Mr. and Mrs. Torrance of Surrey were normal once, except for one little problem: they could not have children. They went to specialists in London, but it did them no good. If they wanted kids, they'd have to adopt.

They went to their local orphanage on New Year's Eve, 1981, and were immediately attracted towards a little girl with fair skin, thick black hair, and dark eyes. She was standing up in her playpen, gazing at them with a stare that was somehow unnerving. She was by far the quietest child there.

"Hello," said Mrs. Torrance, bending down before the girl.

"Hi." Her voice was soft, even for a toddler.

The woman who worked at the home smiled. "This is Harley. She's three, and quite new here. Her parents, God rest their souls, were killed in a home invasion two months ago."

"Poor baby. May I?" Mrs. Torrance gestured towards Harley. When the woman nodded Mrs. Torrance picked her up, and the little girl immediately put her arms around the woman and laid her head on her shoulder.

It was that moment when both of the Torrances knew they were taking her home, but they had no idea how having her would change their lives forever.

Harley was a quiet child, preferring drawing and picture books over playing outdoors with the other preschoolers. She played pretend with various stuffed dolls, having tea parties in the second bedroom that her parents had turned into a playroom. She was loved, not spoilt, and had the calmest disposition a child could have. Often, she helped her mother cook in the kitchen, having an innate love of cooking and baking.

It was one day when she was four and in her playroom alone that her parents knew there was something even more different about her than just her preschool hobbies.

It was Saturday, and Mr. Torrance was home from work. He and his wife were reading in the living room, listening in to be sure their daughter was all right.

"Would you like more tea, Mrs. Pugsley?" they heard her ask one of her dolls.

Neither of them expected a response, but they heard a distinct, elderly voice reply, "Why yes, Miss Harley, thank you."

Both adults glanced up from their respective reading materials.

"Um, hon...since when is Harley that good of a voice over actress?" Mr. Torrance asked, a strange feeling making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

Before Mrs. Torrance could respond, they heard Harley ask, "And what about Mr. Pugsley? Or is he too full of cookies?"

"Nonsense! Of course I'll have more tea!" said an older male voice.

In unison, the adults leapt from their seats and dashed towards the playroom, their steps silent on the thick carpeting. They had insisted Harley's door remain completely open while she was in her playroom, and she always complied. (They were not prepared for the day she'd be a teenager and would not comply with that simple request.)

When they reached the threshold, they saw something that could not-should not-be possible: Harley holding court with her dolls animatedly drinking the "tea" (fruit juice) she was pouring them. Her teddy bear couple (whom she had christened Mr. and Mrs. Pugsley) were murmuring to each other, very obviously moving on their own.

Harley was unaware of her parents' presence, as she simply carried on as though talking dolls was completely normal for her. To give them more of a shock, Harley waved her small hand and the teapot filled with juice poured itself.

Mr. and Mrs. Torrance just stared, unable to believe their eyes. They backed away from the room, looking startled and shocked into silence. They did not speak till they were back in the sitting room.

"Was that...did I just see…?" Mr. Torrance could not form a complete sentence.

Mrs. Torrance nodded weakly.

"What...should we say something?" Mr. Torrance asked. "Hon, have you ever seen anything like this before? Has Harley done anything like this?"

Mrs. Torrance was going to give him a sarcastic response, but she then remembered when she swore she'd seen a Barbie doll fly across the playroom, and the strange voice she'd heard one day, a voice that was obviously not her daughter's.

"Maybe," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

"What do we do?" Mr. Torrance asked.

"Confront her. Immediately. This is outrageous and impossible, but it is happening. No point in pretending otherwise, right, love?"

They went into Harley's playroom, and never had they seen such a look of shock and apprehension on a small child's face before. They sat her down and talked to her, asking her about what she was doing. Their fear was that these dolls were like the Chuckie the Doll movies and would murder them, but it didn't explain the teapot. The reality turned out to be preferable.

Harley was gifted. She had abilities no other child had, and they could either accept her or reject her. She was their little girl, and of course they accepted her, although they were always a bit fearful of her after that. It looked as if they could handle this-handle her considerable powers-and still be a relatively normal family.

Harley grew up, and by the time she was fourteen she was very advanced in her powers. She grew up to be a beautiful but strange child. Tall, willowy, with inky black hair and eyes almost as dark, contrasting with alabaster white skin; she preferred wearing flowing, black clothes and wore little makeup aside from mascara. She read for pleasure, shirking most social conventionalities teens her age partook in. They had set up their basement as a sort of workshop for Harley, a place where she could practice her powers without interruption or detection.

They set one rule for Harley: she was never to tell anyone about her abilities, lest they think there was something wrong with her and possibly try to hurt her. She agreed easily, as she was already bullied because of the way she dressed and acted. She did not want to give the kids another reason to ridicule her.

"You know...the way you are...kids won't understand," her mother had said.

Harley sighed. "Oh, come now, Mother," Harley said in her low, drawling voice. "I am a witch. You can say the word. I am not ashamed of what I am, and if you are not, you should be able to say it, too."

Her mother had apologised. "I don't want to call you that, because I don't want you thinking you're evil, like the witches in cartoons."

"Yes, Mother, because all Disney films are quite realistic, aren't they?" Harley smirked and went downstairs into her workshop. Aside from her telekinetic abilities, and the way she could make inanimate objects behave like living things, she was always experimenting with herbal and occasionally disturbing ingredients. She had already concocted a potion that cured the cold, flu, and pneumonia. She made a topical one that helped stop her mother's crows feet. This night, she had a different type of potion to concoct.

Even while hiding her powers, she was bullied relentlessly by the kids at her private school. Particularly by one girl in her class, Carol Greene. Carol was cruel in the worst way, and Harley had been her favourite victim since they were children.

Harley was patient. You couldn't brew potions and not have any patience. However, even her legendary patience had broken when Carol had spoken a statement so impossibly cruel that Harley felt her heart explode in her chest.

"You're so weird: your parents probably gave you up as a baby because they hated you. They're probably still alive and having a blast without you."

It was too much. Harley knew that she was only trying to get under her skin, and after nine years of trying, she had finally succeeded. Harley was too used to being tormented, too used to falling asleep with frustrated tears hitting her pillow, and she was now going to stand up for herself the only way she knew how.

Harley had two pets, a black kitten she'd rescued the month before and a green and black garter snake. Her snake had recently shed its skin, and that was what she wanted. Taking a bit of it, she dropped it into a small pot on a hotplate and added in a strand of Carol's hair, as well as a few other key herbal ingredients. If brewed properly, she hoped it would taste like tea The purpose of the hair was that no one but Carol would be affected by the potion if they happened to drink it.

There was only a week of school left before the summer holidays, and before summertime was always when the teasing would get worse, owing to the mania that the upcoming break from school caused in the teenage mind.

In algebra, Harley received a notice that claimed to be from her English Lit teacher, telling her to meet in her office before class began. Harley got permission to duck out early and walked towards the other end of campus to get to her teacher's office, wondering if she'd failed a test or something worse. She'd never needed a private conference with a teacher before.

The office door was locked when she got there, so she waited for five minutes according to her watch. After that time had passed, Harley knew she'd need to go to class or she'd be late. Suddenly she heard an intense scraping sound from behind the closed door.

She tried the knob again, wondering if her teacher might not be hurt or sick. The door opened and it was like a scene from Carrie, as a pool of green liquid fell down upon her head. It was liquified lime Jell-O. Harley shrieked from shock as Carol and two of her friends popped out from behind the teacher's desk, laughing and taking pictures with a disposable camera.

They scampered out, avoiding the growing green puddle, giggling like madwomen. Harley's teacher found her and took her to the girls' locker room to change her clothes and wash her hair.

Her teacher kept asking who had done this, but Harley refused to tattle. No, she had a bigger punishment for Carol coming than anything the school board would do to her, their star pupil. If Harley tattled, Carol would get less than a slap on the wrist. She was a football star and got better grades than Harley did. Harley was just the strange Goth girl with the greasy hair and who never smiled.

Her opportunity came at lunchtime, when she saw Carol's thermos of tea sitting next to her. Harley walked past their table, purposely bumping into it, knocking over Carol's still-closed bottle.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" Harley said, bending down to hand it back to Carol, but really switching the bottle with the one she'd brought from home. (Thankfully, Carol used a very popular travel mug, so it was easy for Harley to procure one herself.)

Carol gave a few choice insults, which Harley blissfully ignored. She simply sat back and waited, hoping that her little potion would work.

As lunch was ending, there was an ear-piercing shriek. Everyone looked to see that Carol was the one shrieking, scratching at her arms in a panic. She had broken out in greenish grey snakeskin scales.

Harley and her classmates got a good laugh as Carol was hauled off to the nurse's office. It wasn't until the end of the day when she was called into the headmaster's office that she began to feel doubt about how great her plan was.

Her mother was waiting for her in the office. Apparently, Carol had told the nurse about Harley knocking her bottle down at lunch and convinced them that Harley had given her something that made her get an "allergic reaction". Like growing snake scales was an everyday allergic occurrence in all the medical books!

"With the proof of a dozen students' words, we have no choice but to believe you did this to Carol out of malicious intent. I am sorry, Miss Torrance, but we are forced to take action and expel you from this school. This is a prestigious institution, and we cannot be seen to deal with behaviour such as this lightly," the headmaster said, not sounding regretful at all.

"Are you kidding me?" Harley asked incredulously. "Since I started at this godforsaken school, I have been the victim of countless pranks, taunts, and my existence has been miserable. Yet you expel me for something you can't even prove that I did? And what will happen to Carol? Sympathy cards and not needing to take her last tests this week because of her 'allergy'?" She was livid, an anger rising up in her that she had never felt.

The lights in the room flickered, and a commemorative glass plaque on the headmaster's mantel shattered.

Harley leapt up, worried that he might think she'd done that on purpose. She needed to get out of there, quickly. "Fine. Come, Mother. No need to remain here any longer." She rushed out, embarrassed, angry, and hurt.

"Harley Torrance! You stop this instant!" her mother yelled after her. "How could you have done something so deliberately cruel? How could you use your gifts to do harm?"

Harley whirled around to face her mother. "Really? You are going to play the disappointed mother card now? I never told you about the bullying because I did not want to be known as the girl who ran to Mummy all of the time. I have been tormented by those girls my whole life! I fight back once, and I am a pariah. It is not fair! Do you know what I could have done to them by now? She's lucky it was only a few scales. I could have done much worse."

The drive home was tensely silent, as it was every time Harley brought up her abilities around her parents, until Mrs. Torrance said, "Well, you did get perfect marks on your tests. I don't know if any other private school will take you with this on your record, but your test scores will have to count for something."

As they drove up to their house, Harley blinked a few times to be sure what she was seeing was real. Was that really a ten-foot-tall, hairy man waiting for them?

"What on Earth?" Mrs. Torrance said, slamming on the brakes.

The big man moved, and there was a normal sized man behind him, but he did not look very normal. His white hair and beard nearly reached the ground, and he was clad in purple robes that looked more like they came out of The Lord Of The Rings than any shop in England.

"Excuse me, but just who are you and what are you doing here?" Mrs. Torrance demanded.

The old man reached his hand out to shake. "Forgive me for my abrupt appearance at your home. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This here is Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper and a trusted friend."

"Lovely. Now why are you here?" Harley asked.

"For you, dear," Dumbledore said simply. "But perhaps we should go inside first? Don't want the neighbours getting curious, do we?"

Mrs. Torrance and Harley exchanged looks before Harley said, "What school are you from again and why are you here for me?"

"Because yer a witch, dear," the man called Hagrid said.

"Yes, and for some reason you have escaped our notice for years. Now, shall we go inside, please?" Dumbledore suggested again. "It would seem the safest course of action."

Mrs. Torrance nodded, unlocking their front door. She looked shell-shocked.

Is that man going to fit? Harley wondered absently as they all walked into the house.

"Now," Dumbledore began after the door was shut behind them, "when every witch and wizard in the UK turns eleven, they are all sent notices from Hogwarts that they are to begin their schooling. You are fourteen, which means you have evaded our notice for three years. Someone, most likely your birth parents, put a Concealment Charm on you to hide you from the Wizarding World for some reason."

How did he know she was an adopted witch? What was this school he was talking about?

"Now, we received notice that there was an underage witch performing powerful magic at a Muggle school here, so we came straightaway to see what was happening. Performing magic in the Muggle world underage is prohibited. Letting Muggles see you performing magic is forbidden for all of us."

"Muggle?"

"Non-magic people."

Dumbledore and Hagrid both took turns explaining what Hogwarts and the Wizarding World was, and after an hour had passed, Harley was ecstatic. An all-magic world and school? A place where she wouldn't be a freak of nature anymore? It sounded too good to be true.

Dumbledore handed her a letter written on parchment, stating her acceptance into Hogwarts. "Welcome, Miss Torrance."

"Hold on-what makes you think that I am going to let my child go away to a-a magical boarding school?" Mrs. Torrance asked shrilly.

"Mother," Harley said, "if I stay in this place, what do you think could happen to me? You saw what occurred today. It will only get worse as I get older."

"Mrs. Torrance, Hogwarts is an ancient institution. And also, you cannot revoke a witch or wizard's acceptance unless you are either myself or from the Ministry of Magic. It is her birthright, and you can't stop her from going," Dumbledore said. The tone he used was kind, but his eyes were hard behind his half-moon spectacles.

Harley was studying her letter. There were a lot of things she needed to get, and she asked how she would obtain them.

"Well, I 'ave two books yeh need with me," Hagrid said, handing her Hogwarts, A History and A History Of Modern Magic. "Teh rest I'll take yeh ter get a week before term starts. I'll show yeh how ter turn Muggle money inter Galleons ter use at Diagon Alley."

Whatever that means.

"Now, before we conclude this visit, may I see a short demonstration of what you can do?" Dumbledore asked. "To know what year you need to be put in for classes."

Harley nodded, and explained to him about how she could make things levitate, come to her at will, make things move, and mix various potions. She showed him a few of her homemade brews from her basement workshop.

Dumbledore made a few notes and then said, "Well, with the exception of flying, you seem to be right where you need to be, magic wise. I think our Potions Master will have to keep on his toes around you. I'll have the professors test you on the first day as well." He stood and shook her hand. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Torrance. We're happy to have you."

That evening, Harley could hear her parents arguing over her going to Hogwarts, but she didn't pay much mind. She was going, whether they liked it or not.