Chapter One

Again to Diagon

On the edge of Kent lay a beautiful valley that no villager had ever seen, nor had even tried to explore. It was perhaps because in this very valley, nestled between a calm wood and a large pond, stood two charming houses that housed two very charming families. One bore a resemblance to homes found in nearby Godric's Hollow, with thatched roofs and exposed beams. The other resembled a French chalet, and boasted large windows overlooking the landscape. Through one of these windows a woman could be seen pacing by the fireplace.

"Hugo, if you are not downstairs in thirty seconds I will have you off the house quidditch team faster than you can turn a match into a needle!" The woman with voluminous chestnut hair called through the house. Around her stood two girls who had followed instructions better than their brother.

One of the girls leant against the stone fireplace with a calm expression of familiarity. She had obviously been through the routine enough times in her 16 or so years to know what was to come. The other girl, who was much younger, stood nervously along side her mother, glancing occasionally at the clock in the corner.

"I'm here, I'm here," The boy called Hugo huffed after stampeding down the stairs and landing in the parlor.

"Good. We are to meet the Potter's in five minutes at the Leaky Cauldron so let's get going," the woman said, thrusting a jar of green powder at Hugo and igniting the fireplace with a simple flick of her wand.

"Mum, you know they are always late," the older girl said, not alarmed at all as her brother stepped into the green flames that had appeared after he had thrown in a fistful of the powder.

"Well you know what they say about the early bird, Rose," she told her daughter before following her son through the flames.

"Yes... it's tired," Rose sighed before holding the jar out for her sister, "In you go, Clara."

Clara Weasley was a member of an extremely large, three generational family. Her father had four brothers and one sister, all of who had children. It was also common knowledge that her mother and father were best friends with the famous Harry Potter, a man who had brought down the darkest wizard whom had ever lived… twice. Harry was Clara's uncle as he had married her Aunt Ginny and their family lived in the same valley as her with their three children.

Clara had always felt different from her siblings and cousins, though they all got on quite well. She was the youngest by 4 years and one of the few Weasleys without striking red hair. Rose and Hugo, her sixteen-year-old sister and fifteen-year-old brother, had both inherited her father's red hair. Clara's own hair was a very pretty golden color, however she did not value its beauty as much when it made her feel like an outcast in her family.

"There's our lovely first year!" Clara's Aunt Ginny said after her family had made it out of the grate at the Leaky Cauldron. Her small figured Aunt bent to give her a hug after brushing soot off of her own robes. Two of Ginny's three children stood brushing off their robes as well. Lily, who was Hugo's age, ruffled Clara's hair on her way to talk to Rose, and Albus, who was Rose's age, gave Clara a kind smile.

"Books first?" Clara's mother, Hermione Weasley, suggested, earning an eyebrow raise from Aunt Ginny.

"Well it's perfectly logical, it's the first shop we come to," Hermione reasoned, though her infamous love for books was well known by her family. The group followed her out of the tavern and to the brick wall, where she tapped the bricks in a pattern to reveal a passageway to the busy street of Diagon Alley.

"It's nice when the men don't come," Aunt Ginny was telling Hermione, "we don't get quite as many stares."

Clara was used to others in the magical community gawking at her family, especially her uncle. All of the adults had a part in the downfall of Lord Voldemort, and were now extremely famous.

The group entered Flourish and Blotts where Hermione made a beeline to the Hogwarts reading sections. She gathered two small sets from one pile and handed one each to Rose and Albus. She then moved onto a slightly larger pile and instructed Lily and Hugo to each take a group. Then she finally reached the largest stack and had Aunt Ginny help her carry what looked like 12 volumes.

"These are yours, Clara," She told her as they headed for checkout. Clara's eyes went wide. She loved books nearly as much as her mother, but she didn't know if she could make it through even one of them before the train left September first.

Once the books were purchased Aunt Ginny managed to drag Hermione out of Flourish and Blotts and the lot headed down high street.

"Why don't we break off," Ginny suggested, "Rose and Lily can see Madame Malkin for new robes and the boys can get potion ingredients, not so fast Albus I'm going with you, and Hermione, why don't you take Clara to Ollivander's."

Clara instantly felt a thrill rush up her spine. As she looked up to her mother, she noticed Hermione eyes were extremely watery.

"My last trip to Ollivander's I suppose," Hermione smiled down at her, and Clara felt heat rush to her cheeks. She was nervous about her wand, but incredibly excited to see which chose her. She had been researching the different kinds of wood and cores in her mother's library for the past month.

Clara followed her mother further down the busy street towards the old wandmaker's shop. Ollivander, whom had given her parents and her grandparents their wands, was still making them at 92 years old.

"Good morning, Mr. Ollivander," Hermione called as she entered the shop. There was no one to be seen, except the white haired man in the corner, who despite his age was vigorously polishing a dark wooded wand.

"Ah, my dear Mrs. Weasley, Vine I believe, a very rare wood, 10 ¾ inches, dragon heartstring, slightly springy," Mr. Ollivander recited. Clara's eyes widened ever so slightly. She remembered her sister telling her how Mr. Ollivander remembered every wand he ever sold, but his recollection of such detail was very impressive.

"Yes, sir," Hermione hesitated, before giving the man a brief hug, "This is my daughter Clara… my youngest."

Mr. Ollivander gave Hermione a smile, "I know it must be emotional for you to see your last one receive her wand. You were always gifted in wandlore."

"As is Clara, she has been researching," Hermione turned to Clara, who shyly looked to the ground.

"She has, has she? Very like her mother," Mr. Ollivander said warmly, "Clara, my dear, which wood interests you the most?"

Clara looked up to see him smiling encouragingly back at her.

"I am interested in the properties of every wood, sir, but I believe poplar might suit me," Clara answered honestly. Mr. Ollivander turned to Hermione.

"A Ravenclaw answer if I ever heard one," he said, and Hermione quirked an eyebrow. Clara knew he must be joking with her mother, every Weasley in known history was a Gryffindor at Hogwarts.

"Now miss Clara, let us find a poplar…yes, yes, perhaps, no, longer…ah, here we go! A nice 12-inch poplar, dragon heartstring," Mr. Ollivander pulled a red box off a nearby shelf and handed it to her. Clara felt a thrill of excitement.

"Give it a wave," He encouraged. Clara nodded and closed her eyes, arcing the poplar wand through the air.

The papers on Mr. Ollivander's desk ruffled weakly. Mr. Ollivander was already back at the shelves.

"Maybe another core… Unicorn?" Mr. Ollivander handed her a 10-inch poplar wand. After a wave, she noticed the lamps flicker slightly.

"We can do better," Mr. Ollivander went about handing her wand after wand, until Clara almost believed none would chose her.

"How silly of me," He said suddenly, turning to look at Clara, "Tell me dear, do you understand ironic properties?"

"I think so," Clara said, confused at his sudden change of pace, "Where two unrelated properties work together?"

"Yes, for example," He retreated into the back before reappearing with a dusty, seemingly untouched box, "This wand is made of pear, an extremely durable wood that aids only the kindest and gentlest of wizards, but also the wisest. Its core is that of a phoenix, a rare choice known for aiding only the most powerful. The contrast of the two suggests one who blends well with the average witch or wizard, yet possesses a hidden ability or strength. Clara, I would like you to try this one."

Clara stared at him for a moment. His description of the wand did not sound like her at all. She certainly did not blend well, at least not with her family, and there was no hidden talent she had yet to discover.

"Go on, Clara," Hermione said, her eyes shining with excitement. Clara took a deep breath and took the wand from Mr. Ollivander. It was beautiful, a honey gold similar to her hair and longer than her mother's wand. The second the smooth wood touched her skin she felt warmth spread from the spot. Her breath caught as she waved it in a circle and shimmering gold light burst forth.

"Ah, delightful," Mr. Ollivander's eyes sparkled. Hermione had reduced to sniffling into her handkerchief. Clara grinned; the wand had produced a golden light, the evidence of a perfect match.

"Well then, Miss Weasley," Mr. Ollivander smiled, "Pear, phoenix feather, 12 and a quarter inches, pliant. Congratulations."

"No waving that wand until you reach Hogwarts, young lady," Hermione said later as Clara laid out her wand on the dinner table for her father to see.

"It's a beauty, little light," Ron Weasley said, holding up her golden wand. Her father had given her the nickname little light because when she was younger and playing in the meadow with her cousins, he was always able to find her because of her golden hair.

Ron gave the wand a flick and it produced a beautiful lupine flower, like those found in their meadow.

"Tell dad what else you got today," Rose smirked and their mother's expression flashed guiltily.

"What did you get?" Ron asked unknowingly. Before Clara could answer, a chorus of meows rang out from the living room.

"Oh no, not another one," Ron moaned as Hermione's cat Crookshanks chased a smaller calico kitten into the dining room.

"Oh Ron, she won't even be here for the better part of the year," Hermione reasoned, picking up Clara's new pet and earning a glare from Crookshanks.

"I suppose," Ron mused, looking at the adorable cat as though it would lash out at him any second, "Anyone want to take Crookshanks to school too?"