A/N: Essentially, what you recognize belongs to the goddess that is J.K. Rowling, and what you don't belongs to lil' ol' me.

This story will follow Genevieve through the second year of Hogwarts, but, due the fact that the actually Harry Potter books don't begin until her third year, this won't be much of a story. This will, however, lay some foundation for what I am planning to build upon in the following books.

Dally'sTUFF: Thank you again for the kind review on the last chapter of my first story. I may do a chapter in which Genevieve takes care of Magical Creatures in a later book, but if not, I believe you will be satisfied with the ending I have planned out for the series.

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"My dear Gennie," her grandfather began weakly.

"Shh, Grandpa," Genevieve urged. "Save your strength."

Her grandfather, a Muggle, had always shared a close connection to "Gennie" and was the only one who called her by that nickname. Though they didn't get to see each other often anymore (he lived in a way's away, and Genevieve had been busy with Hogwarts while her father had a time-consuming job at the Ministry, barely getting time off for holidays), they could still almost read each other's thoughts. When Genevieve and her father had heard of his heart attack, they had rushed to his side, disregarding all responsibilities.

"What is the point?" He countered, wheezing. "I am not long for the world. Oh yes, the doctors put on a show, but I know. Seventy-seven years in this life, and I know. I have mere months, and you are off to Hogwarts again soon, just like your father. Would come home with the wildest stories, that one. Talked about your mother to no end before they even started dating. He was so happy there. You are too?"

Tears streaming from her eyes, she nodded.

He continued, pausing every now and then to take a deep breath. "You mustn't feel pain for me, my Gennie. Death happens, and people you love leave. It is a cruel lesson, but a valuable one nonetheless. Know that I love you, know that I am proud of who you are and who you will become." He grasped her hands, eyes glistening. "I am an old man, but you, you, my dear, are a witch. And you will do great things, I have no doubt. You resemble your father, Gennie, but your mother shines through you."

He lay silently for a moment, pondering his next words. "And thank heavens it is not the other way around. Little berk, your father could be," he added, chuckling. Genevieve giggled, but soon fell silent again. She knew that it might be the last time she'd see him.

"Don't you look at me like that yet; I'm not dead yet!" He exclaimed, sounding almost offended. "Now, I can think of no better way to spend my day than to listen to you telling me stories of this magic school of yours."

So, Genevieve gave another quiet snort, and launched into one of her favorite stories of her and the twins' misdeeds. They joked and laughed the day away, almost as though his prior words of wisdom had never happened.