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The entrance

​

"It should be somewhere around here." Dad looked around, searching. "Can you see it, Taylor?"

"Not yet." And I had been looking for it. All around me, the streets of central London shone with their old storefronts, theatres and tourists everywhere. I'd never seen anything like this. The Boardwalk didn't even compare; Brockton Bay didn't even compare. London was an old European city and I was right in its cultural centre.

I had to admit it, it was pretty... nice. Charming, I supposed. Ancient in a good way, instead of the oldness that just made the buildings of Brockton Bay look decrepit. Oh, there were tourists like I'd only seen on the Boardwalk, even then less, and technology wise the nineties didn't even compare, but I couldn't see surreptitious gang tattoos or mercenary enforcers prowling around. This city was safer. Better.

"Charing Cross Road isn't small. Let's keep walking and we'll find it," Mom interrupted, pulling us along.

Somewhere in this street, there was a store that only I could really see. I was still a bit skeptical of this whole magic thing.

In the meanwhile, my eyes couldn't help but be drawn in by the numerous bookstores and neatly arranged facades. This was a touristic place, like the Boardwalk, and well-maintained. Those typical black london cabs you saw in movies were everywhere and several groups of tourists gaped at their surroundings. It made some sense that the entrance to the centre of magical London, as McGonagall had described it, would be in a location both well-known and easy to get to.

I walked between my parents, holding hands with both of them. Two days had passed since I had woken up in this other world. Whether it was real or illusory I still didn't know, but it certainly affected me like it was real. Hunger, thirst, fatigue, pain… as far as I cared the level of detail was real enough. Yesterday I had spent the entire day with my parents and I kept slipping into thinking they were really there. I kept correcting myself in my head until I just gave up, the endeavor too costly for its worth. I knew I couldn't be sure of the reality of my circumstances, but the mental backpedaling I kept doing wasn't helping me anywhere. It was already enough that I had used obviously American vocabulary and made them glance worryingly at me. Their accents weren't too obvious, so I slipped into it with no great problems. Mom had loved british accents as much as she had hated australian ones, and when I was younger we'd read books out loud in outrageous scottish voices. It was still weird hearing Dad complain about the petrol prices rising though.

And then I spotted the Leaky Cauldron.

"Found it," I called out to my parents, stopping right in my tracks. My eyes had been passing over another big bookstore when I saw the place. Mostly because it was small and dark. It looked like a building from two centuries back had been transplanted right into the street and nobody noticed it. People walked past it but never even looked that way, like it didn't exist. It had to be the place.

"Where?" asked Dad. His eyes jumped from the bookstore to the record store on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron. I pointed it out, but still he didn't see it. "There's nothing but an abandoned building there… wait." He stopped short, brows furrowing. A stranger effect.

"An abandoned building on Charing Cross Road? And yet I don't think I'd think twice about it if Taylor hadn't pointed it out to me." Mom nudged him with a smile. "A perfect description of the place then. Lead on Taylor."

Somewhat nervously, we crossed the road and entered. To me it looked well-maintained if old, but to my parents it probably seemed like they were entering a condemned building. If I wanted to be kind, I'd say it was rustic. The Leaky Cauldron's inside matched the outside. It was dark, gloomy and the clientele looked just as odd as the building. The front door opened to a large dining room with a bar on the side, various chairs and tables strewn around. On an empty corner, a large fireplace sat with ash marks in front of it. It also seemed like long, ridiculous robes weren't a formal or traditional dress, but actually the fashion for these people.

As the door closed behind us, people lifted their eyes to us and stared, only a couple returning to their glasses and papers. There was an old lady smoking a long pipe that spewed flower-shaped smoke, a teen only a year older than I was, had been, with shocking blue hair scribbling away on a piece of parchment. A man with a heavy-set jaw in particular glared our way. I stared back, unflinching. Our deadlock was broken when a woman sitting by the counter got up and exchanged a couple of words with the bartender, before striding towards us. Up closer I saw it was McGonagall attired in a different robe, this time dark purple.

"Good morning," she greeted us with a smile, "Mr. and Ms. Granger, Taylor."

Then she introduced us to Tom, the bartender that owned the Leaky Cauldron. The old man welcomed us enthusiastically, noting how nice it was to have a new witch pass through his establishment. My parents cringed somewhat at his toothless smile, reminding me once again they were dentists here. He led our group to a well-used courtyard surrounded by tall brickwalls.

"You need a wand to open the gateway," Tom explained, wand in hand. "The young lady will get hers today, but if you ever need to pass into Diagon Alley by yourselves just speak to me and I'll open it. Now watch here and remember the brick."

He pointed at the side of the wall.

"From here, three up, two across." The tip of his wand tapped one brick three times. "Three taps."

The stone wriggled by itself and sank in, leaving a small hole. A hole that grew in seconds as bricks re-arranged themselves and disappeared, forming a large archway. Beyond, a cobbled street full of colorful and unique stores extended somehow. I wasn't sure we were even in London anymore.

And I took my first steps into the wizarding world.Meeting at the Bank​

Diagon Alley, which was a horrible pun by the way, could only be described as colorful. Eccentric, chaotic, out of a fairytale. All along a narrow, cobbled street, a crowd moved from store to store, talking, haggling, window-shopping. Wizards and witches in robes of all colors, pointy-hats, strange combinations of clothing that would get them pointed to the nearest asylum in a normal street, out shopping in the old-fashioned way. I distinctly heard a woman pass us by complaining under her breath, "... out of Doxycide, unbelievable. How can they be out of Doxycide already? Winter's coming!"

And, even more than in the streets of London, there was a homely cheer to the atmosphere. If Charing Cross could be compared to the Boardwalk, then Diagon Alley was like the Market in Brockton Bay, if it sold dragon liver and tomes of forbidden knowledge.

"It's amazing," said Mom. "So, what do you think? Excited?"

To tell the truth, I wasn't quite sure. I still didn't know what was going on. But I didn't want to disappoint Mom, looking at me expectantly. I tried to put as much excitement as I could into my voice. "I've never seen anything like it!" And it was true.

"It's quite strange, isn't it?" commented Dad. "So, where should we start, Professor?"

"With acquiring the proper currency."

The old teacher lead us down the street to a white building, larger and taller than any other in this place. White marble columns, doors of burnished bronze. It exuded richness. Gringotts, the wizarding bank, actually reminded me of Central Bank and the day I had started my supervillain career. It did seem to be much better protected, with armed guards and all. According to McGonagall, the vaults were all underground in a tunnel maze. It also was staffed and owned by goblins, who were half-sized persons with pointy ears, noses and teeth like sharks. They looked perpetually angry with everybody, but did not seem attach any particular hostility to us.

Opening an account in my name so that we could exchange pounds for galleons, sickles and knuts, the magical coins, involved filling out a few forms and giving a bit of my blood. The goblin teller assigned to us explained the basics of banking between worlds, as it were, while we waited for my new vault key to be fetched. The current exchange rate was five pounds a galleon and the solid gold coins could not be sold in the muggle world. They would know if it happened, he warned us with a wide smile. Goblins also made sure the economy between both sides was balanced. It looked to me that they acted as the Numberman, the entity that acted like a financial intermediary to parahumans. Apparently they worked with the Ministry, but I had no doubt that they also provided other, certain services for certains fees.

As we were preparing to leave, a voice called out to us, loud even in the noisy marble hall. "Professor McGonagall! How good to see you!" A tall man with a rosy face and messy beard approached, followed closely by a teen.

Our chaperone turned and raised an impeccable eyebrow, but smiled. "Mr. Diggory. I didn't expect to see you here. How do you do?"

"Good! Very good." He bounced on his heels. "It's another year, another day spent at Diagon Alley buying school supplies. I brought Cedric here... I'm sure you remember him." He pulled forward the teen, who looked uncomfortable with his father's actions.

"Indeed I do, he was one of my best students." Mr. Diggory seemed incredibly proud, and I got the feeling he had intercepted us just to show off his son. McGonagall proceeded with the introductions. "Amos Diggory and his son Cedric. He's a Hufflepuff student, third year now. Mr. and Ms. Granger, and their daughter Taylor. She'll be starting at Hogwarts this year." There was a round of handshakes and greetings.

Cedric and I shook hands. He looked older than he was, tall and broad-shouldered. His eyes were of a striking grey and his face was starting to sharpen into a more adult look. He would be handsome when he grew up some more. "Hi, nice to meet you."

I was suddenly aware of the small size of my hand against his. "Me too."

The adults exchanged a few more pleasantries, Diggory explaining that he really had something to do for a certain Mockridge. "Come along Cedric!" He called.

Cedric hesitated and asked, "Dad, could I go with Professor McGonagall?" He continued before his father could say anything. "Taylor's going to visit most of the shops I need to go to. We'd save some time and I could show her around the magical world. If you wouldn't mind mind, that is," he told us.

Mr. Diggory was lost for words. "Well…I… I don't see why not." Then he brightened considerably at his son's responsible actions, and gave Cedric some money so he could come with us.

"I'm sorry to impose," Cedric said as we left Gringotts, and shot me a conspiratorial wink. "But I needed to get away for a bit, and my Dad is going to spend hours speaking with the goblins. I'd much rather go with you."

I smiled. "I don't mind. Really."Familiar interactions​

With Cedric along, we'd gone to a series of stores looking for the best quality versions of the items on my list. He was a real help, and McGonagall had let him take the lead while she chatted with my parents. At the moment, we were at Flourish and Blotts buying my schoolbooks. I hadn't been in a bookstore like this since that time with Brian, before everything went to hell. Books were everywhere, both old and new. And these had images that moved, sparkly decorations, some even moved. Mom was entranced with them and so was I, until I noticed how Cedric was smiling at me. This was actually reminding me a lot of that day with Brian.

"So…." I searched for a safe topic as Dad paid for my books. "The professor said you were a Hufflepuff student?"

"Yeah, I'm a badger, and proud of it." Cedric must have noticed my look because he looked down sheepishly. "Right, you're muggleborn, so you wouldn't know about it…"

"Not a clue."

"W-well, in Hogwarts, students are divided by Houses. There are four of them, named after the founders of Hogwarts. Gryffindor for the brave, Slytherin for the cunning, Ravenclaw for the witty and Hufflepuff for the loyal." Cedric thumped his chest boyishly.

I chuckled. "How do they decide which House you belong to?"

"Sorry, that's a secret." He waggled a finger and continued explaining, "your dormitories and schedule depend on your House, so your House sort of becomes your family. You sleep, eat and have classes together. Also, during the year you can gain or lose points for your House, if you answer a question right or break the rules, for example. In the end of the year, the House with more points wins the House Cup."

It seemed like a weird system. Instead of having inter-school competitions, they had an intra-school competition? Then again, I hadn't heard about any other magic schools. "Did Hufflepuff win last year?" I asked as we left the bookstore. Mom was talking animatedly with Professor McGonagall while Dad carried my new cauldron, in pewter, stuffed with books and other miscellaneous things.

"Ah, no. Slytherin's been on a winning streak. They've won the House Cup for the last six years…. They won the Quidditch Cup last year too," he groaned.

"Kwi-what?"

Cedric laughed. He was starting to explain the rules of the weirdest game I'd ever heard of, it sounded like somebody had two or three games rolled one, when a person yelled ahead of us. Then something slammed into me.

I was sent crashing to the pavement, the breathe being forced out of my lungs. I tucked my head in, not wanting to hit it against the stones. I raised my arms to ward off my attacker and met soft fur. A dog was half-standing on my chest, now barking loudly near my face. I couldn't hear anything.

"Stop. Down! Stop!" I forced my hands over his muzzle, quieting him. Surprisingly, he stopped.

"Taylor! Are you alright?!"

I ignored the people asking about me. The black labrador, much larger and intimidating when I was this small, was very familiar. I knew this dog. This was Sirius. I swatted him. "Bad. Off me, now."

Chastised, the labrador back off and Cedric helped me to my feet. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. He just surprised me." I scratched Sirius' head.

The older boy looked incredulous, staring at the dog that had knocked me over. Sirius' head stood easily at my belly's height, the black dog positively massive compared to me. If he had wanted to maul me, I'd be a goner for sure, but I had more important things on my mind.

Sirius pressed his head harder against my hand, asking for petting. Sirius was here and he recognized me. I wasn't alone, even if my only company was a dog. How was Sirius here though? And why here, in this place, rather than with me? Was he alone, the only one, or were there more of us around? Were Brian or Rachel around?

"Merlin's beard! What's going on here?!" My parents and McGonagall finally got through the crowd around us.

Nearly at the same time, a man in a rough leather apron and gloves forced his way through. "Caught you," he panted.

All eyes were planted on Sirius, who had raised his hackles. I looped my arm protectively around his neck. I'd just found Sirius, but I didn't think they were here to let me keep him.A girl's best friend​

I didn't have time for hesitation. I called out to my parents with as genuine a smile as I could manage, "Mom, Dad! Can I keep him?"

"Keep him!?" yelped Cedric right next to me. "He attacked you!"

I shot him a glare. I needed to convince my parents and he was not helping. "No, he didn't. He was just excited, that's all."

"Taylor," my father said, "what exactly happened here? Where did that dog come from?"

"I'm very sorry, sir, that would be my fault." The man in the dirty apron spoke up with a forced laugh, "he was getting unruly in his cage and somehow managed to escape. I'll take him back to the shop now." He reached for Sirius and backed off when the dog started growling very loudly. "Bloody dog!" He took out his wand.

"No." I interposed myself between them. "He was just looking for me. I'll buy him. How's that?"

"Whoa, whoa, Taylor! Calm down!" said Dad. "I'm not saying no." He raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "But maybe you should think a little bit before committing yourself to this. A pet is a big responsibility after all. Are you sure you want this dog?"

I had to admit that it threw me off that Dad didn't say anything about how expensive a dog could be. Then I remembered my parents were dentists, here. I looked at them. Dad seemed alarmed, hands raised and brow furrowed slightly. Mom was worried. I could see it in the way she bit her lip. I hadn't seen that expression on her face since… that day. A shiver crawled up my spine and I hugged Sirius closer to me.

One deep breath. What should I say to convince them? Two deep breaths. Letting Sirius go was not an option. He was the only clue I had as to what happened. My only untainted connection from this waking dream. A lifeline.

Finally, I spoke. "Yes. I'm sure, Dad. Mom." I caught their gazes and tried to convey all the sincerity I could. I needed this. "I know a dog is a big responsibility and a lot of work. It's not a toy. But I promise I'll take care of him. I'll feed him, wash him, take him on walks. Everything. Our house has space for a large dog to be comfortable and… I'll pay for his food too."

The adults seemed impressed by my short speech, and exchanged looks. I had to remember I looked only about ten or eleven, not fifteen. Had I overdone it? Did I even have an allowance already?

"This one dog?" asked Mom seriously.

I nodded. "Yes."

"And what will happen to him when you're away at Hogwarts?"

Stupid. How had I forgotten that? Hogwarts was a boarding school. "I was thinking about taking him with me…" I managed to say without looking too nervous. I stole a glance to see how Professor McGonagall reacted.

The stern-faced witch had never looked more like a disapproving, british governess. "That's highly irregular, Ms. Granger. Hogwarts students are permitted only cats, toads or owls."

I saw Cedric look suddenly uncomfortable.

"Bollocks!" Exclaimed the shopkeeper, startling all of us. McGonagall shot him a scandalized glare and he blanched, stepping back. He continued, more subdued, "I apologize. But Professor, you know that's not true! I sell rats and reptiles and all sorts of things to Hogwart students. I'll bet you there are more Puffskeins in that castle than toads!"

McGonagall bristled, indignant. "A dog is not something like a-"

"Excuse me?" Mom cleared her throat loudly. "Let's not argue, please. If it comes down to it, then I'm sure the dog can stay at our house."

"No, no!" the dirty shopkeeper intervened again. Was he on our side or not? "What if it has crup blood? It could be dangerous to leave him with Muggles!"

"Crup?" asked Dad, bemused by another new, strange word.

"Wizard-bred dog" said Cedric at the same time the shopkeeper boasted, "the best companion any witch or wizard can have."

"Crups are also instinctively violent towards muggles." Added McGonagall snidely. "To own a Crup requires a license, showing that the wizard can control it in muggle areas."

I straightened up, a plan coming to mind. "Sirius. Sit." I commanded. The labrador immediately sat on his hindquarters, looking at me expectantly. "Lie down." Then, after he'd complied, I looked him in the eye and said more forcefully, "Stay." When I walked back to my parents, he didn't follow. "See, he obeys me. Sirius. Here." He bounded up to me, asking for petting.

"Wow." Cedric whistled. "How did you manage that?" My small audience looked both curious and surprised. I shrugged in fashion of an answer. They didn't know, but all of Bitch's dogs were trained, probably even better than police dogs. More, Sirius knew me, and knew he should obey me. Now, even if they didn't let keep him at Hogwarts, at least they couldn't object to me getting him.

"Sirius?" Professor McGonagall suddenly asked.

"It's his name." A name he hadn't been given yet, I realized almost too late. "It fits him, I think. The brightest star of the sky. And he likes it, don't you Sirius?" I scratched him behind the ear.

"Yes. Quite indeed." The older witch stared fixedly at Sirius for a moment, looking unhealthily pale. She coughed, clearly trying to hide how ruffled she was, and addressed my parents. "So, you intend to buy this dog after all, Mr Granger?"

"It certainly looks like it," my father answered the professor. My mother nodded at him and he corrected himself, "yes. We'll buy him."

"I see. Then, perhaps, your daughter and your wife could go to Ollivander's to buy Taylor's wand? While I'll accompany you to the Menagerie to take care of everything. Ownership documents."

My parents exchanged a couple of words and agreed. The professor conjured a leash and I passed Sirius to my father.

"I'll go too," said Cedric unexpectedly. He smiled ruefully. "I have to get food for my Puffskein."

Last edited: Jan 17, 2015

387Tools of Magic​

A bell jingled as we pushed the door open. Unlike every other shop in Diagon Alley, Ollivander's was tiny, dark and full of dust. Eerie. I observed the place. It was cramped, like all the shops we'd been to, but not because of any disorganization or overly encumbering objects, like cauldrons. No, this space was clear from any ornaments, with just a chair, boxes that probably contained wands only against the walls. The shop itself was just narrow, squeezed between two bigger buildings.

And nobody was in. Mom gently tightened her grip on my hand and nudged me forward. I complied, but still couldn't shake the feeling something was off.

"Good afternoon."

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. An old man had appeared in front of us, there in the time I'd taken to examine a shelf. Teleported. His eyes were strange, a blue so pale it looked silver. Some sort of special vision?

"I didn't mean to frighten, I'm sorry. Here for your first wand?" He didn't phrase it as a question. Then again, this was a wand shop. "What's your name?"

I lowered my arms from where they had been at ready, taking a glance up towards my mother, and introduced myself. "Yes. My name is Taylor… Granger."

"Enchanted to meet you Miss Granger. And Mrs. Granger too." He nodded at my mother. "Now, which is your dominant hand?"

After measuring me from every possible angle, Mr. Ollivander gave a long but interesting introduction to how wands were usually made and the main components of his own brand of wands. Three cores, selected wood from magical trees and an anecdote about finding one in the middle of a Parisian park. He also gave a guideline of what one should just not do with a wand, and how to care for them. Wands weren't high-maintenance things, but it seemed they could be happier if kept in good condition. As he spoke, he went around the shop and into the back, collecting a sizeable stack of long, thin boxes.

He took out a dark coloured wand from a box and presented it to me. "Red oak and unicorn hair, nine inches and a half. Springy. Now, just give a wave."

I picked it up and flicked it using a wrist movement Professor McGonagall had used. The wood seemed to-

"No." Ollivander had grabbed the wand before it could do more than shoot a single bright spark in the air. He set it back into its box and opened another box from the pile. "Try this one."

Choosing my wand turned out to be remarkably like shopping for shoes with Lisa. Every time I tried something out, it got snatched away before I could actually try it out. Lisa took shoes off my feet or even boxes out of my hands and pushed new ones into them. Ollivander kept passing different wands to me, sometimes barely letting me touch them before he decided they weren't good. Hornbeam, pine, vine, ebony… with all three types of core.

And as I tried wand after wand, Ollivander growing more and more excited about my difficulties, I noticed something. The wands buzzed. No, not the wands. At the edge of my perception, I could hear indistinct, raspy murmurs. I could feel them, but there was never any time to focus on that white noise because the wandmaker kept pulling the wands from between my fingers. It was frustrating. I knew I was sensing something, something I dared to hope for.

At a wand of applewood and phoenix feather, I saw them. Stars, in my mind. Spiralling out to form a fantastic night sky and… blinking out. Going out of focus, fading a couple of seconds after the wood left my skin. I just barely stopped myself from snapping at the shopkeeper, settling instead for glaring at Ollivander, barely noticing the ash that floated around me.

"Almost, almost… I think I know just the wand for you, Miss Granger." The old man was as impervious as Lisa to my frustration. He cheerfully hurried to a shelf behind the counter, returning with yet another dusty box. "Fir and dragon heartstrings. Twelve inches, inflexible."

It was a light-coloured wand, with a simple criss cross pattern of slightly raised wood marking the wand's handle.

I took it and raised it above my head. My mind exploded into stars.

I closed my eyes, fighting the vertigo. More than I should have been able count, tiny, intricate knots of data unfolded before me. I unfolded, and suddenly I was everywhere. The air, the ground, the buildings, skittering between bricks, flying… I was flies, spiders and worms, things I didn't know the name of and things that I could barely wrap my head around. And when I twitched a leg, thousands of limbs twitched at my command. I had found them. My powers, slotted neatly into my senses like they'd never left me. Perhaps they hadn't, and I had only been unable to know they were there. Regardless, I felt like I could breathe again.

"Good, very good, Miss Granger. That is just the wand for you."

With a sigh, I opened my eyes. A thin coating of frost had covered an area around me. Mom smiled at me with pride even as she brushed glittering snowflakes from her black hair. Mr. Ollivanders was smiling with satisfaction. Then he extended the box towards me for me to put the wand in. Reluctantly, I returned the wand to Ollivanders. But when my fingers left the wood, my power didn't disappear.III - Mirrored Glass

The girl with the unfamiliar Scar​

It had been a long month since that day in Diagon Alley.

I hadn't had time to reflect on how rushed my life had become after meeting the Undersiders. In retrospect, everything had happened so very fast. The bank, Bakuda, the Empire reveal, Leviathan…. The Nine. One after another without barely any time to breathe. And in those instances, I hadn't been able to rest either. There was always a goal, an enemy, something.

So August had passed by in a slow summer haze. Spending time with my parents had been stressing at first, trying not to give off any strange behavior, but I'd adapted. Walking Sirius with Dad, reading my new school books with Mom, having days out in London, even camping. My parents were obviously trying to give me the best summer ever before I left for Hogwarts. They'd succeeded, but not because of all their efforts. Just being able to be with be my mother again, to rest and unwind, was more than enough. It was like the clock had been turned back and I had returned to those days that, I had come to realize, were the happiest in my life.

The only thing that ruined it was the fact that it probably wasn't real, and quite possibly a trap.

Initially, I had thought that finding Sirius would give me an inkling of what was going on, a clue for the way out, but no. Sirius was just a dog after all. His presence helped and had me formulating new theories, but it only added more questions to those I already had. Amy Dallon, however….

I got up from the bench and whistled. Sirius raised his head from his paws, ears at attention. I opened the door and, at the threshold, commanded "Sirius. Watch." The labrador sat up and I left, satisfied.

I hadn't been idle a whole month. On my copious free time, I had tested whatever training Bitch had given Sirius and reinforced my position as pack leader over him. And with my powers back, I had worked on protecting myself. I'd weaved a full spider-silk costume, simple bodysuit without exoskeleton padding, in the attic of the house. London's spider population lacked black widows, so I'd made do with common garden orb weavers for silk and false widows for poison. I was wearing a skin tight vest and compression style shorts of the same material right now.

I dropped from the Hogwarts' Express carriage, scanning the crowd for Amy. I had bugs on her, but distances were tricky in this place. I hadn't been able to sense the Platform before passing through the barrier and trying to get a measure of both the outside and the inside of the train at the same time had given me a headache. Wizards were proving to be very frustrating indeed.

Amy had moved further into the platform and away from the barrier. I found her standing closer to the wall, in a corner with fewer people milling around. Good. That would make this easier. I stepped aside to dodge a collision and observed her. Amy didn't look much better than the last time I'd seen her. Less scared, for certain, but still small and wary. Actually, I noticed as the distance between us shortened, she seemed too small. I'd always been tall, but as an eleven years old Amy was tiny. Or was that the large, too large, clothes she was wearing, sitting on top of her trunk?

The large white owl that she had with her hooted at my approach and Amy turned from watching the crowd, meeting my eyes. I stopped a couple of steps away and waved. "Hello" I said. Amy returning the greeting weakly, but there was no sign that she had recognized me. I directed a ladybug from the small of my back to my fingers and pretended to examine it where she could see it. "I was wondering…. Does the name Panacea mean anything to you?"

Recognition, shock and half a dozen other emotions crossed her face before she shot back "Does Skitter to you?"

"Yeah." I nodded and indicated the train. "I've got an empty compartment in the train. We can talk more there."

Amy shied back, shooting a quick glance at the train and the crowd around it. Not good. She was being too suspicious, too guarded. I needed her to trust me. We couldn't talk about anything here, in the middle of the train station, but Amy obviously felt better by having witnesses around.

I struck my hand out. "I'm Taylor. Taylor Granger."

She looked at my hand for a moment before taking it. I felt a prickling run up my arm, but kept my composure. Finally, she let go of my hand and rose to her feet. "I'm... Amy, ah, Potter." She brushed her now long hair away from her face and I saw a scar on her forehead.

That was new. It looked too old and healed to have happened recently, and it was distinctly shaped like a lightning bolt. What had happened? I didn't have time to think about it. The insects with Sirius stirred to keep a better track of a pair of boys that seemed to be considering my compartment, watch dog or not.

"Want help with that?" I gestured to the large trunk and the owl in the cage.

"Yeah, hm…. Thanks."

Together we pushed the cart to the train and got her things on board with some difficulty. I'd had my father to help for my things and it had been much less crowded. Moving the heavy trunk in the narrow hallway was complicated with people running around and we bumped into several assholes that wouldn't move out of the way. Sirius started barking loudly and I excused myself, running ahead.

"Sirius. Down." I barked over the noise and turned to the older boys, a pair of red-haired twins younger than me, originally. "It's occupied."

"We just wanted to know who'd brought a dog" said one. "It's brilliant. Filch is going to freak" continued the other. "Yeah. You think your dog is up for chasing down a certain cat?" The first twin wiggled his eyebrows.

"What's going on?" Amy asked from behind me, pushing her trunk along.

I opened my mouth to tell her they were just leaving, when one of the boys leaned forward, eyes wide. "Fred. Is that?" "I think it is, George." "I can't believe it." "Neither can I. Wicked." I felt more than heard Amy sigh. The twins, Fred and George, looked at each other, at us, then at Sirius and finally, nodding at each other, turned around to leave. "See you around!" They whispered conspiratorially as they walked away, shooting glances at us. Or more correctly, at Amy.

I closed the compartment's door behind us and watched as Amy shoved her trunk carelessly into a corner and sunk into the seat. Sirius and her bird greeted each other, the labrador sniffing the owl's lowered beak before it decided the dog was bothering it and clapped its beak, straightening imperiously.

"So," I sat myself in front of her and asked casually, "what was that all about?"

Amy was silent for a few seconds, staring at me. I let her. "It… seems like I'm a celebrity in here too." She shrugged and expounded tiredly. "Except I'm not famous for being New Wave's miracle healer but for, well," she waved at the scar, "surviving."