The hazy English sun beat down warmly on the sprawling, well maintained back yard of the Grimmshaw estate. Alice was sat under the old weeping willow, scarf and cardigan discarded up into it's lower branches in the summer heat. She had just finished chasing a stray niffler across the yard that had stolen her miniature golden snitch, and was taking a bit of a rest to talk to her brother, who was positioned in a shady spot working on a painting. It wasn't very good, Alice thought, but then again, he was only nine-and-a-half. Maybe he'd get better as he got older.

"Are you sure you can't sneak me into your trunk?" Kingsley looked up from his painting to ask, not for the first time that day. Alice smiled. Kingsley was taking the fact that she would be gone for more than half the year hard. Not that Alice blamed him. Having to face their mother alone was no easy task. But still.

"Sorry, Kingsley. But how am I supposed to fit all my stuff if I put you in there?" She popped a piece of bubblegum into her mouth to have something to do. "Besides, how are you supposed to owl me all the details to the quidditch matches you see if you're at Hogawrts?" Alice has priorities.

Kingsley pouted, flopping back onto the neatly manicured grass. "It's so unfaiiiir," he whined, "Why do you get to be older than me. Stop it."

Alice laughed, frankly baffled by the 9-year-old's complaint. "But if I stop aging, I'll have to wait even longer to go to Hogwarts!" Yes, she fully realized that was Kingsley's whole point, but she did not care.

"Fine then. I'll just sneak into Mary's things." He puffed out his cheeks indignantly. His half-finished painting seemed to lay forgotten on it's easel. She couldn't even tell what it was supposed to be from where she was sitting.

"You know Mary probably triple checks her things before she leaves. How do you plan to avoid her when she goes to check while you're in there?" Check and mate. She blew a bubble with her gum. It popped, and immediately got all over her glasses. Dammit. She took her glasses off and began scraping the gum off with the nail of her thumb. Her mother always lectured her for biting her nails, but nevertheless, the nail was still jagged from biting.

Kingsley sat up, his face screwing up exaggeratedly in deep thought, he opened his mouth to speak, but Alice was already not paying any attention to him. That niffler was back, and this time it was here to steal Kingsley's paintbrushes. Her eyes tracked the small creature as it scurried away with half of his brushes. Now to see how long it would take the other to notice.

It was an unfortunately rather dreary day in Witney, and for young Alice, that meant hours upon wretched, dreadful hours of being trapped inside the spaciously suffocating home of the Grimmshaw estate. She had spent most of the day pacing up and down the halls, making up stories for the various paintings of her ancestors which endlessly lines the walls. She had decided that the portrait of the somber, mustachioed gentlemen with the booming voice that said many words that had little real substance had to have been some sort of town crier. The portrait of the plump woman in mauve gown with curly blonde hair had to have been an opera singer. She continued like this until she encountered a portrait of a severe looking woman with mousey brown hair who told her to fix her posture, which just upset the young witch, who stormed off to the living room.

So now, there she sat, slouched in a rather plush chair in the living room having herself a right bit of a sulk. Her grandmother sat in a chair opposite her, knitting. Alice always wondered why Gamma Gimmshaw preffered to knit by hand instead of just using the knitting spell. Gamma Gimmshaw just said that she knitted for fun, not to complete a task, so using a spell took all the fun out of it.

"Gamma," began Alice, "what house do you think I'm going to be sorted into at Hogwarts?" She shimmied up in her chair so she could look at her grandmother properly. Gamma Gimmshaw put down her knitting down on her lap for a second, a pensive look crossing her face. Alice always thought that Gamma looked younger than her mum, or at the very least, more full of life. Mum always looked so stoic and uptight.

"Well, that's entirely up to the sorting hat," she resumed her knitting, "I like to think you take after me enough that you're a born Gryffindor, but I know things aren't always that straightforward, when it comes to houses. All I know is, whatever house you end up in will have gained an extraordinary young woman."

"And a great quidditch player!" Alice beamed, and her grandmother nodded, an amused smile on her face. "I hope I get sorted into Gryffindor like you, Gamma! I think Gryffindor is the best house!" She exclaimed confidently, at the same time her father came into the room, home from another long day of whatever boring ministry job he had that Alice never cared about, placing a soggy newspaper by the fireplace to dry.

"Hey now, that's a bold statement from someone who isn't even sorted yet, little lady. I think there's something to be said for us Ravenclaws, not to toot my own horn." He said, taking a seat in another one of the many living room chairs with a book.

Alice made an exaggerated disgusted face. Most of the expressions Alice made were exaggerated, because Alice was a rather dramatic eleven year old. "Ravenclaw is for nerds like you and Mary, Father. I'm not a Ravenclaw because I'm not a nerd!"

Alice's father looked downright hurt at that comment. "I am not a nerd! I simply a particularly studious individual. Mum, back me up on this. I'm not a nerd, right?" He turned towards Gamma Gimmshaw, who simply pointedly focused on her knitting. The silence spoke volumes. Alice dissolved into a fit of giggles. "Father is a ne-erd! Father ne-erd!" she chanted in a sing-song voice as the father is question slumped down in his chair in defeat, putting a hand over his face, only partially to hide his laughter.

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