A/N: in this, Hogwarts is a university, and the first-year characters are about seventeen or eighteen, not eleven, and would have grown up going to schools that studied a little bit of magic, except of course the Muggle-borns.

Disclaimer: Chisterie ate it. If you want it, go ask him. However, it did go something like "I am not JK Rowling, nor am I anyone owning rights to Wicked, as much as I wish I was. Don't own, don't own, don't own. Sorry."


Nessa sobbed openly and held my hand as Father led us towards the barrier between platforms Nine and Ten. Just ahead of us, a red-haired boy and his mother followed a short black-haired boy through to the other side of the ticket barrier. Nessa let out an unusually loud sob, and I knelt beside her wheelchair- she's can't walk, and has never even stood up on her own- and rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb.

"Nessie, hush. It's okay, no-one's going to tease you about being in your chair, it's fine, they'll all love you; you know they will," I said.

"It's not that I'm worried about," She sniffed, wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and continued; "I'm worried that I won't be any good. You will. That much is obvious, Elphie. You have talent, and you'll be really good, we both know that. But I'll be rubbish!" she burst into tears again.

"Nessie! Oh, Nessie, Nessie, Nessie… it isn't what talent you have, it's how much you learn and how you apply it!" She wasn't convinced, so I employed one of her favourite phrases; "Totally, Nessie. You'll be great."

Nessa nodded tearfully, whispered "Totally. I'll be totally great. Totally, totally great," and allowed Father to push her through the barrier.

In the five-or-so years since Nessarose had learned the meaning of the word 'totally' in what she liked to call 'modern context', I had become rather sick of it.

I turned, took one long, last look at the Muggle world and stepped through the barrier onto platform 9 ¾.

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