Disclaimer: I only own Erica Potter. That's it. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Hope you enjoy the chapter! Things in bold are quotes from the book and things in italics are for emphasis.

July 15th, 1989

Third Person POV:

   A loud, persistent rapping on the wooden door of the Dursleys' home causes Erica and Harry to pause in the middle of clearing the table of scraps from breakfast. Their hazel and emerald eyes lock with each other and Erica nods to her younger brother, assuming who the person at the door is.

   "The sign on our door says no solicitors," Vernon Dursley grumbles. "If it's some wishy-washy asking for money to fund what's-its-name charity, I'm slamming the door in their face." 

   He pushes himself up from the table, sets his newspaper down, and stomps into the foyer. He pulls the door open. "I told you, we're not-" his irritated voice falters out, face turning a pale white.

   Minerva McGonagall looks pointedly at the man, her patented glare that causes even the most carefree pranksters to promptly turn and run. "A good thing," she starts, "that I'm not interested in you today, I'm interested in your niece."

   Petunia exits the kitchen, unaware of who's at the door. "Vernon? Is everything... YOU?!"

   "Petunia, was it? Lily's sister?" the stern professor clarifies, Petunia's face a rather unappealing shade of puce. "Yes, I recognize you. I'm gathering you understand why I'm here."

   Silence.

   "May I come in, or am I going to stand outside on your front porch?" Minerva wonders innocently, already moving forward into the house. "Thank you."

   Still in the kitchen, Erica wraps her arm around Harry's shoulders. "If we're doing anything like school shopping today," she promises, "I'm taking you with me." Harry smiles widely. "That's the spirit."

   "Are you going to go to meet her?" Harry queries.

   "I probably should," Erica shrugs, running a hand through her ginger locks. "Come on, I kinda want to get a picture of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's faces." The Potter siblings make their way to the door, Erica leaning against the door frame.

   "Hello Erica," Professor McGonagall says. "I'm Professor McGonagall, and I am the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts."

   Vernon sputters, indignant but speechless in fear.

   "Hi Professor," Erica greets, sticking her hand out for a handshake. Professor McGonagall takes it, eyes glazed over in memories.

   "You look so much like your mother," she whispers softly, brushing unshed tears away. "I taught both her and your father myself. Your mother was one of the brightest students at Hogwarts, although your father slightly bested her in my subject. I hope you and your brother are the same."

   Erica smiles, relishing this new information about her parents. "Thank you. I'm certain we'll both try!" Harry waves at the older woman with graying hair pulled into a sharp bun.

   "Nice to meet you both... when you can actually remember me that is," Professor McGonagall smiles slightly. "To get to the point, I would like to address the letter you sent me."

   "YOU SENT HER A LETTER?!" Vernon Dursley thunders.

   Erica rolls her eyes in a fitting display of near-teenaged dramatics. "Of course I did. You do realize that I remember a, my parents; b, the entirety of magic; c, the fact that they didn't die in a bloody CAR CRASH?!" The room goes silent.

   "They didn't?" Harry pipes up, confused. Minerva McGonagall sniffs.

   "Lily and James Potter would never have died in a car crash," she states firmly, eyes fixated on the elder Dursleys. "Your aunt and uncle lied."

   Erica mumbles under her breath sarcastically, "Shocker." Harry muffles a snort.

   Professor McGonagall straightens her back slightly, drawing herself to her full height to intimidate the Dursleys. "Now, if you both are ready, we can go shopping for Erica's school supplies for this year."

   Harry pauses. "Wait... you both knew about magic? How come you never told us?" Erica tenses, ready to step in at a moment's notice to protect her brother.

   Professor McGonagall's eyes narrow sharply. "You mean to tell me that you knew about your niece and nephew being a witch and a wizard and never thought to inform them?"

   "Knew!" shrieks Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dreaded sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that – that school – and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups to rats. I was the only one who saw her for who she was – a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family."

   Erica growls slightly. "My mother was not a freak," she defends bluntly, temper rising with every second Petunia slanders Lily.

   "Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you two, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as – as – abnormal – and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

   "SHE DIDN'T GET BLOWN UP!" Erica screams hysterically, hands pressed firmly against her head as if trying to ward off terrible memories. "She. Got. Murdered." Every word is forced out as if she's reliving that terrible Halloween night with each syllable.

   The room goes still, as still as a house on Christmas Eve.

   The silence is shattered by Harry's innocent voice. "By who?" Erica bursts into tears, terrified of her three-year-old memories. "Erica!" Harry exclaims, pulling his sister into a hug.

   Professor McGonagall wipes her eyes again. "There... was an evil wizard. His name was... oh I can't say it!"

   Erica shudders. "Voldemort," she states bluntly, voice quivering.

   "How did you know that?" Professor McGonagall questions, confused.

   "I was old enough back then to remember some conversations... and I literally had to hear him taunt both me and Mum," the eleven-year-old girl admits softly, holding Harry close to her as if she's afraid he would disappear.

   "About twenty years ago now, he started looking for followers. Got them, too – some were afraid, some just wanted a bit of his power, all right. Dark days, they were terribly dark days." Professor McGonagall pauses to take out a long, wooden stick - her wand - and transfigure a handkerchief from a random jacket left lying on the floor. "We didn't know who to trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches... terrible things happened. He was taking over. Some stood up to him – and he killed them. Horribly. We lost many great, young witches and wizards in that war. One of the only safe places left was Hogwarts, and even that wasn't immune to the terror. Professor Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. He didn't dare try taking the school, not just then, anyway. Now, your mum and dad were as good a witch and wizard as I ever knew. Head boy and girl at Hogwarts in their day. Suppose the mystery is why You-Know-Who never tried to get them on his side before... probably knew they were too close to Dumbledore to want anything to do with the Dark Side."

   Erica nods softly, her ginger locks cascading in front of her face to hide the tears dripping down her slender nose.

   "Maybe he thought he could persuade them... maybe he just wanted them out of the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you were all living, on Halloween ten years ago. Erica was three and you were just barely one, Harry. He came to your house and – and –"

   "He killed them," Erica chokes out. "He killed them both and then tried killing us. We were barely toddlers; what use could he have had for us??" She questions mournfully, knowing that the woman doesn't have the answer. "That's why you have that scar," she explains, tracing it with the slightest touch of her pale finger. "I remember holding your baby blanket to it to stop the bleeding. I have one on my shoulder, although it's not lightening - it's a V. V for Voldemort I suppose."

   "Many other wizarding families died in that war," Professor McGonagall softly declares, "most of them my students and friends."

   Uncle Vernon shifts awkwardly for a second and then says something that he will regret. "Load of old tosh."

   "Do you really think that I could make up seeing my mother fall lifelessly to the floor? That I could make up him forcing a children's nursery rhyme to seem dark and something I never want to hear again as long as I live? Have you ever really wondered at all why I flinch away every single bloody time somebody screams, yells, or speaks anywhere louder than a whisper?" Erica questions angrily, voice starting off quiet but growing louder and louder. "Two words. Two words and my mother was dead."

   Professor McGonagall glares at Vernon Dursley, who involuntarily takes a step back.

   Erica folds her arms. "I saw him. I saw the terror in both of my parent's eyes and I will carry that with me until the day I die. It is not a load of old tosh and if you say that again I might punch you right in the nose."

   Professor McGonagall has to blink to make sure that James and Lily Potter haven't possessed their daughter, being reminded of them through her righteous anger and protectiveness, which are apparently genetic traits.

   "Now, you listen here, children, and you listen well," Vernon snarls, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured – and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in me opinion – asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types – just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end –"

   "SHUT IT!" screeches Erica with all of the fury of a redhead. "MY PARENTS WERE LOADS BETTER THAN YOU!!" Her chest heaves with her raggedy breathing, fists clenched together. "I'm done. Can we please go now, Professor?" she begs, voice shaking.

   Professor McGonagall nods, her heart breaking for these poor children. "As soon as-"

   Uncle Vernon interrupts her, causing Minerva to look at him with an expression of the utmost loathing and disdain that it's a miracle he didn't implode on the spot. "Haven't I told you she's not going?" he hisses. "She's going to Stonewall High and she'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and she needs all sorts of rubbish – spell books wands and –"

   "If she wants to go," Professor McGonagall begins calmly, removing her spectacles and wiping the spit off of them incurred by Vernon's rant, "none of us can stop her."

   Erica musters all the height she can from her five-foot frame. "And I'm going."

   "I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HER MAGIC TRICKS!" yells Uncle Vernon, face an unflattering mix of red and purple.

   "Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me," Minerva threatens, finger pointed straight in between his eyes. "You won't like the results." She turns abruptly, pointedly addressing solely the Potters. "Now, are we quite ready to go?"

   Erica beams. "Yes Professor, we're ready. I have my booklist here." She holds up a piece of parchment, quickly yanking it away from Aunt Petunia's desperate lunge for the yellow paper-like substance.

   The three magical beings walk outside to the front stoop, Professor McGonagall firmly grasping their shoulders. "This isn't going to be pleasant," she warns, turning on her heel and disapparating with a loud crack.

   Erica stumbles upon reemerging in the real world, face tinged a slight green. "I think I'm going to be sick," she groans, finding an alleyway a few feet from her. After expelling her breakfast from that day, she grimaces. "Eurgh... that was disgusting." 

   Pulling her booklist out of her jeans pocket, she holds it in the middle of her and Harry, who although he also looks as if he's not faring well hasn't had a physical demonstration of it.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

UNIFORM:

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS:

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT:

wand cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set

glass or crystal phials

telescope set

brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

   Professor McGonagall points at the final statement on the booklist. "That's your father's doing. Him and... another student in the same year as him." Erica and Harry crack small smiles at that.

   "How the bloody hell are we supposed to find all this??" Erica wonders.

   Harry follows up with another question, "Is it all in London?"

   "If you know where to look," Professor McGonagall informs merrily, eyes twinkling like Dumbledore's himself. She ushers the children into a pub called The Leaky Cauldron. All chatter in the pub draws to a close as the patrons fix their eyes on the Potters.

   Every single patron, young and old, male and female, tall and short, fat and thin, all crowd the two siblings as they shout greetings. Erica's hazel eyes widen in slight fear at the loudness and sheer mass of people talking to them. "You'd have thought that we were The Beatles from the hand shaking," she mutters softly to Harry, who lets out a loud snort at the comparison.

   "Thank you for the warm welcome," Professor McGonagall states, "but Ms. Potter needs to start her school shopping." 

   Taking no objections, she leads the siblings to a nondescript brick wall. Once more pulling out her wand, she taps a brick three up and two across from a specific point that Erica privately wonders how the hell wizards and witches remembered that brick from all the other ones exactly the same as it.

   The brick wall melts away and right in front of them is Diagon Alley in all its glory.

Word Count: 2,425