Marie Potter and the Philosophers Stone

Just your typical Harry has a sister fanfic but very Un-Cliche. Lots of OC's and a unique plot. Originally posted on Quotev.


2. The Vanishing Glass And The Snapes

 Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys’ front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets;but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.

  Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

  “Up! Get up! Now!”

  Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.

  “Up!” she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he’d had the same dream before.

  His aunt was back outside the door.

  “Are you up yet?” she demanded.

  “Nearly,” said Harry. “Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy’s birthday.”

  Harry groaned.

  “What did you say?” his aunt snapped through the door.

  “Nothing, nothing . . .”

  Dudley’s birthday — how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.

  When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley’s birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise — unless of course, it involved punching somebody. Dudley’s favourite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn’t often catch him. Harry didn’t look it, but he was very fast.

  Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley’s, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.

  “In the car crash when your parents died,” she had said. “And don’t ask questions.”

  Don’t ask questions; that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

  Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.

  “Comb your hair!” he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

  About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way; all over the place.

  Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel; Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

  Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn’t much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

  “Thirty-six,” he said, looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.”

  “Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s present, see, it’s here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy.”

  “All right, thirty-seven then,” said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

  Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, “And we’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today. How’s that, Popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?”

  Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally, he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty . . . thirty . . .”

  “Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia.

  “Oh.” Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. “All right then.”

  Uncle Vernon chuckled.

  “Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. ’Atta boy, Dudley!” He ruffled Dudley’s hair.

  At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

  “Bad news, Vernon,” she said. “Mrs Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.” She jerked her head in Harry’s direction.

  Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror, but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned.

  “Now what?” said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr Paws, and Tufty again.

  “We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested.

  “Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy.”

  The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there — or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn’t understand them, like a slug.

  “What about whats-her-name, your friend; Yvonne?”

  “On vacation in Majorca,” snapped Aunt Petunia.

  “You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer).

  Aunt Petunia looked as though she’d just swallowed a lemon.

  “And come back and find the house in ruins?” she snarled.

  “I won’t blow up the house,” said Harry, but they weren’t listening.

  “I suppose we could take him to the zoo,” said Aunt Petunia slowly, “. . . and leave him in the car. . . .”

  “That cars new, he’s not sitting in it alone. . . .”

  Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn’t really crying; it had been years since he’d really cried, but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

  “Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry, Mummy won’t let him spoil your special day!” she cried, flinging her arms around him.

  “I . . . don’t . . . want . . . him . . . t-t-to come!” Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. “He always sp-spoils everything!” He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

  Just then, the doorbell rang — “Oh, good Lord, they’re here!” said Aunt Petunia frantically — and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

  Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn’t believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.

  “I’m warning you,” he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry’s, “I’m warning you now, boy — any funny business, anything at all — and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.”

  "I’m not going to do anything,” said Harry, “honestly . . .”

  But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe him. No one ever did.

  The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn’t make them happen.

  Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left “to hide that horrible scar.” Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldn’t explain how it had grown back so quickly.

  Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old sweater of Dudley’s (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become until finally, it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn’t fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn’t punished.

  On the other hand, he’d gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley’s gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry’s surprise as anyone else’s, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry’s headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he’d tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump.

  But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn’t school, his cupboard, or Mrs Figg’s cabbage-smelling living room.

  While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favourite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

  “. . . roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums,” he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

  “I had a dream about a motorcycle,” said Harry, remembering suddenly. “It was flying.”

  Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a moustache: “MOTORCYCLES DON’T FLY!”

  Dudley and Piers sniggered.

  “I know they don’t,” said Harry. “It was only a dream.”

  But he wished he hadn’t said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn’t, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon; they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas.

  It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn’t bad, either, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn’t blond.

  Harry had the best morning he’d had in a long time. He was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn’t fall back on their favourite hobby of hitting him. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn’t have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry was allowed to finish the first.

  Harry felt, afterwards, that he should have known it was all too good to last.

  After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon’s car and crushed it into a trash can, but at the moment it didn’t look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

  Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

  “Make it move,” he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn’t budge.

  “Do it again,” Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

  “This is boring,” Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

  Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself; no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the house.

  The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry’s.

  It winked.

  Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren’t. He looked back at the snake and winked, too.

  The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly:

  “I get that all the time.”

  “I know,” Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn’t sure the snake could hear him. “It must be really annoying.”

  The snake nodded vigorously.

  “Where do you come from, anyway?” Harry asked.

  The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it.

  Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

  “Was it nice there?”

  The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. “Oh, I see — so you’ve never been to Brazil?”

  As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump. “DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING!”

  Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

  “Out of the way, you,” he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

  Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

  As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, “Brazil, here I come. . . . Thanksss, amigo.”

  The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

  “But the glass,” he kept saying, “where did the glass go?”

  The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn’t done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon’s car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, “Harry was talking to it, weren’t you, Harry?”

  Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, “Go — cupboard — stay — no meals,” before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.


  Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. He didn’t know what time it was and he couldn’t be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn’t risk sneaking into the kitchen for some food.

  He’d lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he’d been a baby and his parents had died in that car crash. He couldn’t remember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn’t imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn’t remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course, he was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

  When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were his only family. Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. And once, while he was taking a walk around the neighbourhood, a small group of about six kids around his age actually stopped and had had a conversation with him. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry tried to get a closer look.

  At school, Harry had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley’s gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley’s gang.

  Marie stared at the canopy that hung above her bed deep in thought.

  She had lived in Spinners End with her Godfather for nearly ten years. Nearly ten years since that night in Godric's Hollow. Nearly ten years since her mother and father had been murdered. Nearly ten years since she had fled to Spinners End. She choked back a sob as images of her parent's lifeless bodies came to the front of her mind.

  She rolled over, taking in the mountain of paperwork sitting on her nightstand, single chocolate frog card on top. Smiling and feeling happier than she had a moment ago, she took it down, staring at her own face, reading:

Marie Lily Potter was born on October 10, 1979, and is the eldest child and only daughter of James and Lily Potter nee' Evens. She is considered by many to be one of the most famous witches of modern times due to her many accomplishments in the wizarding world such as her assistance in the downfall of You-Know-Who and her co-founding of The Marauders School of Advanced Magic. She is also one of the four main singers in the Marauders Musical Group. Marie enjoys experimenting with different branches of magic and spending time with those closest to her.

   Her own chocolate frog card. Definitely her biggest accomplishment in her opinion. 

   She looked at the paperwork still sitting on her nightstand; a mixture of applications to her and her friend's school and a few essays from said school that needed to be graded. Most of them were applications as hardly anyone got in so there weren't many essays to grade.

  "Might as well get started," Marie muttered to herself as she levitated the top paper down to her level. She never touched the papers with her bare skin as they sometimes carried curses if someone was angry that she didn't accept them into the school. She had learnt that from the time when someone sent her an envelope containing undiluted bubotuber pus.

  Shuddering at the thought, she looked at the name on the front of the envelope;

  Malfoy, Draco

  Oh, Merlin help her.

  She looked over the envelope, checking it for all the usual hexes. Finding none, she opened it, looking over its contents.

  She waved her hand over the completed questionnaire, checking for any sort of cheated. The paper glowed red meaning that there was some form of cheating on it. Doing a few test she discovered that it wasn't the young Malfoy heir that had completed the form, but his father.

  Pulling a blank piece of parchment towards her, she penned a response;

  Dear Mr Malfoy, Nice try but if you want your son to attend The Marauders School of Advanced Magic he must be the one to fill out the form. I also noticed that you included a short letter informing me of your blood-status and position of power in the wizarding community. I am already well aware of this. But the thing you fail to realize about our school is the fact that neither you nor your sons blood-status matters in the slightest as far as gaining acceptance to our school. We treat everyone as equals. Yours sincerely, Marie Lily Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorceress, Cheif Witch of the Wizengamot, Member of the Dark Force Defence League, Live Representative for the Ghost Council of Hogwarts, Co-Founder of The Marauders School of Advanced Magic.

  Satisfied with her work, she rolled up her parchment and call down her Phoenix, Ruby. 

  Flying down to sit on her shoulder she handed the rolled up parchment to her. Clamping it in her beak, she disappeared in a burst of flames.

  She was grading a few of the remaining essays when she heard a knock on her door.

  "Come in!" She called, looking up from the essay she was reading.

  Standing in the doorway was her godsister, Serena Snape. Her long dark brown, almost black hair was tied up in a high ponytail and there was a small amount of ash on her face, most likely from her early morning potion making.


  Marie was sitting at her godfather's kitchen table a few days after the attack with a cup of strong tea in her hands. They had just come back from the funeral and her eyes were incredibly bloodshot. Her metamorphing had also taken a toll as her normally vibrantly coloured hair had faded to a midnight black, her eyes a warm hazel.

  She had taught herself how to read a short while ago (with a little help from her mum and Uncle Moony) and was trying to study one of her godfather's books on basic potion making but her thoughts kept drifting back to her memory of the past few days. 

  Her Uncle Padfoot had betrayed her family to Voldemort, he killed Uncle Wormtail as well as a dozen Muggles and was going to be thrown into Azkaban without a trial. She still didn't like the idea of her Uncle rotting in a cell surrounded by those absolutely horrid creatures without any sort of trial even if all evidence pointed to him being guilty. There had to be something that they were missing. Uncle Padfoot would never dream of hurting her family or murdering all those people. Her godfather said that it was her way of seeing the best in people and that she would understand when she was older. As if I don't understand enough already. She thought bitterly to herself. I probably understand more than he ever will.

  Emily and Penny would be staying with Uncle Moony while Evanna, Penny's mom organized a memorial service for Uncle Wormtail. They couldn't have a proper funeral as the largest piece of him they could find was his finger.

  Marie shuddered at the thought.

  Sara would go back to her own time for a while though she did make a small appearance at the very back of the funeral along with a tall dark haired man, a blue-haired boy and two red-haired women who she did not know.

  She was taken out of her thought by a quick rapping on the door. Getting up from her chair, her tea long forgotten, she made her way over to the door.

  Opening it she had to look down in order to see who was at the door. Sitting in a large bassinet were two small children. One appeared to be about three or four while the other looked to be only about a few months old. Seeing a letter sitting on top of the blankets she picked it up and read:

  Dear, whoever may find this, we are so terribly sorry to simply drop the two children off on a doorstep like this but we are afraid that we simply can't care for these children any longer. They are brother and sister whose names are Turis Evan and Serena Lillian, their surnames are unknown. Unfortunately, they have also shown signs of witchcraft which is strictly banned from our orphanage. We apologize once again for any inconvenience.  Marilou Royer, Head of Shepard Orphanage.

  "Severus!" Marie called over her shoulder, a note of panicked urgency in her voice.

  Her godfather ran into the room his long, dark robes billowing behind him. His eyes fell on the bassinet in the doorway to the letter in her hand which he quickly snatched, reading it over very fast. When he had finished reading the letter what seemed to be a dozen times over he threw it to the ground before picking up the bassinet and placing right inside the door and out of the light drizzle of rain outside.

  "Should I go prepare a bed?" Marie asked trying to be as helpful as she could.

  Her godfather gave a stiff nod and she went into the sitting room taking a few spare blankets out of the cupboard and arranging them on the couch.

  Her godfather came in a few minutes later laying the sleeping boy on the couch, the small girl still in the bassinet. Her godfather waved his wand over the new children doing some sort of test.

  "It would appear that they're Muggleborn." Her godfather said. "Very interesting."

  The boy on the couch, Turis, stirred before jolting up and looking around the room.

  "Who are you? Where's my sister? Where am I?" Turis was asking these questions very fast. Marie took control, "My name is Marie Potter." She said shaking the older boys hand. "And this is my godfather Severus Snape."

  "How do you do, Turis?" Severus said.

  "How do you know my name? Where is my sister? Where am I?"

  "Relax," Marie said in a calm voice.  "You are in my godfather's house. Your sister is also here. You were kicked out of your orphanage for the use of witchcraft."

  "Witchcraft doesn't exist! You're lying!" Turis all but shouted.

  "I can promise you I'm not," Marie said, calmly. 

  She spent the next few hours along with Severus explaining all about the wizarding world. 

"Can you prove it? That magic really exists I mean?" Turis asked.

  Marie looked at her godfather for assistance. Sighing, Severus pulled out his wand, muttered a few well-chosen words and bright orange flames shot out of his wand and into the grate instantly filling the room with warmth and light.

  Turis, Marie noticed seemed to be at a loss for words, staring at the flames in wonder. 

  Snapping out of his dazed state, he looked at Severus.

  "Where can I get one?" He asked, pointing at the wand. 

  Marie again took control of the situation.

  "When you're eleven years old you'll get a letter from Hogwarts  and you'll get to go to Ollivanders and you'll have a wand choose you not the other way around, always remember the wand chooses the wizard."

   "Why does the wand choose the wizard?" Turis asked her.

  She paused, thinking for a moment.

  "I don't know." She said finally. "Wand Lore is very complex and even those who have studied it for many years don't fully understand it."

  Turis seemed a little disappointed in her short answer but didn't press, which she was grateful for.

  Severus stood up.

  "I must speak to Professor Dumbledore." He said. "You will be fine here for a moment?"

  Marie nodded and he went over to the now roaring fireplace, taking a handful of powder from a small pot on the mantlepiece, he threw it into the fire before stepping into it and saying in a loud, clear voice, "Dumbledore's Office!" before the now bright green flames surrounded him making him vanish. When the flames had died down to their original height, Severus was nowhere to be seen.

  Turis jumped staring at the fireplace, a mixture of shock and fear evident in his eyes.

  They were very nice eyes, she noticed. She supposed one could call them blue, but they were very light, like pale sapphires, with a ring of darkest navy surrounding the irises. They complemented his shaggy brown hair nicely.

  "Where did he go?" He asked still staring a the grate in complete and total shock.

  "Don't worry about him." She said, stifling a giggle at his horror-struck face. "He'll be back in a minute. He's only used Floo Powder. Us witches and wizards can travel by fireplace. Just throw the Floo Powder into the grate, say where you want to go and POW! you're there."

  "Wicked!" He said at the exact moment the fireplace roared green again. Two figures stepped out dusting soot off their robes, Severus and a tall, thin man with silver hair and beard, both long enough to tuck into his belt and piercing, light blue eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles. Albus Dumbledore.

  "Professor Dumbledore, sir," Marie exclaimed, jumping out of her seat to shake the much older man's hand.

  "Miss Potter." He said shaking her hand. "I expect you are tired of hearing this but I am very sorry for your loss. Your parents fought very bravely. And I must say that your quick thinking was both very brave and slightly foolish. Anything could have happened. Though considering the circumstances you performed honourably. Your parents would have been proud, I would like to think."

  "Thank you, sir." She said nodding her head.

  "You lost your parents?" Turis asked.

  "Today was the funeral." She said looking at the ground.

  "I'm sorry." He said.

  "It's fine. They were very kind people. I think you would have liked them."

  "You must be Turis. Your sister is still sleeping I presume?" Dumbledore said, his voice cutting through the slight tension in the room like a knife.

  "Yes, sir." He said shaking his hand. "And don't worry about her. I'd bet she could sleep through an earthquake."

  Dumbledore chuckled.

  "I've been told that your surname is unknown. Is this true?"

  "Yes, sir," Turis said. "Both of my parents died only a little while after Serena was born."

  "Ah," Dumbledore said. "If you would not mind me saying I do believe that Turis and Serena Snape has a very nice ring to it. Don't you agree?"

<><><><><><><><><><><End Flashback><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

  "Two things," Serena said. "One, Turis won't let me borrow his notes on Alihotsy Draught's so I was wondering if I could borrow yours. Two, dad says breakfast is ready."

  "I'll get the notes to you after breakfast, let's go." 

  Running down the stairs to the small kitchen the girls saw the boys already sitting at the table, each with a copy of The Daily Prophet opened in front of them.

  "Morning," Turis said, not looking up from his paper as they sat down.

  "Morning, Turis," Marie said, scooping scrambled eggs onto her plate.

  "I've been thinking," Turis said after a minute, setting down his paper.

  "Oh, no," Serena said.

  He raised his eyebrows at her as if to say really, before turning back to Marie.

  "You remember how we ran into Harry the other day? Talked to him for a minute?"

  Her fork stopped in midair halfway to her mouth as she stared at Turis.

  "Yes," She said slowly. "Why?"

  "Well, I was just wondering, well, his eleventh birthday is coming up. What do you plan on doing?"

  She sighed.

 "Honestly, Turis, I have no idea."

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