Persephone Potter and the Heart of Revenge

“We danced, in our minds…”

August 1971

Lily must have thought nothing of it, judging by the offhand way she mentioned it to Severus, but the boy couldn’t believe Muggle Petunia had an owl drop a letter on her lap at the kitchen table. The dark haired boy pinned his friend with a shrewd look and asked, “Who would your sister be receiving owls from, though?”

Lily shrugged, “Probably Hogwarts.”

“But why?”

“Because she wrote them.”

“She wrote them?” Severus repeated incredulously, his eyebrows raising towards his hairline.

“Well, I think she wants to come too—”

The black-haired boy laughed meanly, having never really liked Petunia, and said between gasps, “She wants to come to Hogwarts?”

“Don’t laugh, Severus,” the redhead chided with a wry smile, slapping him on the arm. “That’s not nice.”

“Well?”

“Well,’ what?”

“What did Dumbledore say?” Severus asked.

The girl shrugged, “I don’t know. She wouldn’t open it at the table. I told you that earlier.”

“I don’t even know how they could have received it,” the boy mumbled, picking at the grass by his legs, “unless there’s someone working undercover in the postal office…” He trailed off looking down at the ground. Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. Severus fixed his friend with a piercing gaze, and the redhead peered warily back. She must have decided that she didn’t like his look, likely deducing his idea on her own, because she leaned back ever so slightly and narrowed her eyes.

“No,” she shook her head emphatically. “Oh, no. I’m not doing anything of the sort. No.”

Severus raised an eyebrow at her.

She sighed.

With a defeated, “Come on,” the girl got to her feet. Severus grinned triumphantly.

The two of them set off for her house. Severus was glad when Mrs. Evans didn’t question his arrival in her home. He had been over off and on over the past few years, though Lily had never come to his own. Severus would rather die than subject the girl to his parents. But the Evans were very nice people—almost too nice. The woman didn’t even question it when Lily asked cheerfully where Petunia was.

“Oh, I think she’s out with some friends right now,” her mother replied.

“Thanks, Mum,” Lily smiled, wandering into the hallway that led to her and her sister’s rooms. Severus followed. Silently, the two slipped into Petunia’s room. Not quite sure where to look first, they stood awkwardly in the center of the room, glancing around. Lily wrung her hands, probably wondering what her sister would do if she caught them in there.

 Then she shook her head as Severus asked, “Where do you think it could be?”

“Try the top of her dresser,” Lily replied in a whisper. “I’ll check her bed-side table.”

The boy nodded, sifting gingerly through a stack of postcards letters on the dresser, while Lily tackled the pile of books and papers on the bed-side table. Severus continued searching, and then spotted a thick yellow envelope peeking out behind a picture frame. Ever so softly, he exclaimed, “Aha!” The eleven-year-old reached behind the picture frame, and with two fingers he took hold of the envelope and brought it out.

Lily, seeing that he had found it, wandered over. Quickly, Severus slid the letter out of its envelope, and scanned it. Biting her lip, Lily read it over his shoulder. Then, they heard the door open out in the living room, and Lily snatched the letter from her friend’s hand, shoving it back into its envelope and sliding it back behind the picture frame. Then, she grabbed the boy’s arm and dragged him out of Petunia’s room, into her own. Moments later, they heard a pair of feet enter the hallway, a door open, and then close again.

The redhead closed her own door the rest of the way and let out a sigh of relief, turning to look at Severus, who sat on her rug with a triumphant smirk on his face.

“That was close,” she breathed.

Severus laughed.

                                                                                         We danced, in our minds,

and read a book together.

August 1991

Persephone stared at the mounds and mounds of gold in astonishment. She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel at learning that she had unknowingly amassed such a fortune. All she could think about, rather, was how all of this had been sitting here all this time while she was given Dudley’s horrible cast-offs all her life. Though, she felt she probably ought to be glad the Dursleys hadn’t known about this. If they had, they surely would have stolen it all.

“All yours,” Hagrid smiled, when it became evident that she had momentarily lost her wits. And then, because she still stood and stared, Hagrid moved forward to help the girl pile some of it in a bag.  

“The gold ones are Galleons,” he explained. “Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and Twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it’s easy enough.” Persephone didn’t think so. It sounded unnecessarily complicated to her. “Right, that should be enough fer a couple o’ terms, we’ll keep the rest safe for yeh.” He turned to Griphook. “Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?”

“One speed only,” said Griphook with a wicked smile.

The group climbed back into the cart that had taken them to the Potter vault, Hagrid with some difficulty. The rattling cart hurtled along, seeming to know its own way, seeing as Griphook wasn’t steering it. Persephone’s eyes stung and her dark hair whipped into her face as the cold air rushed past them, but she kept her eyes wide open. Once, she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late—they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

“I never know,” Persephone called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, “what’s the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?”

“Stalagmite’s got an ‘m’ in it,” said Hagrid. “An’ don’ ask me questions just now, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Persephone leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled her back by the scruff of her neck.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

“Stand back,” said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away. “If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they’d be sucked through the door and trapped in there,” said Griphook.

“How often do you check to see if anyone’s inside?” Persephone asked.

“About once every ten years,” said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

The girl thought about what Hagrid had said as they were entering the bank, “Yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it.” And couldn’t help but agree. The goblins seemed to enjoy the idea of a wizard’s pain. Perhaps wizards had treated them like the Dursleys had treated her. Their vengeful sentiments wouldn’t surprise her in that case.

The contents of the vault were a bit of a letdown after the buildup, however. With the extreme security, the girl had thought that surely something very valuable had been stored in there—like hordes of dragon treasure—but instead, Hagrid plucked out the lonely grubby package that lay on the floor and tucked it deep inside his coat. Persephone longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

“Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don’t talk to me on the way back, it’s best if I keep me mouth shut,” said Hagrid.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Persephone didn’t know where to run first now that she had a bag full of money. She didn’t have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that she was holding more money than she’d had in her whole life—more money than even Dudley had ever had.

“Might as well get yer uniform,” said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. “Listen, Persephone, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts.” He did still look a bit sick, so the girl entered Madam Malkin’s shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

“Hogwarts, dear?” she said, when Persephone started to speak. “Got the lot here — another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. As Persephone was placed on a matching stool next to the boy, the girl thought that if she were to stick her nose into the air, they would have made for a very funny, pale, gloomy-looking pair.

As Madam Malkin slipped a robe over the girl’s head and began to pin it at the right length, the boy looked casually over at her.  

“Hello,” said the boy, “Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes,” said Persephone.

“My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

Persephone was strongly reminded of Dudley.

“Have you got your own broom?” the boy went on.

“No.”

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“No.” Persephone was beginning to feel a bit sullen, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

“I do—Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”

“No,” Persephone muttered. Now she was starting feeling more stupid by the minute.

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmm,” said Persephone, wishing the boy could say something a bit more interesting.

“I say, look at that man!” said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Persephone and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn’t come in.

“That’s Hagrid,” Persephone told him, pleased to know something the boy didn’t. “He works at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” said the boy, “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?”

“He’s the gamekeeper,” the girl said carefully, eyeing the boy. She was liking him less and less every second.

“Yes, exactly. I heard he’s a sort of savage — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.”

“I think he’s brilliant,” Persephone hissed coldly.

“Do you?” said the boy, with a slight sneer. “Why is he with you? Where are your parents?”

“They’re dead,” Persephone returned shortly. She certainly didn’t feel like going into the matter with this boy.

“Oh, sorry,” said the other, not sounding sorry at all. “But they were our kind, weren’t they?”

“They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean.”

“I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname, anyway?”

But before Persephone could answer, Madam Malkin said, “That’s you done, my dear,” and the girl, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool.

“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” said the drawling boy.

Persephone was rather quiet as she ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought her.

“What’s up?” said Hagrid.

“Nothing,” the girl lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. The girl cheered up a bit when she found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote. When they had left the shop, she finally asked, “Hagrid, what’s Quidditch?”

“Blimey, Persephone, I keep forgettin’ how little yeh know — not knowin’ about Quidditch!”

“Don’t make me feel worse,” the girl said glumly. She told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Malkin’s. “— and he said people from Muggle families shouldn’t even be allowed in—”

“Yer not from a Muggle family. If he’d known who yeh were—he’s grown up knowin’ yer name if his parents are wizardin’ folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o’ the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in ‘em in a long line o’ Muggles—look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!”

The girl tucked this bit of information away to examine more closely in the future. In the meantime, she had questions that needed answered. She wanted to fit in after all, and that was quite difficult to do when she knew next to nothing.

“So, what is Quidditch?”

“It’s our sport. Wizard sport. It’s like—like football in the Muggle world—everyone follows Quidditch—played up in the air on broomsticks and there’s four balls—sorta hard ter explain the rules.”

That was good enough for her. “And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?”

“School houses. There’s four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o’ duffers, but —”

“Well, what are the other two?” the girl demanded.

“Gryffindor and Ravenclaw,” Hagrid supplied helpfully. “They’re all named after the witches an’ wizards tha’ started the school. Just avoid the Slytherins. There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one.”

“Vol-, sorry—You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?”

“Years an’ years ago,” said Hagrid.

Their next stop was a shop called Flourish and Blotts where she had quite a few required books to purchase. Once inside the cramped, dusty establishment, the girl stared around in surprise. The shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather. But there were also books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk, books full of peculiar symbols, and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag Persephone away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch  Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

“I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley.”

“I’m not sayin’ that’s not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances,” said Hagrid. “An’ anyway, yeh couldn’ work any of them curses yet, yeh’ll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level.”

The girl sullenly put the book back and decided to flip through one of the tomes with odd symbols. On her way over, she passed a girl that looked like she was reading one fervently. Persephone paused, looking at the girl who seemed to be around her age. Persephone desperately craved some acquaintances her own age, but was a little afraid to approach anyone after the disaster that was the boy in the robe shop. Luckily, this girl was so focused on reading that she did not notice Persephone, much less the girl hovering in deliberation.

Finally, the dark-haired girl sucked in a deep breath in order to steel herself, thrust her hand out between the girl’s nose and her book, and said, “My name’s Persephone Potter. What’s yours?”

“Oh!” the girl exclaimed in surprise, blinking at the proffered hand.

Persephone fidgeted sheepishly, thinking that perhaps she could have introduced herself in a less awkward way. It wasn’t like she had much experience in the area. But, to her surprise, the other girl lowered her book and took the offered hand.

“Hermione Granger,” the girl said.

“Hermione, like from Greek mythology?” Persephone asked curiously. She had read all of the mythology books in the school library. It was the only thing one could do when their classmates avoided them and they had an odd name no one could pronounce.

“That’s right!” Hermione’s head bobbed eagerly as she leapt to her feet. “It’s from the Iliad. You’ve read it?”

Persephone didn’t want to disappoint her new friend, but she figured it’d be worse to lie. So, she ducked her head and said, “No, there was just this book in the library that was a compendium of Greek characters and little stories about them.”

“Oh, well, that’s cool too,” Hermione said warmly. Persephone looked up, surprised to find the other girl smiling at her. “I guess we would have had a similar interest in the subject, since you’re named after a goddess.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Persephone asked in wonder, pride swelling inside her. She had never thought of her name in that way. When she thought of Persephone, she always thought of a daughter who had been kidnapped—maybe because she often wished she would be whisked away from the Dursleys.

“Are you going into your first year too?” Persephone asked the other girl hopefully. She breathed a sigh of relief when Hermione bobbed her head in affirmation once more. “Great! I’ve got to buy my books but…friends?”

“Friends!” Hermione smiled excitedly.

Persephone waved at her, and then headed off to catch up with Hagrid and buy her books, her exploration of the shop forgotten in the wake of making her very first friend.

And so, books entered our lives.

After the bookstore, Persephone and Hagrid got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope, which then led them to the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Persephone, the girl examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Persephone’s list again.

“Just yer wand left—Oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.”

The girl felt herself go red. The man had already gotten her an ice cream (something she had never had before) without asking. It was beginning to get a bit beyond strange, now.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at—an’ I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze.” The girl smirked in response to this. “I’ll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, carry yer mail an’ everythin’.”

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Persephone now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. The girl vacantly thought she ought to be saying thank you, but she all she was able to manage was a breathless stare at the living creature in her grasp. Finally, however, she stammered out her thanks.

“Don’ mention it,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Don’ expect you’ve had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now—only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.”

A magic wand… this was what Persephone had been really looking forward to. A magic wand would truly make her a witch.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. Hagrid remained outside, shooing her towards the door.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop, and the girl registered a possible reason why Hagrid hadn’t followed along. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair. The back of Persephone’s neck tingled, and she patted her hair down in response, swallowing as she looked about the silent shop. Quietly, she looked around at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. Dust motes floated, drifting along in the air as they were illuminated by sunbeams that spilled in through the narrow windows.

All in all, the result was very magical and mysterious.

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Persephone jumped and turned, trying to calm her now wildly pounding heart.

An old man was standing behind a tall desk that separated the tiny space from the shelves of books. His wide, pale eyes were shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

“Hello,” the girl whispered in response.

“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon, Persephone.” Of course, he knew her. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to the girl. The girl wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

“Your father, on the other hand, favored an ebony wand. Thirteen and a quarter inches. Unyielding. A little more power and excellent for defensive spells. Well, I say your father favored it—it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”

Mr. Ollivander the man’s eyes seemed to settle on the girl’s forehead. She brushed her hair forward with her fingers slightly, knowing what he was looking at.

Ever since she could remember, she had had that lightning bolt scar. At one time, she had liked it—it was one of the few unique things about her, like her odd name and lithe build. But now, she found her heart sinking as she remembered Hagrid telling her that it was the only thing left behind of Voldemort’s attempt on her life.

“And that’s where…”

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Persephone’s forehead with a long, white finger.

“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,” he said softly. “Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”

He shook his head and then, to Persephone’s unending relief, stepped away.

 “Well, now—Ms. Potter. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”

“Er—well, I’m right-handed,” the girl responded.

“Hold out your arm. That’s it.”

He measured Persephone from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Ms. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another witch’s wand.”

Persephone suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring the length of her right ear, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

“That will do,” he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. “Right then, Ms. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave.”

Persephone took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —”

The girl tried—but she had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

“No, no—here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.”

Persephone tried. And tried. She had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

The girl took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of green and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. The girl looked at the result with delight, and Mr. Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…”

He put Persephone’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious…curious…”

“Sorry,” the girl interrupted, “but what’s curious?”

Mr. Ollivander fixed Persephone with his pale stare.

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Ms. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar.”

Her breath hitched as it caught at the bottom of her throat.

“Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the witch, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Ms. Potter…After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.”

Persephone shivered. She wasn’t sure she liked Mr. Ollivander too much. She paid seven gold Galleons for the wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed her from his shop.

Do you remember? It was a serious book.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Persephone and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. The girl didn’t speak at all as they walked down the road; she didn’t even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Persephone’s lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; the girl only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped her on the shoulder.

“Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves,” he said.

He bought the girl a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Persephone kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow. It was as though she was seeing the world for the first time, but all the colors were too bright and the lines too clear. It made her blink solemnly, her head feeling a bit light—not unlike the buzzing sensation one receives after a good and long cry.

“You all right, Persephone? Yer very quiet,” said Hagrid.

The girl wasn’t sure she could explain. She’d just had the best birthday of his life — and yet — she chewed her hamburger, trying to find the words.

“Everyone thinks I’m special,” she said at last. “All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander… but I don’t know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I’m famous and I can’t even remember what I’m famous for. I don’t know what happened when Vol-, sorry — I mean, the night my parents died.”

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows, he wore a very kind smile.

“Don’ you worry, Persephone. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, ’smatter of fact.”

Hagrid helped the girl onto the train that would take her back to the Dursleys, then handed her an envelope.

“Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, “ he said. “First o’ September — King’s Cross — it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she’ll know where to find me…See yeh soon, Persephone.”

The train pulled out of the station. The girl wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; she rose in her seat and pressed her nose against the window, but she blinked, and Hagrid had gone. A pang tugged at her heart, and it struck the girl, not for the first time, that she was very, very alone.

We danced,

                            in our minds,

and read a book togther.                       

You remember?

                                       It was a serious book.

And so books                                            

entered our lives.