---

As they walked from Ollivander's back to the entrance to Diagon Alley, Melisha Pryce Tweedy chattered happily to Arthur Weasley, "Can you imagine, Mr. Weasley, why, I had no idea my family was so important! Of course, that does explain a good deal. My late father never did know how to keep two shillings in his pocket, but I suppose we can't blame him for that, having had the misfortune of being raised by a squib. A pity, really; I'm certain my father would have made an exceptional Wizard, if he'd had the power. I'm sorry you couldn't know him, Mr. Weasley, he was a charming man, really--"
"Mum," Jane called. She had been reading over her equipment list one last time to be certain she had all they'd come for, and now she hastened to catch up to them, and tugged her mother's sleeve. "Mum, how much money do we have left?"
"I don't know, Jane," Mrs. Tweedy sighed, a bit cross at having been interrupted. "Why?" she opened her handbag and poked among the coins. "Have you forgotten something?"
"No, but this says I can bring a pet," she held up the parchment. "May I, Mum? Please?" she appealed. "Do we have enough left?"
"Well, Mr. Weasley?" Mrs. Tweedy displayed to him the contents of her purse, and he nodded.
"Oh, yes, plenty for that. And it is a good idea, Mrs. Tweedy; lots of first years bring pets, it can help with the homesickness."
"Very well, Jane," her mother agreed. They were within sight of The Magical Menagerie, and Melisha observed a variety of cats lounging in the window. "I suppose a black cat is the proper pet for a Witch, am I correct, Mr. Weasley?" She had approached the glass and was contemplating a sleek, black feline with golden eyes.
"Cats are common, of course," said Arthur, "but, really, the best sort of thing to have is an owl. Because of delivering the post, you see. Having an owl is like having your own private delivery service, and it will make it easier for you to keep in touch with Jane while she's at school. And they do make excellent pets, very devoted and intelligent."
"Ooh, Mum, may I have an owl?" Jane asked, excitedly.
Mrs. Tweedy had her doubts; owls seemed a bit too similar to chickens for her comfort, but Arthur was already pointing Jane toward Eelops Owl Emporium, up the way, and the girl was skipping off to pick out her new friend.
The owl shop was dark and close, and filled with the sounds of flapping and feathers... It gave Mrs. Tweedy the sense of being trapped in an immense chicken hut, and she shuddered a bit as she whispered, "I'm glad we didn't bring your father here, Jane, I'm not certain he could tolerate this."
Jane was fascinated with the place, however, and examined the owls around her with eager curiosity. There was a soft, trilling sort of hootle behind her shoulder, and she looked to see where it had come from. A smallish sort of owl, with a squat, rounded shape, was looking right at her with its round, greenish-yellow eyes. It was a rusty red color, its breast laced with white, and two red tufts over the eyes gave the impression of upswept eyebrows and lent the owl a rather critical expression. The broad, short head was tilted slightly, and the owl trilled again. It seemed to Jane that the owl was saying, "And whoooo are you?"
"Hello," the girl said softly. "I'm Jane. Who are you?"
The owl trilled again in reply, and Mr. Eelops, who was lurking quietly over her shoulder, murmured, "Eastern Screech Owl, Female. All the way from North America, very fine specimen. She appears rather taken with you," he confided.
"She's pretty," Jane nodded. "Mum, can I have her?"
"If that's the one you want, Jane, yes, take her and let's go," said Melisha, already retreating toward the exit.
"Give her your arm," Mr. Eelops said, "and see if she'll take it."
Jane raised her arm as he showed her and the owl promptly flapped a bit and moved to perch on her new owner's wrist.
"There," he smiled, "she's yours now. You'll want a cage for her. Come up to the front." "Does she have a name?" Jane asked, carrying the owl carefully.
"No, that's up to you. But be careful!" he warned sharply. "Owls are particular about names. Once you've called her something, you won't be able to change it, so choose wisely."
Melisha, having had enough of the owlery, handed Jane her purse and said, "There, you pay for it. I'll wait for you outside."
Jane came out with her owl in a nice, round cage, and Arthur said, "Oh, she's a beauty, Jane, well done. Have you thought of a name yet?"
"I don't know. Mum, what do you think?"
Out in the fresh air once more, and having had a better look at the intelligent expression and most un-chickenlike dignity of this feathered creature, Melisha had begun to calm down. "You know," she mused, "thinking of my father... We had a -- chicken," she choked a bit on the word, "very briefly, when I was a girl. My father gave her a name, which was ridiculous, of course; what does a chicken want with a name. But your owl might not mind it. He called her--"
"Shh!" Jane held up a finger and glanced warily at the owl. "Mr. Eelops says you have to be careful. You'd better whisper it first, before I decide."
Melisha bent down to her daughter and confided the name she had in mind. Jane nodded. "I like that. I think it suits her. How about that?" she raised the cage and addressed the owl. "Would you answer to Eglantine?"

Arthur left them at the station, full of instructions for how to dispatch Eglantine with Jane's acceptance letter, and how to board the Hogwarts Express when the time came. "It's been a pleasure to meet both of you," he shook hands solemnly with Mrs. Tweedy, and with Jane. "If you think of any other questions, or if I can be of any other help to you, send a note with Eglantine; she'll find me. Good luck at Hogwarts," he winked at Jane, and took his leave of them. Mrs. Tweedy and her daughter, loaded with odd parcels and the owl cage, covered with a cloth, rode home to York on the train.

Mr. Tweedy had closed the shop for the evening, and was waiting upstairs for them when they came home.
"Dad, look! Look what I've got!" Jane set the big cage, still covered, on the kitchen table.
"Mr. Tweedy, you will not believe all the things I've learned today," his wife was beaming smugly.
"Look," Jane was still gushing, as she pulled the cloth from the cage. Mr. Tweedy recoiled at the first glimpse of all those ruddy feathers, but Eglantine, who had had her back to him, twisted her head around and trilled scoldingly at him, as if to say, What's the matter with you?
"Oh," he breathed a little easier as his eyes focused, "it's an owl, isn't it? I thought -- all those feathers, well, it put me in mind of -- you know." He gave Jane a look, and she smiled.
"Don't worry, Dad, it's not one of those. Mum said it was a good thing you weren't in the owl shop. She thought it would have upset you."
"It upset me," Melisha muttered.
"It's a fine owl, Janie," her father answered bravely, venturing a bit closer.
"It's a she," Jane informed him, "and I've decided to call her Eglantine. Mum gave me the idea."
"Ah," said Mr. Tweedy, staring with increasing interest in Eglantine, who turned on her perch to face him and blinked her big, round eyes. "You know, luv," he addressed his wife, "I can't help thinking -- it's all in me head, I know," he coughed deferentially, "but -- doesn't this owl of Jane's look a good bit like that old stuffed owl we used to have? The one that came from your Aunt?"
Melisha Tweedy, who had been rummaging among the packages in search of Jane's wand, started and stiffened at these words as if she'd just been smacked on the head. Eyes and mouth wide in shock, she gasped and stared at Eglantine. She looked as if she wanted to speak, but nothing came out of her but a faint squawk.
"Mum!" Jane scrambled to catch her by the elbow.
"Mrs. Tweedy!" her husband snatched the other arm, and they steered her over a chair before she sat down on the floor. Melisha pointed at the cage and exclaimed, with an excited spark in her eyes, "The owl!" Seizing Mr. Tweedy's hand, she jabbered at him, "That was Aunt Lucretia's OWL!"
"Yes, luv, I know, she left it to your father's sister, who left it to you; I remember when it came, you thought it was going to be some money, and--"
"No! No!" Melisha couldn't make him understand. "Lucretia Pryce was a Witch! That was her owl! What was his name? That plaque, on the case, that we never could understand, that was his name!"
Mr. Tweedy glanced anxiously at Jane as he patted his wife's hand. "Now, luv, I think all this Wizard business has got you worked up. I know your Aunt Lucretia was an odd old lady, but..."
Mrs. Tweedy glared sharply at him. "My Aunt was not odd. She was a Witch, just like Jane! Mr. Ollivander said so. The Pryces -- my family, Mr. Tweedy," she impressed upon him, "the Pryces are a very fine old Wizarding family. He knew exactly who they were. He knew Lucretia Pryce, even knew what her wand was made of. That was her owl."
"Mr. -- Olly-whatsis, luv?"
"He's the man from the wand shop," Jane explained. "He's really old, and sort of spooky, and he kept trying to guess what sort of wand Mum had. He talked about her Aunt, and her Grandfather, in the painting, he was a squib, and--"
"And the Pryces were Wizards," said Melisha again, with shining eyes. "My family!" Suddenly remembering the original point of the conversation, she pounced to her feet. "And that was Aunt Lucretia's owl, and I want it! Where is it?!"
"I -- I don't know, luv," her husband answered, still muddled by all this chatter about squibs and wands and such.
"It's here, somewhere," she insisted, irrationally opening and slamming kitchen cupboards in search of the bird. "I know we brought it from the farm," in her excitement, she even forgot to choke on the hated word. It was true, the stuffed owl had made the move to York, only because it had belonged to her family, and Melisha didn't want that nosy Vera Rushton poking around among her belongings. "Where is it? It didn't fly out the window!" she was fretting, still looking in the most unlikely corners.
"Mum. Mum!" Jane raised her voice just enough to get her mother's attention. "I think it's in the props cupboard."
"The what?" Mrs. Tweedy glanced around the kitchen, puzzled.
"No, downstairs, in the shop," Jane pointed at the floor. "Dad was using it in his photographs, remember?"
"Oh, ah," Mr. Tweedy nodded, "you're right, Janie! I'd forgotten that. When the Grayson boy came in, before he went off to university. I put the owl in with him, to make him look more scholarly."
"Too bad the owl looked smarter than he did," Jane snickered, and her father gave her a gently scolding look.
Mrs. Tweedy was not present for this father-daughter moment, however; she had made a beeline for the stairs at the word, "shop." Going down after her, they found her rummaging in the small room where the various props and set pieces used in the photographs were kept. "Ah!" she discovered the owl and snatched it from the shelf, hugging the glass dome to her breast. "Here he is!" Squinting at the wooden base, she frowned. "I still can't read this."
"Bring it out into the light," Mr. Tweedy reached for it and she slapped his hand away.
"Don't, you'll put fingerprints on it." Carrying it out, herself, she took another look and deciphered the plaque: Ascalaphus. She sounded it out as, "ASK-a-LAY-fuss. He's a very handsome, owl, really," Melisha held up the case and smiled at the bird inside. "Aunt Lucretia must have been very fond of him."
Mr. Tweedy wisely refrained from reminding her that she'd called the poor bird a Filthy, Moldy Old Thing when it had first come into her possession.
"He does look a bit like Eglantine, doesn't he?" Jane noted. "Dad," she looked at him, suddenly inspired, "would you take my photograph with Eglantine? Before I go to Hogwarts?"
"Of course, sweetheart," he reached out and put an arm around her. "I'll want to take a good lot of photographs of you before you go away."

Mrs. Tweedy wrote a formal and flowery acceptance letter to Hogwarts, taking particular pains to make reference to Jane's (and her own) illustrious Wizarding ancestry. Jane, with much anxiety, dispatched Eglantine as Arthur Weasley had instructed, and was relieved when the owl came home, two days later, with a reply.

"'Dear Miss Tweedy,'" she read it out for her parents benefit, "'We look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts on 1 September. Please inform your mother that I have no doubt you will do credit to your family. Yours sincerely, Prof. Albus Dumbledore.'"
"That is kind of him, I must say," noted Melisha, with a satisfied smile. "This Professor Dumbledore seems a very nice gentleman, indeed."
Jane, who had read her mother's gushing letter to the school, had the funniest feeling that the Professor had written his remark with a bit of a wink, but she made no comment to this effect. After all, she hadn't even met him yet.

The remaining days sped by. Mr. Tweedy took no end of photographs of his daughter, including a lovely formal portrait of Jane in her robes, with Eglantine, that he knew he was going to have a terrible time convincing his wife not to hang in the shop window. After his initial hesitation toward her, Mr. Tweedy had grown quite fond of the owl, and was always feeding her from his plate.
"Mr. Tweedy, if you keep stuffing that owl with food, she'll be too fat to fly!" his wife admonished.
"It's only a bit of bacon, luv," he would answer. "She is fond of it, you know. Aren't you, old girl?" he would coo, in a friendly manner, and Eglantine would give him a friendly reply.
"Well, I hope you'll be satisfied when we have no news from Jane because that poor owl can't get off her perch!"
"Oh, she'll find a way, won't you, old girl?" And he would offer a piece of muffin to go with Eglantine's bacon.
By the time September arrived, Jane suspected her father would miss Eglantine nearly as much as he would miss her.

The 30th of August was Jane's eleventh birthday, and the dinner her mother fixed, with cake and ice cream to follow, doubled as a going-away party. That night, Jane slept in her own bed, in her own tiny bedroom, for what would be the last time until the Christmas holidays came. The next day, they closed the shop, and all three Tweedys went to London. They spent the night before Jane was to leave in a hotel there, so she'd be at King's Cross station in plenty of time to catch the train to Hogwarts. Arthur Weasley had explained very carefully about Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and how you had to walk through it without flinching, even when it looked certain you were about to flatten your nose on the barrier. "Just remember the Leaky Cauldron," he'd advised -- but Jane had been able to see the Leaky Cauldron. Now she was standing in the middle of the railway station, Mum and Dad comfortingly close to her, with her trunk on a cart and Eglantine's cage, covered with a checkered cloth, perched on the trunk, and the barrier looked very solid, and suddenly what she was about to do seemed impossible.
Melisha squeezed her daughter's shoulder and whispered, curious, "Can you see the platform?"
"No, Mum," Jane answered under her breath. "It's not like the pub at all; I can't see any more than you can."
"Well," Mr. Tweedy considered, "we've come this far, and everything's turned out as you've been told, so, if that young Mr. Weasel says there's a platform..."
"Weasley," Melisha corrected him automatically.
"You're right, Dad," Jane nodded, still looking nervously at the barrier. "I suppose I'd better try it." She took a deep breath. "Arthur said all you have to do is walk through."
"You'll be all right, sweetheart," her father assured her. "We'll stay right here and watch you go."
"Have you got everything?" her mother looked her over one last time. "You're certain you can manage that trunk?"
"Yes, Mum."
"Send word with Eglantine when you get there," said Dad, "let us know you're safe."
"I will. I love you."
She hugged him, and he answered, "I love you, Janie. Be careful. Don't talk to any strange goblins, or—or--"
"Stop fussing, Mr. Tweedy, she'll be fine," said his wife, although she looked just as anxious as he did. "Now, remember what Arthur told you, go quickly and don't flinch. Oh, my little baby!" she finally gave way to a brief sob as she hugged her child tight. "Have a lovely time, and write every day, and," she took Jane's face in her hands and regarded her with a great, glowing smile, "make your Mother proud!"

With a last farewell, Jane lined up her cart with the barrier, got a good grip on Eglantine's cage, and set off at a brisk walk. Don't stop, don't stop, she chanted to herself in rhythm with her steps and as she reached the barrier... IT WORKED!! She was moving at such a clip, she went several paces past the gate before she could slow down. When she turned around and looked back, she could see her parents, still standing where she had left them, staring intently at the spot where she'd vanished. She risked a tentative wave at them, but it was obvious they could no longer see her. She scooted her belongings off to one side, out of the traffic, and watched for a moment while Mum and Dad said something to each other, decided she had gone, and walked off arm in arm. She was going to miss them.

"Well, Eglantine," Jane pulled the cloth off the cage now that there was no reason to keep the owl hidden, "which way do we go?" The platform was already crowded with students and their families. She wondered if any of the other parents were Muggles, like hers. She hoped so, then maybe next time, Mum and Dad could come all the way to the train with her. Surveying the clusters of people, she felt very small and alone, and found herself wishing they'd asked Arthur Weasley to come along and put her on the train. She had no idea where to go next, and kept an eye out for any helpful signs as she slowly pushed her trunk across the platform. She had just paused for a moment to get her bearings, when somewhere behind her she heard a boy shout, "Look out, there! Heads up!" Jane glanced back, and let out a shriek; a heavy, black ball was hurtling straight for her head. She felt it whistle past as she ducked, then there was a terrible clatter of metal as it caught the cage on top of her trunk and sent it flying.
"EGLANTINE!" Jane screamed, dropping the trunk and sprinting after her. The owl cage was rolling on its side, and the owl was flapping about inside it and hooting in a frenzy. A big, sandy-haired girl wearing a Prefect's badge dashed over and stopped the cage, carefully picking it up and talking to the bird, who was a furious bundle of ruffled feathers. "My owl!" exclaimed Jane, running up to the girl.
"She's all right," the big girl assured her kindly, handing over the cage. "A little shaken up, that's all."
Jane glared around angrily behind herself and demanded, "Who did that!? Someone threw something at me!"
"Sorry," a voice called out, the same one that had shouted ‘Heads up!' "Sorry, that was me," said the boy, jogging up to them. He was about Jane's height, but husky, with blue eyes and blond hair. He gave the Prefect a sheepish grin and said, "Accidental, really, I was just showing some of my brother's friends--"
"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?" Jane Tweedy shouted at the boy, in a tone that would have made her mother proud. "You could have KILLED Eglantine!"
The Prefect shook her head at him with a stern but good-humoured look. "No Quidditch tryouts until we reach the school, young man. And I'd better not see another bludger till then."
"No, sorry," he assured her, pink-cheeked. "My brother put me up to it, really..." he tried again to explain, and looked appealingly at Jane. "Your owl's all right, isn't he?"
"He's a she," corrected Jane curtly. "And I suppose she is," she'd been examining the bird during their discussion of Quidditch and bludgers. "No thanks to you."
"All right," the Prefect put a calming arm around Jane's shoulders and told the boy, "You'd better get on board, now." He was just backing away when the big girl winked at him, though, and said, "I hope you're in Gryffindor, young fellow. We could use a good Beater."
He grinned at her, started to apologize again to Jane but thought better of it, and went bounding off toward the train.
"All right, now?" the Prefect asked her, and Jane nodded.
Before the girl could leave her, Jane asked, "Do-- do you know where I'm supposed to go? I'm a first year, you see, and..."
"Come on," the Prefect smiled at her, "let's go get your trunk. You're Muggle-born, aren't you?" she asked, in a friendly way.
"Yes," Jane admitted, feeling a bit awkward about it.
"So am I," said the girl. "My Dad nearly didn't let me come, he thought it was crazy. Now he couldn't be prouder. What's your name?"
"Jane Tweedy."
"I'm Cathy Foster. I'm a Gryffindor Prefect," she noted, flashing her badge.
"Do you know Arthur Weasley?" Jane asked. "Only, he came to fetch me, took me to buy my things, since I didn't know how."
"Arthur," Cathy laughed, "he's a character, isn't he? He was a Prefect when I started at Hogwarts. Never stopped asking me about Muggle this, Muggle that. He's still got some of my Beatles records. I've no idea if he ever worked out how to play them." They had gotten Jane's trunk upright, and Cathy now pointed her across the platform. "See that man in the blue hat? He'll take care of your trunk. Be sure you have your robes. Keep your owl, she'll go in the compartment with you. Then get on board, start about here," she pointed at the nearest car, "and work your way back till you find a seat. Have you got some money on you?" she asked.
"A little," Jane hedged, not knowing what the question was for.
"The tea cart will come round once we've started," Cathy explained. "Try the Cauldron Cakes," she smiled. "And beware of anyone bearing Bertie Bott's Beans."
"All right," Jane nodded solemnly.
"Better hurry," said Cathy. "I've got to get up front with the seventh-years. See you at the sorting, Miss Tweedy!"

Jane followed Cathy's instructions, and was relieved of her heavy trunk. Still toting Eglantine, who was busily working at making herself tidy after her brief adventure, she climbed up into the nearest car. It was already full of students, most of them older than she was; third years, she would have guessed. Squeezing through the aisle, she made her way back to the next car, which was rapidly filling up. Spotting a compartment with the door still open, toward the rear of the car, she headed for it. As she reached it and paused to look inside, someone pushed past her from behind, shoving her through the door. The boy and two girls already in their seats all glared at her intrusion.
"Do you mind?" sniffed the boy.
The shorter of the two girls curled her lip and said, "First years to the back."
The taller girl had a black and white cat on her lap, who hissed at Eglantine and crouched as if he meant to spring on her. Feeling Eglantine had put up with enough distress already today, Jane backed hastily out of the compartment, as the boy got up to slam the door on her.
As she stumbled back into the aisle, she trod on someone squeezing by behind her.

"Whoops!" said the other girl, putting a hand on Jane's back to steady her.
"Sorry," Jane muttered, feeling stupid and clumsy. "I didn't mean to -- are you all right?"
"No harm done," the girl assured her, her hand still on Jane's shoulder. "Are you all right?"
Jane sighed, and beat back an uncomfortable, salty feeling around her eyes by twisting up the corners of her thin mouth. "I would be, if I could only work out where I'm supposed to go."
The other girl had had a glimpse of the rude students in the compartment, and remarked, with a dry smile, "Slytherin hospitality, eh? First year?" she asked Jane cheerfully.
Was it that obvious? Jane wondered. "Yes."
"So am I. It is confusing, isn't it? I wish my parents could have come," the girl confessed, and for a moment Jane wondered if she was Muggle-born, too, before she went on: "They told me what to expect, of course, but it's all a bit overwhelming when you're actually in the middle of it. Come on, let's go find a spot in the next car," she invited, and Jane followed her. "I'm Irene Lupin, by the way," the girl said over her shoulder. She pronounced it eye-ree-nee.
"I'm Jane Tweedy," she answered. Irene Lupin was perfectly ordinary for her age, in terms of height and build; shorter than Jane, and, though slender, not as thin. But even someone who knew nothing about the Wizarding world would have pegged her as odd; she had striking grey eyes, and a longish sort of nose, and a mouth that curled naturally into a gentle smile. Her soft brown hair, its frayed ends long enough to brush her shoulders, was fastened behind her neck with a clasp of wood and leather. Her simple, brown dress and shoes belonged to no era of fashion known to Jane. She was toting a canvas bag over her shoulder, and carrying an enormous cage. Inside the cage was a yellow barn owl with a white, heart-shaped face, and a wide-eyed, startled expression. The barn owl was putting up an great, protesting racket at his situation, and he was making a noise nothing at all like the sounds Eglantine made. He sounded nothing at all, in fact, like anything Jane would have called an owl. He was shuttling back and forth on his perch and making a sound something like, "ScrrrrrrrreeeAUK-auk-auk-auk-gree-AUK!" with a long, rolling trill on the R, and an indignant squawk at the finish.
"I know, Mr. Grumpy," Irene spoke to him in a fond voice as he kept at this, "you don't like being cooped up. Don't worry, I'll let you out once we're settled."
There was still plenty of space in the last car, and Jane continued to follow her new friend, content to let her choose their spot. Her ears finally caught a racket other than the one being raised by Mr. Grumpy the Owl (Jane wondered if that was really his name -- it did seem to suit him), and they became aware of pounding coming from behind a closed compartment door about halfway along. A boy was beating on the inside of the door and shouting.
"All right, you're very funny. Ha ha ha, see, I'm laughing! You can let me out now! Come on, Otto," he banged on the door some more, "open the door! You'll get a howler from Mother if you don't let me out of here," he warned, in a not very threatening voice, then pleaded, chuckling, again, "Oh, come on..."
As they came up to the door, Jane had a very bad feeling that she knew that voice. Irene took hold of the handle and opened the door, without any resistance at all, and the two girls were face to face with the husky blond boy who had hit Eglantine with the bludger.
"You again?" said Jane.
"Oh, hullo!" he grinned at her in recognition. "Thanks for opening the door," he glanced between them. "I thought I'd never get out of here!"
"The handle works from both sides, you know," Jane raised an eyebrow at his stupidity.
He chuckled good-naturedly at this and explained, "Oh, it's my brother again. He and his friends locked me in, put some sort of charm on the door, opens from the outside but not from inside. I hate being a first year," he lamented. "I'll be glad when I've learned enough to get back at them."
Irene smiled sympathetically and asked, "Would you mind if we share your compartment? The train's really filling up."
"Oh, come on in," he squeezed out and swapped places with them. "I'm not staying, anyway; you can have it all to yourselves. How's the owl? Feeling better?" he asked Jane, poking a finger through the bars of Eglantine's cage.
"She's fine," Jane pulled the cage away, retreating into the compartment.
"Good. I'm glad to hear it." Again, he looked for a moment as if he might say something else to her, but was deterred by her frown. Instead, he tried Irene's temperament by saying, "Thanks, again," and pushing off down the aisle.
"Who was that?" Irene asked, curious, as she closed the compartment door behind her.
"I don't know," Jane grumbled. "He nearly hit me in the head on the platform; knocked Eglantine's cage over, and frightened her half to death. He's an idiot, as far as I can tell."
Irene set the enormous owl cage on the seat and unfastened the door. Jane ducked as the barn owl swooped out, flapped around the compartment two or three times, and settled by the window. "There," said Irene to her pet, "I hope you feel better now."
He made a sound something closer to an ordinary hoot this time, but still with a funny trill to it. Irene glanced at Eglantine's cage and told Jane, "You can let her out as well, if you want. It's all right in here."
Jane opened her own cage, but Eglantine was busy preening and didn't bother coming out. Irene set her cage on the floor, in front of the seat where Eglantine's was, and sat down by the window. She began stroking the barn owl's chest with a gentle finger, and he responded by making a contented, clicking sound in his throat.
"Is his name really Mr. Grumpy?" Jane asked, sitting down opposite her.
"Oh, no," Irene smiled, "that's just my teasing him. His real name is Copernicus."
"Oh, like the astronomer, you mean?"
"I suppose so," the brown-haired girl considered. "That's the name he came with, anyway. It took me forever to find out, and he won't answer to anything else."
"Didn't they tell you at the shop?" Jane wondered. "If he already had a name?"
"He didn't come from a shop. I found him. It was a couple of years ago, in the woods; he'd had a wing torn up. I took him home, and my parents helped me nurse him. They know all about magical creatures, that's their specialty. We thought he must have belonged to someone else, they put out notices in the Daily Prophet and everything, but no one claimed him. I wanted to keep him, but he wouldn't answer to anything. And, once his wing was mended, he flew off. I thought he must have gone home, I didn't think I'd see him again. Then one day, he turned up, with a note on his leg." Irene was wearing around her neck what looked like some sort of woven talisman, but Jane realized when she reached into it that it was really a small purse. "It was a note from the woman who'd had him before me," she explained, fishing in the little bag and pulling out a worn scrap of paper. "She'd raised him from an egg, and let him go to find his destiny, and she hoped we'd be very happy together. His name was Copernicus, and he'd grown up right alongside her own children..." Irene had gotten the little scrap of paper unfolded and, finding the passage she wanted, read from it, "Edison, Newton and Morag. See?" she held out the slip to Jane, who took it, and squinted at the handwriting.
"How can you read this? It looks like hen scratches! And what sort of a name is Morag, anyway?"
"It's Auld Scottish," said Irene, affecting a bit of a brogue. "I think she must be from Scotland," she took the note back from Jane, examining it again before she put it away. "I'd like to meet her someday, if Copernicus would take me to her," Irene stroked the owl again. "After I have my broom, of course."

There was a thump and a clunk in the aisle just then, as if someone had fallen against their compartment, and as they looked over at the door, it opened to admit a head. It was that same, husky, blond boy again, and at the sight of him, Jane rolled her eyes slightly and sighed through her nose.
"Don't suppose you've got a seat left in here?" he asked, with that goofy grin, and admitted in his cheerfully sheepish way, "Having trouble finding a space."
"Come in," Irene invited, and the boy clambered over Copernicus' cage, which was half blocking the doorway, and fell into the seat next to her.
"Thanks. You wouldn't believe how packed it is! And of course everyone's cat and owl and toad has to have a seat of their own," he noted, with an oblivious smile.
Jane got up from her seat by the window, opposite Irene, and reached over the big owl cage to shut the compartment door. The boy noticed Eglantine's cage in the seat beside her, and poked his finger through the bars again. "How are we doing, old chap?"
"For the last time," said Jane, "it's a she, and her name is Eglantine."
"Didn't you bring a pet?" Irene asked him.
"Oh, no. Too much trouble. I can always borrow Otto's owl if I need him. Otto's my brother, he's a third year."
Irene nodded at this and asked, "What's your name?"
"Oh, sorry, didn't we do that yet? I'm Ludo Bagman."
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Ludo," she said. "This is Jane Tweedy, and I'm Irene Lupin."
"Hullo, hullo," Ludo beamed, nodding at both of them, then he looked at Irene with a new curiosity. "Lupin? You're not related to the dangerous-creature Lupins, are you? The ones that write all the books?"
"Renard and Isolde," Irene smiled modestly. "They're my parents."
"Really!" Ludo looked mightily impressed at this. "We read their book on ‘Mysteries of the Moors' in school last year. It was great! That part with the Hinkypunks, brrr, that was really scary!" He turned his attention to Jane and asked, "Have you read that?"
"No," answered Jane shortly.
"No?" Ludo's blue eyes were round with surprise. "Well, you've read ‘My First Book of Dragons,' haven't you?"
"I can't say that I have," Jane remarked coolly, then, recalling that they were discussing a book by Irene's parents, she felt a little bad for her disinterested tone. Irene didn't seem bothered by it, though.
"Oh, come on," Ludo was laughing, "I don't know anyone who hasn't read that! I mean, you'd have to have grown up with the Muggles not to know the Dragon book!"
Jane folded her arms over her chest, gave a "HMPH!" and turned her face to the window.
"What?" he asked, thoroughly oblivious.
"Ludo," Irene said quietly, "Jane's mother and father are Muggles."
Jane looked at the other girl and frowned. "Is it that obvious?"
"No, not really," she answered reassuringly. "Not to most people, I'm sure. It's only that I--" Irene's smile turned shy when she spoke of herself, "I see things. My father thinks I have a knack for divination, but," she shook her head and shrugged one shoulder slightly, "I just notice. It's all right, Jane," she answered. "There's nothing at all wrong with coming from a Muggle family. We certainly don't mind, do we?" there was a sharpish glint to her gentle grey eyes as she flicked them toward the boy.
"Of course not," Ludo coughed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to-- Well, I mean, it's not your fault, is it, if your parents aren't--"
He shut up abruptly, and Jane suspected that Irene had silenced him with a well placed toe or elbow.
"I'll have you know," said Miss Tweedy, with a sniff, "that I come from a long line of Wizards. We've just been -- dormant. I'm descended from the Pryces. We're a very proud old family," she addressed this haughtily to Ludo Bagman.
The boy nodded vaguely in acknowledgement of this, but he was turning his attention again to Irene. "I say, are you good at divination? That must be handy, I wish I could see the future."
"Divination is about much more than seeing the future," Irene informed him gravely, then added again, "and I don't know that I am any good at it. We won't study it until our third year, you know."
Ignoring her protests entirely, Ludo pressed eagerly, "Can you see what houses we're going to be in?" Leaning across the compartment to confide in Jane, he explained, "There are four houses at Hogwarts, you see, and we're to be sorted into--"
"I know about the houses, and the sorting, Ludo, I'm not a complete idiot," Jane snapped at him, and he sat back and shut up.
"I'm pretty certain I'll go into Ravenclaw," Irene mused, "but that's not really divination. My father was a Ravenclaw, and I'm rather like him, I think. But my mother was a Gryffindor, and my little brother already has Gryffindor written all over him..." She choked slightly, smiled a bit, blinked a bit, and quickly reiterated, "But, I'll be very surprised if I'm not a Ravenclaw."
Jane had a noticing streak to her, as well, and she had caught the sudden, changing flashes of joy and pain that shaded Irene's eyes as she spoke of her brother. She was curious, but had no intention of discussing anything so personal in front of that dolt, Ludo, who was already blathering on, having noticed nothing.
"What about me?" he asked. "What do you think?"
"I don't know yet," Irene regarded him pensively. "You look a bit like a Hufflepuff, but looks can be deceiving..."
"Oh, no!" he exclaimed, with a loud laugh. "Not me! I don't want to be a Hufflepuff, they work too hard! And I know I'm not smart enough to be a Ravenclaw. I'd love to be a Gryffindor, Otto says they get away with murder! Well, not murder," he laughed reassuringly in Jane's direction. "But, everyone knows the Gryffindors do pretty well as they please. Mother's hoping for Slytherin, of course, she says I'd make the most useful friends there, maybe get a ministry post when I'm out. Just between us, though, I'm going to be a big Quidditch star," he winked at them.
"Is that divination," asked Jane, "or wishful thinking?"
"I really am good," he answered her, puffing up his burly young form. "I'm a beater, I've been playing in the Wee Wizard League in London since I was eight! I've got a Comet 220 at home, I tried to smuggle it in, but Mother caught me," he sulked.
"Quidditch," Jane scowled, and bit her lip. "Wasn't that your excuse for trying to kill my owl?"
"You're not still thinking about that, are you?" Ludo chuckled weakly. "Your owl's gotten over it." Indeed, Eglantine was dozing comfortably on her perch.

At this juncture, the sweets trolley clattered to a stop outside their compartment and Irene asked Ludo to open the door, so they could buy something. She fished some coins out of the purse that hung around her neck, and Jane took a handful of knuts and sickles out of her own pocket. Remembering Cathy Foster's instructions, Jane bought herself a cauldron cake, then Irene said, "Get yourself some Chocolate Frogs, too; they're the best."
"They're not real frogs, are they?" Jane muttered, in what she thought was an undertone, but Ludo heard her anyway and laughed at her.
"No, they're not frogs." Still chortling, he started patting his pockets, and declared, "Oh, blast! Otto must have pinched my money..."
Irene, both hands overflowing with Chocolate Frogs, dropped a few on the seat beside him and said, "Here, have some of these. Have you got enough, Jane?"
Jane had bought three packs of Frogs, and said she was fine. Irene piled the rest of her Frogs between herself and the window, and Copernicus, who had been quietly observing the scenery for most of the trip, became very excited and began bobbing up and down as he regarded the sweets.
"All right, all right, let me get it unwrapped first," Irene was laughing.
"Your owl eats chocolates?" Ludo marvelled.
"Is that good for him?" Jane wondered. Eglantine had stirred and looked around with her indignant expression at the flurry of activity, but showed no interest in the sweets.
"He doesn't eat anything he's supposed to," Irene admitted. "I've never seen him catch a single mouse, or rat, I don't think he even knows how. He likes fish and chips, of all things, and sausages, and he loves a toasted muffin with marmalade."
"Eglantine does, too," Jane laughed, pleased to find they had this in common. "And bacon, and pork chops with baked apples. My Dad's always feeding her things like that; she loves it."
"Coppy's favorite thing in the world is toffees, but of course they get all stuck in his beak," Irene laughed in turn. "He's an odd bird, really," she had unwrapped a Chocolate Frog for him, and he now had it clamped under one of his talons and was nipping happily at it. Irene peeped inside the wrapper and drew out something else. "Oh, good!" she exclaimed. "Paracelsus, I think Remus is still missing him, he'll be pleased."
Jane had opened her first Chocolate Frog and now let out a little squawk at what she found inside. "Irene!" She held the card by her fingertips and stared at it in amazement. "Look!"
"Oh, yes," Irene nodded, "they're trading cards, you see; my little brother's got an album started for his. They're pictures of Famous Witches and Wizards."
"But -- he's moving!" Jane held out the card for Irene's inspection. The Wizard on the front was a gentleman in the garb of a Tudor noble, who was, at the moment, looking rather annoyed.
"Of course he's moving," put in Ludo, who was busy pulling the cards out of the four packs Irene had given him. "What else would you expect him to do?"
"My father is a photographer, and his pictures hold still," Jane informed him. "Do all Wizard pictures move?" she asked Irene. "I mean, not just these," she held up the illustrated card, "but photographs, too?"
"Yes," Irene nodded. "Photographs, paintings, anything like that. Here, look." She licked the chocolate from her fingers and wiped them on her skirt before she reached into the purse around her neck again and drew out a worn, creased photo, just a couple of inches square. "This is my family. That's me, and my little brother, Remus. It's a bit old," Irene noted, as she handed it to Jane.
Looking up from the photograph were a man and a woman and two small children. The little girl was about six, and Jane clearly recognized Irene's grey eyes and soft smile on her. Little Irene had her arm around an even smaller boy, no more than three or so, with touseled brown hair and a wide-eyed, excited grin on his face as he waved at the viewer. Kneeling behind them were their happy parents, loving hands resting on their little ones. Mr. Lupin was slender, and looked strikingly like his daughter, right down to that calm, knowing smile; his intelligent, long-nosed face was unlined, but his ragged, flowing brown hair was even then subtly laced with grey. Mrs. Lupin's hair was a darker brown, neater and sleeker, braided back from her face. She had sparkling, dark eyes and, despite her delicate form and features, there was something resolute in her posture that said, ‘Don't misjudge me, I'm stronger than I look.'
"Is there--" Jane was still staring, dumbstruck, at the happy Lupin family, as Irene's mother hugged her laughing little boy and kissed his cheek. "Are there Wizard photographers, then? Who take moving pictures? Like this?" She handed the photo back. "Oh, of course," Irene nodded.
"Then that's what I'm going to do!" Jane declared, her whole face lit up with excitement, as she picked up the Wizard trading card again. "I've got to send some of these to my Dad, he'll be amazed! Who is this, anyway?" she finally asked, with a trace of a frown, as the Tudor gentleman rolled his eyes in genteel exasperation.
"Read the back," Irene motioned, her mouth full of chocolate.
Jane turned over the card and read out loud, "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington." She skimmed over the rest in silence, then remarked, "He was beheaded, no wonder he looks so cross. Listen to this: ‘Sir Nicholas now haunts Hogwarts School as the resident ghost of Gryffindor house, where he is popularly known among the students as Nearly-Headless Nick.'" Jane's eyes were round. "Hogwarts is haunted?"
"Oh, yes," Irene nodded. "It's ancient, you know; anyplace that old is bound to have ghosts. They're mostly harmless, I think."
Easy for her to toss off ‘mostly harmless' in that calm voice, thought Jane, still feeling creepy at the thought of ghosts.
"I'll take him off your hands, if you want," Ludo remarked casually, fanning through the cards he had unwrapped. "Here, I've got Merlin, even the Muggles know who he is. He's a good one, you'll want him if you're going to collect. I'll trade him for your headless fellow."
"I don't know," said Jane. Sir Nicholas had scratched his nose and shaken his head ever so slightly at her.
"I'll throw in Morgana," Ludo offered, holding up another card.
"You got a Morgana?" Irene raised her eyebrows. "Bother! That's three in this batch alone, not counting what else Jane may have. They're really overproducing her."
"Oh, you always end up with duplicates if you collect long enough," Ludo laughed, rather awkwardly, thought Jane, as he held out the cards of Merlin and Morgana again. "You've probably got another Nick whats-his-name in that stack already."
"I doubt it," said Irene, and there was a sharp glint in her grey eyes as she looked at Ludo. "I've heard that only a few of them were sent out. They say Sir Nicholas doesn't like being called Nearly-Headless, and he sent about a hundred owls to the makers, and nagged them till they stopped the card. I'd hold onto that if I were you, Jane," Irene advised, and Jane, with a quizzical glance at Ludo, pocketed the card. Her other two packs yielded an Agrippa, and a Wendelin the Weird, and Irene gave her one of her extra Morganas. And Irene Lupin, as she handed her last Chocolate Frog to Copernicus, remarked with a sweetly placid smile, "By the way, Ludo, you're going to Slytherin."

It was a long journey to Hogwarts, and night was falling as the train finally reached its destination. Irene, Ludo and Jane had all donned their long, black robes over their clothes, and a disembodied voice had filled their compartment and instructed them to leave all their baggage on the train.
"What about our owls?" Jane asked Irene, fastening the door of Eglantine's cage.
The Voice apparently could hear them, for it answered, "Owls remain on the train; they will be taken to the owlery."
"All right, Coppy, back in your cage," said Irene, and the barn owl ruffled his feathers and grumbled in his odd, not-quite-owlish way. She sighed, "I don't suppose either of you has a Chocolate Frog left."
"I've got some wrappers," Ludo offered. "Maybe he'll go in for those."
"He's an owl, Ludo," said Jane, "he's not stupid."
"Copernicus," Irene addressed him sternly, "if you don't go back in your cage right now, you're not having any more chocolates, ever. And when I meet your mother, I'm going to tell her what a naughty boy you are."
Copernicus made a noise that sounded just like owlish laughter, but when the train whistle blew, he did finally go back in his cage. The minute Irene shut the door on him, he started up that same, fussy racket he'd been making when Jane first saw him, and Irene said, "That won't do you any good now. I've got to go, I'll see you soon. Be good, like Eglantine; see how calm she is?"
Eglantine looked at Jane and hooted, as if to say, "Tidy your robes and be off with you," and Jane answered her, "I'll see you soon, too."

When the train stopped, they piled out onto the platform and huddled with the other students. The full moon provided so much illumination, there seemed hardly a need for any other light, but a lantern swinging from a pole bobbed above their heads and a resounding voice rolled over them, like the toll of a great bell.
"First year students this way, First years to me!"
The yellow lantern-light shone on the head of a man, with a swept-back crest of hair and weathered, hawk-like features.
"That's Ogg," Irene whispered. "The gamekeeper."
"LUPIN!" Ogg's head swiveled toward them; Jane couldn't believe he could possibly have heard Irene's words, but he was now looking right at them, and called out, "You're the Lupin girl!"
"Yes," Irene answered him bravely, while Jane tried to squeeze behind her.
"Come up front, Lupin, set an example for this flock of sheep. Come along with you!" he boomed, waving them forward with a broad, sun-browned hand. Jane, more afraid of losing Irene than of being dragged to the front of the crowd, laid hold of her friend's robe and followed.
"Lupin, you have a shadow," Ogg observed as they reached him, eyeing Jane sharply.
"This is my friend, sir, Jane Tweedy," Irene answered him. Jane still didn't know how she could be so calm; Ogg was, if anything, more frightening up close. His sharp eyes and upswept tangle of eyebrows made him look like a particularly fierce cousin to Eglantine.
"Tweedy. Lupin." He swung the lamp high to point their way. "Follow me. EVERYONE follow me. Tread carefully, no crowding." They were squeezed nearly single file down the path, which was so overgrown, not even the moonlight could reach it. Jane held the back of Irene's robes and tried not to trod on her heels. When the path at last opened up, they had come to the edge of a lake, where a number of little boats floated at the shore. Across the lake was a great, towering castle. The enormity of what she was about to do finally sank into Jane, and the twisting of her stomach made her sorry for a moment that she'd eaten all those sweets earlier. She lightly pressed her fistfull of robes against Irene's back, and was reassured to feel her friend quivering a bit, as well. "Into the boats," commanded Ogg. "No more than four to a boat, or you'll capsize and be devoured by the giant squid. Into the boats, into the boats," Ogg continued to herd the nervous first years.
"Is there really a giant squid?" Jane hissed to Irene, as they clambered to the front of a boat.
"Yes, Tweedy," came Ogg's voice from somewhere behind her, "there is. A giant squid. Room for one more over there," he pointed another lost lamb in the right direction.
Jane and Irene exchanged a look, but neither of them dared say another word. They had lost sight of Ludo somewhere back on the platform, and their boat was filled up by two boys they did not know. When Ogg had them all loaded up, he led them, in a boat of his own, across the lake to the castle.

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