2-This will eventually be NC-17, if you’re not legal to, or if that bugs you don’t read.

3. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling (Harry and co.) or Marvel comics (X-men). Paris Emily Lebeau is MINE. I’d be highly flattered if you want to use her but

please, ask first.
 

Chapter 1-Rumors
 

    The whispers started before they even got off the train.

     “New girl.”

     “Sixth year already.”

     “Well she is the right age.”

     “Yeah, but has she got the training?”

     “Ron….” Harry glared at his best friend. “If Dumbledore put her in sixth year already I’m sure she’s got plenty of training.”

     “Yeah but…no wizarding school before this…and no one can even tell where she’s bloody well from!”

     “Then she’s probably American. Stop worrying, Ron.”

     “Sure, sure, right. Just…”

     “What? Is she related to Voldemort or something? Tail? Wings?”

     Hermione looked up from her book and scoffed. “If she did we’d be doing experiments on her. Not having her as another student.”

     “Whatever.”

     “Ron,” Hermione sighed, resting a hand on her friends knee. “You’re being a total idiot. Come off it.”

     “ ‘M sorry ‘Mione. It’s just…”

     “Just what? What’s the big deal about her?”

     Harry sighed. “ ‘Mione, get your head out of your books for a minute. Think. A wizard with no training-even if she is the right age-gets put directly into sixth

year. Isn’t that a bit weird to you?”

    “Natural talent?”
 

    “Then why didn’t Harry get put into at least 2nd year his first year?” Ron asked, red eyebrows adorably askew.

“Beats me.”

     There was a thumping from outside the compartment and small, blond boy fell through the door.

     “Oh bloody…” He looked up. “Harry! Ron! I…” He started to take a step, only to trip on his untied shoelace and fall right against Ron. “Sorry.”

     “Neville!” Ron was grinning though, as were Harry and Hermione. Neville Longbottom pushed himself off of Ron and brushed himself off.

     “ Hi,” he said finally, sliding into the seat next to Ron, across from Harry and Hermione.

     “Well,” Hermione finally asked. “How was your summer.”

     Neville smiled at her. “Fine, really. Just fine. Did you…?”

     “Yeah, good summer.”

     Harry sighed. “I’m just glad to be back.”

     “Did you guys hear about the new girl?” Neville asked, eyes bright with anticipation.

     “We heard that there was a new girl,” Ron said cautiously. “But we don’t know anything about her, really.”

     “I heard somebody say she was a mutant.”

     “A mutant? Who said that.”

     There was a pause and a slight whimper as Neville stared at his hands. “Draco Malfoy.”

     Ron snorted. “You believed that git? Really, Neville.”

     “You might’ve too, Ron,” Neville defended himself. “He looked…scared.”

     “Good riddance then.”

     “Good riddance ta what?” a somewhat gravely voice asked, drifting in from the newly opened doorway. All four students turned in their seats to see the

newcomer. Eyes widened and Ron’s mouth nearly hit the floor.

     She was tall, and somewhat lanky, her long arms crossed almost defensivly over her breasts. One leg was kicked over the other, the shine of black boots visible

from under her robe as she leaned against the doorway. Her hair was auburn red, red that matched the pupils of her black eyes.

     “You the new student?” Harry asked. She nodded and a lock of waist length red hair fell over her shoulder.

     “Paris Emily LeBeau.” She smiled. “I usually go by Emily though. Paris is such a strange name,” she snorted. “Gotta love my pére.” Then she bowed slightly.

“And ‘sides Harry Potter…lessee…Hermione Granger…Ron Weasly annnn’ Neville Longbottom.”

     “How’d you know?”

     She tapped her head. “Psychic.” Then she laughed. “Na’ really. I’ve just heard ‘bout ya.”

     “Your…pére?” Hermione asked, rolling the word off her tongue the same way Emily had. “Isn’t that French? Father exactly?”

     “Yup.”

     “So you’re French.”

     “Nope.”

     “Canadian?”

     “Kinda…My pére ain’t t’ough. He’s from N’ Orleans. M’ dad’s from Canada.”

     “Wait,” Ron cut in. “Pear and dad?” The first word was horribly mangled.

     “Pére,” Emily corrected him. “And, oui. Does it bother ya? Cause I might just have ta stalk outta here in a snit if ya say yes.”

     “No, no. Doesn’t bother me.” There was something…utterly terrifying about the idea of the girl being mad…a flash of something that had been in her strange

eyes.

     “You wanna sit down?” Harry offered. Hermione scooted closer to him leaving space for the new girl.

     “Where exactly do you come from?” she asked. Emily shrugged.

     “America, technically. Everywhere if ya really think ‘bout it. Germany, Canada, Russia…Prolly England and Africa too if I really wanna go there.”

     “Wow.”

     Hermione smiled, almost nervously, at her. “You must have quite the family history,” she hazarded. Emily chuckled lowly.

     “Yeah,” she muttered, still laughing. “Fuck yeah.” Those red and black eyes glittered with dark humor.

     Suddenly Ron spoke up. “You got Draco Malfoy scared of you.” There was respect in his tone.

     “Draco…Malfoy…Pale, skinny little git? Got two bodyguards th’ size ‘a Mount Everest?”

     “That’d be him.”

     Her eyes flashed. “Little bigot got a huge surprise comin’. Poor sod.”

     “You…pity him?”

     She nodded. “Very much so. He’s…he’s gayer den m’ Uncle Bobby. An’ far more repressed den my uncle ever was. Not to mention de poor kid looks it,

knows he looks it, and despises de fact. He’s got one hell of a reality ta wake up ta.”

     “You really do pity him, don’t you?” Harry asked quietly. Emily laughed.

     “I know a repressed gay man when I see i’, cher.”

     “Wait…” Her statements had finally sunk in to Ron’s brain. “Draco’s gay! Ooh! That’s classic! Perfect, just wait…” He stopped with a gulp as a hand closed on

his collar and lifted him off the floor. Emily’s red eyes blazed.

     “Ya will never torment someone about their preferences, ya hear me? NEVER.” She dropped him back on to the seat and when to sit down herself. “Sorry.”

She muttered. “Got carried away.” Then she laughed. “But there are gay vibes in here too.”

     Neville smiled nervously. “Everyone knows about me,” he murmured. “They’re not prejudiced…well, not against gays. Against Malfoys maybe.”

     Ron laughed. “Yeah, every one knows about Neville, especially after that fiasco with Dean last year.”

     “He is handsome,” Hermione defended.

     “If you say so.” Nobody bothered to question the grin on Emily’s face.

     “So, why are you in your sixth year already?” Harry finally asked. Emily stared coolly at him.

     “Abnormal powers,” she replied, as if it were a rehearsed speech.

     “Abnormal?” Hermione turned to the girl, interested.

     “Yes.” Emily offered no further information, and the look in her…red eyes promised pain to anyone who pushed for it.

     “What’s you’re best subject then?” Hermione inquired. Emily looked askance for a moment.

     “Hmmm? Oh, levitation, mind control, stuff like dat.” She said absently.

     “Mind control?”

     “Mmmm.” Emily was staring out the window, and her eyes widened. “Dat’s Hogwart’s!?”

     “Hm?” The other five wizards looked out the window. “Oh, yeah.”

     “It’s as big as de fuckin’ Vatican!”

     “The what?” Ron asked.

     “De Vatican, Place in Rome, Italy. Head of de Catholic church. Damned gaudy place, but as big as Hogwart’s.”

     “You haven’t seen the inside of Hogwart’s if you say it isn’t gaudy.”

     “Can’t possibly reach de same point as de Vatican, chere.”

     Ron shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter does it. We’re here, not there.”

     Hermione nodded as the train slid to a halt. “Exactly. We’re here.”

notes: sorry, bad ending...more soon though

Chapter 2
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