A/N: This is a story I've wanted to write for a long time, but it was only recently, under the influence of Dethryl that I've been able to focus and get it done. All due credit goes to him for getting me through this process. (And go read his fic. It's awesome.)

Chapter One

Professor Kettleburn

The very first piece of mail Jane Potter ever received was very strange indeed.

She had had other mail before, but it hadn't been addressed to her. Once, Uncle Vernon had been distributing the family's mail at breakfast and had given Jane a grocer's circular addressed to 'Occupant,' which hadn't been in English.

This was not a coupon circular, however. It wasn't even a drill catalogue, which she sometimes got to page through on her way back to the breakfast table.

It was a letter. A letter addressed to Jane.

Not only was it addressed to her, but in a very strange manner.

Miss J. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Quickly, before she even had time to think, she shoved it into the pocket of her dress. She didn't know who would send her a letter, but if Dudley saw it, he would take it from her, not to mention Uncle Vernon.

All throughout breakfast, she felt the letter in her pocket, hoping no one would notice. The Dursleys never paid Jane much notice, unless she was doing something they thought she shouldn't, like talking to someone or trying to change the channel on television. She couldn't wait to get a moment to herself back in her cupboard to open the letter and the tantalizing prospect of reading the letter (it felt nice and thick) helped to keep her mind off Dudley's Smeltings stick, which he kept waving dangerously close to Jane's head.

That was another thing Jane was looking forward to—Dudley going to boarding school. She was sure that being alone with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would do nothing to improve their attitude toward her, but at least Dudley would be out of her way. Maybe when she went to Stonewall High in September she would be able to make a friend, or at least talk to someone.

That is, if someone would want to talk to the girl with the secondhand uniform. Jane had already seen it and it was at least two sizes too big.

"You'll grow into it," Aunt Petunia had said, pinching her arm. "Unless you insist on remaining that skinny."

Jane knew, though, that Stonewall High would probably be no different than her primary school. There she was ignored at best, teased at worst. None of the girls would talk to her because they thought she was weird, and all of the boys were afraid of Dudley, which meant they often took part in making fun of Jane.

After breakfast, Uncle Vernon left for work and Aunt Petunia sent Dudley outside after he swept a vase of flowers off the worktop with the stick. Jane did the dishes and cleaned up the mess from the vase, pleased to see that Aunt Petunia was starting to become exasperated with Ickle Diddykins. As soon as she was finished, Aunt Petunia shooed her out.

It was time to read the letter.

Jane went to the cupboard and shut the door. The letter was a bit rumpled from being in her pocket, but she could still tell the paper was very nice, as if it had been designed to look old-fashioned. She looked again at the strange form of address in the green ink. Who else knew where she lived? And why would someone address a letter to a room inside the house when all the post wound up on the mat?

Jane slit the envelope with her thumb. The letter was printed on the same kind of parchment as the envelope, with the same seal as on the outside, the four animals and the letter H. She had never seen anything like it before.

She read the letter twice. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? It had to be a prank. She hadn't thought Dudley would be clever enough to pull off something so elaborate, much less all the details—Dudley had no imagination of his own, and she couldn't picture Piers Polkiss doing this either, even after the incident with the boa constrictor at the zoo last month.

Even so, it obviously wasn't real. The idea was just silly. There was nothing special or magical about Jane. Despite what the Dursleys seemed to think, she was an utterly ordinary girl. She had long, dark red hair and hazel eyes, and once, years ago, Aunt Petunia had said she might have been pretty if it wasn't for the scar. It was on her forehead, above her right eye, and it was shaped like a lightning bolt. It was the only thing she had from her parents, having gotten it in the car crash in which they'd been killed.

Jane folded the letter back up, put it in the envelope and put it on the shelf above her bed. For a week, she forgot all about it.

On Wednesday, which happened to be the day after Jane's birthday (not that the Dursleys had acknowledged it), Aunt Petunia brought out the sewing kit.

"You're old enough to hem your school skirt," she said, dropping a pile of heavy gray cloth into Jane's lap. It took her nearly a minute to find the hem. Aunt Petunia handed her a needle and thread and Jane's stomach dropped. The last time Aunt Petunia had tried to teach her to sew had not gone well at all. Jane had struggled to thread the needle to the point where Aunt Petunia had accused her of being deliberately obtuse. Near tears, Jane had protested that she was doing no such thing; the needle was just very hard to thread, when suddenly, the eye of the needle had enlarged to about an inch across. Both of them had stared at it for a long moment before Aunt Petunia had shrieked and grabbed the sewing things back. Jane had spent a week in the cupboard and after that, there had been no further talk of sewing.

She didn't anticipate this ending well either.

"Now," Aunt Petunia said, handing her the needle. "No funny business."

"It wasn't funny business," Jane muttered. She took a stab at the needle, but it remained frustratingly tiny.

The doorbell rang. Jane moved to get up, but Aunt Petunia said, "Dudley, make sure your little friends wipe their feet."

Sighing, Dudley got off the couch and stalked into the hall. "Why do I have to do everything?" he grumbled.

Jane turned her attention back to the needle.

"Mum, it's a charity," Dudley called, coming back into the lounge.

"Well, what sort? Did you tell him to go away?" Aunt Petunia's line of questioning was cut off by a man with a lot of white hair and a shabby tweed suit entering the lounge. "Dudley! You let him in?"

"Didn't!" Dudley protested. "I closed the door on him."

The man was very unlike any other person who had ever been inside Number Four. His face was covered by a number of scars and he had a hook for a hand. Jane wondered if he'd been in an accident or was a war veteran.

"Get out of my house this instant!" Aunt Petunia shrieked. "I'll have you arrested."

"Sit down, missus," the man said, waving his hook dismissively. "I ain't here for you. I'm here for the girl."

Aunt Petunia and Dudley both stared at Jane as if she would be able to explain.

"Do you mean me?" she asked tentatively.

"Who else would I mean? Don't think this one has as much of an ounce of magic in him and you're the one who got the letter. Why didn't you owl back? I had to come all the way out here."

At this, Aunt Petunia gasped and clapped her hands over Dudley's ears. "You stupid girl!" she shrieked. "Have you been in contact with these people?"

"I haven't been in contact with anyone!" Jane cried. "I don't even know what he's talking about, magic and all that rubbish."

"Rubbish?" The man's bushy gray eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean by rubbish?"

"Well," Jane said, deciding this man was unbalanced, "there's no such thing as magic."

The man swiveled on Aunt Petunia, who let out a terrified squeak. "What in blazes have you been telling her?"

"Nothing," Aunt Petunia spat. "We didn't even know she'd got a letter. She must've kept it from us; she's a sneak..." She turned to Dudley. "Get in the kitchen. Now."

Dudley, who was never snapped at, looked too shocked to argue and scrambled out of the room.

"I thought the letter was a joke," Jane said.

The man was silent. He crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his hook against his elbow in a most unsettling manner. "It's been a long time since I did a home visit, much less to Muggles. They got me out here because the other teachers were busy with other visits," he said finally. "They told me this'd be an easy one. Half-blood. Supposed to know about magic. But not once have I ever seen a half-blood wizarding child kept from her birthright like this. What is wrong with you, woman?"

Aunt Petunia was turning red. "I thought we could keep her normal. Thought that if we didn't say anything, she wouldn't wind up a freak, like... like my sister."

"What are you doing, calling my mother a freak?" Jane asked hotly.

"She got a letter," Aunt Petunia said. "A woman came and took her away. Told her was a... a... a witch, like that awful boy had always been saying. And then she was gone. She hardly ever came home and she'd barely finished school when she'd gotten herself knocked up by that Potter freak and then they both got themselves killed."

"That's enough of that," the mysterious man said. He turned, suddenly, and seized the Smeltings stick from Dudley, who had been sneaking up behind him, ready to hit him on the head. Holding the stick in his remaining hand, the stranger hit it against his other arm, snapping it clean in two. "That's better," he said, tossing the broken halves back to Dudley before collapsing in a squashy armchair. "If I'm really going to have to explain everything, girl, I want to do it without worrying I'm going to get my brains bashed out."

Aunt Petunia grabbed Dudley (who was still clutching the remains of his stick) by the arm and hurried them both into the kitchen, leaving Jane and the stranger alone.

"So they didn't tell you anything?" he said suddenly. Jane shook her head. Whatever it was about the letter, no one had explained anything to her.

He sighed heavily. "Haven't introduced myself, have I? Name's Kettleburn. I teach Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts."

Hogwarts. The letter had said Hogwarts.

"So Hogwarts is real," Jane said. It wasn't a question.

Kettleburn nodded.

"What about the, er, witchcraft bits?"

"Real as anything." His hook hand vanished and was replaced by a long stick. "Have a look at this." He waved the stick and the ottoman in front of Jane turned into cat.

"Oh! Aunt Petunia's allergic to cats," she said automatically. This was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Kettleburn flicked the stick and the cat ran into the kitchen. She heard Aunt Petunia shriek.

A smile spread over her face. Magic was brilliant.

If magic was brilliant, Diagon Alley was amazing. Apparition was amazing, which was how they had gotten there, but the place itself was even better. It was the best place Jane had ever been.

It was full of witches and wizards—people like Jane—and it had been right here and she'd never known. She felt a sudden swell of belonging. Everyone here was like her. All the strange things she'd ever done—like the needle—now made sense. She was a witch.

It was almost too much to take in—the wizarding bank, run by goblins, and the vault full of gold that had been Jane's parents'; the bookshop that contained all manner of odd books including Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, which Kettleburn had personally presented her with, saying that it would come in useful later.

The best part, though, was Ollivander's. Jane had been looking forward to getting her magic wand since she'd first seen Kettleburn use his, and now it was the last thing on her list.

Kettleburn opened the door to the shop and ushered her in. "This might take a while," he explained. "Took me over an hour for my first wand."

For a moment, Jane was afraid this meant he was leaving her, but grabbed a chair from the corner and sat down. "Don't be nervous," he told her. "Ollivander's an odd chap, but he's the best in the business."

"Ah, Silvanus," said a voice that made Kettleburn's whole body twitch. "Chestnut and phoenix feather, eleven-and-a-half inches, am I correct?"

"Yeah," Kettleburn said gruffly. "That's it." He looked down at his prosthetic arm, in which his wand was stored.

Then Ollivander turned his attention to Jane. Kettleburn looked visibly relieved. "And Miss Potter. I've been thinking you would be visiting me soon." She couldn't blame him; Ollivander's creepy silver gaze was incredibly unsettling.

"How do you know who I am?" she asked cautiously.

Ollivander ignored her question and pulled out a tape measure. "Hold out your wand arm."

Jane decided this meant the one she wrote with.

When Ollivander had finished with his measurements, he stepped back, looking thoughtful. "Now, your mother's wand… willow, ten-and-a-quarter inches… good for charms. You do look uncannily like her." He reached over Jane's head and pulled out a box. "Try this one. Wave it about and see what happens."

Jane waved the wand. Nothing happened.

The old man tapped his chin. "Perhaps you take after your father then." He all but snatched the wand out of her hand and handed her another. "This one's a bit whippier, better for transfiguration."

This one did nothing either.

Jane tried wand after wand, but none of them did anything, none of them felt right. She didn't know what right would feel like, but she could tell none of these were. Somehow, she got the sense that the right wand for her would feel like more than just a stick.

"I wonder," Ollivander said suddenly, after he'd snatched back a wand half a second after he'd given it to her. "I wonder."

"Wonder what?"

Ignoring her again, he came up with one more wand box and handed the wand to her as if it were made of glass. "Try that one." Jane looked at Kettleburn for any clue as to why Ollivander was behaving so oddly, but he was looking out the window.

Even just having it in her hand made Jane feel that this one was somehow different. Ollivander had a strange expression on his face. "Wave it."

Jane did and got a shower of red and gold sparks. Her whole arm was tingling. She grinned. "This is it, isn't it? This is the right one."

"It is." Ollivander looked grave. "Highly unusual. Highly unusual, indeed."

"Er, what is?" Jane could barely tear her eyes away from her wand.

"Holly and phoenix feather," he murmured. "Eleven inches." He took it back from her and examined it again. "Yes, this is the one." He looked at her again, but he wasn't looking at her eyes. He was looking at her scar.

Jane put her hand over it. "This is just… I got in the accident."

"Accident?" Mr. Ollivander raised his bushy eyebrows and looked at Kettleburn. "Silvanus?"

"Oh," Kettleburn said. "Didn't think to mention that. Bloody Muggles didn't tell her anything."

"What do you mean?" Jane asked. "My parents. They were killed in a car accident, that's what my relatives always told me…" She trailed off, because the look on Ollivander's face told her quite plainly that this was not the case.

"I never thought I would be the one to tell you this…" Ollivander looked down at her wand again. "Jane Potter. Your parents were killed by a great Dark wizard. His name was Lord Voldemort."

Jane's stomach dropped. All those years of thinking her parents had died in accident, because they had been drunk… What a horrible lie for Aunt Petunia to make up.

Kettleburn shuddered. "Don't say the name," he said sharply. "Give her the wrong idea."

"What do you mean?" Jane said, turning to look at him. "What's wrong with saying his name?"

"Dark times." Kettleburn shook his head. "People were scared, didn't know who was a supporter of You-Know-Who. Didn't know who to trust."

"I remember it well, Silvanus," Ollivander said. "As I recall, you yourself-"

"I don't like to think about it," Kettleburn cut in. "You just have to know, girl, tensions were high. People... people being wrongly accused, and Death Eaters—those were his supporters—getting away with murder..."

"So," she said, trying to process all of this, "he killed my parents?" She looked back at Ollivander for confirmation.

"And he tried to kill you, too." His eyes never left hers. "No one knows why he went after your family, or how you survived, but all the same… " He reached forward, brushing her fringe aside and ran a long finger down her scar. Jane shivered. "They found you in the ruins of your house, parents dead, the Dark Lord vanished, and you with only that scar to show for it. ... You've been known in our world as the Girl Who Lived ever since. No one else has ever survived the Killing Curse."

"So he's gone now?" It was hard to keep her voice steady. "Voldemort's gone?" She'd forgotten about the name and Kettleburn flinched again.

"That is what most people hope." Ollivander looked like he was going to say more but didn't. "The truly odd thing, however, is the wand... yes, the wand." He followed her gaze down to her wand. "Your wand contains a phoenix feather core, and I made two wands using feathers from that particular phoenix."

A chill ran through her. "Who bought the other one?" she asked, though she knew the answer.

"Lord Voldemort."

Kettleburn looked like he wanted to get out of there, so Jane reached for her money pouch to pay for the wand. The professor took this opportunity to leave the shop, on the pretext of getting some air.

"Er, thanks, by the way," Jane said, as Ollivander took her Galleons. "For telling me about my parents."

"Only my duty." Ollivander shut the till. "I believe every witch or wizard should know the story behind his or her own wand."

She didn't know if her next question was too presumptive but she wanted to ask it anyway and she didn't know if she'd have an opportunity like this again. "They're like weapons, aren't they? Wands?"

"In the wrong hands, yes." Ollivander came out from behind the counter. "Lord Voldemort accomplished great things with his wand. Terrible things, but great. You, too, could be great, Miss Potter. I simply hope you will make better choices. Indeed, the wand chooses the wizard, but after that, it is on the wizard to decide what he does with the wand."

He handed Jane her wand with two hands, and she looked down at it, suddenly very uncomfortable.

After that experience, Kettleburn took her back to the pub called the Leaky Cauldron.

"Butterbeer for the girl and an ice gin for me, Tom," he said, slapping some coins on the bar.

"Butterbeer?" Jane asked. "Is that... alcohol?"

"Not much. Don't worry about it."

She didn't say anything until the drinks were in front of them. Kettleburn's was giving off a large quantity of fog, but he knocked it back nonetheless.

"I'm sorry," she said, sipping her butterbeer. It was delicious. "About, er, You-Know-Who."

"Don't worry about it," Kettleburn repeated. "Just reminded me of a spot of trouble I ran into back then." He took another swig. "Whatever you do, girl, just don't wind up in Azkaban. Awful, awful place."

Jane didn't want to pry, so she quietly sipped her drink.

When they were finished, Kettleburn stood, looking more refreshed. "Now, then," he said. "Pet."

"Pet?" Jane asked curiously.

"Of course! Witch needs a familiar." He set out from the pub, Jane jogging to catch up under the weight of her bags.

Magical Menagerie was crowded with animals. Jane thought she'd never been in such a wonderful place. Aunt Petunia would never allow an animal of any kind inside the house, which didn't keep Jane staring longingly at friendly dogs, passing cats, even birds. She'd loved to go to Mrs. Figg's and play with her cats.

That was it. Jane wanted a cat. The letter had said she could have one and a witch was supposed to have a cat.

She looked around, studying each of the kittens on display intently. They were all so cute, she didn't think she'd ever be able to pick...

"Crookshanks! Get down!"

Jane turned. The witch behind the counter was pushing a large, squashy-faced ginger cat away from the till. He yowled in protest and leapt down, running to Jane.

"Hello, there," she said, scooping him up. "Is he for sale?"

The witch's eyes widened. "You want him?"

Jane looked down at the cat. "He seems nice. His name's Crookshanks?"

"I'll let you have the accessories for free if you'll take him off my hands." The witch brushed hair from the till. "He's a terror, that one."

"I think he's sweet." Jane turned to Kettleburn. "I'm getting this one."

Kettleburn was examining Crookshanks closely. "Good choice, girl. He looks like he'll be a clever one."

Crookshanks purred, as if he could understand. "Good kitty." Jane scratched behind his ears.

The whole way back to Privet Drive, Jane rehearsed what she would say to the Dursleys. There was so much to explain—having to go off to school, Crookshanks...

She looked nervously at Kettleburn. "They'll let me go, won't they? To Hogwarts?"

"Who, the Muggles?" Kettleburn let out a short bark of laughter. "I'd like to see 'em try to stop you."

Indeed, when Kettleburn dropped her off and informed the Dursleys she needed to be at King's Cross on the first of September, they didn't even look at her.