Every Little Thing, James Potter.

01. Advanced Potion Making

One of her biggest—if not, only—regrets in life (not that she had many), Gwen thought, was how much effort she'd put into making mates with the people she went to school with.

It didn't take long for her to realize that she'd be looked down upon because of her blood status, so early on in her first year was when she began forging friendships. She started small, with the other half-bloods and Muggle-borns. The people who couldn't reject her because of her heritage. Then, she moved onto Purebloods who were already friends with half-bloods—that meant they'd have no problem befriending another. And by then, she'd basically hit it off with the entire bloody school—so why give up when she was so close?

Some made their distaste for her very clear. Some weren't sure quite what to think of her. But most couldn't stop themselves from melting in delight when she offered them a passing smile.

This, specifically, was exemplified especially on the first day of September every year, when everyone inevitably returned to Platform 9¾ to board the train.

She wished her mum and dad a good year, said she'd see them at Christmas, told them she'd miss them, promised to behave herself. The usual lies one usually fed their parents when they were ready to be rid of them for an entire term. And though Gwen loved her parents, she was definitely ready for a break.

Hogwarts was for her the same as it was for many of her classmates: An escape.

At home, Gwen was known as the oddity down her road, the girl who was shipped off to some boarding school every bloody year 'cause she needed special help. She was an outcast. For eleven years, she'd never had somewhere she could fit in. Then she went to Hogwarts, and everything changed.

Her parents had always told her she was special. She'd known she was a witch her whole life, but knowing the explanation for why she was different never helped the sting that came when people pointed it out. Her dad had grown up in the Wizarding World, though, and had always told her it was the same there as it was in the Muggle world.

When she got to Hogwarts, though, Gwen found him to be wrong.

People weren't evasive to her. She wasn't an outcast at Hogwarts. She was actually quite the opposite—she was higher on the social spectrum than she'd ever been at any Muggle institution she attended in her youth. Gwen was well-liked at Hogwarts, and she quite enjoyed it, thank you very much.

"I've already told you I'll write," she said to her mum, growing increasingly exasperated as the interrogation went on and she was held hostage from boarding the train. "You'll be seeing my owl within two days, I swear it."

"One," her mum bargained, holding up her index finger for emphasis. "One day, no more. If you don't, I'll think they've done you in and I'll come see for myself."

"Give her some space, dear, would you?" Gwen's father cut in, his voice gentle yet amused. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, smiling at his daughter. "Just write us, Gwenny. Whenever you feel like it. Now go; it's almost eleven..."

She offered her parents one last squeeze before she was off for the term, and then they were gone, little specks left behind on the platform and practically forgotten about by the time Gwen found her own compartment.

It wasn't her own for long, of course; few people came and went, just popping in to say hi, ask about her holiday, whether she'd be at the Halloween party being hosted by Gryffindor.

"Blimey," she'd replied to the invitation, "they've only just arrived; they're already planning parties?"

After a short moment's deliberation, though, her answer was "Yes, of course I'll be there."