Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed. Yet Joanne Rowling was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Her Aunt Petunia was about to wake her.
"Up! Get up now!"
Joanne rolled onto her back and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been books...
"Are you up yet?" Her aunt demanded.
"Yes," She said, shoving on her glasses and yanking her hair into a ponytail. "Just getting dressed." She shoved Dudley's old hoodie over Petunia's old shirt and tried not to think about her appearance. It's not as if there was anyone to impress.
She hurried to the bathroom to brush her teeth, looking in the mirror only long enough to admire her lightning bolt scar and then hurried down to breakfast.
Breakfast was a silent affair, as Vernon was reading the newspaper and Dudley was eating. Joanne enjoyed the silence.
They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters.
"Get the mail, girl." Vernon grunted from behind his paper.
To Joanne's shock as she sorted the letters she uncovered a letter for her own self.
Miss J. Rowling
The Cupboard Under The Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
"So," Said the Doctor under his breath. "Where have you brought us now?" He patted the TARDIS's control panel fondly and turned to Rose. "Shall we check it out?"
"No, Doctor. Let's stay in the TARDIS and memorize the encyclopedia." Rose said as she pulled on her jacket. "Of course we should go out!" She ran for the door.
"Could be dangerous."
"Excellent."
The two found themselves outside a large and quite pretty stone house. "Not bad," Rose whispered. "whose is it?" She looked over at the Doctor whose face had spread into a fantastic grin. "Well?"
"We're in Edinburgh. This is the house of one Joanne 'JK' Rowling. Heard of her?"
"You're lying."
And they ran up the hill laughing like a couple of fools
Reaching the door, The Doctor pulled out his sonic Screwdriver and pointed it at the knob.
"Wait," Rose interrupted breathlessly. "Shouldn't we knock?"
"Knock?"
"Yeah, this is JK Rowling's house!" Rose said excitedly, knocking. After a minute, she knocked again.
"Now can I sonic in?" The Doctor asked, flipping his screwdriver and pointing it at the door. With a click, the lock opened and they walked inside.
The Doctor turned and lifted his finger to his lips as they walked through the living room, nearly crashing into a Christmas tree.
"Oh. Christmas. That's never a good sign," Rose muttered, edging past the tree.
The Doctor scanned it with his screwdriver. "It's not picking up any signal. Sometimes a tree isn't a remote control weapon. Ah, a calendar. Rose, I am pleasde to tell you it is December 22, 2004. JK finished the sixth book last night. Maybe she'll give us a peak."
"Shut up!" Rose said, slapping his shoulder.
They turned to leave the living room. "No. Something's wrong," the Doctor suddenly said stopping short.
"What?"
"Yes. Exactly. What?" He asked and suddenly he was sniffing around like an oversized puppy. "See, it all looks right," he said quickly. "All couches and fussy tea trays and notebooks and-" he stopped suddenly, "that's not right."
"Hmmm?" Rose asked from where she was flipping through one of Rowling's notebooks.
"This picture. Rose. Rose!" Rose spun around. "Look at this picture." Rose walked over and frowned.
"This is at the premier, right? That's Rupert and Emma. But I don't know who the girl is. And where's Dan?"
"The girl's JK, Rose, as a little girl. And apparently Dan's not in the first movie anymore. Where does she have a copy of the books?"
"They're over here, Doctor." Rose scrambled to the bookshelf and sure enough found five Harry Potter books and Joanne Rowling and the Philosopher's Stone.
"Doctor, where's JK?" She asked as he took the book.
"That's a good question," He skimmed through the book. "I'd say she's in a little hut on a little rock and she's due for a visit any second..."
The lighted dial on Dudley's watch told Joanne she'd be eleven in ten minutes.
She lay and wondered whether the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.
Five minutes to go. Joanne heard something creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although she might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that she'd be able to steal one.
Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock likethat? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Wasthe rock crumbling into the sea?
One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten...nine - maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him - three... two...one...
BOOM.
The whole shack shivered and Joanne sat bolt upright, staring at thedoor. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.
BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake, and with a crah, Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands.
"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you - I'm armed!"
SMASH!
The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.
A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.
The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.
"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..."
He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.
"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.
Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.
"An' here's Joanne!" said the giant.
Joanne looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.
"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yet dad, but yeh've got yet mom's eyes."
Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.
"I demand that you leave at once, sit!" he said. "You are breaking and
entering!"
"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and tossed it aside
Uncle Vernon squeaked a little.
"Anyway - Joanne," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here - I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."
From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Joanne opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Joanne' written on it in green icing.
Joanne looked up at the giant. She meant to say thank you, but instead whispered, "Who are you?"
The giant chuckled.
"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."
He held out an enormous hand and shook Joanne's whole arm.
"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together.
His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Joanne felt the warmth wash over her as though she'd sunk into a hot bath.
The giant sat back down on the sofa, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a kettle, a package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, and several mugs. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. As he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."
The giant chuckled darkly. "Yet great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."
He passed the sausages to Joanne, who was so hungry she had never tasted anything so wonderful, but she still couldn't take her eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, she said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."
The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts - yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.
"Er - no," said Joanne.
Hagrid looked shocked.
"Sorry," Joanne said quickly.
"Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yet parents learned it all?"
"All what?" asked Joanne.
"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"
He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut.
The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.
"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled, "that this girl- knows nothin' - about ANYTHING?"
Joanne thought this was going a bit far. She had been to school, after all, and she did well.
"I know some things," she said. "I can do math and stuff." But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world."
"What world?"
Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.
"DURSLEY!" he boomed.
Uncle Vernon whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Joanne.
"But yeh must know about yet mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."
"What? My - my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"
"Yeh really don' know," Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, fixing Joanne with a bewildered stare.
"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.
"Stop!" Uncle Vernon suddenly commanded. "Stop right there! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!"
Now when Hagrid spoke, he trembled with rage.
"You never told her Dumbledore left fer her? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from her all these years?"
"Kept what from me?" said Joanne eagerly.
"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon.
"Ah, go boil yet head," said Hagrid. "Joanne - yer a witch."
"Yes, but where is she really?" Rose asked.
"I think we'd better find that out. This way." He led her down a hallway to a door. "Here we are. The room where the magic happens." He opened the door.
Inside, a woman with blonde hair sat with her head resting on an open notebook. In her hand she clutched a pen.
"Hello JK," The Doctor whispered, taking a step closer.
"is she sleeping?" Rose asked, circling around.
"Not quite. No. Unfortunately not."
JK Rowling was not just lying on the book. Somehow, her face had become sucked into it and the words had crawled up her skin.
"What's doing it? Is the book some sort of alien you've never mentioned?"
"Of course not, don't be ridiculous." The Doctor said, poking it with his screwdriver. "It's running off her own imagination or something." He scanned her up and down with it, shook it and then scanned the book. "Oh, this is awkward," he said sullenly.
"What is?" Rose asked, studying the words on JK's face.
"Well it's just that now she'll never write the seventh book and I've already read it. I hate paradoxes!"
"Fix this," Rose said suddenly, looking up.
"What?" The Doctor asked vaguely.
"Fix. It. You will fix it because I just read the sixth book and Dumbledore's dead and I need to know what's going to happen. So you are going to fix this, Doctor."
"I can just tell you-"
"No. Don't you dare. Don't even think about it. Just fix it. Use your sonic screwdriver and put things right," she said severely.
"Okay, right. Fix," He flipped his screwdriver dramatically, spun around, pointed it at Rose and said, "I have no clue how to do that."
"Well then, you better figure it out."
The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door
read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay
on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. Joanne felt strangely as though she had entered a very strict library; she swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to her and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Joanne jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.
An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," said Joanne awkwardly.
"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Joanne Rowling." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Joanne. Joanne wished he would blink. Those eyes were a bit creepy.
"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration."
Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Joanne were almost nose to nose. Joanne could see herself reflected in those misty eyes.
"And that's where..."
Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Joanne's forehead with a long, white finger.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."
He shook his head and then, to Joanne's relief, spotted Hagrid.
"Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"
"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.
"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.
"Er - yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet.
"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now- Miss. Rowling. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"Er - well, I'm right-handed," said Joanne.
"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Joanne from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head.
Joanne suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try -"
Joanne tried - buts he had hardly raised the wand when it, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.
"No, no -here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
Joanne tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the
spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder, now - - yes, why not - unusual combination -holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Joanne took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious... "
He put Joanne's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..
"Sorry," said Joanne, "but what's curious?"
Mr. Ollivander fixed Joanne with his pale stare.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss Rowling. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar."
Joanne swallowed.
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Rowling... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great."
Joanne shivered.