Harry Potter and the Unlikely Gryffindor

Ron Weasley sighed heavily, his chin on his hands as he leaned on the dinner table watching the candle flicker with his breath. The young man was not worried by any measure of the word. What he was, was hungry. Ron had not eaten anything at all since four o'clock that afternoon and he was near beside himself with hunger. The growling of his stomach had ticked the hours away until his mother had started making supper. Though Molly had forbidden him to eat one morsel until their guest arrived. The stew sat on the stove, a warming charm keeping it from going cold and Ron stared at it as though willing the bowls to fill themselves up and let him eat. He sighed again, blowing air out of his nose and extinguishing the candle before the wick lit itself again. He looked away as the flame made a rude gesture in his direction.

Hermione as usual had her nose buried in one of the ridiculously huge tomes that she carried with her at all times. She shook her head as the growling of Ron's stomach coupled with the racket Harry was making in the living room distracted her just long enough to loose her place in the Encyclopedia of Healing Potions she had checked out from the Hogwarts library for summer reading. Madame Pince, the possessively psychotic librarian had very nearly died when Hermione had asked her for the use of the book over the summer holidays. Then she had interrogated Hermione for nearly an hour over who had access to her books and whether or not they had sticky fingers of both the metaphorical and literal kind. It had taken McGonagall several minutes of terse negotiations to get Pince to allow Hermione to have the book for the summer. Though the Hogwarts librarian had threatened to have Hermione expelled if the book was so much as read more than once.

Harry, in the mean time, was pacing in the other room making it sound like they were housing an impatient centaur. To tell the truth, this was not where he had imagined himself being when the summer came to an end. He was seventeen, after all. An adult in the Wizarding world and certainly old enough to make his own choices as to where he would take himself in this life. The Weasley house, once a welcome refuge, was now only a large cage that he paced like a hungry lion. He had dreamed of freedom since before he could understand what the word meant. He had often dreamed that some long lost relative of his would walk through the Dursley's door and take him away from his prison. And when he got older, he had hoped that his life was only a dream and that he would wake in his parents house in Godric's Hollow.

Though with each year that past by, it left those dreams in ashes. Now he only longed to get this war over with so he could rest. Most of his life, Harry had been fighting something. When he was young, it was his aunt and uncle and their whale of a son, Dudley. When he had entered Hogwarts, it was bullies, evil wizards and vindictive beaters. Even the occasional friend. He had fought against the decision every adult had made for him, no matter how much it had been for his own good. Underneath, Harry was suspicious of anyone who wanted to tell him what to do. He had always questioned their motives, wondering if they were snickering behind his back as they set him up to fail. He knew that most people were not hoping for him spectacularly fail, however it was still difficult to let go of old suspicions.

Though sometimes his resistance was because he respected the person so much, that the very thought of failure was almost a physical pain. His eyes turned to the stair case that lead to the second floor, and to the bedroom occupied by Hermione and Ginny. No matter how much he needed Ginny near him, Harry could not bring himself to ask because his failure could cost her more than he was willing to let her pay.

Ginny had taken to keeping herself in the room she had been sharing with Hermione for the last week. It was clear from the different states of tidiness who was using what side of the room. While Ginny was no where near as messy as most of her older brothers, she was not even close to Hermione's standards. It was almost aggravating how neat the woman could be. Everything had it's place, whether labeled or stored in a chest. If there was no place for it, Hermione had no use for it. Now, Hermione was no Petunia Dursley, thank goodness. However, she could be just as unnaturally organized. She had even had a go at cleaning Ron's room. It took her an entire three days for Hermione to throw up her hands and quit. Of course she was not defeated, she was already devising a plan to try again before school started. The only thing in their room that had not been organized into submission was the third bed that sat in between Ginny and Hermione's. At the beginning of summer break, Ginny had used the third bed as a sort of open storage for her books and robes. Her O.W.L. Results had sat on top of the pile, proudly proclaiming that she had passed all but one subject with an Outstanding.

Now, it sat at the bottom of her trunk, under her 6th year books she had gotten from Ron, and left over Potions supplies. Her robes covered all of this and on top of them, was her Prefect's badge. Ginny sat cross-legged on her bed, the golden badge in her hands. At the moment she had been using it as a bookmark for her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. She had paused in the middle of a rather boring story of a Vampire hunter's discovery of how a crucifix does not work to admire the badge. She already knew the story from Percy, who had taken the responsibility of informing her of everything he was learning in his sixth year. She was only ten years old then, and the story bored her just as much now. Though she also remembered all of the pompous bragging Percy and Ron had put the entire family through when they had gotten their badges. Even though Ginny had not shown it off like they had, her mother hadn't missed the sparkle of gold on crimson.

Molly had commanded her only daughter to pin on the badge and parade around the house with it on all day long. And of course she could not help but inform the rest of the family, which meant letting the twins know. This was something she had wanted to avoid and when her badge suddenly went missing, she knew her worst fears were realized. Right on cue, Ginny had found it in on top of her robes on the third bed. However, instead of Prefect, the badge now read 'Persnickety'. And as usual, it had triggered a hollering fit from her mother and a command to reverse the charm. No matter what the twins had done, nothing could compare with the wrath of the woman who spent forty-seven hours in labor with them, and the badge was returned to normal in short order.

Though to make up for the prank, the twins had offered to take Ginny to buy a new wand. After all, it was the least they could do after they had left their trick wand in her trunk. The thing never smelled the same after the skunk sprayed into the trunk. It had taken nearly three bottles of Mrs. Scours Cleaning Solution to get the smell down to tolerable levels. Though it seemed appropriate that her Potions book still emitted a rather...unique odor.

Fred and George promised that they would be good for the entire trip, especially after Molly threatened to stop sending her care packages full of her best treacle tarts and biscuits. No matter the Weasley, if food was involved they were putty in your hands. The two had ushered Ginny into Ollivander's, their pockets full of galleons and samples of their Ton Tongue Toffees. Ginny had stood at the counter, her eyes sweeping over the wide array of boxes that stood in stacks up to the ceiling, all with varying amounts of dust collecting on them. The man that had taken over after Ollivander had gone missing was somewhat shorter in stature and temper than Ginny was comfortable with. He reminded her of someone, though she could not place the name. He had shock straight, thin, yellow colored hair that fell lifeless in his face, obscuring his eyes. He seemed rather sore that he had to be working in the front of the store when he would have been more comfortable working in the stock room. An annoyed look fell over his face when he spotted Fred and George sitting like little gentlemen near the window. “Keep yer hands where I can see them,” he ordered, expecting nothing but trouble from the two most famous pranksters apart from Peeves.

“Fine, let's finish this as quickly as possible. I have more important things to do than babysitting.” Ginny swallowed, holding out her right arm for him to measure. The man seemed pleased with her cooperation and held out the measuring tape, making sure to get the distance between her splayed fingers. He let the tape continue while he pulled a few of the boxes down from the shelves and sat them on the counter. He snapped and called the tape measure back to the counter just as it was about to measure the distance between Ginny's eyes. It was almost as she remembered her first time wand shopping. Percy had tried to give her his old wand, but nothing she did ever turned out right with it. The first time she had tried to trim her own hair with it, she ended up flash burning the ends. It turned out shorter since Molly had to trim the burnt hair off herself. Ginny came back as the man, he never mentioned his name, handed her a wand that very nearly felt like a brick. It was heavy and warm and gave her the sudden feeling like she had when a stuffy nose had suddenly cleared up.

“Lignum Vitae, with the scales of a Mermaiden.” Ginny ignored the bored voice and raised the wand in her hand. It was heavy, though not overly so. It became reassuring after a few seconds in her hand and when she cast, the spell formed perfectly, sending little bright yellow canaries twittering about the store. The store keeper waved one of the birds away that made to land on top of his head and snatched the wand back.

“Verygoodthatwillbethirteengalleonshaveaniceday.” Ginny couldn't be sure if he had just quoted her the price or told her off in some strange language. Fred shook his head and handed the shop keeper the full amount and escorted Ginny out with out having wrapped the box.

Ginny could not remember a time when she had been so flustered in her life. Except the first class she had with Professor Snape. That man could scare the ugly off of a Troll and still have enough left to give a Goblin nightmares. At least the shop keeper had not been as greasy as Snape, or as able to take away house points. If he had he would have drained Gryffindor dry for several generations. Ginny had kept herself in her room and practiced all day long. It was nice to have a wand that didn't attempt to mutiny every few months. Even though the wand had chosen her, it was not exactly a happy marriage so to speak. And her parents had not had enough money to buy a better wand.

Ginny closed the book and tossed it back into her trunk along with her badge and threw herself back onto her pillow with a muffled thump. She would never be able to get any studying done with Harry thumping around downstairs. Molly had already tried to call the boy out of his restless pacing, but it was no use. If his mind was not occupied for a minute, he would be on is feet again wearing a rut in the Weasley's living room floor. He was even disturbing Crookshanks from his sleep. The orange cat had taken to burying it's head under Hermione's pillow to muffle the sound of Harry's steps.

Mrs. Weasley was looking out the kitchen window for the millionth time mumbling something about the headmistress and her questionable sanity. Molly Weasley was the short, plump matron of the Weasley clan. All nine of them. Even with Charlie, Bill, Percy and the twins out of the house, she still had a time with her remaining son and daughter, her husband Arthur and now Harry. Even though she was strained because of the start of term, she had graciously opened her home to a girl she had yet to guess the intentions of. “Honestly Mum, I don't know what McGonagall expects from us. This is a Malfoy we're talking about here, and all Malfoys are daft in my book.” Mrs. Weasley threw a disapproving glance at her youngest son sighing as she looked out the window again. Her attention was caught by a flickering light in the darkness. At first she thought that it was her husband coming home from work. Although as she watched, she realized that there was only one light coming closer.

Two weeks ago Molly had received a letter from Headmistress McGonagall stating that she would most likely have a guest for the rest of the summer holiday. Molly would have written Minerva back and given her a howler if her husband had not stopped her. “Minerva said that she would have been raised among Muggles, Molly dear.” He had tried to placate her while wresting the quill out of her hand. “She might not be all that bad.” Molly had harrumphed at that, though she had crumpled up the howler. If anything happened with that girl, one thing at all, Molly would only have Arthur to blame. That same light winked out as the woman riding it took off the helmet that seemed to cover her entire face. Though with the lights out, all Molly could pick out was the fact that she was a girl.

She groaned inwardly. She had hoped her husband would be home in time to welcome their “guest” into their house. “Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley, “ Hermione stated stiffly, “she wouldn't dare try anything. She will be a first year - definitely not on our level.” Ron smirked watching as Hermione stuck her nose in the air with her usual sense of superiority. Not that she had not earned that with her O.W.L.s, it was still funny nonetheless.

"Now, now, you two," Mrs. Weasley admonished, shaking her finger at the two of them. "We'll have none of that especially not in my home. She could surprise you, and be affable." Ron snorted at that earning him another disapproving glance from his mother. "All right, up! Let's give her a proper welcome. You too, Harry," Mrs. Weasley called out shaking her head as Harry sulked into the kitchen. He was at least five inches taller than when he had last been in the Weasleys’ home, and was fast catching up to Ron—who was head and shoulders above his mother—and Hermione. Harry's hands were jammed into his baggy jean pockets as he waited behind Ron, whose hair was going the way of his brother Bill's which was tied at the nape of his neck with a leather strap. Hermione, as she did when she was nervous reached up and started playing with a lock of her hair which had grown along with her. It was nearly reaching down to her elbows, and was restrained by an orange scarf before exploding behind her in a bevy of curls.

Their guest seemed to be taking a long time in knocking on the front door. She seemed to be transfixed on the sight of the Burrow, her head craning up, up and all the way back to get a good look. They listened as a low whistle issued from the young woman's lips, obviously she was impressed with the house. The young woman slowly rolled the motorcycle to lean up against the wall, and took something large from the back of the bike. They could hear footsteps as the young woman stepped up to the door, and lightly knocked. Politely knocked, Ron realized as he looked over at Hermione and Harry wondering where in the world a Malfoy had acquired manners.

Mrs. Weasley threw an “I told you so” look at the three young adults in the kitchen and opened the door, smiling brightly as she did so. Ron couldn't help it when his jaw hit the floor. As he watched, a young woman no less than two years older than himself stepped into the kitchen shouldering an army green duffel bag. Hera unzipped a black and silver bombardier jacket to reveal a tight green t-shirt that seemed to be made for someone around the age of three with strange lettering that spelled out 'Kiss me, I'm Irish' on the front. Around her neck, hung a clear blue stone fashioned in the shape of a tear drop. Her pants were stone washed jeans that Harry recognized from commercials on the tele, though hers had buttons instead of a zipper. Her face looked as though it was delicately chiseled from pale alabaster, her cheeks a pale peach color that made her look somewhat ethereal. Her lips were literally blood red and her eyes were so pale a blue that they looked as though they were glowing. And to top it off the feature that shouted to the world which family she belonged to, her sliver hair cascaded down to nearly the small of her back held out of her face by two green clips that looked oddly like coiled serpents hissing over her head. She looked every bit like a like the long lost child of Bill Weasley and Narcissa Malfoy.

"Ah Hera, so good to finely meet you," Mrs. Weasley gritted out, forcing a cordial greeting and cast a look at the three behind her that asked what they were waiting for. Catching the meaning Ron, Harry and Hermione simultaneously spit out greetings, making it sound as though a choir conductor had had a spasm during a concert. She was looking into the young woman's eyes, pointedly ignoring that her son Ron was ogling at the woman's cleavage. Now was not the time to call him down. Molly was sure that Hermione would do it for her at the first chance she got. And then Molly herself would find a chance to advise this young lady on her questionable methods of dress.

"Good to finely be here, Mrs. Weasley," she said, taking off her jacket as she sat the duffel bag at her feet. “Hera Thomas, and these must be the three that what's-her-name wrote me about.” Hermione sighed, resisting with all her might the urge to correct Hera. What's-Her-Name was most definitely no way to address the Headmistress of Hogwarts. However, she would forgive Hera; she was, after all only American. She did, however, take the time to elbow Ron when he started sniggering. Hermione would not allow anyone to encourage this young woman's misuse of pronouns.

Mrs. Weasley thankfully ignored the name and just chuckled. Assuming her den mother role, she took Hera's duffel bag and handed it to Harry with a pat on his shoulder. "Go put this in the girls' room, dear." Harry sighed, hauling the bag with him as he climbed the stairs, resisting the temptation to bang it on every step on the way up. Harry tossed the duffel bag on the bed that had been set up in the twins' room where Ginny and Hermione were bunking as well, ducking out of sight to keep Ginny from asking too many questions. And to keep from looking into her eyes. If he did, he was a gonner.

He shuffled into his and Ron's room and sat down on the bed he had been using ever since the Knight Bus had dropped him off in front of the Weasley house less than a month ago. His uncle had wasted no time after his seventeenth birthday in giving him his walking papers, so to speak. They had all but physically deposited him out of the front door. Harry had to admit that it was liberating not having to go back to that horrid place any more but a small part of him was terrified. He was on his own now. He was an adult, at least in the Wizarding World and he had to make his own decisions now. He had not realized until that moment standing outside the Dursley's home in the oppressive heat of the July night, that he had relied so heavily on the judgment of others to keep him safe. He had to change; he had to start making his own decisions. And his first one had not been the smartest, the second was undoubtedly the stupidest. He had decided not to attend his last year at Hogwarts, a decision he had regretted the moment he had informed the new Headmistress McGonagall. She respected his decision. However, she not-so-gently brought up that she had been the one to proclaim in front of Umbridge that she would do everything in her power to see that he became an Auror. And she was not about to let that oath lie unfulfilled.

It reminded him that although he was of age he was not mentally capable of making such life-changing decisions after such an upheaval. And that brought him to his second decision: breaking up his still-new relationship with Ginny Weasley. He had good reason to, he had tried to convince himself. He did not want her to get hurt, or worse killed by the people he had vowed to hunt. But she too had humbled him. Who was he to think that she had not the right to stand beside him in this fight? Had she not lost just as much in that battle last May? The moment he had stepped into King's Cross at the end of term, he had regretted the decision. He was utterly alone when he had met the Dursleys for his last ride to his home of 16 years. No one was there to see him off, not even Ron or Hermione. Aunt Petunia had noticed the hollow look in his eyes but she had squelched any beginnings of sympathy toward her sister's son. Her face had been that hard mask for those three long months until his birthday.

Not even Uncle Vernon had bothered to turn his usual puce when a great gray owl swooped through the open kitchen window the moment he had opened the front door. He said nothing as the owl perched on the banister, patiently waiting while Harry had put down his trunk to untie the letter from the owl's leg. Of course his years of living with his uncle had taught him to stuff the note away. "Well? What does it say this time, boy?" That question had shocked Harry but he took the note out and opened it. His uncle had twitched his mustache as Harry's eyes started to water. "Bad news," he had asked in an almost cheerful tone. His smile had widened as Harry had met him with hard eyes. Harry waited for Dudley to squeeze by his father so Petunia could close the door.

"You would like that, wouldn't you Vernon." Harry didn't care that his uncle was four times his size. He balled up his fists crushing the note in his grip. "Would it matter to you if I said this note was from a man, no a Great Man who has been dead for nearly a week?" Vernon bristled, his cheeks puffing out as he turned his classic shade of angry puce. Petunia, all the while was eying her husband and Harry. She did not dare come between them. The look on Harry's face alone was enough to make her visibly shrink.

"Now see here..." But Harry had had enough of his uncle's lectures. He had had enough of his uncle's insults. He had had enough of everything. If they did not want to understand what kind of torture he had been through, he would force them to understand. Even if it meant that he was kicked out tonight.

"No, you listen! You have no idea of the hell I have been through this year! The ONLY man who cared about me is dead." Harry himself was turning a shade similar to his uncle, the muscles in his neck bulging with his rage. "I watched him die! He stunned me, and I couldn't do anything more than watch as he was murdered right in front of my eyes." Dudley by now was watching the screaming match as though it were tennis, his large head rotating to see what would happen next. Vernon seemed to inflate more and more with every word, doubly so when any mention of magic was made. Petunia was similarly watching though her face had paled somewhat. She knew deep down what he was saying was true. She knew the horrors that could be unleashed when magic was placed into the hands of someone like Voldemort or his followers. Which was why she had tried so hard to force it out of her nephew. She was afraid that it would drive him to the depths of insanity that had led to her sister's death. She listened, twisting the fabric of her dress in her hands until the skin ached, knowing that her husband was beginning to understand why she had feared her sister's 'gift'. And why she had not wanted that 'gift' brought into her home to begin with.

Harry had not remembered much of what he had said after that. He came out of his rage what seemed like hours later lying on his bed, his pillow soaked with tears. But whatever he had said must have meant something, because for the rest of the time his relatives had not said more than a handful of words to him. And when he had turned seventeen Petunia herself had ventured into his room to help him pack. Everything that reminded her of magic was sent into Harry's trunk. He could just as easily have casted a Packing charm now that he was allowed to use magic, but the sight of his aunt actually touching his things was a once-in-a-lifetime event not to be missed. Had he the notion at the time, he would have sold tickets.

Harry shook his head, reaching under the goose feather pillow to pull out the note he had received that night. It was still crumpled and well worn. He had unfolded it to read it almost every night since he had received it. He had not shared it with anyone else, not even the new headmistress. It was simply too fresh a wound. He would share it with them one day, he thought as he folded the letter back up slipped it back under his pillow. He slid off of the unmade bed and went downstairs to help Molly set the table.

Nearly half an hour later the entire house was sitting at the table, bowls full of hearty beef stew steaming as Mr. Weasley talked about his eventful day at the office. The Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects had broken up a black market scheme to sell enchanted breath mints. Apparently the mints would make the eater spout all manner of profanity in every language for as long as the scent stayed in the mouth. Several dozen Muggles and Wizards had been fired from their jobs because of this and the department had had quite a time Obliviating the supervisors and CEOs so that the Muggles could retain their positions. There were some within the Ministry who thought this a small offense and that Muggles bought anything at their own risk. However this was far above and beyond simple 'Buyer Beware' and needed to be put to a stop lest Muggles figure out why the breath mints were so...insulting. "So, Hera you grew up in America," he asked when the table had become quiet.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley. I grew up in south Texas for most of my life. My parents told me that I was born not too far from here, though anything beyond that's a mystery to me." She shrugged, not noticing the knowing look Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared. “I have a few memories. But they're all dark and fuzzy.”

"Is it true that everyone in Texas still rides horses?" Ron blurted out, blushing when Hera responded with laughter.

"Oh, lord. You have no idea how many times I get asked that. In the country, which there is a lot of in Texas some people still ride horses. But I'm sorry to say that the cities are much like yours when it comes to transportation." She smiled as she wiped the side of her mouth with her thumb. "But we do wear jeans and cowboy hats a lot, especially during the trail rides in late February and the county fairs all over the place." She smirked as an evil thought occurred to her. “If you visit, I'd show you how to ride a mechanical bull.” Hera watched as Hermione's face darkened. Playing or not, this was no way to trick someone into getting themselves injured. Ron only looked confused, wondering how Muggles managed to build a Mekanekal Bull. If it was run off of eckeltricity, then his father would love to get hold of it. Though considering what happened with the Ford Angela, Ron guessed that his mother would put a stop to that quickly.

Harry listened, smiling when Ron or the others asked something silly. His attention was split between the stew and a certain redheaded girl who was busy trying not to stare at their dinner guest. Mr. Weasley seemed wholly fascinated as Hera explained the workings of the towns and cities gawking at the sheer number of people that shared the same living area. "Why didn't you answer the first letters that you got from Hogwarts," Harry asked, watching as all eyes went back to Hera who was busy chewing on a rather large piece of beef.

"Well," she started thickly, trying to speak around the piece of beef before catching the odd look from Molly. She swallowed hard and continued, "first, my parents never told me about them. They thought they were prank letters from some of the more imaginative kids in the neighborhood. This year they started asking around and sure enough there was another couple living near us that received the same mail, though they were alumni of Salem Institute and it was their daughter that was going. So this year I took my graduation money and decided to come see what all the hubbub was about."

"Hubbub..." Mr. Weasley repeated, taking out a small piece of parchment and scribbling it down with a quill. "And what might that mean," he asked, getting a grin from Hera. His wife however, simply rolled her eyes. If this girl went on any more about anything Muggle, Molly would have to make her sleep in the broom shed to keep Arthur from interrogating her to death.

"It means that I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, whether or not it was a good idea." She shrugged, lifting another spoonful of stew into her mouth. "Wonderful stew, by the way Mrs. Weasley. I always begged my mother to put more cabbage in it, now I have all I want." She grinned getting a slight blush from Molly. Well, she might not be so much trouble after all, Molly thought. It wasn't everyday someone complemented Molly on her cooking, even if it was thrown together at the last second.

Near eight o'clock Hera, Hermione and Ginny had retired to the twins old room room helping Hera unpack. Though they had stopped at the first few articles of clothing. Ginny had been unwilling to touch anything beyond and was instead sitting on the edge of her bed with her arms folded over her chest. "So how long until the year starts," Hera asked, smiling as Hermione was looking over some of her more unmentionable underwear. Hera would have guessed that these two had not seen, never mind worn anything more than 'granny panties'.

"What? Oh, in two weeks. How in the world do you wear this," Hermione asked holding it up to inspect the piece of clothing. "It looks dreadfully painful."

Hera laughed, turning around and pulling her shirt up and out of the way to let Hermione see the one she had on. "It's like this one, except it pulls a lot tighter. Though I don't wear it often because it becomes hard to eat." She smirked at the incredulous look she got from Ginny. "I have things that would make you blush from head to toe, but you're too young," she said, winking at Hermione, who still turned red as a beet. “and too British.” That last crack had left Ginny speechless.

"If you remember, Hera, you're British too," Hermione reminded her with a withering voice. Hermione could already tell this would be a taxing couple of weeks.

Hera just laughed as she undressed. She tugged on a pair of flannel shorts and a button up shirt and climbed into the bed between Ginny and Hermione's. Hera propped up a pillow so that she could sit up as the other two girls got ready for bed. "So, what should I expect when I get to Hogwarts? I don't expect there will be many people my age in first year." She watched as Hermione forgot how annoying Hera was when an open question was asked.

"Well, first we need to get to Diagon Alley to get your supplies. We'll help you since we already know the list by heart. Anyway, after that we get to the train station, and we will show you how to do that too it’s a little tricky. The ride is a few hours long, so bring something to occupy yourself with. Then when the first years get there, they’re led into the Great Hall and sorted into their respective houses. You'll have to take our word for it that it's something that will stay with you for a while, especially for a person raised in the Muggle World. I know how it feels." Hera listened as Hermione told her everything she was going to expect, though she had a funny feeling that this year was going to be a little more than enlightening.

****

The next day Hera was awakened at what she swore was the 'butt crack of dawn', a phrase which highly amused her two roommates. "Up and at 'em, sleepyhead." Ginny smiled, laughing as Hera gave her a bleary-eyed dirty look. "Breakfast is almost ready," she said before she skittered out of the room. She stuck her head into Ron and Harry's room, screaming the two out of their beds and onto the floor with a dual thud.

Ten minutes later, Hera came down the stairs still bleary-eyed but awake. The smell of bacon and eggs helped her down as she walked into the kitchen wearing a crimson shirt with a picture of a blue dragon on the front and a pair of dark jeans, both of which seemed a bit too small. Around her neck was a gem-encrusted heart-a-gram hanging from a black chain. Her hair was put up into something that reminded Hermione of Sailor Moon, though instead of round buns on her head, they were pointed like horns. On one hand the effect was a little intimidating and on the other hand, strangely cute.

"You sure don't dress like any Muggle I know," Ron commented, getting a hiss from his mother.

"It's all right, I dress this way to get a rise out of people. That, and any other way of dressing seems so boring to me." She shrugged as she sat down at the table crossing her legs demurely. "In case you couldn't tell, this is me being discreet." She winked at Ron, making his cheeks flush a bright pink. Mr. Weasley was busy studying the heart-pentagram she wore around her neck, stroking his chin with his hand.

****

"A most interesting piece of jewelry, Hera. I have never seen anything like it." Molly rolled her eyes. Arthur had not been able to keep quiet about all of the Muggle things Hera had described the night before.

Hera laughed as Mrs. Weasley set out the platters of fried eggs, sausage, pancakes, toast, and large mugs of coffee. "It comes from a phrase that is used a lot. You ever heard the saying, 'the Devil may care'? This is what it means. It's a graphic way of saying that life isn't supposed to be hard all the time."

After breakfast was finished, everyone gathered at the fireplace, Mrs. Weasley holding a small flower pot out to everyone.. "This method of travel is called 'Floo'. Watch how Ron does it, love." She held out the tin and let Ron take a pinch of the green powder. He stepped up to the fireplace, and tossed the powder into the fire.. "The Leaky Cauldron," and he walked into the flames, almost seeming to spin out of existence.

"Cool..." Hera laughed, impressed. "This beats Metro any day."

Harry laughed as he took a handful of the dust and did the same followed by Hermione and Ginny. "You see how it was done? Here, take a handful, love and stand right here." Mrs. Weasley positioned Hera precisely in the fireplace. “Now remember to keep your hands and feet in at all times. And do make sure you get out at the right grate.”

Hera took a deep breath. "The Leaky Cauldron," she called out, throwing down the dust as she had seen the others do. She stepped into the fire and instantly felt herself spinning into a place she could only describe as 'in between' Here and There. She saw hundreds of places that could have been homes or business, then spotted Ron standing near a grate to her left. She held on to her breakfast and dove for it. After a few moments of almost nauseating falling, she spun back into existence with the others in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron, laying feet first inside the fireplace. She waved her hand in front of her face as Hermione and Ginny helped her up off of the floor. "It would be great if it weren't for all the dust." Shortly afterward Mr. and Mrs. Weasley appeared behind her, brushing soot off of their shoulders. They almost made it look too easy.

Hera found herself in a little tavern, the barkeep obviously used to people coming and going through the floo in various positions. He barely raised an eyebrow as they went to the back to the courtyard that separated the Cauldron from Diagon Alley. She was too busy ogling at everything to watch what Mrs. Weasley was doing and turned back to find the brick wall now had an archway in the middle of it. Hera stepped through, watching as the archway became a wall once more, having to click her mouth shut.

"Now then...Hera if you will follow us, we'll take you to Gringotts to get you some money for your supplies." The Weasley parents were walking one way while the others were going further into Diagon Alley. They were to meet up at a little eatery after all their shopping was finished. Though Hera wondered where she would get all the money from for her supplies. The list looked awfully long.

Hera shrugged, running her hands through her hair to get the rest of the soot out. "Sure but I never opened an account at this Gringotts." The Weasleys gave her a knowing look, making her quirk her eyebrows.

"No, but your parents did, Hera. I'm quite sure there is more than enough to get your supplies." Hera shrugged and followed the two Weasley parents. She became painfully aware of the near deafening silence in the street. She had been told that Diagon Alley had once been a great gathering spot for wizarding kind from all over England. Until Voldemort made his reappearance, that is. Now the streets and shops were so empty it almost made Hera think of the old West ghost towns that were abandoned after the gold rush had ended. Whatever had happened it was obvious that Diagon Alley had seen much better days.

She sighed as they walked into Gringotts, though the goblins bowing them in gave her pause. The size of the lobby made her gasp, though she tried not to look like a complete idiot while nearly crashing into Molly when she stopped at the back of the lobby. "State yer business," said the goblin on the pedestal in the middle of the hall, looking down at her with beady eyes behind old fashioned, gold-rimmed bifocals.

"Hera Malfoy...I'm here to make a withdrawal," she stated when Mrs. Weasley patted her on the shoulder. She had very nearly used her adoptive name instead. She always knew that she was a Malfoy but had always thought of herself as Hera Artemis Thomas, not Hera Artemis Malfoy. The thought of shadows from her past leaving her any sum of money was a bit uncomfortable. From an early age she had been told that her parents were bad people, murderers even. And as the goblin started checking names on his ledger, she couldn't help but wonder if any of what was stored in her birth parents’ account was 'blood money'.

"Key," the goblin grunted out, startling Hera as Molly handed him a large, golden, old-fashioned key. "Right," he grunted again, “Griphook!” Hera squeaked, sounding as though someone had dropped a brick onto a mouse. She watched as another goblin stepped up and took the key from the goblin at the pedestal and waved them into one of the many doorways lining the lower walls. The walls and floors were rough hewn stone and the sound of water dripping echoed inside the small corridor. Their only light came from torches in brackets on the walls.

Thankfully they stepped into a more open space. The cavern seemed to go on forever ahead of them. It reminded Hera faintly Carlsbad Caverns but this was something else entirely. The little goblin put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly into the cave. A cart responded almost immediately, rushing to where the four were standing. "Watch yer step..." The goblin half-heartedly warned as the four sat down on something that looked like a cart for a mine.

The little goblin didn't bother to warn anyone as the brakes released themselves, and the cart started down the tracks. It was slow at first, but the cart started gaining speed, the vault doors on either side of the track whizzing by with little more than their outline making an impression. The cart went through a bewildering succession of turns, making it impossible to remember if they had turned left or right at the last intersection. Harry was right when he had told Hera that it was impossible to know where you were inside the bank. He also told her what happened to anyone who tried to tamper with the vault doors. The ultimate punishment for greed, she supposed. Though something that flashed fire at them as they sped through that last intersection could certainly be much worse. It almost looked to Hera to be a dragon but the cart was going at such as speed that she was not sure she had seen anything at all.

Nearly fifteen minutes and several thousand vault doors later, the cart stopped, allowing Hera to catch her breath. She remembered now why she hated roller coasters. The goblin stepped out and beckoned to Mr. Weasley for the lantern. He took the key out that they had given him and another key identical to it. It seemed that this vault door was like the safety deposit boxes in Muggle banks. But that was where the similarities ended. He slipped the two keys into the vault locks and turned each simultaneously with a satisfying, synchronous double-click. They listened as the tumblers fell into their assigned places, unlocking the large door. With a great heave, the goblin pulled the door open and stepped inside. He beckoned to Hera as he shined the lantern inside, nearly blinding the four of them. Hera kept her mouth closed, for she knew that if she said what she was about to say, she would never have the Weasleys’ respect ever again. Inside the vault were piles upon tons of gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts. "How...how much will I need?" she stuttered; she had never seen such a large sum of gold in one place.

"Well...I would recommend you take out at least three-hundred Galleons. You might see something that you like," Mr. Weasley suggested politically, getting a nod from his wife and the goblin. Though the two parents seemed to make an effort not to look into the vault.

"Come, come, young lady. I haven't all day," the goblin chided as gently as his voice would allow. Hera nodded and pulled out the small jewelry bag that Ginny had said she should take with her, and counted out three hundred of the gold coins under the watchful eye of the goblin banker.

****

Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny had almost completed their shopping when Hera came back, her face paler than usual. Harry smiled knowingly around the packages in his arms. His skin had been that pale too when he had seen the load his parents had left him. Though it could be from the ride in the cart as well. Hagrid had looked even worse his first year.

The rest of the day was a blur to Hera as Hermione took her here, there and everywhere she needed to go. The stop to get her wand however, was interesting. The man who had taken over Ollivander's was confirmed by Harry to be just as creepy as Ollivander himself. He had stood there, tapping his chin with a short finger as he stared at Hera while a rather intrusive measuring tape measured every conceivable thing on her body. Almost on cue, the rather short man reached up and started taking a box down from the shelf. He opened it up and handed the wand inside to Hera. But just as fast, he jerked it away, tossing it carelessly into a corner. “No, no, no...” He would murmur. “Perhaps the Willow...no, no, no. Too swishy.” He jerked another box off of the shelf. “Beech...no, no. Too weak.” This went on for a long while, the corner piling up with wands.

He seemed to come to one box but paused. He turned around to scowl darkly at the Weasley twins outside as they tried to peg Harry again with their Bat-Boagy spray. Then just as suddenly, he was back on form. “Perhaps we have been going in the wrong direction...” He mumbled to himself, slipping the box off the shelf and opening it. He pulled out a wand made of almost pure darkness. The wood was curved and there seemed to me a small thin vine curling up to the tip. There it did not quite join, making the wand look as though it had two ends. “Ebony...yes, very powerful. Protective as well.” He seemed pleased with himself, his smile turning into a sneer. “Well, give it a flick.” He snapped, making Hera jump. She shrugged and raised her arm and waved the wand as though she were cracking a whip. A huge stream of silver showered sparkles shot out of the wand, illuminating the shop before winking out of existence.

The shop keeper seemed extremely pleased with this and snatched the wand back, slipping it into the box. “Very nice. Ebony with Phoenix talon, young lady. A very odd paring - dark with light. But then again, you are no ordinary girl either, are you?” He seemed to smile knowingly at his last statement, chuckling softly to himself. “That particular core was recovered from the belly of a Basilisk. Quite odd that it was not destroyed after being touched with such darkness...” He seemed quiet for a few moments longer before remembering himself. “Seventeen Galleons and twelve Sickles.”

From what she had been told about wizard money, this was an awfully steep price to pay. But Hera pulled eighteen golden galleons out of her pocket and handed it to the man. As soon as she had her change in hand, she grabbed her wand box and sped the other way. She exited the shop just in time to watch Fred be enveloped in his own spray. The tall, lanky young man squealed almost happily as his face was slapped by hundreds of bat wings. George was so pleased with the effect, that he sprayed himself and the two of them walked up and down Diagon Alley trailing screeching bats.

They finely finished for the day, getting everything she needed. Hera had chosen a pitch-black owl with blood red eyes whose hoots sounded more like screeches. She reminded Hera of the screech owls that lived in the forests around her neighborhood back home. "I think I'll name her Archimedes. To keep with the ancient Greek names." Hermione smiled, petting Archimedes as she swiveled her head around to stare with her crimson eyes. The owl apparently had a talent for knocking over glasses and ink-bottles and just about anything else that could carry liquid. Although after knocking said container over, Archimedes would immediately attack it as though it had fallen on purpose. That would be about when all the other glasses would start toppling over.

"Well, the fun is just beginning. We have a week left before school starts. We probably won't have the same classes, or even be in the same house. But if you need help, don't hesitate to ask."

"Take the help, Hera. Hermione is a life saver," Ron chimed in, Harry nodding vigorously beside him.

"I can think of dozens of times when she pulled my rear out of the roast." Hera laughed at Harry, shaking her head.

"I would be remiss not to take such generous help. I would be completely lost without it, anyway."