The brightest witch of her age is a cunning, precocious girl with no respect for authority from a muggle family that is more than it seems. Will follow canon, if possible, with character interactions and choices altering the base plot. Dark magic will be delved into and explored. As few external plot elements (soul-bonds, additional prophesies, extended timetravel) as possible, as the story examines just how much the Potterverse could change when only one element is different. The story will also focus more than usual on the lessons and the magic itself; don't expect to see pairings before third, maybe fourth year.

DISCLAIMER:

Unfortunately, for my bank account's balance, I don't own Harry Potter. Fortunately, for millions of fans, Rowling does and knew what she was doing.

...

Number seven, Cromer Road, was a nice place even for the pricier London suburbs. The quiet Victorian house on a quiet street in one of the quieter areas of the city was not a place one would expect to find anything unusual or untoward. In this neighborhood older people lived their twilight years and richer people came to escape the bustle of downtown. There was a primary school down the street but it was neither very close nor did it have that many students. It was thought quiet enough and safe enough that one such student could skip up the street after school hours and into her home, without parental supervision. Or perhaps the tall boy in his late teens that followed on the younger girl's footsteps was considered enough of an escort; the cat didn't know but might soon find out. It was why she'd come here, after all. As she confirmed that the two children indeed entered the Victorian house at number seven, she patted her map once with a paw and Vanished it. She then jumped off the tree and strode towards the house as well.

...

"That's ridiculous!" her brother Claude said with exasperation as he towered over her in all five and a half feet of his fourteen-year-old self. "There's no way the teachers would let something like this go on that far. You're just trying to weasel out of being grounded for fighting at school - again!"

Valerie rolled not-so-innocent blue eyes at that. Poor, poor, naive Claude. Just because she was trying to divert their parents' attention didn't mean she was lying. Her homework had been stolen and there was no way she'd let that go by, doing nothing. Josh and his band of bullies had nicked several girls' schoolbags and hidden them in the boys' locker room. She'd warned him not to but he never listened; maybe his broken nose would be a better reminder from now on? If not, she'd have to get creative next time. A bit of fire, perhaps? She snorted, pulled an errant blonde lock behind her left ear and looked at her mother, trying to judge ratios; one third annoyed to two thirds worried, perhaps?

"Oh Dearie, you didn't cause trouble again, did you?" Mother asked with a small frown, disappointment evident. "I don't want you to spoil your perfect record. What would your father say?" Good job not getting caught!, most probably. There weren't any teachers in the locker rooms. "And how will you make friends if you don't stop being so contrary? Sometimes I despair of you ever growing up..." Yes, because an ignoramus of Josh's caliber would have made a good friend? He wasn't even smart enough to know when he was being made fun of - which made reading the dictionary to find new words to do just that even funnier. "Oh what will I do with you young lady..." her mother mused. "Just go to your room. You're grounded until further notice."

Another point in favor of intelligence, Valerie considered. If you were a lazy person and liked your toys or the telly, they could be taken away. If you loved going out you could be grounded. If you liked your dresses and shoes and nail polish, an allowance could be witheld. But reading? Learning more than others did and getting better at important things? What parents would ever take that away? Not that Valerie disliked dresses or shoes. Books were just more...

Val's thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell, and her attention was immediately drawn to the peculiar visitor that was revealed when her mother opened the front door. A severe-looking, black-haired woman in an old-style dress stood there. Her appearance was curious. Unadorned glasses worn over piercing eyes, hair caught in a tight bun and an aura of respectability and zero tolerance for nonsense clashed with the flowing emerald cloth that must have been fashionable before the war -the Independence one- and the eerie... presence that declared something was seriously off to all that would hear. Not to mention the wooden stick caught in a strap of her belt. And what about her age? She appeared no older than fifty but her eyes and bearing reminded her more of grandma Elize rather than Mother.

"Good evening!" the strange visitor said. "My name is Minerva McGonagal. Is this the house of Owen and Melissa Campbell?"

...

Minerva McGonagal, deputy headmistress in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had had a very busy summer so far. A week of exams followed by a week of grading and the end of the school year then two more weeks of contacting established magical families whose children would reach the age of eleven before August the 31st, the official beginning of the next year. Tuition arrangements, scholarships, travel arrangements, meeting the occasional parent; not every magical household could afford to pay cash for seven years of Hogwarts education. And since the Ministry's and Board of Governors' joint decision in the mid 1800s to have all Hogwarts students travel to the school via train from platform Nine and Three Quarters in London, travel plans had become needlessly complicated. Only bureaucrats would set a single departure point for students from all over Great Britain when many magical households in the country -especially those in Scotland and Ireland- were closer to Hogwarts than London to begin with! But as June gave way to July, it was time for another task; contacting the muggleborn witches and wizards.

"I'm Melissa Campbell." the thirty-something blonde confirmed. "Can I help you?"

"I am deputy headmistress of a boarding school for children with special talents, Mrs. Campbell..." Minerva explained. "Your daughter's acheivements have recently come to our attention and I was sent to contact you in person. May I come in?" The names of all magical children in Great Britain were written on a book in the headmaster's office by Rowena Ravenclaw's own pen, one of Hogwarts' ancient founders, as they have been for over a millennium. But that was only the first step. Minerva had to get the names to the ministry of magic so the Trace charm could be put on them and their underage magic tracked and their location found. The official letter of acceptance to Hogwarts would automatically find them if sent by owl, yes, but muggle parents were unlikely to receive well any letter sent via owl - and then there was the breach to the Statute of Secrecy to consider. And thus a representative of the school had to be sent to explain the situation to families unfamiliar with magic.

Following Mrs Campbell inside, Minerva checked out the strange furniture styles and peculiar muggle devices filling the quiet Victorian house. Over several decades she'd seen many nonmagical households and had become acquainted with what muggles considered high-quality or expensive. And this house had it; not so much in the elaborate decorations and art favored by pureblood wizarding families (though those were in evidence too) but in the many esoteric devices muggles used to account for their lack of magic. Since the only one Minerva could recognize was the telly, she decided to focus on the reason for her visit. Graciously accepting the offered tea and making some small talk until everyone was sitting in the living room, the old witch carefully observed the girl. Of average height and build, the younger blonde displayed intelligence and curiosity by both paying attention to the discussion and surreptitiously observing what must be to her a very strange visitor. In Minerva's experience while many children age eleven were curious, most quickly found discussions between adults boring and discussions about school and academics somewhat unnerving. Perhaps the next few minutes would be calmer and more interesting that usual...

"Tell me Mrs Campbell," Minerva asked "have you ever noticed unusual events in your home?"

"Unusual how, professor?" the older blonde asked, perplexed. The girl and her brother on the other hand nailed Minerva with measuring stares.

"Things you couln't explain. Unusual lights or sounds, objects out of place, unlikely or impossible events." As Mrs Campbell's expression shifted into surprise and then worry, the deputy headmistress smiled while the children frowned in thought. Now this was unusual. Not unheard of - she'd encountered such a situation in Kent some two decades ago - but rare. It somewhat complicated things though, and would come as a shock to the poor mother. Sighing, the witch drew her wand and flicked it at the teapot, promptly transforming it into a gerbil. Mrs Campbell jumped off her seat in surprise, mouth agape. Her children didn't.

"Pay up Claude!" young Valerie said with glee after nearly a minute of silent scrutiny. "You and your comics were totally wrong!" Sullenly, the tall teenager passed a five pound note to his sister, one the old witch recognized from her many trips to Muggle Britain. The girl, almost dancing in her seat now, put the muggle money in her pocket and smiled at Minerva.

"Are you, like, a sorceress? Do all sorceresses wear old dresses? Do you all have magic wands? Are you really a professor? Can you move objects with your mind? Can you..."

"Breathe, child!" Minerva said, answering the young girl's smile with a thin one of her own. "And the correct term is 'witch'." Mrs Campbell collapsed into her chair and sighed heavily. After her initial shock, the strongest emotions evident in her sharp features for the past few minutes had been resignation and worry. She must have noticed the impossible results of her daughter's accidental magic then, but explained them away via common muggle 'logic' and largely forgotten them. Many parents of muggleborn witches and wizards had been like that but only in very few cases the children had correctly interpreted the events despite their parents' 'assurances' that magic did not exist. Fewer still had actively hidden further events from their parents, as Minerva was all but certain was the case here.

"Professor McGonagal, could I talk to you for a minute?" the older blonde requested. "In private?" At her nod, the thirty-something mother visibly recovered her composure and frowned at the children. "The professor and I have some matters to discuss, kids." she said seriously. "Why don't you go upstairs for a bit, maybe play with the gerbil?"

"But mom!"

"No buts, young lady!" the young mother admonished firmly. "I want a few minutes with your future professor. Grown-up talk." Thank Merlin she wasn't hysterical like many other muggle mothers before her when brought to a similar position. It would have made the whole situation that much more awkward, not to mention her task far more difficult. Good old Albus would hardly leave a budding muggleborn witch without education, especially not one smart enough to realize she was a witch in the first place, or one with that many instances of uncontrolled magic in her Trace record. And they did have a few important things to discuss, too. Tuition money probably wouldn't be an issue if the house was any indication. But where was the girl's father? Much as she prefered the direction the whole world had taken after Grindelwald's war, Minerva knew most of the Board of Governors still had firm patriarchal beliefs and would require she deal with the superior, in their worldview, of the two parents. It was to be expected with most of them being purebloods of course, not to mention over half the board members having exceeded the average wizarding life expectancy of a hundred and thirty seven years. Oh well. She'd try to stay away from discussing that kind of politics for her young charge's sake, no matter how many bitter memories she had of her own treatment in the past. Good old Albus was trying -had been doing so for near forty years- and with every muggleborn wizard and, especially, witch entering the wizarding world their goal got another step closer.

...

"I still think you got lucky in our bet, you little brat!" Claude said mock-sullenly from his position atop her desk. Not that there was anywhere else to sit on in her room. Two full walls were taken up by the massive bookcase containing over twenty-eight hundred tomes, manuals, folios, magazines, academic journals and books of all kinds in general. Val thought for a moment and nodded. A book per day, on average, since she'd started reading on her own. She was smart, devouring books of all subjects at speeds her parents sometimes found alarming. Another wall was taken up by a small workshop where she worked both on standard art subjects and little 'tests' on things she'd read in the more interesting textbooks. But for several years now, she'd been growing further away from her child prodigy idols.

"Seriously, magic? What explanation is that? It doesn't actually explain anything!" Val rolled her eyes at her half-brother's indignation. It was a conclusion she'd been considering more and more with every test tube that ended the wrong color, every circuit that fizzled, every random result that was a little less random than it should be. It didn't happen every time. Not even one time out of a hundred. But when she was really frustrated, eager or angry? Something would go wrong, somewhere. It was times like these that stopped her from enjoying many of her textbooks.

"Because your comic books do?" she snorted and gestured with one hand and a book in the seventh row tilted and fell on Claude's head. It was the 'Mechanics of Motion' manual; rather appropriate if she thought so herself. "Face it, big brother. No 'mutation' will ever allow anyone to do that. Besides, professor McGonagal changed a teapot into a gerbil. Do you even know how many scientific theories that ignores?" Probably all of them, she thought.

"She did invite you to a school for gifted children..." he countered weakly but then all attempts at defense failed dismally when the gerbil suddenly jumped on his lap and caused him to jump off the desk. Valeria laughed and a few moments later Claude followed.

"So, what do you think they're discussing?" he asked as he examined the gerbil then threw it at her.

"No idea. Maybe tuition, if witches still use normal currency." She let the gerbil chew on a lock of her dirty-blonde hair. It beat sacrificing a book or clothing and most things in her workshop were not fit for consumption. "Length of school year and the curicullum, too."

"Whoa sis, big words." Claude said in mock-surprise. "Try out some smaller ones, too, for your own good."

"Why?" Val said distractedly, considering the events earlier today. Did something odd happen when...

"Well, you do want to make some friends in witch academy, right?" her half-brother asked innocently. "Otherwise they might turn you into a gerbil."

The discussion devolved into a pillow fight after that...

...

Minerva considered the two children coming down the stairs at a run at their mothers' call. Her private discussion with Melissa Campbell had taken longer than expected and revealed many interesting facts, the least of which was the whereabouts of Owen Campbell, her husband. The pair had an interesting arrangement given the amount of time their respective jobs had them out of their home or even abroad. They frequently shifted the role of stay-at-home parent between them so at least one parent would be available as often as possible and hired nannies for the times it was not. The interesting part, from a pureblood perspective, was that Melissa Campbell was more often abroad due to her job as a negotiator in the muggle world and her husband stayed at home longer than she did. Too bad that the Statute of Secrecy and prior arrangements of the Hogwarts Board of Governors stipulated muggleborn wizards and witches be escorted by a professor and their closest adult male relative (if available) in their first foray into Diagon Alley and wizarding London in general. Many parents didn't accompany their children in that first visit at all, often requiring weeks or months to overcome their shock and accept the new world their children usually embraced outright with the cheerfulness of youth. Oh well. Young Valerie would hardly be the first newly minted witch she had personally escorted; there would be several others like her this year alone.

"Claude, Valeria, calm down and pay attention now!" the mother admonished seriously but needlessly. Despite their eagerness, the children were remarkably composed and attentive. "Valeria, professor McGonagal has offered to escort you to the magical side of London tomorrow to get supplies, equipment and textbooks for your new school. She'll also be introducing you to Wizarding Britain, as it is called, giving you some basic information about it. She also has something to give you now."

"Here, young lady." Minerva said, taking the folded and stamped parchment most wizarding letters used and handing it over to her young charge. "This is your acceptance letter to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Students from wizarding homes have it delivered to them via owl post but those in muggle homes -that is our name for nonwizards- have it handed to them by their wizard or witch escorts in most cases."

"Will... will I be getting a letter, professor?" the boy Claude asked, already half-guessing the answer.

"Unfortunately not, young man" Minerva said seriously. "You have no magical ability and would not fare well in our world. That is something that cannot be changed." she said, forestalling the second most often asked question by nonmagical siblings. "Not every child has the ability, not even in wizarding families where the ability is inherited. The best you can do is wish your sister good luck." The boy nodded in all seriousness, though his face was red with emotion.

"I have a question!" the girl suddenly stated. Minerva nodded and saw an earnest face locking blue eyes into her own brown.

"Are you now, or ever were, a kitty?"

"What?!" Minerva blurted, surprised. The girl's sharp features and pink lips -she shared those with her mother along with dirty blonde hair- stretched into a satisfied smile, the answer to her question evident in Minerva's own responce.

"Real cats can't read maps, professor." she said with a laugh before turning to her gobsmacked brother. "Pay up, comics-for-brains!"