Ranko sighed with relief as she slid from the open portal into the dark alley. She had begun to think she'd never manage to actually use the Wayfinder the way it was intended. Of course, there was still reason for concern, for she had been warned that when used without interference, the Wayfinder was likely to bring her to the sort of high action destiny-ridden places that would most quickly recharge and align it, just as its first transition had dropped her in a heap of trouble by putting her where she could come into accidental contact with that ring.

Still, having not heard from Tofu since the whole incident with the cat's escape, she had no intention of hiding away from magic or excitement. She'd had more than enough of that when she had stuck by that hobbit learning their tongue. Boredom was not something she took lightly.

A loud bang in the distance attracted her attention and she looked up from the enshrouding darkness. She did not see the source of the sound, but she did spy a massive black dog slinking furtively into the alleyway. More to the point, she saw the aura of magic hanging about the dog. For just a moment she tensed for a leap away through the shadows. The dog's passage through a pool of light cast by a flickering bulb hanging unshielded from a doorway highlighted the dog's ribs. In the light he seemed a pitiful thing, more than half-starved, his coat matted and tangled.

Ranko felt a sudden surge of kinship with the beast. She knew what it was to go without food, to live hand-to-mouth, though that had not been a real concern for her for centuries now, ever since her death.

"Besides," she thought, "he's got some kind of magic on him and there's got to be some kind of story behind it."

She waited until the dog had trotted past her, not seeing her as she was concealed within the shadows, her element, then she slipped out behind him. A moment's focus sent a tendril of her substance lashing out and between one step and the next she had a collar around his throat.

He turned instantly, with an angry growl, and to her surprise, instead of pulling away or threatening her, he leapt instantly to the attack. She caught him easily, not bothering to avoid the jaws that clamped about her throat, and bearing him in her arms, stepped backwards into the darkness.

A quick scan of the shadows and she stepped out in a dense forest, amidst the strongest concentration of shadows she could feel. The dog did not seem to notice their change of location, his focus intent on suffocating her. His attention was readily caught, however, when she melted away from his jaws, shifting a portion of the black stone of the tower of Orthanc into the current plane, allowing it, as was its wont, to form a dwelling, though she held the size down. The trees about them vanished into shadow, then a floor formed beneath them and walls rose up about them.

The dog whined in confusion and fear but immediately returned to the attack when she reappeared kneeling by him, reforming her substance and rising from the floor. She was somewhat startled when he grabbed the leash with his teeth and sought to jerk it from her arm, but she knew he would have no luck. Even as the dog seemed to recognize this and turned to gnawing on her arm instead in an effort to loosen her grip, she formed a stiff bristled brush and began to work on a tuft of his fur.

After several more futile attempts at escape, the beast settled down and resigned itself to her ministrations. It perked up considerably when she summoned a rabbit captured by her roving feline essence. It intrigued her somewhat that the cat did not seem concerned by the dog's presence and it's willingness to hunt for the dog made Galadriel's words to her about the cat's relationship to herself seem more credible than ever.

The dog's growl when she pulled too hard on a particularly bad snarl centered on a short bit of thorny vine triggered a sudden memory from her distant childhood. A soft smile graced her small mouth as she mentally thumbed her nose at her father. So what if a stray dog might have rabies? It wasn't like he could give them to her now.

"You know," she said softly, "I never had a pet before. I wanted one, a few times. I think... I might even have liked cats, before... and after I ended up in Nerima, I remember thinking a few times that a pet, at least, was the sort of friend who wouldn't try to kill you the next time he met you, like all my other friends seem too." She blithely ignored the fact that the dog had in fact tried to do just that. After all, it could not succeed so she had no reason to hold it against him.

Finally unsnarling the recalcitrant vine, she set it beside a growing pile of small objects. "Boy, your fur's a real mess, ya know?" she commented. She brushed her fingers through the silky smooth and surprisingly long fur that she had just brushed before moving on to the next tangle.

A strange rasping sensation caught her attention, and turning to look at the source, she saw that the dog had finished the rabbit and was lapping at the blood on the floor. A shudder ran through her. The floor in front of his muzzle suddenly rippled and flowed, carrying the carcass and blood away, vanishing through the wall as if it were nothing more than a curtain of water. He whined softly and Ranko stroked his fur. "Sorry, that was just a bit too weird, even for me." She wasn't actually commenting about the blood but about the rasping effect of his tongue against her skin, for the house was still a part of her, and she could feel through it.

In front of him the floor rippled again and a bowl formed. Reaching over him she held her hand, pointing at the bowl, and from her finger a slow stream of water poured forth, filling the bowl. The dog wasted no time in slaking his thirst and she laughed lightly as she returned to brushing his fur.

She brushed him for hours before his coat was finally free of tangles and foreign objects. Finally she rose and stretched. "You should get some rest," she teased the beast. "I know you're probably still hungry, you're so thin, but I've been told that it's not safe for starving people to eat too much too quickly. I'll give you some more when you wake back up."

She gathered the dog into her arms, hardly seeming to notice the burden in spite of the dog being larger than she was. A yielding cushion of layers upon layers of shadowy black cloth rose from the black stone floor and she lay him upon it then slipped out the door, closing it behind herself.

"Mustn't get out of practice," she said aloud, suppressing a chuckle at the thought, for it brought up warning images of her father's bulk. "Heh, though even if I did I'd never lose my shape. Suck on that, old man!"

---

The dog waited for what seemed an interminable period before deciding that the silver-haired witch was indeed gone. Rising and padding from the bed, he paced to the window and looked out. His tongue rolled from his mouth and his eyes widened as he beheld the witch dancing. The moon was high enough in the sky for its slanting beams to reach the ground beneath the trees and her black skin seemed caressed by the silver moonbeams, while her hair fairly glowed in its light.

She had abandoned clothing, preferring to practice her art unencumbered, and he was spellbound by her lithe form as she danced and spun in the moonlight. It was several minutes before he realized that she was not actually dancing, or rather, not merely dancing. She was in fact engaged in some form of shadow-boxing, as best he could tell. It seemed a strange thought, that so powerful a witch would be a fighter of a physical sort, but looking on the movement of her powerful muscles as she punched and kicked, falling through the air from leaps beyond the ability of anyone he had ever seen, it was impossible not to believe.

Finally he tore himself from the window. He had to escape before she realized who he was. He clawed at the collar but could get no hold upon it. She was a witch, of that there could be no question, given the ease with which she had commanded the magic of this wondrous house and so he had little doubt that this collar was magic as well. He had to get rid of it or she would probably be able to track him easily or even draw him back to her.

It was no use. He could not win free of it as he was. He gave the window a quick glance to be sure she was dancing still then his form altered rapidly, his newly untangled locks receding as his limbs reshaped, his face flattening. He felt a moment's guilt as he did so, for she had treated him kindly, and fed him, but that guilt was as a drop of water before the ocean of guilt that drove him to escape from Azkaban, the wizarding prison where he had been held for so many long years. There had been no happy thoughts in his time there, no food for the Dementors, the dark soul-eating guards of Azkaban, not until a newspaper article found its way to his hands, an article that told him his best friends' son lived, yet told him also that the villainous traitor who had betrayed his friends to their death had insinuated himself into the family of one of the boy's closest friends.

Guilt at stealing what from her behavior he guessed to be a young, beautiful witch's first pet fled almost before it formed. He rose quickly, grasping the collar with both hands but he could find no clasp. Fumbling in his robes, he drew out his stolen wand. He would have to flee quickly, for the instant he used it, the Ministry would be upon him, though he did not think they yet knew that he was the one who had stolen it, but the collar was obviously magical and it would take magic to remove it.

The rich voice of his captor sounded from behind him and he spun in alarm, his wand moving to begin a spell. It was snatched from his hand before he got a single word out and he stared at her in amazement. He flinched as she raised her hand and felt his hair. "Not wet," she murmured, to his surprise, then her eyes refocused on his face. "Jusenkyou?" she queried, and he shook his head at the unfamiliar word.

She spoke again, several times, in what sounded like different languages, though he knew none of them.

"Are those places? People? I don't understand." he countered, bewildered.

Casting a look of frustration at him she stalked away, clothes swirling into being about her, seeming to rise from her very flesh, concealing once more her undeniably womanly form. A chair of the same black stone as the house rose up near the wall she was walking towards and she sat in it and turned to look at him. He was still speechless, wondering why she had not already summoned the Aurors. He had failed to escape, she had had his wand before he had even realized it and he was still bound by her collar.

A chair rose up behind him suddenly and the floor tilted, tipping him back until he collapsed into it. He felt the collar shift suddenly then slither away, as if it was a snake. "Sorry 'bout that," she said, looking suddenly embarrassed, "I thought you were just a stray."

She looked him over then and he felt sudden shame. He knew he must look a sight, in his tattered robes, with his gaunt features and long hair, though at least it was no longer matted and tangled. He could not keep his eyes from examining her form in return, his guilt receding momentarily before his wonder and puzzlement as moonlight glinted behind her, highlighting her silvery hair and blacker than black skin.

"You look strong," she commented, "even if you are thin, so why have you had to go hungry?" She leaned forward, seeing his glance at the door. "No, no, no need to think about running." She smiled suddenly, a predatory, feline expression, and he felt a chill run through him.

"You recognize me, then?" he rasped, feeling a sudden wave of frustration. His mouth felt dry though his hands were slick with sweat. He knew his picture was being shown in every media, they were taking no chances on someone being so unaware of him as to offer aid to someone down on his luck, but he had felt a momentary rise of hope when he'd seen no sign of recognition on her lovely features.

She shook her head. "No, I don't know who you are, but the Wayfinder brought me to you, and that means you are interesting, you've some part to play. That means if I keep you close then I won't have to waste time being bored." She could see the anger and frustration on his face at the tone of her words, with her speaking as if he were still a pet, but she did not apologize nor restrain her words. After so long being treated as an object or a possession it felt good to turn it around, if only in words.

She turned her attention to the wand she'd taken from him, examining it curiously. "So, what is this then?" she queried. "A nature wand of some sort?" It definitely didn't look like a real wand, a powerful wand, being made of some sort of wood, as best she could tell. There was only the barest hint of magic in it even to her keen senses.

"Nature wand?" he asked, puzzled. "It is just my wand. Don't use it, please." He looked at her again, noticing for the first time the point of her ear rising through her hair. Was she some strange variety of veela, or a dryad of some dark tree, or other nature spirit? It had only just occurred to him that he had not seen her wielding a wand, for all the magic he'd seen her do, which implied that she was some sort of creature that had in-born magic, though he had never heard of any that had such versatile powers.

The thought of her being one of the rare powerful wizards capable of full-fledged wandless magic sent shivers through him. Most wizards could accomplish minor effects without a wand, though they generally lacked control. Indeed, it was such wandless magic that wizarding families watched for so closely in their children, to reassure themselves that their children were not squibs, not magic-less. If she was in fact a witch and not a creature of magic, then the wandless magic he had seen her perform--traveling through shadows, calling up a house, reshaping it at will--implied a power level equal to that of wizards with legendary fame.

His eyes were involuntarily drawn to the walls of the house, which, almost as if in compensation for the relatively small size of the dwelling, were intricate beyond compare, their surface rippled and ridged in complex patterns, the walls flowing into floor and ceiling with no obvious transition.

His thoughts turned desperate as she continued to turn his wand over and over in her hands, but he could think of nothing that he could do. Without his wand he had nothing more than his talent as an animagus to fall back on and he had had no luck against her in that form. She seemed such a small thing that he should be able to overpower her, except that he was weak from lack of food and she had shown herself to be a skilled fighter, and she was under some charm that rendered his teeth harmless, for she bore not the slightest scratch from his many attempts to escape. For that matter, his mass alone as a dog should have knocked her over, yet she had taken the force of his impact without the slightest stumble. And even had he still possessed the wand he was not sure that he could overmatch her innate power with it, especially since it was not well attuned to him. He had not exactly had a wide variety of choices at the time.

---

"You're on the run," she said suddenly, having recognized the similarities to the time she had spent with her father and the times they had gone hungry after having to quickly leave a town.

He seemed to slump into himself as the memory of some unknown terror passed over his gaze. "Please," he begged, all the strength seeming to leave him, "please don't turn me over to them."

"Them? Them who? Who are you running from? And why?"

"The dementors," he said, "My godson is in danger and I had to escape, to protect him," he told her, hoping against hope that she might bear him some sympathy, if he could just arouse it before she learned who he was and why he'd been locked away.

She nodded, a bit absently, then returned her attention to the wand he held. "So, if it's 'just' a wand, as you say, how do you use it?"

"Please," he protested, "if you use it, they'll know where I am." Immediately he blanched, realizing what he'd just given away.

"No worries," she said lightly, tossing the wand back to him. "I'm not interested in using it. Just wondered what it was for." He stared at her in surprise, hardly able to believe that she had just returned his wand.

"It... I... I'm a wizard," he said suddenly, wondering how she could not know that, not know what wands were, when she was so clearly part of the wizarding world.

She brightened at this, an eager smile lighting her face. "Magic, that's almost never boring," she said happily, "can you show me?"

He blanched again. "I told you, if I use my wand, they'll be able to track me," he protested.

"Oh," she muttered, then stood and began walking back and forth. It was difficult to suppress her disappointment. He knew some magic that let him take the shape of an animal, but he cast it with a wand that by all the rules of magic she knew should be a powerless thing, or swiftly decaying, since it was not composed of precious metals or gems capable of handling the storing and passage of great amounts of magic.

She knew that it would likely lead merely to further disappointment; she had learned most of the shape changing spells extant on Distanfae's world and none had been able to affect her and it was unlikely that he could teach her anything more powerful. But still, that she could not even try to learn came as a blow and brought with it the despairing thought that she would never know if this magic he used might be the one that could restore her. Then again, he could not teach her, but perhaps he was not the only one that knew this magic?

Finally she turned to him. "Forgot to give my name," she said, wearing a vague smile, "I'm Ranko. What's yer name?"

"Sirius," he replied, watching carefully and clutching his wand tightly, ready to leap to the attack if she reacted poorly, "Sirius Black."

"Nice ta meet ya, Sirius," she said. "So... if you can't show me, where would one go around here to learn about magic?"

A slow smile grew on Sirius's lean face. "Well, the place I've been trying to reach, where my godson is, is Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Hogwarts

Ranko stared at the gates of the castle, wondering about the hooded figures that lurked there. "Oh, well," she decided, "if they bother me, they'll get what's coming to 'em alright, and if they don't, well, good for them."

Looking down at the silky black robe that swirled about her and the golden form of her wand of air, she reached up and rubbed her finger over the tips of her ears thoughtfully, wondering what sort of creature the folk of this world would take her for. Sirius had seemed quite uncertain as to what she was but he had not even mentioned an elf as a possibility. Now she looked different again from what she had when first he saw her, for he had insisted that to gain tutelage at Hogwart's she would need to be far younger than she appeared.

She had, of course, immediately dismissed his suggestion of applying for a teaching position. She knew nothing of their way of magic, a fact he was obviously not clear on, thinking that she merely did magic with less of the restrictions his sort of wizard dealt with. She had no intention of disabusing him, but she also wanted proper training. Now, through his coaching, she had the appearance of an early-blooming thirteen year old. Her hair was still long skeins of silver and her skin a midnight black as smooth and flawless as Chinese porcelain. Her eyes were the deep blue of the sky in early evening, her lips a glistening silver.

"It's not important," she told herself, "it just means I'm getting closer to home. There weren't any elves there, neither."

Rising from her concealment, she strode down the path and up to the gates. The hooded figures shifted about then glided smoothly across the grounds in her direction as she approached. She felt a sudden pressure on her mind, almost familiar, and felt the slow stirring of memories she had blocked away, memories that led only to depression and pain, and instinctively reacted. She was lifted from the ground as her aura of sheer confidence burst into brilliant blue life around her. That felt like a emotional attack of some kind, almost like a drain, she mused. Let's see them deal with an overload. The figures fell back in disarray and she passed unmolested between them.

She strode up to the gates and waited a moment, but they did not open. Shaking her head in irritation she leapt upwards but encountered an invisible blockage just above the gates. Instead of landing on the top of the gates, she fell back to the ground in front of them, touching down lightly upon her feet. She glared about her flaring her aura again, but the figures surged forward, seeming ready for the magnitude of her emotions this time, and she felt a strong pressure, as if she were being pulled apart. Recognizing her mistake in an instant, and berating herself for reacting incorrectly, even after hearing Sirius' tales about them, she focused her ki into the Soul of Ice, her emotions vanishing behind an icy wall.

The dementors drew back for a moment, then moved forward again, renewing their assault, but she felt no more pressure from them. Try as they might, she had successfully locked her emotions beyond their reach. One came directly towards her, away from the group, and she grimaced when its gray and rotted skin became visible under its heavy hood. Still, unlike its usual prey, she was far from paralyzed with fear or emotion. More to the point, perhaps, the disgusting thing's appearance and behavior triggered an unfortunate sequence of memories. Ranko had little reason to feel sympathy towards the dementors at the best of times, after hearing Sirius's story, but when her memories of the illithids of Faerun surged up, particularly of her encounter with an undead illithid, she lost all restraint.

Giving in to her irritation and dislike, and no longer perceiving any distinction between these soul-leeches and the brain-feeding, tentacle-mouthed illithidae, she whipped into motion. The foremost dementor had barely crossed into her reach when she shifted her stance and dropped into a powerful spin, bringing her right leg all the way around, pivoting on the ball of her left foot, accelerating her turn and the force of her kick still further by allowing the sphere of lead she used to control her center of gravity to plummet into her right foot. Her toes dug into the dementor's unguarded abdomen, and she felt a distinct crack as it crumpled forward, even as it hurtled backward.

It slammed into another dementor behind it, but she took no notice, having already dropped her weighted foot into the ground, transferring its momentum into her left foot, spinning with her torso nearly horizontal, as her left leg came whipping up and over, slamming hard into the shoulder of another of the dark-robed creeps, crumpling it. As soon as her foot made contact with it, and both her feet had something to press against, she dropped her torso backwards and kipped up, lifting her upper body and driving her left foot even harder into the dementor's shoulder. Once more she heard a painful sounding crack.

The other dementors were beginning to reel back in shock, but far too little time had passed for them to be out of her range. She allowed the upward momentum of her torso to rotate about her pelvis, bringing her forward and then down, as she dropped her hands to the ground. Planting her palms into a handspring, she bent her elbows and tucked into a roll, getting her feet under her and then powering into an uppercut into the gut of the next dementor.

It too crumpled forward as it flew backward, though its flight took it well above the dementors stumbling back behind it. Realizing that all the hooded figures had begun to retreat, Ranko straightened from the stance she had dropped into after her uppercut. Turning away from them, she strode back to the gate.

That ought to teach them to leave a poor, innocent little girl alone, she grinned to herself, thinking about how the fight must have looked from the outside, a petite third-year student throwing around... she snorted to herself suddenly, thinking how much more the dementors had looked like the prototypical dark wizard than poor, bedraggled, tangled up Sirius. Not that she was unfamiliar with the habit of the actually powerful dark wizards of violating those stereotypes, but still, that surely must have fit the picture. All those dark, robed guys surrounding a defenseless little girl, doubtless preparing to make her a virgin sacrifice. She grimaced then, glaring up at the castle. "Don't I rate a knight in shining armor?" she muttered angrily, irritated at the perversely silent castle and persistently closed gates. "You're supposed to be the good guys, so where was my rescue?"

Examining the gates she finally found a heavy rope to one side. Walking over to it, she gave it a healthy pull and from somewhere in the distance the tolling of a deep bell sounded. She was about to pull on it a second time when she saw movement in the distance and decided to wait. Perhaps she'd caught someone's attention. Sure enough, a few minutes later a mountain of a man came puffing up to the gate and looked out at her. "Okay," Ranko murmured, "so why do I feel like I'm at the wrong castle?" Weren't giants usually the inhabitants of the evil castles? Holding fair damsels in towers, and what not?

"Here, now, wha's all this about?" he said, looking with a pale face at the hooded figures about, not noticing the three unmoving dementors, still crumpled on the ground. "Yeh'd best come in quick before they get a min' ter do summat, then," he said rapidly, opening the gates before her, a look of near terror on his face. Ranko slipped in and watched as he barred them again. He heaved a great sigh of relief before turning to look at her. "Here now little lady, what're yeh doin' here, early and all? There's weeks still ter go before school begins. Best yeh come up an' let the headmaster have a look a' yeh, I 'spect. Well, come on then. I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds here at Hogwarts. What migh' be yehr name?"

"I am called Ranko," she said.

He nodded and muttered to himself then turned and began walking with great swinging strides up the hill. He dwarfed her, of course, yet when he reached the main doors of the imposing fortress, he seemed small before them, and she wondered again if she might not have come to the wrong place. Had Sirius sent her astray? She was relieved, though more at not having to lose her trust in Sirius than from any concern for herself, when the stairs and doors she spied beyond the entrance hall seemed normal enough for a castle. Hagrid gave her only a moment to look about, however, glancing around himself as if unsure where to go, or perhaps merely deciding where the person he was looking for might be found, before striding determinedly on, leaving Ranko to follow quickly behind, concealing as best she could her irritation at having to trot to keep up with him. It would be so easy to raise her scale back up to match his long strides, but that would ruin all hard work she'd put in setting herself up as a third-year student.

While he seemed to give little thought to any difficulty she might have in keeping up with him, he did open doors for her, one after another, standing by the open door and waiting until she had entered before following after and taking up the lead once more. She gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to protest his irritatingly courteous treatment of her, having to remind herself time and again that it was not his fault that she was a woman now.

He stopped suddenly and called out, "Professor McGonagall!" Ranko saw an older lady with iron-gray hair and square-rimmed spectacles, wearing robes and a bent hat, turn and begin walking towards them. "Well," the big man muttered, "She i'n't the headmaster, mind, but she'll know what ter do with yeh, better'n me, anyways. Professor, I found thi' young lady up by the gates. Didn' figger it righ' ter leave her out there with the dementors and all, e'en if she i'n't rightly s'posed ter be here yet."

The lady looked down through her spectacles at Ranko for a long moment. "I don't recognize you, young lady. What year are you?"

"What year?" Ranko asked, her forehead wrinkling.

"You are a student here at Hogwarts, are you not?"

"Not yet," Ranko replied, "I'm here to see about getting in."

"How... unusual," McGonagall replied, frowning down at the silver-haired young lady. "Hogwarts is by invitation, young lady." Almost to herself she continued, "You cannot be a Muggle, or you could not have found the castle, yet if you were a witch, you would have already been at school..."

"Are you transferring here? From Beauxbaton's perhaps?" she asked, then continued in a lower tone, "Though surely we would have been informed?"

"No, I've not studied magic of your sort before."

"But you have studied magic?" a new voice queried, though it felt more a statement than a question. Ranko turned to see a kindly looking old man, with long white hair and beard and a pointed hat with a crooked tip.

"Come," he said, gesturing at them all, "let us step outside once more and see what the young lady can do."

A few minutes later they all stood outside on the grounds, though Hagrid hardly seemed to know why he was there or what to do with himself.

"Demonstrate for us, my dear," he said. "What sort of magic do you know?"

Ranko nodded and looking at the wand of air she held, wondered what she should use to demonstrate. She was thinking at first to demonstrate only minor magics, perhaps a bit of levitation, when she caught the doubtful expression on Professor McGonagall's face. Her own expression hardened then and she strode quickly away from the group. She did not see McGonagall direct an apologetic glance at Dumbledore, obviously realizing that she had pricked the child's pride.

Mist began to rise from the ground and swirl about her, thickening as she moved. A soft wind arose as mist rapidly spread about her, defying the strengthening wind. Her robes began to flap as the wind strengthened to a breeze and then a gale. Hagrid moved behind the Professors and placed a hand on each of their backs to steady them.

Ranko continued walking and after a few moments the watchers realized she was rising. Streamers of mist trailed after her as her feet rose from the mist as if she were climbing a hill, except that there was no longer any ground beneath her.

Wind began to swirl about her, stirring the mist and lifting it, shadowing her form. She raised her hands and they noticed that clouds were swiftly forming overhead, blotting out the stars even as the mist swirled more violently.

A light rain began to fall, quite suddenly. Just as quickly a pink umbrella opened over Professor McGonagall's head, held by the meaty hand of the groundskeeper.

The bottom of the clouds directly above the thirteen year old girl were beginning to swirl and descend, evidence of the strength of the whirlwind forming about her.

"Albus, are you quite sure this is safe?" McGonagall asked Dumbledore, glancing anxiously at his placid face. He was untouched by the rain, in spite of his lacking an umbrella.

A sudden rumble of thunder brought their attention to the clouds in time to see another bolt of lightning streak across the darkening clouds, now black and heavy. The rain intensified, then a sudden bolt slashed downward, striking the heart of the whirlwind and lighting up Ranko for them to see, her arms flung wide as if welcoming the wind and lightning, her silver hair streaming in the wind.

"She'll be hurt," cried out McGonagall as she took an involuntary half-step forward, her hand raising, but her words were drowned out by another strike.

A third time lightning flashed downward, but this time it hit the ground, throwing up dirt and grass into the wind. Quickly on its heels strokes followed, one after another, yielding a continuous peal of thunder as the bolts traced lines across the field.

McGonagall and Hagrid stared across the field with pallid faces, certain that the girl had tried to impress them and in so doing, called on power too great for her to control, costing her life.

Slowly the storm subsided and as the winds fell once more, and the rain eased, the watchers became aware that they had company. Professor Snape and Madame Hooch had both come out to see what the others were doing out in this weather, and what had produced the obviously magical disturbance.

The whirlwind finally lost its cohesion, dispersing and taking with it the concealing veil of mist and rain. From the dwindling mists a small figure strode forth. Walking as if down a mild slope, Ranko came toward them.

"How was that, Professor?" she challenged, smirking. McGonagall strode forward, moving at little less than a run.

"How could you?" she cried, still dismayed, grabbing Ranko's shoulders and turning her about, running her hands down her, her eye's darting about, obviously looking for the wounds she expected from such foolish behavior. "How could you do something so risky? You could have been killed if you lost control!"

"Lost control? I bloody signed my name with lightning and you say I haven't got control?"

Indeed, as the assembled looked past her to the field, they could see that there were two definite patterns carved into the field, which a few among them recognized as Japanese Kanji.

---

Hagrid looked out past the door and a broad grin split his face when he saw that his unexpected guest was none other than Albus Dumbledore. "C'min, come in, Professor Dumbledore, sir," he said, stepping out of the older wizard's way.

Dumbledore made himself comfortable in the small wooden hut, waiting until Hagrid had served tea, though he knew better than to try Hagrid's biscuits, preferring to keep his teeth where they were, before bringing up the reason for his visit.

"You, of all the people in this school, Hagrid, are the most interested in Magical Creatures. That is, of course, why I've offered you the course, but," and he held up his hand to forestall Hagrid's quick thanks, "no, no, don't worry, I'm not here to take that away or anything of the sort, Hagrid. I want your advice, or your knowledge. That young girl that was just here, I want your opinion on her, Hagrid."

Hagrid munched thoughtfully on a hard biscuit for a minute. "Well, Professor, the firs' thin' I noticed, righ' off, was that she didn' seem at all scared of the dementors at the gate, sir, an' they make me feel ruddy terrible. I don' know why they were staying s' far away from her, either, after what you said about them and all."

"She had p'inted ears an' silver hair fer all she wa'n't but thirteen 'r so. I dunno fer sure, Professor, I can't say what she'd be, but yer right, I don' think she's quite all-human. Like a veela, kinda, but dark, not fair. Vampire blood, migh' be, though tha'd not 'splain the hair."

Dumbledore frowned, looking thoughtfully out Hagrid's window to where the Hogwart's gate was visible through the light rain that had settled in shortly after Ranko had left the castle. She had indeed shown no qualms about leaving through the gate alone, though they had offered her an escort.

---

"Well, Minerva, what did you think of our new student?"

"Albus, she scared me out of my wits with that display. I was sure she had tried too hard to impress us and let the spell go out of control, and there she was, writing her name on the lawn with lightning. A gold wand? I'm not sure she even used it. I don't think she's a witch, Albus. She's something else entirely, though I've little idea what.

"But mark this, Albus! She came right up to our gates, so she's no Muggle. She showed no fear of the dementors, but how could she know they'd be here? If I came to the gates unsuspecting and felt their touch I'd not be so calm, of that you may be sure!

"I'm a bit worried, I must admit, what with Black out and about, that she might not be from the Enemy. It seems suspicious, does it not, for her to show up just at this point? Can you imagine what would happen if she was provoked into a spell duel with Harry, even if she's not working for them knowingly?"

Minerva turned away so that Dumbledore could not see her face. He had accepted her as a student, even agreeing to let her try the third-year classes...

"And that's another thing," she said, spinning back to face the Headmaster. "We get a new student unlike any before, and she just happens to be Harry's age, Albus? How likely is that?" She turned away again. "Are you going to sort her? What if she has a way to manipulate it?"

She caught the movement of Dumbledore's pointed hat as he shook his head. "No, Minerva. There I think you are right. Besides, we don't really know what year to place her in, yet. Still, remember, she did in fact show tremendous control out there, and those bolts of lightning could as easily have struck us. If she is not dark, do we really want to chance her turning to it because we turned her away?"

---

Snape growled irritably when the tapping sounded again. "Come in!" he shouted, trying not to lose the count of his stirring. His frown lessened when he saw who it was. Dumbledore, at least, would have sense enough to wait until the potion was finished before saying whatever he had come to say, unless it was some sort of emergency.

A small smile grew on his face for an instant when the potion cleared then turned a delicate light blue. A wave of his wand banished the flames that burned beneath the small cauldron. He placed a metal lid on the cauldron then turned to Dumbledore.

"I'm finished. What do you need?"

"I want your opinion," Dumbledore responded, taking no offense at Snape's curt tone, "of the girl whose demonstration you saw this morning."

"It's obvious," Snape hissed, "she's one of His!"

"You've seen her then, Severus?"

"No, I've not seen her before, nor heard of her." Snape was reluctant, knowing that he was weakening his case in spite of his own certainty, but he could not lie about this to Dumbledore. "But what else can she be?"

"It is obvious to me that that demonstration was no young witch trying to gain a place at a school. Those were spells of great power, Albus, but I've never seen even one of them before! That means there are no standard defenses for them, no known counterspells. He's mocking us, I tell you, you can't mean to allow her to attend. One duel and His task will be complete!"

"But she will attend. And at least at first, she will be allowed to take the third year courses, until we've placed her level. Do keep an eye on her, Severus."

Diving In

Not yet posted.

Making A Name

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An Eventful Day

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