Harry Potter 1. A 10-Year Old Preaches Morality

_Pew, pew,  
><em>_My minny me slew  
><em>_My daddy me chew  
><em>_My sister gathered my banes  
><em>_And put them between twa milk-white stanes;  
><em>_And I grew, and I grew,  
><em>_To a milk-white doo,  
><em>_And I took to my wings, and away I flew…_

_-The Milky-White Doo_

* * *

><p>The thing is, Macbeth wasn't really the unimaginable bastard that everyone thinks, it's just that Shakespeare lied when he was writing about murders and witches and ghosts. The story always changes depending on who's telling it, Dad always said, and a good girl never trusts a Muggle storyteller. Especially an English Muggle.<p>

I was five and had no idea what Shakespeare even was. But I nodded my head like the good lass I was and wandered off to watch Wanda, the house-elf, polish the silver in the hall afterwards.

"What's an 'unimaginable bastard'?" I asked Liana about an hour later, sitting on her bedroom carpet and hugging my teddy bear close. She was nine years old and concentrating on starting a flame using only magic.

"It's a bastard that's unimaginable," she replied, not taking her eyes off of the taper sitting on her nightstand. I could have sworn it was starting to smoke a little.

"What's a bastard?"

"Go away, I can't concentrate."

"Liaaaaaaa..."

"Shush. Or I'll set your hair on fire."

I pouted my lips and flung myself dramatically across the floor, Sir Fluffington landing squarely on my chest. Stared up at the painted ceiling, a smattering of stars across a night sky, Charmed by my mother to sparkle even in the dark. Mum was always good at Charms.

"_Liana..._"

"I mean it, Kate, and it will hurt."

Of course I knew it hurt. I accidentally did it on my last birthday (which my family actually considered a blessing in disguise – sure, my head might have been on fire, but, hey, at least I wasn't a Squib).

"Just tell me and I'll leave you alone! Promise!"

Liana sucked in a deep breath through her nose and, scowling, turned to face me. I attempted to employ my best puppy-dog eyes on her, which Mum always said simply made me look as though I had a digestive problem.

"A bastard," she said in her best 'I'm-older-than-you-and-therefore-know-more-than-you-do-so-you-can-go-put-that-in-your-nose-and-smell-it' voice. "Is someone who makes someone else's life needlessly harder. Like you do to me. Now _go away!_"

With that, I was unceremoniously shoved out of her room, and the door slammed in my face.

That same day at dinner, when Mum declared that the Malfoys, friends of the family, had invited us to tea in three days time, I declared that I would not go because Draco Malfoy was an unimaginable bastard who laughed at little girls and made them cry.

Mummy choked on her filet mignon and Wanda dropped an entire bottle of red wine.

* * *

><p>So I had a very normal childhood, thank you very much. My father worked very hard at the Department of International Magical Cooperation, my mother worked very hard at being herself, and my sister, once she reached the proper age, left our lovely mansion on the craigs of Aberdeenshire to attend Hogwarts and worked very hard at being the perfect child. She was utterly flawless, being Sorted into Slytherin without a doubt, getting perfect marks, sending owls home describing her friends, her classes, and the amazing food.<p>

There was a tiny skirmish in her third year when a lad who was bothering her while studying got sent to the infirmary with his eyebrows burnt off and his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, but beyond the muffled screaming, he never said another word about the incident and there was absolutely no proof, so no detention for Liana. She was just too good at covering her tracks.

As for me, I had the regular pre-Hogwarts education, of course. I was taught basic maths and how to read by Wanda, who was all right when she wasn't trying to impress my mother, which means she was pretty much insufferable most of the time. When I was eight I got a sort of crash course in the abridged history of Britain from Dad to go along with my reading and sums, but we never got past the Battle of Rosslyn. Daddy loved William Wallace almost as much as he loved Mum, and was the only Muggle he would ever admit to admire.

But Mum. Where to start with Mum. Dignified and sophisticated, a cool French contrast to my father's flaming Scottish pride. She loved her gold, her husband, her oldest daughter, and most of all, herself. No, wait, scratch that. Her lineage was her pride and joy.

That's our surname, you know. Progers. Comes from 'integer progenies', Latin for 'an entire generation'. An entire generation of purebloods, followed by another and another. Mum made Dad give up his name (Murchadh, which, although is an impressive family line in itself, is a bit tricky to spell to others) and it's our crowning glory. Great-Auntie Regina would sometimes bemoan the fact that Progers was left out of the _Pure-Blood Directory_ in the 1930's, but that's mostly when she was drunk.

I really didn't like Auntie Regina, to tell you the truth, and wasn't the least bit sorry when she went and died. Uncle Pierre wasn't the least bit sorry either because then he inherited enough money to formally tell the family to go to hell and marry the Mudblood he'd fancied for the last decade or so.

Good riddance. Mudbloods, Muggles, I wanted nothing to do with them. They scared me.

"Muggles are the monsters that hide under your bed, Katelyn," Mum told me when I was a child, her blue eyes full of warning. "Come to gobble up young witches in the night."

"They have teeth and claws and dripping fangs," Liana always added once the candles had been blown out and I had snuck from my room to hers across the hall and crawled beneath the covers with her. "They snatch you out of your bed in the dark of the night. They'll draw and quarter you."

"Draw and quarter?" I breathed, seven years old, chewing on the end of my dark plait.

"Hang you by your neck and then cut off your head." She made a horrible squelching noise, clenching and unclenching her fist. "Cut you into four pieces. Or, if they don't do that, because you're a girl, they'd tie you up and set you on fire."

I clung to her, suddenly shaking with fear, hiding my face in her pillow. I didn't want to burn. I had grown up on tales of witch hunts, from the Pendle witch trials to the Salem trials in America. Burning, burning always seemed to be the worst way to go, the stuff of nightmares for me. Tears ran down my cheeks, wretched gasping sobs. "I don't wanna be cut to pieces, Lia, I don't wanna burn..."

My older sister pried my tiny fingers off of her nightgown, pushed me a little away from her, scowling. "Don't be stupid," she said as I wiped my nose with my sleeve. "I'm going to school in a month, remember? I'll learn magic, so if any Muggle tries to do that, I'll be ready."

"What about me?"

"I'll protect you too."

She was so beautiful, so fierce in the moonlight that spilled into the room through her enormous windows, shining off of her hair, lighting up her eyes. Liana, perfect Liana, the very epitome of a pureblood witch. I loved her dearly.

I missed her very much when she left for Hogwarts.

A few days later, I finally asked my father what he thought of it all, Mudbloods and Muggles. He was examining the _Daily Prophet_ in his study, his reading glasses perched on top of his thick, curly dark hair.

"Muggles?" He was only half-paying attention.

"Have you seen one, Daddy?"

"Of course I have."

"What do they look like?"

"Well, like people, I suppose. You've seen one?"

"Have I?" I tilted my head, biting my lip. Wanda had put too much starch in my socks again, and I kept drawing up one foot to scratch at the ankle of the other. "I don't suppose so."

He chuckled. "Didn't Mummy take you down to the village the other day?"

"Yes, but...those were Muggles?"

"What else would they be?"

"I thought..." I paused. What had I thought? "But Liana and Mummy said they're horrible monsters! With teeth, and claws, and-"

"That's the thing, isn't it, lassie?" My father said, finally putting the newspaper down and lifting me onto his lap. He smelled like ink and cigars, and a spicy sort of scent that I always associated with magic and always have. "They look just like us."

"So we're the same?"

"No, of course not."

This scared me more than the talk about fangs and claws, and I nervously bit at my thumb, not understanding. Seeing my confused look, he drew his eyebrows together thoughtfully and spoke in a deep, grave voice. "You see, the thing about monsters is, you can't ever tell who they are. All too often, they look just like you and me."

* * *

><p>I suppose it could have been worse. Much worse. Instead of telling me all the gory details of medieval witch hunts, my mother could have read me <em>Toadstool Tales<em> instead. I discovered that book when I was ten and the descriptions of "wee Willykins and his little golden hopping pot" made me want to vomit. Violently. I was very happy to give it to Draco Malfoy on his birthday. I hope it gave him nightmares.

Mum was great friends with his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, in the way that both women hated each other but didn't want the other to know it. Somehow badmouthing someone behind their backs was more enjoyable than badmouthing someone to their faces. For her part, my mother encouraged my liaison with Draco, and often dragged me with her to visit the Malfoys at their mansion in Wiltshire.

A sample of one of our childhood conversations is attached below.

_Me: _"Mummy said we were only staying for half an hour."

_Draco:_ "How long have you been here?"

_Me:_ "A long time."

...

_Me:_ "I have to pee."

_Draco, snorting:_ "That's nice."

_Me:_ "Shush."

_Draco, mockingly:_ "Na, Ah dinnae think Ah wull."

(Had I been older, I probably would have used some of my father's more creative obscenities for a mocking Englishman. As it was, I only knew 'unimaginable bastard.')

_Me:_ "You unimaginable bastard."

_Draco:_ "Scottish slag."

(Of course, we had no idea what that meant. I still thought that a bastard was just an annoying person, and Draco probably picked up the word 'slag' from a Wizarding Wireless Network programme that he wasn't supposed to be listening to. The funny thing about children is that they're always listening, and always looking for a chance to repeat what they hear. Especially if it's cruel.)

Another period of silence.

_Me, trying to keep my legs from shaking:_ "Wonder what they're talking about."

_Draco:_ "I heard your Mum and mine talking about the Ministry, and the Minister elections approaching, and-"

_Me, whining:_ "I have to g-o-o-o-o..."

_Draco, hesitant: _"...your name came up a bit too."

_Me:_ "Merlin's girly knickers, what did I do this time?"

_Draco, practically spitting out the words:_ "...they're talking about...marriage."

...

(Let the record show that I would have rather swallowed several pints of Skele-Grow followed by being trampled by a herd of centaurs rather than marry Draco Malfoy.)

_Me, forgetting my dire need of a bathroom for the moment and staring at him in horror:_ "Marriage? I'm ten! You gotta be really old to be married, like, thirty!"

_Draco:_ "I know."

_Me:_ "You are absolutely the last person in the world I would wanna marry."

_Draco:_ "Exactly how I feel."

_Me: _"...I feel very uncomfortable agreeing with you."

_Draco:_ "Extremely."

We then agreed that I would push him down a flight of stairs, leading to his house-elf, Dobby, calling both of our mothers and I being sent home in disgrace. My mother never brought up the topic of marriage again, though I knew from then on that it was what she expected. Therefore, Draco and I arranged several methods of sabotage; I would lock him in a closet for three hours, he'd make me climb a tree and leave me there with no way to get down, I'd try to put Dungbombs in his pants drawer only to have them be weirdly defective and never really go off. I'm pretty sure they're still there and they still haven't gone off.

That was our friendship.

I had other playmates, of course. Pansy Parkinson lived in London with her parents, a city girl whose name was the only thing I found likable about her. Pansy, I said, what a lovely name. Yes, I know, she said, and that was that and we were great friends in the way that we both hated each other immensely.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, though everyone just called them Crabbe and Goyle. Not very talkative, but I was required to be polite to them because their parents were friends with the Malfoys and therefore friends with mine. The few times they and their parents stopped by in Aberdeenshire (and it was always the both of them, never one without the other), we'd walk down to the river and I'd watch then chuck rocks across the surface just to hear the splash. Every once in a while they'd threaten to toss me in as well, which I'm sure they were perfectly capable of. Both of them were easily twice the size of me.

They weren't a particularly energetic or creative lot, but they were better than nothing.

Then there was Blaise Zabini, who I really only knew through Draco. Both of them had a habit of following me around every time I visited, mocking my accent, even though as I got older I worked on mimicking my mother's perfect vowels and discarding my father's lovely brogue. It didn't matter.

A few times in a year all six of us would get together, usually at the Malfoys' place. We'd sit around in the gardens and watch the albino peacocks wander around. Talk about useless things, catch up, play hide and seek and tell stories. Pansy was a wonderful storyteller. She went to Diagon Alley all the time with her parents, and made up stories for the odd people she saw; a hag carrying two entire bags full of lacewing flies, a dumpy little man selling amulets in a booth who hid every time he saw a Ministry official walk by, a couple of Aurors that she was certain were searching for a Dark Wizard on the run.

"Rubbish," I'd say. "There's no such thing as Dark wizards anymore, not since You-Know-Who."

"That's like saying there's no such thing as evil," Pansy countered, folding her arms across her chest and narrowing her round, beady eyes at me. "And you know perfectly that that's not true."

"Evil wizards and Dark wizards aren't necessarily the same." Draco murmured.

"What's the difference?" Blaise asked.

"One becomes great, the other doesn't," Draco said calmly, rolling a few Gobstones around in his open palm. No one really felt like playing, but he had them out just in case. "An evil wizard is just a wizard who does bad things. A Dark wizard is someone like-"

"Like You-Know-Who," I interrupted. "And You-Know-Who is dead. Harry Potter killed him ten years ago."

"You really think so?" Goyle asked. It was rare that he or Crabbe spoke, and when he did it was in a low, raspy voice, even at only eleven years old. "You really think he's dead?"

Draco shook his head, sunlight shining off of his hair, making it look like he was wearing a silvery blond cap. "Nah, I don't think so. I bet he's still out there, somewhere."

"Harry Potter would be our age, wouldn't he?"

"You're right, Blaise. Do you think we'll see him at Hogwarts, Draco?"

Draco was our leader, unofficial and unannounced, but unanimous just the same. He looked up from his idle Gobstone rolling, a bright sort of gleam in his eyes. "Yeah, I bet we will." He spoke carefully, the words even and measured. "I bet he'll be a sure friend of ours, won't he?"

"My stepdad says he'll probably be a great wizard," Blaise mused, leaning up against a hedge and tilting his head back to look at the sky. "That much power to take down You-Know-Who, as a _baby,_ no less..."

"Couldn't he be a Dark wizard, though? I mean, no one's seen him in a decade...maybe that's why You-Know-Who tried to kill him, because he knew that if Potter grew up he'd be a challenge to him..."

"That's exactly what my father thinks," Draco said. "And I hope he's right. It's a shame You-Know-Who wasn't able to finish what he started, but if my father's right, perhaps Potter could be the one."

Pansy threw her head back and laughed, her dark chestnut hair swinging behind her and catching the sunlight. "_The one_? You're so dramatic, Draco!"

"That's rich, coming from you," I said, and it was true. Pansy had a dramatic nature that rivalled even mine. "And I don't really believe a word of it, Draco. Harry Potter is no Dark wizard, there's no such thing."

My vowels came out a bit too long in that statement, and I felt my cheeks immediately begin to burn with mortification. Blaise leaned forward, a sort of mocking smile on his lips. "Don't you mean, '_Och, Ah dinnae believe ye_'?"

...I wanted to slap that smirk right off of his face. But these were my friends, if you could call them that, and I wanted their acceptance because they were all I knew. We had already all agreed to sit together on the Hogwarts Express when September came along. They were my future.

And they all laughed, and I ducked my head and laughed, and we played a game of Gobstones, and I was very careful with my vowels from then on. It wasn't until it was getting dark that we headed back inside, where our parents were waiting.

I was the last to Floo back home with my mother. While she stayed for a few moments to chat with Mrs. Malfoy, Draco and I stayed in the drawing room, sitting beneath the long ornate table. Dobby had left a few biscuits on the table, and I nibbled at one just to have something to do.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You don't think that Dark wizards don't exist?"

I paused, not quite sure how to answer. "Do you think that Dark witches exist?"

"Of course they do. Look at Auntie Bellatrix."

"It's what you said. Dark wizards are just great evil wizards."

"I never said that."

"It's what you meant though, isn't it?"

He blinked. "Dark wizards are just great wizards. Who says that they're evil?"

"I think it's sort of implied with the whole 'Dark' part?"

"Evil is a matter of perspective."

I laughed. "Is it?" I was expecting a joke, perhaps another jab at my accent. Instead, Draco's pale face remained completely serious.

"What's evil to you?"

"Monsters." I said honestly. "Muggles. People who want to try to hurt me."

"Wouldn't that make You-Know-Who good, then?" He leaned against the leg of the table, looking at the marble fireplace where no fire was lit. I never liked the drawing room. It was always too cold, too dark, with eerie portraits hanging on the purple-coloured walls and a tinkling chandelier that moved when there was never a breath of wind. "If he was getting rid of something evil, that means he was good."

I pulled my legs up to my chest and rested my chin on top of my knees. What he was saying made sense, but... "But we're not allowed to say that." It didn't make sense. "Whenever people talk about You-Know-Who, they always make it sound like he's was so bad. Why aren't we allowed to say he's good?"

"Because of the Muggle-lovers," Draco said knowingly. "Blood-traitors. Like your uncle."

"He's not my uncle anymore, Mummy told me."

"Well, Albus Dumbledore, then."

"But isn't Albus Dumbledore a Dark wizard?"

"What?" He gave me a look as though I was the biggest idiot in the world. "Are you mad?"

I huffed. "Well, according to you, Dark wizards are just great wizards. Isn't Dumbledore a great wizard?"

"Don't be stupid, Kate." Draco paused for a moment, thinking over his words carefully. "Father says Dumbledore had the potential to be a great wizard, to help our kind. But instead he decided to associate himself with lesser beings. He limited himself, so no, he isn't a great wizard."

"He's probably a greater wizard than your father, though," I murmured, partially because I didn't like being called stupid. Even if I was.

"My father is not a blood-traitor."

"Your father isn't Headmaster of Hogwarts." I tilted my head. "If you dislike the old man so much, then why are you going to Hogwarts in September?"

Draco shrugged. "I would have preferred Durmstrang, myself, and father agrees. But mother doesn't want me so far from home. And besides, You-Know-Who went to Hogwarts."

"And you plan on becoming a 'Dark' wizard yourself?"

He fixed me with cold grey eyes and a tightened jaw. "I plan on becoming a great wizard, yes. Greater than Harry Potter, if I have to be. "

"Greater than Harry Potter?" I asked incredulously as the door to the drawing room opened and my mother called my name. "Ha. Good luck at that, half-wit."

"Just you wait. You'll probably be Sorted into Hufflepuff, then who'll be laughing?"

"Ha!" I stood up abruptly and hit my head on the bottom of the table. Wincing and heading over towards the door, I threw one last comment over my shoulder as I left. "Hufflepuff? I'd probably leave if I was Sorted into Hufflepuff! Wouldn't you?"

* * *

><p>My entire family, for something like the last fifteen generations or so, have all been Sorted into Slytherin. My father came from a long line of proud Slytherins, all the way back to Bhaltair Murchadh, who was one of the first students to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My mother's grandfather emigrated from France sometime during the nineteenth century, and all of his descendants had been in Slytherin as well. Sure, there were a few irregularities. A few Squibs here and there, which was an embarrassing business, and we did our best to cover them up.<p>

Liana was the family prodigy. Whether it was the Progers side or the Murdchadh side, whenever we met up with our numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins, I could always be sure that she would hold the spotlight. Even at home, when the only attention we had to vie for was that of our parents, she would win every single time.

For example, the day I got my Hogwarts acceptance letter was the same day she received a shiny new prefect's badge. It was to be expected, though. After all, she was one of the brightest students in her year; Mum and Dad would never accept anything other than perfection from her, while never really expecting anything from me.

It didn't bother me, though. Not at all.

A week before the first of September, our entire family travelled to London. It was a family tradition, ever since Liana turned eleven, to spend a week staying at the Leaky Cauldron as a sort of holiday, seeing as it wouldn't make sense to go all the way to King's Cross Station one day a year to hop on a train that would only take us back to the Scottish Highlands, where Hogwarts was located. So Mum came up with the idea to turn it into a family treat, and I looked forward to it every year. It was one of the few times a year I would see witches and wizards outside of my family and playmates, and London, although full of Muggles and danger, was a beautiful city.

The first year I was to be sent off, Liana and I travelled to Diagon Alley to buy our school things. It was the first time we went by ourselves without Mum (or, rather, the first time _I_ went without Mum). It was a fairly uneventful trip, gathering our standard supplies; cauldron, potion ingredients, telescope, wand (hawthorn, ten and a half inches, unyielding with a dragon heartstring), thank you very much Mr. Ollivander next up is Madam Malkins hurry up and make sure you have your purse Katey-Kat and don't walk into the nice man's way.

I scowled and barely dodged a stout wizard in bright orange robes walking out of Flourish and Blotts who was carrying a stack of books taller than he was, following after my sister. "Don't call me that, Lia!"

Using her tall stature as a guide, I navigated through the hordes that crowded the Alley on a daily basis. The sounds, the smells, the utter chaos of the cobblestoned streets made me grin despite myself - listening to old witches arguing over the price of lionfish spines, little boys pooling their pocket money to buy ice cream from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, teenage girls hovering around the newsstands burying their noses in copies of _Witch Weekly_. It was all as familiar to me as if I had listened to it my entire life. Which, of course, I had.

Most of all, I felt _safe_ there, in a way I couldn't really feel at home. True, I had Mum and Dad, and Liana was proving to be a formidable witch, and no one in the village below the craigs where we lived seemed to suspect our magic. But even at eleven years old, I had nightmares of angry mobs with pitchforks and fire. When Mum took me through London for the first time (walking at a brisk pace, I might add, to minimise any contact with Muggles), I was terrified to leave her side.

The scariest part was just what Dad had said. All the monsters just looked like ordinary men.

But Diagon Alley, oh, Diagon Alley. Everywhere I turned, magic. I couldn't help but smile to see it, owls screeching in cages, wizards discussing the latest articles in _Transfiguration Today_ at the top of their voices. Magic was as natural and as easy as breathing, but I couldn't take in enough of it.

Liana, just a few stores away, turned around with a grin lighting up her face. At fifteen she was as beautiful as ever, tall with curves in all the right places, long blonde hair and gorgeous green eyes, just like our father's. She walked like a queen, confidence radiating from every pore, the very image of a pureblood princess. Then again, she had always been that way.

(If I must say anything about myself at eleven years old, it must be this: I was plain, clumsy, and not very bright. But, hey. At least I wasn't a Squib.)

"You're my little sister, of course I'm going to call you that," she drawled, her upper-crust vowels almost exactly like our mother's. I was still struggling to rid myself of that unmistakable Scottish burr. "And I will call you that the entire time you're at Hogwarts, so there!"

"Then I'll be avoiding you at Hogwarts," I grumbled, kicking at the ground as I walked and accidentally scuffing my shiny new shoes.

"Ha! That's likely! I'm in charge of the first-years of my house, don't you forget!"

_She's oddly acting rather chipper, _I thought as I made my way through the crowds, stopping for a moment as a cat ran out of Magical Menagerie and into the shop across the street followed by several hassled looking employees. Smiling too bright, laughing too loud. I loved my sister, I really did, but I was all too aware of the cruel coldness that she could possess at times, too.

I don't know. Maybe she was lonely. Maybe she missed me. I'd like to think she did. Despite her teasing and her annoying pet-name, I was rather excited for school to begin. I was ready, so ready, to explore the enormous castle Liana had described to me, the moving staircases and sprawling grounds and magical classes. The safety it promised, where we wouldn't have to hide or be afraid. I was ready to learn how to use my magic, actually use it and discover any talent I possibly had lurking inside me.

(That's what I kept telling myself, at least. I had to have something, some sort of talent. I could feel it like a sweet sort of secret, in the quiet moments when I was alone. Something more than Liana Proger's little sister, something more than a pureblood princess. Something more than my lineage.)

"Katey-Kat! Come on! We've still got to get you your robes!"

"Coming! And _don't_ call me that!"

* * *

><p>Everyone knows what the houses mean, and from what my sister had told me, I had a pretty good idea. Slytherin was, of course, the Awesome House. The House to end all houses. Ravenclaw was second-best, and I secretly labelled it in my mind as the <em>"We-Are-Unable-To-Get-A-Life-Outside-Of-Books"<em> House. Worst of all would probably be Gryffindor, which Liana described as _"We-Traded-Our-Common-Sense-Gene-For-Courage-And-Also-We-Smell-Really-Bad"_ House.

I had absolutely no idea what a Hufflepuff was and didn't really care to find out.

Saturday night, the night before the morning our parents would see us off to King's Cross, I cracked open the door of my room at the Leaky Cauldron just a tiny bit and peeked out into the hallway. Opened it a bit more, heard the wood creak and paused. There was a light at the end of the hall, at the stairs leading down to the pub below, the slightly muffled sounds of conversation and late-night laughter floating in.

My bare feet padding against the worn floor, I crossed the hallway, nightgown flying behind me like a ghost, slipping into Liana's room.

"Lia? You awake?"

No answer. I squinted in the darkness, and could see her breathing beneath the blankets. Still asleep.

"Lia?"

Still no answer. I bit my lip and dared to call a little louder.

"Lia."

Still silence.

"L-"

"Say my name one more time and Morgana help me I will string you up by your toes and feed you to a troll."

Ah. So she was awake. I bounded over to her bed and bounced on my knees on the very end, feeling very shy and very young. Knowing that in twenty-four hours, my whole life would be changed, I was obviously feeling a bit nervous. What if I wasn't put in Slytherin? What if Liana suddenly abandoned me at Hogwarts, leaving me to fend for my own? What if I forgot to pack something? What if I missed Mum and Dad?

Suffice to say, I _had_ to be put in Slytherin, or the world would end. Or something.

Liana raised her head slightly, eyes drowsy with sleep but still managing to glare irritably at me. "What? What do you want?"

I suppose I could have lied and said I was having a nightmare. Or managed to put all of my fears into words, to see if my older sister could possibly quell them. But I didn't do any of those things.

Instead, I tilted my head and met her eyes, the question forming on my lips before I even knew what I was thinking. "What's evil?"

She blinked. "Evil?" A pause, a slightly derisive snort. "Are you _serious_?"

"I'm not...I mean, I am, I'm not joking, Lia."

"Ha! Go to bed, Kate."

"Just tell me, please!"

"Evil is something that's not good."

"What's good?"

"I'll tell you what's good - annoying little sisters letting their better older sisters get some sleep. Good-night."

"So is You-Know-Who good, then?"

Silence, nothing but the gentle sound of both of us breathing. I waited, perhaps for her to formally kick me out, or perhaps she was just ignoring me until I went away. At any rate, I was slightly surprised when she sighed and sat up, twisting her hair out of her face and pulling a hairpin from the pocket of her nightshirt. This simple gesture meant she was going to talk to me, and I waited patiently on the end of her bed as she pulled out her wand from under her pillow and lit a candle without saying a word.

"You-Know-Who," she said finally. "Wanted to get rid of evil."

"So that makes him good, right?"

"But you can't repeat that."

"Why not?"

She paused for moment, staring at the flame and the light it cast, highlighting the planes and angles of her face, casting shadows over her cheekbones. "Because other people might not agree."

"Why?" It seemed very logical to me, and I was quite aware that I wasn't all that bright. "How could they not agree?"

"They like Muggles and Mudbloods, and they have all the wrong ideas about all the wrong things. Like Dumbledore. Or Uncle Pierre. Or some people you might meet at Hogwarts."

"Don't they know they're dangerous, Mudbloods and Muggles?" I was very confused. Muggles and Mudbloods were the reason everyone had to hide their magic, my mother always said. "Do they like having to hide?"

"They're soft," Liana said promptly. "They're cowards, afraid to take what's truly theirs. Afraid to reach their full potential." Potential, there was that word again. Draco had said that his father had said Dumbledore never reached his full potential. "But it doesn't matter what they think. What matters is that you remember that you're better."

"I'm better."

"That's right. And tomorrow, you're going to make everyone proud."

* * *

><p>Macbeth was not have been the unimaginable bastard that everyone thinks he is, and the history books prove it. What most people don't know, though, is that the three witches he supposedly met, were actually real too. Double, double, toil and trouble and all that tosh, that's all real.<p>

I don't know how much of his destiny Macbeth was told by Moira Murchadh, my great-great-to-the-something-grandmother. She was supposed to be a fabulous Seer, a gift that sadly was lost throughout the generations. Had I been able to see my own future, maybe I would have done something different that night.

At any rate, my sister let me sleep with her that night, just like we did when we were kids, and that's how I like to remember Liana. Hairpins neatly arranged on the pocket of her shirt, begrudging me every square inch of blanket that I took from her. We were supposed to be asleep hours ago, but she kept me awake (revenge, she called it, and if I was going to wake her up I'd better deal with the consequences) by telling me stories of wizards who saved kings and witches who won wars and parents who ate their children, who turned into milk-white doves and flew away.

The sun was rising by the time she stopped talking. I was half-dreaming of battles to be won and spells to be cast and flashes of the future. I didn't know what Liana dreamed of, and to be honest, I still don't know.

(Macbeth was not a tyrant, and my sister was not evil. She wasn't.)

She tucked the covers around me like she always did, and grabbed the taper off of the nightstand.

_Out, out, brief candle._

(It all depends on who's telling the story.)

_.:tbc:._

* * *

><p><strong>Quote at the beginning is from "The Milky-White Doo", a Scottish fairy tale.<strong>

**I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own Macbeth. They belong to J.K. Rowling and William Shakespeare, respectively. The idea of a Scottish protagonist actually came from the book _Code Name: Verity_ by Elizabeth Wein, which is an excellent book and I highly recommend. I apologise if I have unknowingly been influenced by any other sources that I have not credited.**

**I do own Katelyn and Liana. They are my own creations.**

**This is a rewrite of an OC story I wrote several years ago, known as "Girl, Eleven, Demanding a ReSort". While this does follow the same plot and use the same characters, quite a bit of it has been revamped and hopefully changed for a better. I have kept up the original so that anyone who wishes can see the contrast between the two styles. **

**I hope you enjoyed, and any constructive criticism would be appreciated. I am happy to be back and writing on fanfiction dot net.**

**Mischief Managed!**

**-Leila**


	2. I Unintentionally Offend Several People

_I cleaned the stable, __I laved the loch, and I clamb the tree,  
><em>_And all for the love of thee,  
><em>_And thou wilt not waken and speak to me._

_-Nicht Nought Nothing_

* * *

><p>"Up."<p>

The sound of the curtains opening, sunlight streaming through. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head to no avail. Liana soon had me grasped firmly by the arm, tugging me out of bed.

"Get up."

"Five more minutes, Lia…"

"No."

I rubbed my eyes blearily with the heel of my hand. _Merlin, it's way too early.._ "What time is it?"

"Time for you to get up," my sister snapped, releasing my arm and grabbing the yellow comforter instead, yanking it from where it had been keeping my feet cosy warm. The cold morning air made me instinctively tuck my feet underneath myself, glaring at Liana all the while. She showed no sympathy, however, and instead tossed a heap of clothes at me.

"Get dressed."

"You're so bossy," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes again and stretching lazily. Someone had started the fire in the grate in Liana's room, and it was crackling merrily, but still provided no warmth for my slowly freezing toes. "Why is it so cold in here?"

"It's September."

"Oh. Is it?"

"Yes. September first."

"Oh."

There was short moment of silence. Then.

Gasp. "Lia!"

"What is it?"

"Today's September first!" I was on my feet in seconds, ignoring the cold wooden floor and grinning up at my sister. "You didn't tell me?"

She sighed exasperatedly, shaking her head in disbelief. "Just get dressed, you half-wit. Breakfast is downstairs."

Liana, I could see, was already prepared for the day, wearing a beautiful bottle green jumper that matched her eyes perfectly. She never changed before arriving at King's Cross so as not to draw attention from the Muggles. It would be a bit odd for there to be a sudden flood of teenagers in flowing robes at the station at the beginning of every September.

And soon, I'd be one of them.

As of today, I'd be a real witch.

The thought made me shiver for reasons unentirely to do with the cold.

I took no time in pulling off my nightgown and wiggling into my own jumper, a warm, comfortable thing made of olive coloured wool. Unfortunately, in my enthusiasm, I momentarily forgot where my arms went, and, well...

"Lia! Liana, I'm stuck! Lia!"

The only thing I heard was muffled laughter and the sound of the door closing.

"_Lia_!"

* * *

><p>After that embarrassing incident that only ended when the day maid happened to come across me sitting in the middle of the floor in only my underwear and my arms pinned by that blasted jumper, I was finally free and rushing down the stairs onto the ground floor of the Leaky Cauldron, grinning at each and every person I met.<p>

The smell of breakfast wafted through the air, and I took the wooden steps two at a time, skipping the last five steps entirely, coming to land right in front of the large fireplace, where meats were slowly turning on their spits and adding to the delicious scents permeating the air.

The tavern was already crowded, pitchers of orange juice and coffee floating freely over people's heads. Families crowded together on the wooden benches along the tables, children running around underfoot while foreign witches and wizards babbling in their own respective languages prepared to tuck in. As I made my way across the room, I caught a few snatches of the various conversations:

"Bollucks, there's no way the Ministry would interfere, why should we care about them? You wanna know what happened the last time I met a wizard from Kuwait?"

_"Infime échec en un majeur opération, ne soyez pas votre bâton en un nœud - "_

"Daddy, Daddy look there's a Curse-Breaker from Egypt and he has a snake, can I play with it Daddy please pretty please - "

"- perfect balance and precision handling, I've heard it can get up to a hundred miles an hour!"

"Where you gonna get the money for it? You cleaned yourself out last week with those Runespoor eggs you bought from Fletcher that turned out to be Transfigured rat droppings. You'd think you'd learn - "

_"- j'ai entendu cinq pour trois, mais ce gars me dit que c'est dix pour cinq..." _

"I'm tellin' ye, get it out while ye can, I don't believe a word o' what the bleedin' Minister says. Ye heard what happened with the Muggles 'n their banks, why should I trust a goblin with my gold?"

"Frank, did you clean out those gizzards like I told you?"

"Not yet, Ronnie."

"Well, hop to it, we haven't got all day!"

I ducked under the arm of a disgruntled dishwasher carrying an enormous stack of plates, scanning the crowded room for one person in particular. When I spotted him, I grinned and headed towards him, grabbing an apple out of a bowl on a table where a turbaned wizard sat smoking what appeared to be a hookah on my way.

"Ian!"

The dark-haired man reading at a corner alcove table, away from the ruckus and hustle of the main room of the pub, looked up only momentarily before catching sight of me and groaning in exasperation. I plopped myself into the seat across from him and leaned my elbows on the table, beaming at him.

"How's your day been?"

He sighed and set his book down, reaching for his cup of tea and taking a sip before replying. "It _had_ been all right, until some annoying Scottish pipsqueak decided she wished to interrupt my peace and quiet."

I nodded in sympathy and took a big bite of my apple. "Children can be _so_ annoying sometimes."

Ian only raised an eyebrow and gestured for me to wipe away some of the juice that had spilled down my chin. I did so and tilted my head at the volume lying on the table. "What are you reading?"

He held it up for me to inspect. "It's called _The Things They Carried._ Written by this Muggle Yank named Tim 'O Brien."

Oh. I sat back in my seat a little, and looked furtively around the room for my mother. She was nowhere in sight, which was a good thing. I don't know what she would have thought of me discussing Muggle literature out in public.

Ian and I had been friends (my word, not his – he preferred to think of me as a fungus that he couldn't rid himself of, to which I would always remark that fungi always grow on you eventually) since I was seven years old and Liana was eleven.

It had been the first year that Liana was to go off to Hogwarts, and Mummy had the brilliant idea of a week-long family holiday in London. It was one of the first times I had been to the city, other than the brief visits to see Pansy, and I was naturally excited beyond belief.

The first night at the Leaky Cauldron, I was so wound up there was absolutely no way I could have ever gotten sleep. It might also have been due to the fact that Liana had managed to filch about two dozen Fudge Flies from the kitchen and we had spent a good part of the evening eating them in our room. Either way, I had been wide awake even as midnight approached, and I decided finally there was no way I could stay in bed. Not when there was so many things going outside, things to do and see.

I slipped out of bed and headed down the stairs in my nightgown, my steps quieted by my bare feet. The main room of the ground floor was almost completely empty, save for the old barkeep Tom polishing a few glasses and a server lazily flicking her wand to stack the chairs in the room into neat piles.

In one corner of the room, however, a man with dark hair was idly stirring a cup of tea and reading a worn paperback novel. My seven year old curiosity provoked, I made my way across the floor over to where he sat and peered at the title of whatever he was reading.

"_The Restaurant at the End of the Universe?" _I asked, frowning at the odd name. Wanda had only recently taught me how to read, and I had been ecstatic to have finally cracked the code. It still didn't stop the fact that a lot of what people wrote was still just as weird as it was when I couldn't read. "That's a funny title."

The man took one look at me over the top of his book and snorted before turning back to the pages. Probably thought that was the end of it, but never underestimate a seven year old's persistence.

I sat on my knees in the chair opposite of him and leaned my elbows on the table. "What's it about?"

"It's about a restaurant at the end of the universe," he replied promptly and in a tone that indicated quite clearly he would have liked to be left alone.

"What do they serve at the restaurant at the end of the universe?"

"Anything you want, I guess." A pause. Then, almost grudgingly, he added, "A very obliging Ameglion Major Cow and less obliging vegetables."

I laughed. "I'd like to go to that restaurant. I'd ask for an obliging cow and a cup of tea."

"Ah, that's one thing they don't serve. Tea."

And so that was how I made my first friend. Or at least, the first friend that my parents didn't have to make for me. As I got older, I learned the man's name was Ian My-Last-Name-Is-None-Of-Your-Business-Pipsqueak and that he was, 1) very anal retentive about his tea - "_Milk first, one tablespoon of sugar exactly, and really who was the arsehole who came up with that bloody stupid rule about 'one per person and one for the pot'."_ - and 2) had a strange fondness for Muggle literature. Less pretentious and easier to understand than wizard drivel, he always said. I wasn't always quite sure about that. Some of the books he read were, to put it simply, very, very odd.

I'd always wondered what exactly was so fascinating about what he was reading, but never quite garnered up the courage to ask. I'm sure he would have lent me a volume or two, just to peruse, but I was always afraid of what Mummy and Daddy would think if they caught me reading (insert shudder here) Muggle novels.

(I never really got around to asking what his parentage was either. I had no idea if he was a pureblood, or a half-blood, or Merlin forbid, a Mudblood. I don't think I really wanted to know.)

At any rate, I liked him well enough, and he soon became as familiar a sight every September as the Leaky Cauldron itself.

So now I leaned forward in my seat and took another bite of the apple. "What's it about?"

"It's about a Muggle Yank and his friends in the Vietnam War."

"What's the Vietnam War about? Is it funny?" I always liked his funny stories the best. "What are they carrying?"

He gave me a look. I'd come to recognise that look – it clearly said _dear Merlin what did I do to deserve this dim-wit of a child in my life and what can I do to get rid of her. _"It's about a _war_, what makes you think it would be funny?"

I puffed out my cheeks and glared at him. "You laughed while reading that one about the German slaughterhouse last year. Or was that just because there was a dirty picture at the end?"

"Wha – how –" He sat up a little straighter and blinked at me, finally caught off guard. "You little brat, did you go snooping through my things again?"

"You're a pervert and you left it on the table."

"Well..." He scoffed and held the book in front of his face once again, cheeks burning. I resisted the urge to laugh. "You're just a kid, you wouldn't understand it anyway."

"I am not! I turned eleven in February! I'm in the double digits now, I am."

"Congratulations," Ian replied drily as he turned a page. "So am I."

"You should be congratulating me," I nodded in my best imitation of Liana's 'pureblood princess voice'. Nose in the air, back straight, vowels neat and perfect. "I'm on my way to Hogwarts, and I'm going to be in Slytherin, and I'm going to prove to everyone what a powerful witch I'm going to be."

No response. Ian flipped another page.

"Didn't you hear me? I'm going to be the greatest witch in my family!"

He glanced at me for a moment over the top of his book, an amused glint in his eyes. "Sure you are."

"Well, I am." I glared back, swinging my legs under the chair, feet barely brushing the ground. "What house were you in, anyway?"

"None of your business."

"That's not a house."

He finally lowered his book a fraction of an inch and gave me a hard look before replying curtly, "I was in Slytherin too, if you must know." A pause. "What are you sniggering about now?"

"_You_ were in _Slytherin?_" I covered my mouth with my hand, but a few giggles slipped out anyway. "Merlin's left shoe, that's the funniest thing I've ever heard."

"Don't see what's so funny about it," Ian bristled, clearly taking offence. "Got the highest marks in my year, I did. Almost become Head Boy, too. All the professors told me I was going places."

"And now you sit in pubs all day reading Muggle books," I teased. I couldn't help it, it was right there. "Right, you certainly got places."

Instead of laughing, though, Ian leaned across the table towards me, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Listen here, brat, even if I did want to work for the Ministry - which I don't, mind you, they've got everything backwards - but even if I did, they wouldn't take me."

"Why not?"

"Because you're a runny-nosed pipsqueak, that's why." He settled back in his seat with his book and a slightly smug expression, as though that was the end of it. That's how it worked, he'd say something maddeningly ambiguous and then insult me and we'd both go back to our usual roles. "Now shoo, I'm at the good bit."

I was half-tempted to throw the core of my apple at him. I probably would have, if I hadn't heard my father calling me from across the room.

"Katelyn? Och, for the love of Merlin, where is that child? We're going to be late!"

I glanced over towards the other side of the tavern, where my parents and sister were waiting. My father had already donned his cloak and hat and was checking his watch frantically, while Mum and Liana were the pictures of cool indifference. From a distance, it was almost hard to tell a difference between them.

I left my apple core on the toast crumb-covered plate next to Ian's coffee and slowly slid out of my seat. "All right, well, I'm off. I'll see you year next, then?"

There was only the sound of the rustling of pages. It seemed as though he had completely forgotten about me, lost in that Muggle Yank's printed world of war and carrying things. I scowled at him from behind the wall of text and turned on my heel to stalk away, feeling only slightly hurt.

"Oi."

I glanced back over my shoulder. Ian allowed one of his rare smiles and raised his cup in almost a tiny toast to me.

"Knock 'em dead, kid."

I grinned and waved back.

Muggle books, grumpy moods, questionable parentage and all, I liked him very much.

* * *

><p>Platform Nine and Three Quarters was just the same as it always had been - crowded, noisy, teeming with life, a buzzing, ever-changing crowd of people packed in next to a shining scarlet train.<p>

I loved it.

As Liana and I stepped through the barrier connecting us to the Muggle train station, our parents at our backs, I kept my eyes wide open, not wanting to miss a single second. The place has always been rooted deep in my memory, from the very first time I waved good-bye to Liana, my seven-year old body riding high on my father's shoulders above the crowd, my eyes filled with tears and one tooth knocked out from tripping over someone's blasted cat.

Ah, memories.

"Did you remember to pack my jumper?"

"Give us a look, Lee, go on..."

"All righty, that's one, two, three...hang on, where's Annie?"

"And don't forget to write - take that potion every three days - and Julie, stay _away_ from the boys and _out_ of the broom closets this year, I'm begging you!"

Mum prodded me on through the crowd, weaving around the various people and trunks lying around the platform (the trunks, I mean, not the people, they were standing up and - look, it was just crowded beyond belief). I held tight onto Liana's hand, much to our mutual embarrassment, but I definitely did _not_ want a repeat of The Disaster of 1990, when I accidentally followed the wrong family back to the Leaky Cauldron and almost Flooed myself all the way to Newcastle.

(Draco liked to bring this up from time to time - "Well, Kate, you could definitely pass for Geordie, either way no one can understand you - ow!")

At any rate, this time, I wasn't willing to take any chances.

Once we had reached a certain point, however, Liana finally loosened my fingers from around her wrist and turned to face me. Mum and Dad had already found the Parkinsons in the crowd and were hurrying over in their direction, giving me a moment alone with my sister.

I was a bit taken aback by the dirty look she threw me. "What?"

"Kate," she lowered her voice, although I don't know why. You could barely hear a word of what anyone else was saying over the chattering people and the high-pitched whistles the Hogwarts Express kept giving off, thick plumes of smoke curling above our heads. "Kate, I want you to promise me that while we're at school, you won't embarrass me in front of my friends."

She followed this with a very pointed look at a group of fifth-years standing near the front of the train, already dressed in their Hogwarts uniforms, their ties marking them as belonging to the Slytherin House. One boy in particular wore a shiny prefect's badge, just like the one the glinted on my older sister's chest at that moment.

I blinked, turning back to her and assuming my most innocent expression. "Me? Embarrass you? Impossible! You know I could never embarrass you, Lia!"

She winced at my eager tone. "See, that's what I mean. You can't call me Lia at school, either. It's to be Liana from now on, got it?"

"...would 'Your Imperial Highness' work too? Ouch!"

With that, her Imperial Highness smirked, and shoved me in the direction of Mum, Dad, and the Parkinsons, while she scurried off to catch up with her old friends.

I stuck my tongue out at her retreating back at the same moment my mother turned back around and caught sight of me._  
><em>

"_Katelyn! _You stop that nonsense this instant!"

"Ohhh..._Muuuuum_, she started it!"

* * *

><p>Pansy had cut off several inches of her hair in the past month, and I didn't like it.<p>

"I love your hair!"

I hated it.

She just rolled her eyes and tilted her head tiny diamond droplet earrings dangling and catching the light just right. "A gift from my parents,"she had said, congratulations for making it into Hogwarts. Phoenix feathers, in my opinion. You don't make it into Hogwarts, either your name is written down from the time you're born or it's not, is what Liana told me. Pansy and I used to antagonise each other when we were children, saying the other would not make it in because she was too stupid/a Squib. This, of course, was total nonsense by the time we were able to read and she had managed to make her cat hover several feet in the air for a total of ten minutes and I had...well, set my hair on fire.

Which may have been the reason why I hated Pansy's haircut so much. Short hair just always brought back bad memories. That, and I usually tended to hate anything Pansy did, even if I liked it.

(And in hindsight, I did like a lot of things she did. She was city-smart, sophisticated, going places I wouldn't dare to tread. I admired her and hated her at the same time.)

We linked arms as we headed across the platform towards the train, our parents still deep in discussion with each other. I dragged my trunk behind me, glad to have someone with me because the number of people there was truly overwhelming. Had the platform always been that crowded, or was there just more students enrolling at Hogwarts that year and they all just happened to be much, much bigger than me?

"I found us a compartment already," Pansy informed me, leading me towards the end of the train. "My luggage is already in there, of course, and I've saved spaces for Draco and everybody else."

"Wonderful," I replied, and it was, it was great knowing that someone had saved me a seat. It's amazing, isn't it? How one little gesture like that can make you feel really warm, really good. True, I struggled a bit trying to heave my trunk up through the train door by myself, considering the fact it was almost as big as I was, but once I had accomplished tucking it away in the luggage rack I turned back to Pansy, breathing heavily.

She raised an eyebrow and drawled, "You could've asked someone for help, you know."

"You?"

"No, of course not."

"Of course." I was about to start the long and complicated process of rolling my eyes at her when I spotted Blaise lingering just near the entrance to the platform, and raised my hand over my head to flag him down. "Hey! We're over here!"

Pansy grabbed my hand and pulled it down, shooting me a furtive glance. "Be careful around Blaise, don't you know anything?"

"Och, what's happened to him this time?" I scoffed.

"His stepdad just died a few weeks ago, it's tragic."

"_Again_? Morgana's mittens, what's that, the fourth one? Is his mum poisoning them or something?"

"Kate, whatever you do, do _not_ ask him that, do you understand me? He's in a delicate position, you wouldn't want to upset him -"

"I can hear the both of you, you know," Blaise interrupted, standing just a few feet behind us making me jump and whirl around to face him. He quirked one disinterested eyebrow before continuing. "You two are about as subtle as a hippogriff in a china shop."

I, of course, blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.

"I'm sorry about your loss. Again."

Pansy let out a rather incredible squeak that was audible even over the last warning whistle of the train, and I felt my cheeks begin to burn with mortification. Blaise, however, showed no sign of taking offence. Instead, he just shrugged his shoulders almost indifferently and instead began lifting his luggage up into the compartment, pausing only long enough to say, "My mum is rubbish at Potions, just so you know."

I laughed nervously. "Of course. I mean, I don't mean of course your mum is rubbish at Potions, I just mean, I wasn't...that wasn't what I meant to say..."

"Oh, is Scottie struggling with her English again?" A mocking voice sounded from behind me. I didn't even need to turn around to recognise whose it was. "Speak slowly and clearly, you'll get there one day."

"Get off your high hippogriff, Draco," I snapped as Blaise and Pansy struggled and failed to hide their snickers. "Where's your mummy, not here to kiss you good-bye?"

"Over there, I'm perfectly capable of getting myself onto a train," he replied. "Compared to some of us still holding our older sister's hand..."

"Draco, Kate, settle down," Pansy interrupted, stepping in-between the two of us and flashing a bright smile, lifting her chin just right so that there was no way Draco would miss her new earrings. "Let's not start off the term by fighting, we have the entire year to do that. Come on, let's go sit down."

With that, she grabbed a hold of Draco's arm and pulled him into the compartment, as though that was the end of it. Blaise just shrugged and followed after her, sliding across the red velvet seats to lounge carelessly by the door to the train's corridor.

I carefully settled myself near the window, shutting the compartment door behind me. My parents were still somewhere out there on the platform, and I pressed my forehead slightly against the glass, watching the shifting colours of the crowd. It was starting to thin out, all students slowly making their way on board, leaving the few parents who had decided to stay there until the train left the station completely.

"Come now, don't cry, lovely, be a big girl - first year isn't so bad - "

"- time's a-wasting, don't want to miss it!"

"- that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?"

"Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

_What? _

I sat up a little straighter, scanning the crowded platform for whoever had just said that they had seen Harry Potter. An actual celebrity, here on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters itself! To be attending _my_ school, in the same year! It was so exciting, no one had even seen or heard anything about Harry Potter in the past ten years, and to think of him suddenly showing up on today of all days...

_(Well, of course it had to be today of all days, Kate, it's not just _your_ first day of school.)_

Harry Potter, of course, was the famous Boy-Who-Lived, a wizarding legend known for defeating You-Know-Who when he was just a baby. Of course, I'm sure everyone knows who You-Know-Who is, because that's why he's called You-Know-Who because you know about him. The darkest wizard of our parent's time, whose name starts with a V and ends with a T, but we call him You-Know-Who because we don't like saying his name because you never know who might hear you and we already know his name and you never know if he might be back to do You-Know-What. You know?

The legend goes that ten years ago, on a dark and stormy night, You-Know-Who went to Godric's Hallow in search of the Potters. When he found them, he killed Lily and James Potter where they stood, and tried to kill their son, Harry, as well. But something went wrong, and the curse rebounded off of the baby boy, leaving only a scar shaped like a lightning bolt and the darkest and greatest wizard of our parent's time...died.

That was 1981. Even if our world was still divided over whether or not You-Know-Who was right or wrong, it was all unanimous that little Harry Potter had some fierce, untapped power within him. And as the whirlwind of what was known as the First Wizarding War died down into whatever qualified as peace today, Harry Potter disappeared from the public eye. Inquiries from the Ministry of Magic and a public statement by Albus Dumbledore revealed that the orphaned baby had been left with family somewhere in the Muggle World, but no one knew where.

Now, sitting on my knees on my seat, staring out at the platform with my face pressed up against the glass, I swept my gaze from side to side, anxious for a glimpse of the Boy-Who-Lived. He had always been a fable, a bedtime story Mum and Liana told me time and time again - there were books written about him, every child in our world knew his name. It'd be a bit like meeting William Wallace, a living and breathing legend come to life -

"Katelyn!"

I was pulled suddenly from my thoughts by the screeching of the whistle, as the engine expelled one last plume of smoke and the train began to move. My heart was in my throat, my stomach twisting into knots, when I looked back down at the platform and saw my mother, slowly walking alongside the Hogwarts Express as it pulled away.

"Katelyn!"

Ignoring Pansy's stifled giggles and Draco's smug, "Forgot to give Mummy her good-bye kiss?", I struggled to reach for the clasp on the upper window. With some reluctant help from Blaise, I managed to open the glass and stick my arm out the window to blow kisses and wave good-bye.

The train was picking up speed now. Other parents were jogging along, shouting last minute messages and holding up things left behind to be mailed later in the week.

My mother did not run. She kept the same meticulous, dignified pace the entire time, keeping her eyes on my compartment the entire time.I had missed her saying good-bye to Liana, if she did at all. Maybe Dad did instead, leaving Mum to give her last words of encouragement.

"Be good at school, Katelyn! Follow Liana's example!"

Faster, now. The train still picking up speed. It was getting harder to hear, Mum's face beginning to blur into a sea of other faces, other voices.

"And Katelyn, remember, try to be less of...well, more like -!"

Whatever it is that Mum wanted me to be more of, however, I never found out. It was at that moment that the Hogwarts Express let off one last ear-piercingly shrill whistle, one that made the windows rattle and everyone in my compartment wince. By the time the ringing had faded from my ears, we were out of hearing range, and I could only watch as my mother's face faded into a dot in the distance.

All children think their mothers are beautiful, of course. But I knew deep in my heart that mine was the loveliest of all, and watching her beautiful face, chin up, back straight and tall, eyes full of that pureblooded pride for her daughters with the world ahead of them, I felt such incredible love and a strange yearning to be back on that platform with her.

_I love you. I'll make you proud._

We rounded a corner, and the platform finally disappeared from view.

"Come on Kate, close the window and sit down, you're letting the cold air in."

"Where's Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Probably lost, those two. Blaise and I will go looking for them once things have settled a bit."

Trees and houses flashed by, people going about their daily lives. I struggled to make out their faces, the details in their split-second stories. The entire world, it seemed, was outside my window, and for the first time in my life I could see it in it's entirety. It was all out there, waiting for me.

"Kate?"

"Hmm?"

I turned my attention back towards the people in my compartment. The people I had known since practically birth. Who, for better or for worse, knew me better than anyone else in the world.

"What are you looking at, the Muggles? Pay attention, we asked if you had any money for the lunch trolley."

"Oh. No, sorry, I left all my money with my sister."

"Hmph. A load of help, you are."

"Oh, be nice, Blaise, I think she was quite right, Liana's much more responsible with both of their Galleons than Kate is alone."

"Still doesn't change the fact that..."

Their arguing slowly faded to background chatter in my mind. It was nothing new, hardly required any real thought at all. I smiled politely and said all the right things, listened when I should have and threw out the barbed words like I had since childhood.

Since childhood. I was a child. But every so often I'd turn my head back towards the window. We were heading farther north, towards the Scottish Highlands that had been my home since I was very, very small, and yet I didn't feel like a child anymore. I'd feel that faint stirring inside me, that insatiable itch. I was something, I was going to be something, someone, more than...more than this.

_Oh, just you wait, world._

_Just you wait._

_.:tbc:._

* * *

><p><strong>Miss me?<strong>

**I don't know if anyone is still reading this, but I have never given up on this story. It sat in my Doc Manager for quite some time now, but after giving myself a solid kick in the rear, I managed to soldier on and finish it. I will not give up on this story, even if indefinite hiatuses do occur and chapters come out after invariably long periods of time. I promise I will try to soldier on.**

**Anyway, in case anyone is actually reading this, I do not own Harry Potter or Nicht Nought Nothing (another Scottish fairy tale). I do own Kate and Liana, and I only somewhat own Ian. He's technically a cameo character in one of the movies that I really liked fleshing out and developing a character for. Props to anyone who can guess which character he is, what movie, and why I chose his name to be Ian. :)**

**Again, this is a rewrite of the original _girl, eleven._ Hopefully I am doing a better job of constructing Kate's overall character - hopefully, doing a better job overall in terms of everyone's character, setting, tone, ect. All criticism is welcome and greatly appreciated, thank you. Especially when it comes to keeping canon characters in character.**

**I wanted to go a little more in-depth with the dynamics of Kate's playmates and "friends". Particularly enjoyed elaborating on Pansy Parkinson, the "pug-faced bully" from the original series. I actually really love Pansy as a character. I will fight you on that. Also working on developing Kate's voice a little more - as she gets older, it'll be much easier to write her as the character I envision her to be, but at 11 years old she still have a bit of a ways to go. **

**Finally, I apologize for the horrid French at the beginning of the chapter. I used a combination of my limited two years of high school French and Google translate to fill in the rest. If there are any mistakes, please let me know and I will fix them. **

**Thank you for reading!**

**Mischief Managed!**

**-Leila **


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Harry Potter, Adventure, Humor