references to herself and Harry – her twin. It was strange; she would be skimming through pages of her history books, and then her name would spark from the page, always accompanied by her brother's name, and a paragraph or so outlining what had happened on that terrible night ten years ago. After coming across their names the first time, and after reading a rather well-described article of what happened, she had stopped looking for her name. Part of her didn't want to know what happened to her parents. Ever.

"Jean? Jean, are you ready?" Miss Simms called from the bottom of the stairs. Blinking hard behind her glasses, Jean scooped up the wicker cage Remmington resided in, and started lugging her trunk downstairs. Her wand was in her skirt pocket, stowed there after quite a bit of mulling over where to keep it.

The trunk thumped loudly as she dragged it down the stairs, and paused when she saw the entire Orphanage assembled in front of her. Perhaps thirty freshly-scrubbed faces looked solemnly at her, and Miss Simms was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "Jean, dear, we just wanted to ..." She broke off, swallowed hard, and hugged Jean tightly. It was slightly awkward, seeing as Jean was in front of everybody, and also because she was holding two extremely large objects, but she liked the hug. Miss Simms had always been good to her, had always done her best. "We just wanted to give you a proper send off, before you went to ... that – other place." She finished, glancing at the assembled children.

"Thank you," Jean mumbled, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and pointedly looking at the floor. "I'll miss you all." She wanted to say more, but her nerves were wound tight as a steel spring, and her belly was constricting as she thought of leaving the warm, bland world of the Orphanage.

It was a blustery autumn day, and the stiff breeze aggressively teased their hair, and Miss Simms hailed a cab as Jean rested Remmington's cage on top of her trunk. A pale face maid closed the door behind them, and Jean instinctively knew that the children she knew at the Orphanage would most likely be there when she came back. If she came back. Her stomach twisted again and she tried not to think about the unknown adventure unfurling before her. Miss Simms hailed a cab, and then helped the cab driver haul all of Jean's possessions into the backseat. The motherly young woman dropped a kiss on her charge's head, and smoothed Jean's hair away from her face, adjusting the red barrettes. "You mind your manners now," Miss Simms instructed. "Don't get into trouble, Jean. And – stay safe."

Jean struggled for words, and looked pleadingly up at Miss Simms's kindly face, prematurely lined from the daily strife her young charges gave her. "I will," Jean promised, and threw her arms around her caregiver's waist. "I promise, Miss Simms."

"Come on, dear," Miss Simms said, papering a smile on her face. "You're going to be late. Do you have your rat? Good."

The world is a book, Jean reminded herself, slightly desperately, as she got into the cab and got a last look at Miss Simms. But it's a book with the ending ripped out.

She saw him looking quite lost as he wandered around King's Cross station, his unruly black hair curling around his eyes. Hedwig, his big white owl, was napping with her head under her wing, and her brother was attracting a lot of attention from people, most of which hadn't seen an owl before. There were people all around her, and noise wove together to form a blanket of sound. A burly officer had helped her find a trolley to dump her luggage onto, and she wheeled the cumbersome item over to her brother with some difficulty. Jean opened her mouth, and tried to think of what to say. She had only seen her brother once before, and there had been no time to talk then – not to mention Jean had never been good at initiating conversations. "Harry?" She called, approaching him nervously. He looked up, green eyes narrowing, and then he relaxed in recognition. He seemed confused, and kept looking up at the platform signs.

"Hullo," He responded, and then ran his fingers through his hair. "Was there anything in your letter about how to get onto the platform?"

She remembered seeing the unusual number – Platform Nine and 3/4. "No," She answered, and checked the signs. Platform Nine – Platform Ten. "What are we supposed to do?" She asked worriedly, the knot in her stomach tightening.

"I'm not –" He began to say, but then a burst of talk broke through the indistinguishable noise around them.

" – What these Muggles dream up, I have no idea –"

"Can't I go, please, Mum?"

" – Not sure exactly where –"

A group of people passed by, every one of them with straight red hair and brown freckles. An older woman, her face lined and worried, as she directed her gathering of children towards the platform column. There were several trolleys between them, all of them loaded down with battered trunks and one of them had a pair of old, cracked trainers looped around the handle. A young girl, perhaps nine or ten years old, had tears running down her cheeks and her arms were folded tightly across her chest. Harry brightened up, and gave a half-smile in Jean's direction. "Muggles," He said eagerly. She frowned before she remembered the term she had found in one of the books she had read – non magic folk, apparently. She stayed tethered to the trolley, and strained her ears to listen to Harry as he approached the harried-looking woman. "Excuse me," Harry interrupted as politely as possible, "We're going to Hogwarts this year, but the letter didn't tell us how –"

"How to get onto the platform?" The woman said kindly. "Yes, well, we'll show you. It's Ron's first year, too!" She beamed, and patted the shoulder of a thin, gangly boy with red hair and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. The ginger-haired youth rubbed his nose self consciously, averting his eyes from Harry's face. He had a smudged spot of dirt on his nose, and he looked as though he was oblivious of his state of slight dishevelment. "Is that your sister?" The woman asked brightly, and Jean flushed shyly and dropped her gaze.

The twins followed the brood of redheads towards the brick column between Platform Nine and Ten, and the older woman smiled at the tallest redhead, who had a buffed bronze badge pinned to his dark jumper. "Percy, you first," The woman said. Percy threw his chest out, and dipped his head confidently before striding swiftly towards the brick barrier. A loud, noisy group of American tourists passed by, gaping loudly and snapping photos, which prevented the Potter twins from seeing how Percy disappeared. Brow furrowed, Harry squinted as a set of teenaged redheads stepped forward, both nearly identical. "You next, Fred," The plump older woman said.

"Can't you tell your own sons apart?" The boy asked, pretending to be offended. "Call yourself our mother – can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, go on, George," The mother said, waving him forward anxiously. A cocky grin flashed up the side of his face.

"Only joking, I am Fred," He laughed, and bounded forward. This time, Harry's mouth dropped open as George – or Fred, he wasn't sure – melted seamlessly into the brick column. Jean's eyes went huge behind her glasses, and the two of them gaped as Fred – or George – followed his twin into the column.

"You next, dears," The woman said nicely, and Harry glanced nervously at Jean. "Best do it at a bit of a run, if you're nervous," She suggested.

Jean watched, terrified, as Harry took a deep breath and pushed his trolley forward, jogging at first and then picking up speed as he charged towards the brick column. She cringed, expecting to hear a crunching noise and a cry of pain, but when she dared open her eyes, Harry had also disappeared. The redheaded woman jerked her chin at Jean, and the young girl wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, trying to calm her quivering nerves. She didn't run – what if the barrier suddenly closed, and this was all an illusion to make her look stupid? If she was going to charge into a brick wall, she wasn't going to hurt herself. But the instant the front of her trolley disappeared, the rest of her followed, and there was a brief, cool sensation. When she opened her eyes again, her jaw dropped to her chest.

There was another train station within the brick column – only one train, however, a long, majestic scarlet steam engine puffing plumes of white steam in the air. There were dozens of people, most of them dressed in cloaks and robes; there were parents smothering their young ones with kisses, and there were
teenagers snogging enthusiastically, half-hidden in shadowy corners. She saw plenty of caged owls, most of them flapping their wings irritably and glaring beadily at the confusion around them, and she could hear the snarled hisses and deep growls of upset tabbies inside wooden boxes. The noise was lessened in here, due to the confines of the room and the lack of crowds, but the conversations were strange and bewildering to Jean's inexperienced ears.

" – and be sure to send an owl as soon as you get there –"

" – mind him, he's bloody brilliant at Potions –"

" – wrestling trolls in Sweden, last I heard –"

" – no such things as dragons, are there –"

Her heart skipped several beats, and she gripped her trolley harder, knees trembling, mouth dry with excitement as she got her first taste of her new world. Harry was struggling with his trunk, and Jean wheeled her trolley over to him, unable to contain the small, excited smile quirking her mouth. This is ridiculous, she told herself. Absolutely ridiculous. But it was true, it was real, and Jean tried to stop the anxiousness welling up in her heart. Harry looked up at her through a curtain of dark hair, frowning a little as he struggled with his trunk. "Need a hand?" She asked, and he nodded tightly, yanking it up another step.

"We can help," Said two voices simultaneously, and the Potter twins looked up to see the pair of redheaded twins who had helped them onto the platform. "Fred and George Weasley, charmed to meet you," Said one of them – Fred or George, neither Potter was quite sure which – and they both reached forward to help with the trunks. Jean stepped back, clutching Remmington's wicker cage to her chest, and followed the Weasley twins sheepishly up the steps, feeling awkward. They seemed to know their way around very well, and the Weasley twins banged open the nearest compartment door, hoisting the trunks over their heads and sliding them onto the luggage racks. One of them – Fred, Jean was fairly sure – cocked his head to one side. "Are you the Potter twins?" He asked bluntly.

"Nah, they're not," The other twin said – George, Harry was certain.

"Well ..." Jean looked uncomfortably at Harry. She hadn't liked finding their names in history books, and neither of them had liked being stared at in Diagon Alley. But Harry interrupted her, shrugging.

"Oh, yeah, we are," He said, and glanced at Jean. "She's, well, I mean, she's my sister. My twin."

"Wicked!" George and Fred said together.

"Do you have –" Fred (or George) said.

"- The, you know?" George (or Fred) finished.

"The scar?" They said at once.

Harry furrowed his brow, and flipped up his curtain of unruly hair. There, carved jaggedly into his forehead, was the curious lightning bolt scar. Both Weasley twins mouthed the word 'wicked' again, and left rather abruptly, no doubt to spread the gossip about the Potter twins. Jean gave Harry an uneasy look.

Whether they liked it or not, the Potter twins were about to have their first real taste of fame.

A/N: So, a little longer, yes? Guess what? I have Twitter! Yeep! Username is Velvet_n_Satin, so if you're on twitter and want to follow me, go ahead! I'll be posting updates about my stories there, with character pictures, contests, etc. xD So, yeah, enjoy!