chapter one
It was with an agrieved sigh that Professor Mcgonagall slipped away from the massive castle at midnight.
It has been her home for a very long time. In fact, she has probably lived in this same very location for possibly a little over sixty years. Not in the exact same place, of course, for now she lived in her own quarters, as did all of the professors teaching at Hogwarts, whilst in her youth she had lived in a girl's dormitory of Gryffindor tower.
It was the early morning when she arrived, wet and disgruntled, in the gloomy and overcast London. The morning frost had caused her breath to send clouds of smoke into the air, and she shook away the bits of rain that had gathered behind her ears. It was only when she was safely in the ladies' when first her head, then her legs, grew back back, and she left the cubicle to examine her appearance.
Thin, unsmiling and with an imposing height, Professor Mcgonagall was one whom people could not help but respect the moment their eyes landed on her. She had not wanted to complete this task, for she was getting older, and apparation no longer suited her quite as well, but she was the only one with any experience at all in retrieving an orphan from a muggle orphanage in London, and the only professor at the school with the faintest idea of how to dress and seem like a muggle - it helped that she had been raised like a muggle in her youth - so she had naturally been tasked with this introduction of an orphan.
Satisfied at last after pulling back the last, untangled, strand of hair, she left the bathroom with her head held high, and emerald eyes stern and with no signs of humour. It had been a long time since her job to introduce the hidden wizarding world to young witches and wizards, and she couldn't bring herself to feel the same inane excitement her younger self had felt on her first day of informing a pupil.
The orphanage was considered small for an orphanage. It was located down the bend of Myrtle Street, and Professor Mcgonagall was reminded of the shy, quiet girl in Hufflepuff who had turned into a moping, moaning, Moaning Myrtle ghost. If her initial impression of the orphanage was that it was a sad, gloomy place, this street name did nothing to change that.
The tall, imposing black gates were rusted and had sharp spikes, but the door of the gate was wide open, so Professor Mcgonagall took the chance and walked right in. The orphanage itself seemed reasonably well-maintained. It had white painted, and also beige coloured walls with a black roof. The door to the orphanage was already wide open, and the Professor could already see boys and girls shuffling around barefeet. Some were cleaning tables, some were sweeping the floors. All had shoulders that were curved inward, as though they were trying to hide themselves. Their ages ranged from the youngest being eight, and the eldest being about sixteen, it seemed. He was an acne-ridden guy, with pock-marked skin and a gangly frame that was not at all appealing, so it was quite understandable why he was still working in the orphanage.
She knocked on the door. The boy, along with the other orphans, rose their thin heads. They glanced at one another, before a single glare from the oldest sent the eight year old scrambling away, presumably to fetch someone of greater authority.
Professor Mcgonagall was right, for the boy returned with a tall and thin woman in her late thirties dressed in smart business clothes.
"Good morning, are you here to adopt a child?" she asked.
Professor Mcgonagall got a whiff of an unmistakeable scent of alcohol.
"No," she said politely, "I am here to see Isadora Rosier, and to talk to her about enrolling in my school."
The lady blinked. "Ah, I see. About her grades, ain't it? Isadora is a smart kid, see. No wonder a fine lady like yourself is coming to seek her out. But are you sure about wanting her? Isadora has looks of an angel, but she is not one."
"Yes, I am quite sure," Professor Mcgonagall said cooly, with a steely note to her voice.
The lady shrugged as though to say "your loss", and led her further into the orphanage.
The orphanage was a clean place, the walls without a speck of dirt, and the floors were equally spotless. But there was an air of gloominess in it - in the wide open dormitory doors with the curious children craning their heads to have a better glimpse of the matron and the unfamiliar old lady, and the sadness steeped into their faces. But Professor Mcgonagall knew she had no place meddling with their lives.
One after another, they kept passing dormitories, until it simply couldn't be possible for the orphanage to have any more room for yet another dormitory where Isadora resided. But the matron led her up yet another flight of stairs, and onto a dark, dimly lit attic, with only two doors, none big enough for a dormitory.
"N'ne liked her, did they. Said she was a creep," the matron slurred, "'nd I've to admit even I meself am sometimes scar'd of her too. 'Tis the spawn of the devil, she is. Even her name says so."
Minerva was reminded of how the town had felt regarding the choice of her name when she was little. Her dislike deepened further, but she said nothing.
"-and they're scared o'her living with 'em, so she lives here now," the lady said, and Professor Mcgonagall finally understood why they were in the attic, "Honestly, I don't blame 'em. I'd ne'er want to live with her, neither."
The matron knocked on the door.
"Isadora! A lady is here to see you!" she called, her voice a painful screech that made even Professor Mcgonagall wince slightly. Of course, it may also be because of the name, for it reminded her of someone she could never forget...
The door was opened with a creak, and Professor Mcgonagall entered what had to be the smallest, and most inappropriate, place to raise a child.
The room was exceeding small. She was certain could have stretched out her two arms and been able to easily touch the two sides of the walls. The length was not much better, lending only enough room for a small bed of metal, which creaked, and a thin grey blanket on the white bedsheets, that looked old and worn. A small desk was placed to the immediate side of the bed with little room in between, with a simple wooden chair pushed neatly into the desk, and a small chest was placed in front of the bed, most likely because there wasn't any space to put a wardrobe. The windows at the end, slightly above both the bed and the desk, had been pushed open forcefully, such that the buffering wind never halted in its cold frenzy - that day seemed to be particularly unhappy - and propped open by a thick stick stuck between the window and the ledge.
A small girl sat on the bed, causing the bed springs to creak as she shifted slightly into a more formal position, sitting with crossed legs instead of her legs being in front of her, one folded under another. Professor Mcgonagall did not know what to make of her, because for a girl her height, she had a surprisingly solid figure, and her gaze on Professor Mcgonagall was defiant and defensive. She looked malnutritious, now, but it seemed as though she had had a family who had given her enough to eat before, because her bones were big, and well developed, although she looked like she had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. She still had baby fat on her cheeks, like all other eleven year olds, but her skin was tight over her strong bone structure, and the clothes she wore hung loosely over her. Professor Mcgonagall could not help but wonder if she had not been given enough to eat, or she had suffered a loss and could not bring herself to.
She was undeniably attractive, even at only eleven. With a strong, defined jaw and a square, set face that most girls did not have, Isadora had an exotic look, with her intriguing nose, a cross between a high-set nose and a button nose. Her cheekbones were not as well defined, but they fit very well with her strong jaw, and her eyebrows shadowed her eyes. Unlike the unnatural paleness of her skin, her hair held a natural dark shade, as did her eyes. Only when the light that shined through the dirty, undusted windows hit her the right angle did Mcgonagall realise that she did not have black eyes, but amber-brown orbs that gazed at her behind a pair of rectangular black plastic glasses.
She was tying back her untidy waves of black tresses as she eyed them mutinously. Somehow, the messiness of her hair only made her seem more personable. That had no logic behind it, but it truly did.
Professor Mcgonagall turned around to stare at the matron for a while, who took a moment to realise what she was insinuating, and flushed.
"Right, right. I'll, umm, I'll be outside when you're done," she said in a rush, nearly tripping over herself in her haste to get out, and closing the door shut quickly behind her with a creak.
Professor Mcgonagall waited a while, before taking out her wand and waving it at the door, ensuring that no eavesdropping would occur.
By then, Isadora was just staring at Mcgonagall. She held her elbows close to her thin body, emphasizing on how skinny and fragile she looked, especially in that threadbare old shirt that was draped over her small frame and the cotton shorts she were wore were equally unfitting, engulfing her in their loose embrace, but her sharp chin, that was jutting out from where she was looking upwards while gazing at Professor Mcgonagall, told her that the girl was no pushover.
"Are you...Isadora Rosier?" Professor Mcgonagall made sure to check her letter again to make sure she got the right name. It was a confirmation - she had never gone to the wrong person, but just in case, she'd better ask. After all, the matron was drunk.
A nod.
"My name is Professor Mcgonagall. I am a teacher of a boarding school in Scotland, and I would like to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School," Professor Mcgonagall said, "It is a school of magic, for witches and wizards."
She waited, staring at Isabel, waiting for the outburst. The muggle-raised always did that. Some yelled at her for being a lunatic who ought to be locked up in an asylum, some shouted in joy and exhilaration, some scoffed.
But Isabel did neither.
The small little girl on the small bed blinked, and slipped a bookmark into the weathered and slightly yellowed book that she had been reading prior to Professor Mcgonagall's arrival, before putting it aside. Her eyes then rose to meet Professor Mcgonagall's.
"How was I accepted?" she asked calmly. This was the first time that Professor Mcgonagall had heard her speak, and it was to her surprise that she learned that the girl in fact had an average voice that was slightly lower than most girls her age. The voice was, however, slightly husky, as if it had been left unused for a long time.
Professor Mcgonagall felt a pang of pity.
"By performing magic. When you perform magic, there is a charmed quill at the school who writes your name down into a book, which we will read and send out letters on your eleventh birthday. If you do not have parents who are capable of magic, however, a professor comes to inform you of your acceptance, and brings the letter that contains the list of all the things you will need for school. You start school on the first of September. I wrote you an instruction sheet on how to go to school on the first of September, and put it in your letter, so you need not worry about not being able to find your way."
Isadora took the pro-offered letter, letting her eyes feast slowly on the blood-red seal, before slowly breaking the seal and opening the letter with careful hands. She had gentle piano hands, Mcgonagall realised, long, slender, with a calloused right hand - there were bumps from writing too hard and too fast, on both her middle and ring finger - and when she briefly showed her palm, Mcgonagall could see the three blisters that were on the bottom of her index, middle and ring fingers.
She read through the letter slowly, taking her time to savour every word, it seemed. The letters were self-explanatory, and for some reason, she seemed to believe in every single word written on it easily without a loud outburst, unlike most, for her next question was, "Where do I get the money to buy all that stuff?"
As she spoke, the girl moved again, almost like she was restless. Her first cross-legged stance turned into a position where her legs were folded to form a diamond. The loose cotton sack that she called a shirt once again moved in waves just as another gust of wind entered, but Isadora didn't seem afraid.
"There is a trust fund for students who cannot afford to buy the books they need for Hogwarts. However, you also have the choice to do a blood test, so that if your blood test shows that you have parents with a vault of considerable amounts of money, then you will retrieve your money from there and not need the trust fund."
"And how do you get there?" Isadora asked. Throughout the whole conversation, Isadora never showed a single emotion, her eyes looking into Professor Mcgonagall's with a look of extreme concentration.
"I will bring you there," Professor Mcgonagall said, and they left the dingy, tiny little bedroom.
Professor Mcgonagall led the way, making use of the underground. Isadora followed attentively, trying to capture to memory how the way looked like. She found herself soon at a pub where most people in muggle London glanved over as though there were nothing there, instead of the bustling pub with odd people in hats and cloaks.
"Doesn't anyone else see this place?" Isadora asked curiously.
"It is charmed so that only people with magic can see it," Professor Mcgonagall replied, immediately understand Isadora's question.
"Professor Mcgonagall!" a female voice said in surprise and welcome. Isadora saw that it came from a tall and blonde haired lady in earthy coloured clothes - a dirty green hat, and brown robes the colour of mud.
"Mrs Longbottom," Professor Mcgonagall said, unfazed.
"Would you like to stay? Try out some of my newest recipes?" she offered with a bright, vibrantly wide smile.
"I'm afraid not, Mrs Longbottom. I have to show a new student around to get her ready for Hogwarts," Professor Mcgonagall replied without hesitation.
That is when the landlady turned her attention to the small, easily overlooked girl, who was staring at her with mild interest.
"I though Headmistresses didn't bring students around?" the landlady asked curiously with wide, blue eyes.
"Not usually, no. But it seems no one at the castle is capable of retrieving an orphan, so they asked me to do so instead," Professor Mcgonagall said.
"I see. Well, nice shopping, both of you. Maybe later you could come by and try out the recipes?" the landlady asked.
"Maybe," said the tall, strict witch with her Scottish brogue, leading Isadora on, to the brick wall, and tapped the right brick.
The bricks rearranged themselves and revealed the street behind it.
It was bustling with color and noise, with a lot of eye-catching things to see from all directions, making Isadora feel quite overwhelmed by the sheer amount of brilliant colours and movinf pictures and whatnot, but the professor headed straight for the huge, marble white building at the end of the cobbled street, and she followed, still attempting to stare at everything all at once.
There was a bronze Common Welsh Green dragon statue in front of the building, rearing up, and roaring with its wide mouth. There was a plaque that said it was the dragon Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger rode to escape from Gringotts not too long ago, for it was only a few years back, and these people mentioned her probably still alive. However, at the bottom of the huge statue were names, etched into the bronze. There was a title that wrote "Great people who died fighting in the war", and Isadora ran her eyes over just several names, not by order of alphabets "Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, Amelia Bones" just to name a few. But they did not stop to admire the recent war memorial, and continued on the way into Gringotts.
Gringotts seemed to be entirely manned by little creatures with sharp noses and sharp ears. They were even shorter than Isadora was, and seemed to all be busy doing one thing or another. Professor Mcgonagall strode up to the Head Goblin right at the end of the huge, entirely marble hall, and waited with so much authority that the goblin had no choice but to look up.
"Miss Rosier would like to take a blood test," she said.
The head goblin frowned.
"A blood test. Are you sure?" he asked.
"She would like to know her heritage, and her blood," Professor Mcgonagall said, ending the conversation with a firm line, and the head goblin sighed.
"Grithall!" he snapped his fingers. Another goblin appeared, a far younger one. "Could you bring me the blood test parchment and the crystal dagger," the head goblin commanded. The other goblin left without a word, and returned soon after with all the equipment before withdrawing. The blood test parchment looked like average parchment, but the crystal dagger threw light around with its icy-blue blade, and was mesmerizing.
"Take the crystal dagger and cut a small part of your skin," he said. He instructed her on what to do as Isadora tiptoed to do it, and her hand was shaking slightly - not out of fear, mind, but merely because her hand was naturally not very steady - but she managed to cut it, and turn her palm into a fist, squeezing it to drip down the droplets of blood which hissed in contact with the parchment, as though being painfully boiled, and soon, words began to appear. Her wound, however, healed as quickly as it had been cut.
Isadora Adriana Rosier
Blood status: Pureblood
Paternal Line:
Rosier
Selwyn
Black
Peverell
Maternal Line:
Mckinnon
Fawley
Proudfoot
Father: Evan Rosier (deceased)
Mother: Marlene Mckinnon (deceased)
Only living heir to the House of Rosier, Mckinnon, Peverell. First in line to the House of Selwyn. Second in line to the House of Black.
Vaults currently owned:
The Vault of Peverell
The Vault of Rosier
The Vault of Mckinnon
Vault 725 - a trust fund which had been set up under I. 's name prior to birth in 1981 by Evan Rosier, deceased father. Gringotts key currently kept in blood chest.
All rules still apply, and the minor will only be allowed full access to all the other vaults when reaches majority at seventeen years.
Professor Mcgonagall's face had gone frightfully white by now, staring at the names with a look of disbelief.
"Professor? Is that something I should know?" Isadora asked, probing.
Professor Mcgonagall regained her senses, snapping back into her usual stern exterior, shaking her head. Isadora did not look like she was convinced in any way, and Professor Mcgonagall did not blame her.
"Is it possible for you to retrieve the keys to Miss Rosier's vaults?" Professor Mcgonagall asked the head goblin. She could not stop looking at Isadora now, comparing her to her old student, wondering if she would be placed in Gryffindor, following her mother, or Slytherin like her father, and needed a distraction. And how she was still alive.
Though now, come to think of it, that wavy black hair seemed to be a characteristic of the Rosier family, and the amber-brown eyes a mix between Rosier's brown eyes and Marlene's amber ones, and her build was...Stop!
"I can hand you the blood chest that holds the key to the trust fund, entrusted to us by Lord Rosier before his death, and Miss Rosier will have to open it the usual way - by blood. But I am afriad I cannot retrieve the Mckinnon one. There is only one key made for every vault, and the original key appears to have been misplaced by Miss Mckinnon prior to her death," the head goblin said, "As for the Rosier vault, all that is needed is her blood, and a goblin, of course."
"But I thought this parchment states that I cannot enter any vault?" Isadora asked, thoroughly confused.
The head goblin sniffed. "You can visit the Vaults, but you are only permitted full access to the vault that is under your name, which is a trust fund that your father had set up for you until you reach your majority, because no minor below the age of seventeen is allowed to touch anything other than family heirlooms in the old, pureblood vaults. You can own the key, yes, but we goblins will be watching you, and will only allow you to take the family heirlooms from the vaults and nothing else."
His voice got softer, more threatening, at the end, almost cruel in the way his words ended with a sibilant sigh.
"Well, I suppose you will have to get your money from your vault, then," Professor Mcgonagall said, "You don't need Hogwarts' money after all."
To say the head goblin looked curious was an understatement, for he was now overtly gazing at the loose shirt and shorts, both threadbare and fraying on the edges, that gave her a poor street muggle appearance. And to see a pureblood of such prestigious ancestry wearing such baggy muggle clothing was not a common sight, to say the least. And the suggestion that she was about to take money from a school...
"Can I go to my vault?" Isadora asked, glaring defensively at the head goblin, guessing rather accurately where his thoughts were currently at.
The head goblin snapped his fingers again, calling for Grithall and instructing him severely. The young goblin bowed, and retreated, before returning in a few seconds with an old, rusty and a frankly unassuming small box that was shaped like a chest. There were, however, no key holes or locks but a piece of metal joining the opening of the chest to the bottom of the chest.
Grithall placed the chest gently on the counter, and told Isadora to stretch out her palm in a surprisingly softer and more melodious tone compared to the other goblin's harsh and scaly voice. She did as she was told, hissing quietly as he pricked her index finger with the dagger, and used one leathery hand to push her finger onto the metal piece, dragging it down the metal from top to bottom, smudging the blood all over the metal. The prick healed in an instant as there was a soft click, and the chest opened itself, revealing a golden key with the numbers in black blocks writing "725" on the top part of the key.
"Grithall! Take them to Vault 725!" the head goblin yelled now that she had gotten the key. She was about to leave the chest there, but the head goblin told her it was her family heirloom, and to take it with her to the vault, even if she may not need it anymore. "Keep the parchment with your results safely, too," the head goblin warned.
So she picked it up and let herself be led by a short goblin, clutching the ancient and small chest, and tucking the folded blood parchment in her pocket.
Grithall whistled when they reached the railroad. A cart came, and he led them down into the cart, before speeding downwards into the dark depths of Gringotts.
Vault 725, even though it was just a trust fund, was still set up by one of the wealthiest wizards, and therefore its vault was deep underground, that took quite a while to reach even after travelling at breakneck speed. Isadora found herself quite enjoying the ride in spite of the chills it gave her, and a flapping shirt that felt uncomfortable. Professor Mcgonagall, on the other hand, seemed to be of an entirely different opinion as she looked green.
When they finally arrived, Grithall instructed Isadora to take the key and push it into the lock. Isadora twisted it, and the Vault door opened by itself with a shudder and a creak.
Isadora could not help but notice that even the door was made of some dark and polished wood with golden lines that seemed to form rose vines rising up, and thorns. A huge red rose was in the centre, made of gold, marking out whose vault it was.
Mounds and mounds of gold, silver and bronze greeted their eyes. Even Mcgonagall, who had never been poor, and had even inherited a huge sum of money by the pureblood she had married before his death, could not help but gasp as well. The money was so bountiful that it rose to the very height of the vault itself, and for a trust fund, it was sure filled with tons, far more than a student needed to get past Hogwarts.
Well, she supposed that explained why the pureblood families were so proud. They were loaded, and they probably didn't even need to work for many generations to come. That vault on its own could easily support a family of ten whilst allowing that one family to be financially independent without having to work a single day.
"What...currency is this?" Isadora asked instead, the exact opposite of her expected expression of awe.
And Mcgonagall remembered that, in spite of her very pureblood line, she had been raised in a muggle orphanage, so of course she had no clue of what to do with all that.
"That's wizarding money. 29 bronze knuts to a sickle, and 17 sickles to a galleon," Mcgonagall said. Grithall was kind enough to hand Isadora a velvet money bag, and Isadora used her hands to scoop up handfulls of gold, silver and bronze, and stuffed them inside the money bag. As Isadora moved deeper into the Vault - unnecessarily, seeing as all the money she needed was out front - she spotted a leather trunk as well with a number of keys that were stuffed in the lock. Quickly glancing around, she slipped the keys into the pocket of her baggy shorts before picking up the trunk.
After the money bag was filled all the way to the brim with jiggling coins, for Isadora had not known how much she would need, Isadora left the vault, ignoring the trapdoor on the floor that she had seen when rummaging for more coins and was sure that neither the professor nor the goblin had seen, thankfully.
After that, they left Gringotts, and Professor Mcgonagall led her to buy her school equipment, including a potions kit, a pewter cauldron (she'd have bought the gold one, because pewter would probably be outgrown in just a couple years, but Mcgonagall insisted), and went to get her cloaks done, too.
It seemed that Mcgonagall was determined to save the best for last, because after shopping for all the other necessities, she brought Isadora to Flourish and Blotts. Although they had started shopping in the morning, it was well past noon when they ate their lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, to Mrs Longbottom's delight, and then returned to Diagon Alley to buy her school books.
Flourish and Blotts was a bookstore wonder. It had a glass door with ebony frame that chined she opened the door, and her eyes were greeted with thousands and thousands of new and shiny books. There were all kinds of colourful books that taught you spells, vintage looking history books that smelled of fresh leather, and unwritten new books newly bound with leather that were so beautiful Isadora itched to buy one, even though she knew she would have no use for it.
Professor Mcgonagall apparently knew the store very well, for she immediately brought Isadora to all the right places to buy her school books. Isadora was tempted to add on others to the growing number of books she carried in her hands, but Mcgonagall frowned when she took up the book called "Wards for the Wary" and "The Book of Invisibility", before putting them back onto the shelves and choosing out several for Isadora that would be more suitable for her instead, including "An Exclusive Introduction to Transfiguration" and "Useful Charms in your Daily Life" that taught you how to fold your clothing and wash your stuff without having to do anything other than flick your wand.
Isadora far preferred the book "Wards for the Wary", but just bought the books that Professor Mcgonagall had suggested with a heavy heart. It was probably best not to anger her school Headmistress, who could expel her before she could say "Hogwarts".
"What does the list mean when they say you can either bring a cat, toad or owl?" Isadora asked after she left Flourish and Blotts. It was a very calculated move, for she wanted a pet and it did not look like Mcgonagall was going to let her buy one since the only place they haven't been to so far was the wand shop, and they were headed in that general direction.
"It means that you can bring a pet to school if you so wish," Mcgongall replied. "Can I buy one?" Isadora asked curiously, raising her eyebrows.
Mcgonagall pursed her lips, making them even thinner than they already were. "I suppose you could," she said hesitantly, "What would you like? A cat, a toad, or an owl?"
"An owl," Isadora said instantly without hesitation. That was, without doubt, the best choice of the three. Who would want to keep a cat? And a cat was such a common household pet. Isadora wanted something more exotic, and an owl was the only one.
Professor Mcgonagall sighed.
"If you want an owl, the best place to get it is at Eeylops Owl Emporium. It's this way," she said, leading the way, being reminded instantly of her old student's owl - a tiny grey furball that often careened why into dishes and pitched the cereal and other food over at the dining table, to their immense dissatisfaction. True to her house, the girl had always argued that it was still young, and therefore had an excuse for being so clumsy, and when the grey snowy owl finally grew older, he did have a plummage of entirely white feathers, but he did not get any less clunsy - for he still made it a habit to knock into silver goblets and such.
Evan Rosier's owl was much different. True to his blood status, he had a fine, handsome eagle owl with a myriad of grey and brown. His was the epitome of handsome perfection, and possibly the most agile owl of the time - the owl was well-behaved all the time. It had even once managed to swoop down and catch a dungbomb that had been hurled at poor Severus' head just a hair's breadth away from the poor boy's face.
Professor Mcgonagall wondered what owl would choose her. The animal that chose you told you a lot about their personality. That's why they only included cats, owls and toads on the list. Other average animals were not capable of choosing their owners except for the three above. Toads that could sing well generally said that there was a lot to the people they had chosen than meets the eye. Owls that kept crashing into things told you that the person, namely one Marlene Mckinnon, was generally brutally honest and straightforward, to the point of clumsiness. Cats that were quiet and intelligent told you that person was an intelligent person.
Stuff like that.
"I'll be waiting outside," said Professor Mcgonagall as Isadora glanced at her, before opening the glass door with a telltale shrill ringing of a bell, and slipping into the dark and dingy owl emporium.
For a while, she could not see. It took a while for Isadora to adjust to looking around in such a dark place. When she finally got used to it, a man was standing in front of her.
The man was dressed in deep brown robes. He had abandoned his cloak, seeing as the place was warm with the occasional cries of the owls, and his neck was shining with beads of sweat. He was a slightly portly man with a round belly and a more stocky figure, but the cheerful, kindly smile he had on when he saw her put her at ease.
"Hogwarts?" he asked. Isadora nodded, feeling thankful that he did not seem to change his polite attitude toward her because of her muggle clothes, and the cloak she had clasped on to hide her huge shirt and baggy, fraying shorts.
"Looking for the right owl? What type do you favour?" he asked cheerily.
Isadora shook her head, unsure and dumbfounded. Her access to information was very much limited, even though she lived in the modern times where information could be found at a click of a button, and when she was younger she had never thought it useful to research on owls.
"Hmm...Why don't you walk around a bit, tell me which type of owl you find yourself liking better?" he suggested.
Isadora nodded, and did as he told her to. She walked down the dark aisles, notocing that they had been sorted by species - she could tell them apart by minute details such as the ear tufts or the colour of their feathers - and in the end found herself preferring the ones with the ear tufts and mottled feathers on the whole.
"So? What strikes your fancy?" the shop owner asked suddenly, popping out of seemingly nowhere. Taking it in her stride, Isadora pointed at the last few rows where tawny owls and eagle owls and screech owls were perched, some in cages, and some on their perches.
The man raised his eyebrows at once.
"Aha! You have spectacular taste, young Miss. Let's see," he said, his brows creasing as he strode down that nearest aisle with tawny owls.
After a while, with Isadora hesitantly trailing along behind him, he picked out an owl - a quiet, slender and red coloured tawny owl. He coaxed it with admirable skill onto her huge hand and held it out for Isadora to take it from him. Isadora warily took several steps toward it, but to both their surprise, after taking the fourth step, its wings fluttered in discomfort, and it took off with a screech of protest, landing with a rustle of wings on its perch, and closing its eyes once again.
The shopkeeper nodded. "Not that one, then," he muttered, stating out an obvious fact as he turned down the bend to the next aisle of perches. This one was inhibited by screech owls and eagle owls, visible by their tufted ears. He picked out yet another owl, this time an eagle owl with mottled gray feathers.
This owl didn't even wait until she took a step forward. Just mid-stride, it was already airborne and flapping away, inducing the flapping of wings and rattling of cages of other owls.
"Not that one, too?" he said to himself, "What about...this?"
This took a while, with him variating between gray eagle owls, red-brown tawny owls, and screech owls. At last, he held out a small but compact in size screech owl who fluttered his wings, revealing an underside of grey and different brownish hues with even the colour of dried blood which was a mixture of brown and orange, and landed on her shoulder.
This was in truth the first time Isadora had ever interacted with any animal at all, and to be honest, she was quite uncomfortable at first. But the sense of familiarity regarding the weight on her shoulders slowly allowed her to drop her unease, and she no longer held a shrug or an uncomfortable feel when the small screech owl was sitting on her shoulder.
"Aha!" the shopkeeper said again as he eyed the owl. The owl shifted from her shoulder to her arm, where she held it up for it to rest and it swivelled its head to face the shopkeeper, no longer looking at her with its bright, amber-yellow eyes and prominant, wide-set feather tufts. It had a curved bill, Isadora noticed, as well as raptorial claws. At least that was what she gathered after being so desperate as to read a book on "birds of prey" in the orphanage.
"You will be wanting a cage, yes? And owl treats as well? The owl is five galleons, and a cage is nine sickles. And you'll be wanting owl treats? That will be twenty knuts per pack," he said.
Isadora was careful to withdraw only the right amount and not let the shop owner see how much she truly had. He may have been friendly when doing business with her, but it always paid to be careful. After extracting the amount without jiggling the money bag, she handed the galleons, sickles and knuts to him and waited for him to count the money as she carefully slipped the moneybag back into her pocket, feeling the heavy weight drop in her pocket, before he bade her goodbye, and she left the owl shop struggling, trying to hold both a cage and a bag of owl treats, which ended up being quite a big bag.
She dumped the bag of owl treats rather unceremoniously into her pewter cauldron when she finally managed to come out of the shop. Professor Mcgonagall eyed her with raised eyebrows as she now attempted to cart around a cage, an empty trunk and a pewter cauldron with a whole cauldron of her things.
"I would have thought the idea of moving your things into the trunk might have been a better idea," she said. Isadora flushed, not wanting to admit the true reason she was reluctant to open the trunk. She had wanted to do so, away from prying eyes, but it appeared she had no choice now but to open it and pray nothing particularly precious was inside. She wanted to keep anything like that for herself.
With bated breath, she withdrew the numerous keys in her left pocket, and pushed the first key into the trunk, twisting it so that it was unlocked. She carefully lifted the trunk, and thankfully, it was just like any other trunk, except imbued with an extension charm that could not have been seen from the outside such that all her things could easily fit inside.
Professor Mcgonagall raised an eyebrow.
"Undetectable extension charm?" she commented in what sounded like high admiration, "This has to be your father's work, Miss Rosier. Your father was great at charms. The best of his year, and he had a lot of competition."
Isadora felt a deep sense of pride in her father as she carefully lifted the heavy cauldron. She tottered under the weight, nearly toppling over, and in the end, she took out a huge number of her textbooks, which had contributed to the bulk of the heavy weight, and dumped them in first, before letting the cauldron follow suit immediately after.
Professor Mcgonagall handed her the wrapped brown packages of her clothing and other Hogwarts related equipment, and she dumped them in too, before snapping the trunk, which had a deceivingly small size on the outside, shut with a satisfying click.
And last but not least, the wand shop. It was the shop that Isadora had been most eagerly awaiting, whether or not she had shown that through her calm and expressionless face.
Ollivanders' was a small shop in a small part of Diagon Alley, and as the sun was already casting parting rays, few people seemed to be around that area. Professor Mcgonagall opened the door with a jingle of the bell, and sat down on the seat near the door.
There was a tingle of old magic that Isadora could feel. It spoke out to her, and felt strangely familiar. She felt suddenly obligated to keep silent, as though this were a strict library.
Isadora carefully made her way forward, and rapped smartly on the counter with her knuckles.
A tall but hunched old man with pure white hair appeared, hobbling forward with a walking stick. He was wrinkled and worn, thin and fragile, but his eyes lit up when he saw Isadora standing by the counter.
"And who might you be?" he asked, before taking note of the Professor, "Professor Mcgonagall! What a pleasant surprise. Bringing along a muggle-born, are we?"
"A pureblood, as a matter of fact," Professor Mcgonagall said.
Ollivander casted his enormous blue orbs at her again, examining her as though trying to find some resemblance and some clue of who she might be related to. He might be wizened, but it seemed his bright, powerful gaze did not hide his ever-present curiosity, in search for knowledge. "Who are your parents?"
Isadora frowned slightly. Her right hand sought the comfort of the parchment in her pocket as she said, "Evan Rosier and Marlene Mckinnon."
And Ollivanders eyes widened even further. Somehow, even though they haven't blinked for a very long time, the eyes were not watery, but increasingly intrigued. "Rosier and Mckinnon? I must admit I never saw that coming. Did you, Professor Mcgonagall?" Ollivander asked. She shook her head stiffly.
"But there child is only eleven?" he asked quietly, his eyes not leaving Professor Mcgonagall's. She shook her head almost imperceptibly again.
Isadora frowned. There was something odd going on.
"Right," he said, clapping his fingers, breaking the unreadable gaze from the Professor. A measuring tape began to measure Isadora, jumping everywhere to take a measurement.
"I recall every wand I make, Miss Rosier," said the wizened old man, "Proffesor, your wand is fir and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches, stiff, correct?"
"Yes," she replied.
"And your father...My, what a fine young man for a Slytherin. Died a brave death fighting off one of the most powerful and experienced duelers of all time," Ollivander said.
Professor Mcgonagall snorted, and he sent a glare her way.
"His was an aspen wand, ten and a quarter inches, pliable," Ollivander said, "As for your mother, on the other hand...She was a difficult one match. Unlike your father, who found the wand for him after only a few tries, your mother took hours to finally land her hands on the black walnut wand that she carried to her grave. Eleven and a half inches, rigid."
He paused for a while as he scrambled to the back of the shop to carefully withdraw a single long box.
"What about you, though, Miss Rosier? What wand will choose you in the end? Will you be just as adept at charmwork as your parents were?" he asked rhetorically as he lay the box on the table and took over the cover, revealing the pale wand underneath."
He clapped his hands together, and the crazy measuring tape that was trying to measure the length between her two nostrils, jumped back onto the counter, and stopped moving. He took the wand carefully, and handed it to Isadora to hold.
"Elm and unicorn hair, ten and three quarters," he said, holding out the pale wand. Isadora stared at it, unsure of what to do.
"Well?" he demanded, "Give it a wave!"
She barely took it from his hand when the wand got snatched away, and kept into its box again. Ollivander went back to his shelves, examining them carefully.
"Hmm...what about this? Yes, acacia and phoenix feather, nine inches exactly," Ollivander proclaimed.
Isadora took the wand and was about to wave it when Ollivander snatched it right back.
"No, no, no, obviously not," he said. Isadora had no idea what he was looking for, but she was getting more and more uncomfortable as the number of rejected wands grew higher and higher, one box stacked on top of another. Especially when she waved the wand - she just felt so foolish when she did so, sometimes even as if someone else's hand had been sewn onto hers. But for some reason, Ollivander just seemed to get happier and happier with every rejected wand, and Isadora began to feel nervous that she would never get one, and uneasy about him.
"Tricky customer, indeed," she heard him mutter, "But no worries, there is a wand here that will match you, never fear." She had no idea of he was talking to himself, or to her.
As the hour clock ticked, Isadora grew more and more anxious. Only the reminder that her mother had spent hours searching for the right wand too kept her from being driven insane by the odd old man.
At last, he held out another wand. This one was a dark coloured, slender wand with a rich deep hue and intricate carvings on the wand itself that gave it an air of mystery that drew Isadora to it in an instant. She took the wand, and there was a flash of bright blue light so fast and so vivid that it blinded them all for a second, causing unseen winds to whip their cloaks and buffett them with a wildness that should neither exist in the summer, nor in a small shop.
"Bravo! Oh, bravo! At last your wand has chosen you. Beech wood and dragon heartstring, thirteen and three quarter inches, unyielding. I remember this wand very well, Miss Rosier. This particular heartstring was from a Peruvian Vipertooth, and you have no idea how difficult it was to get it from him - he fought tooth and nail, and it took about a hundred stunners all at once just to take him down," Ollivander said in admiration, "This wand is a fighter, I can tell you that. Use it well, Miss Rosier, use it well."
There was an undeniable spark of youth and vitality when he described his tale that had not been seen in him previously before.
She handed him the seven galleons, and with Ollivander bowing from within the shop, left with Professor Mcgonagall in tow.
Professor Mcgonagall, to Isadora's great surprise, for her impression of her so far was of a stern and no-nonsense witch, allowed her to stop by the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Isadora scrambled into the brightly coloured shop, and took her time looking at all the different products. She was quite tempted to purchase most of the things in the shop, but in the end left with only several boxes from the skiving snackbox collection, including fever fudges and fainting fancies and puking pastille, knowing quite well that in the muggle orphanage, having a nosebleed would not excuse you from duty. On the other, having a fever, fainting, and puking were all things that would grant her absence from dreary tasks. She also bought the peruvian instant darkness powder and several decoy detonators, thinking them as useful buggers that could potentially aid her.
Professor Mcgonagall met her outside when she had successfully hidden all the things she had bought. Isadora strongly suspected that Professor Mcgonagall had the general idea that she had purchased quite a number of "useful" things from the shop, but seemed determined to pretend that she had no idea, from letting her browse the shop on her own and waiting outside instead, to explicitly informing her that if such objects from the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes were to be seen in her possession, then she would have no choice but to confiscate them as her headmistress.
They had dinner once again at the Leaky Cauldron. This time, they were joined by both Mrs Longbottom and Mr Longbottom, who introduced himself to Isadora as the Hogwarts' Herbology Professor. They had a pleasant evening, before Professor Mcgongagall dropped her off at the orphanage again, and she returned to her room with a heavy heart.