A/N: Some of you may have seen this previously, I removed it and reuploaded it as I wasn't happy with it before. If you have read this, the new stuff starts from Chapter 9 onwards! Anyway, let us know what you think! x
Pink sunlight was bathing a nearly deserted playground. Two girls were swinging back and forth, and a skinny young boy was watching them from behind a clump of bushes. His black hair was long with more than a tinge of grease and his clothes shabby and mismatched.
"Lily, don't do it!" the blonde had yelped as her sister had let go of the swing at the very height of its arc and flown into the air, quite literally flown, launched herself skyward with a great shout of laughter, and instead of crumpling on the playground asphalt, she soared like a trapeze artist through the air, staying up far too long, landing far too lightly.
"Mummy told you not to!"
Petunia stopped her swing by dragging the heels of her sandals on the ground, making a crunching, grinding sound, then leapt up, hands on hips.
"Mummy said you weren't allowed, Lily!"
"But I'm fine," said Lily, still giggling. "Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do."
Petunia glanced around. The playground was deserted. Lily had picked up a fallen flower from the bush; Petunia carefully edged closer, torn between curiosity and disapproval. Lily waited until Petunia was near enough to have a clear view, then held out her palm. The flower sat there, opening and closing its petals as the redhead giggled. "Stop it!" Petunia snapped. Lily frowned
"It's not hurting you," but she closed her hand on the blossom and threw it back to the ground.
"It's not right," said Petunia, but her eyes had followed the flower's flight to the ground and lingered upon it. "How do you do it?" she added, and there was definite longing in her voice.
"It's obvious, isn't it?" the boy could no longer contain himself, jumping out from behind the bushes. Petunia shrieked and ran backward toward the swings, but Lily, though startled, remained where she was.
"What's obvious?" she asked. He had an air of nervous excitement. With a glance at the distant Petunia, now hovering beside the swings, he lowered his voice and said, "I know what you are."
"What do you mean?"
"You're...you're a witch," whispered the boy.
"That's not a very nice thing to say to somebody!" Lily turned, nose in the air, and marched off toward her sister.
"No!" He hurried forward, they watched him, united in disapproval, both holding on to one of the swing poles, as though it was the safe place in tag.
"You are," he repeated to Lily. "You are a witch. I've been watching you for a while. But there's nothing wrong with that. My mum's one, and I'm a wizard." Petunia laughed
"Wizard!" she sniffed, her courage had returned now. "I know who you are. You're that Snape boy! They live down Spinner's End by the river. Why have you been spying on us?"
"Haven't been spying," said Snape, hot and uncomfortable and dirty-haired in the fading bright sunlight. "Wouldn't spy on you, anyway," he added spitefully, "you're a Muggle." A scowl turned her lips and she announced "Lily, come on, we're leaving!" The redhead obeyed at once, glaring at Snape as she left. He stood watching them as they marched through the playground gate, bitter disappointment, now his only companion.
"...and the Ministry can punish you if you do magic outside school, you get letters."
"But I have done magic outside school!"
"We're all right. We haven't got wands yet. They let you off when you're a kid and you can't help it. But once you're eleven," he nodded importantly, "and they start training you, then you've got to go careful."
There was a little silence. Lily had picked up a fallen twig and twirled it in the air, imagining sparks trailing from it. Then she dropped the twig, leaned in towards Snape and said, "It is real, isn't it? It's not a joke? Petunia says you're lying to me. Petunia says there isn't a Hogwarts. It is real, isn't it?"
"It's real for us," he said "Not for her. But we'll get the letter, you and me."
"Really?" whispered Lily.
"Definitely,"
"And will it really come by owl?"
"Normally," said Snape. "But you're Muggle-born, so someone from the school will have to come and explain to your parents."
"Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?" Snape hesitated
"No," he said. "It doesn't make any difference."
"Good," said Lily, relaxing,
"You've got loads of magic," said Snape. "I saw that. All the time I was watching you..."
His voice trailed away; she was not listening, but had stretched out on the leafy ground and was looking up at the canopy of leaves overhead. He watched her as greedily as before "How are things at your house?" Lily asked. A little crease appeared between his eyes. "Fine," he said.
"They're not arguing anymore?"
"Oh yes, they're arguing," said Snape. He picked up a fistful of leaves and began tearing them apart, apparently unaware of what he was doing. "But it won't be that long and I'll be gone."
"Doesn't your dad like magic?"
"He doesn't like anything, much," said Snape.
"Severus?"A little smile twisted Snape's mouth when she said his name.
"Yeah?"
"Tell me about the dementors again."
"What d'you want to know about them for?"
"If I use magic outside school..."
"They wouldn't give you to the dementors for that! Dementors are for people who do really bad stuff. They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. You're not going to end up in Azkaban, you're too.. "
He turned red again and shredded more leaves. Then a small rustling noise made them turn: Petunia, hiding behind the tree had lost her footing. "Tuney!" said Lily, surprise and welcome in her voice, but Snape had jumped to his feet. "Who's spying now?" he shouted. "What d'you want?" Petunia was breathless, alarmed at being caught, she glared at the boy and snapped desperately "What is that you're wearing, anyway? Your mother's blouse?" There was a crack. A branch over Petunia's head had fallen. Lily screamed. The branch caught Petunia on the shoulder, and she staggered backward and burst into tears. "Tuney!" Lily rounded on Snape. "Did you make that happen?"
"No." He looked both defiant and scared.
"You did!" She was backing away from him. "You did! You hurt her!"
"No...no, I didn't!"
It was their 11th birthday, Lily was vibrating with excitement but Petunia was almost numb with resentment, her shoulder was still badly bruised and it hurt to lift her arm;
Marie, their mother, had tried without success to cheer her up. Lily had been dashing around the house, shouting and giggling all day, but she kept checking the window as she helped her mother clear up from the party earlier that day, ignoring Petunia's burning jealousy. At 5pm sharp a brisk knock sounded throughout the house, a tall woman in navy blue robes waited impatiently on their doorstep, her black hair was scraped back into a tight bun and her horn-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose glinted in the dying sunlight. Marie and Henry exchanged surprised glances, who could be calling at this time on Sunday?
"Good evening, my name is Professor Minerva McGonagall, is this the residence of Petunia and Lily Evans?" A heavy Scottish accent lilted her firm tone and Henry nodded in mute shock "Excellent, may I come in?" he nodded again, standing aside as she swept past him "May I speak with you and your daughters?" Henry cleared his throat and recovered his voice,
"Marie, girls! Come here please!" scampering feet were heard before Lily bounced into the room, her face flushed in delight as she took in the woman now seated on the sofa, Petunia and his wife followed at a more sedate pace, Marie paused in surprise, her manners quickly kicked in and she offered refreshments. McGonagall refused politely. "I am here on behalf of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to offer your daughters a place."
Silence had reigned following that statement before questions started flying in earnest, mostly from Lily. Petunia, watched the witch mistrustfully and asked bluntly why she had been offered a place considering she had never done anything freakish. Marie had looked scandalized and scolded her immediately, the rudeness of her usually polite daughter distracting her from the shock of magic, taking comfort in normal things. The teacher, McGonagall, however had merely told Petunia haughtily that she was a witch, whether she had shown signs of it or not and that she needn't accept her place if that was her attitude. Petunia had blushed and apologized quietly, stretching her hand out to take the letter addressed to her that McGonagall had placed on the coffee table. Henry had silenced the girls, sent them upstairs and began questioning the witch earnestly. Eventually he had relented and admitted that he was proud of his flowers regardless.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 Wand
1 Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set
Glass or crystal phials
Telescope set
Brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
"Where can we find these in London?" Petunia mused as they walked along the high street, accompanied by McGonagall, who today was wearing a smart skirt suit instead of her robes to Lily's fascination, her thin lips twitched in repressed smile, Petunia had apologized to her humbly this morning when she had arrived, she had accepted and spent the car journey to London answering as many questions as the girls could think up. "Through here." she answered sharply, pointing the family to a tiny, grubby-looking pub. Marie and Henry had protested, their eyes being unable to focus on the building until the teacher had shooed them inside. Indeed it seemed the people surrounding them didn't glance at it; their eyes slid from the tobacconists to the butchers without a pause. It was very dingy. A small group of middle-aged women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man was talking to the bartender, who was quite bald but looked cheerful and friendly, he barked out a greeting to McGonagall as the low buzz of chatter slowed when they walked in. McGonagall nodded to him then led them through the bar and out into a small, disappointing, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a bin and a few weeds.
McGonagall's pursed lips twitched again at the girls' dismayed expression and tapped a brick, it quivered - it wriggled - then in the middle, a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - a second later they were facing an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. "Welcome," she announced, "to Diagon Alley." The two girls squealed and dashed forward, each pulling a parent, all four heads swivelled, eyes wide in amazement. Petunia glanced over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into a solid wall. Bright glinting cauldrons were stacked under a sign proclaiming 'Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver, Collapsible' and a brand new 'Self-Stirring'. "First stop shall be Gringotts." their escort told them, briskly setting off in the direction of a gleaming white building, the family trailing behind her, each trying to take in as much as they could. Their heads turned in every direction as they walked up the street, muttered complaints about pricing could be heard by the Apothecary and a low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. A small crowd were pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "The new Silver Arrow, it's the fastest ever"; There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon.
Their guide had stopped, they had reached the snowy white building dominating the little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was "That is a goblin," the professor explained quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Lily, the smallest of their group. He had a clever face, pointed beard and very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. McGonagall led them to a counter and waited patiently as Henry stumbled through exchanging money and setting up accounts for his daughters. Petunia and Lily were watching a goblin weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals when the glisten of molten gold made them whirl around to see two keys shaping themselves in mid-air, the goblin handed them to their parents.
In turn each shop was visited, often the call was hurried along by their guide as she pointed out the books they would need in a shop called Flourish and Blotts, where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of stamps covered in silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Petunia was enthralled. Lily, who had always had a smaller attention span had to drag her sister away when McGonagall's patience ran out. However it was Lily who was entranced by the Apothecary, Petunia gagged on the smell and eventually ran outside while her parents ordered them both a basic potions kit and Lily wandered around poking her finger into barrels of slimy stuff that stood on the floor; gazing at the jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lining the walls and examining the bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and gnarled claws that hung from the ceiling. The last shop of the day was narrow and shabby but was what the girls had been looking forward to the most. 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. It was a tiny place, but McGonagall conjured some chairs for the adults as they waited. A strange silence and the thick dust covering the place seemed to tingle with a kind of some secret magic.
"Good afternoon" They jumped, the girls muffled shrieks as they spun to face a thin, slightly crouched old man, "The Evance' sisters, we'll start with the youngest shall we?" he turned his silvery eyes to Lily and she stared at him uncertainly, chin jutting out in a defiant pose "Hold out your arm. That's it." his soft voice didn't have much of a comforting quality, instead it seemed to put her more on edge, she wished he would blink, those eyes were disconcerting. She could hear Petunia shuffling her feet beside her and feel her parents' gaze, she chanced a look, her mother appeared almost as wary as she felt. He measured Lily from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Evance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. However we do have a selection of more custom wands that are reserved for customers who are difficult to match. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
She glanced down at the tape measure, which strangely was measuring between her nostrils, and somehow less strangely was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. "That will do," he snapped, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss Evance. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heart-string. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave." She stretched out her hand and heard Petunia's breath catch behind her, her fingers closed around the cold wood and she waved it excitedly. Nothing happened. Ollivander however, seemed pleased and he handed her another, she shared a nervous look with Tuney and repeated her motion. Nothing. She frowned, taking the next wand only for the results to be the same. Ollivander held out a light coloured wand with a decorative flower pattern and she gasped as warmth flooded her, stemming from the wood in her hands, she grinned and waved it, rainbow coloured streamers shot from the end and she gave a small whoop of joy. "Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow and unicorn hair. Nice wand for charm work." He placed the wand into it's box then handed the package to Lily she stepped back as he turned expectantly to Petunia.
The measuring tape leapt up to it's job once more as Ollivander returned to his shelves, "Now exactly the same as your sister Miss Evance." She took the offered wand, batting the tape away irritably, and waved it, feeling rather foolish; Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try" She had hardly raised the wand when it, too, 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." Petunia tried. And tried. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the desk, 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.. Hmm, wait here Miss Evance" with this he disappeared into the tottering aisles and returned with a small selection of lockable wooden wand boxes, "Perhaps a custom wand will suit you" She stared at him feeling close to tears, what if Professor McGonagall had been wrong and she was just a n...muggle? What if she wasn't magic after all? The first wand didn't work, but the second custom wand made her fingers tingle and her hair crackle, she swished it, feeling a wave of optimism. The dust coating the shop vanished and the shelves re-stacked themselves into orderly fashion. Lily cheered, a wave of giddy excitement took over Petunia, she smiled at Mr Ollivander but the expression dropped as he was watching her with a strange look.
"Australian Blackwood, monterillo handle and dragon whisker. Twelve and a half inches, rigid but with some give. You are a curious girl Miss Evance. I hope you can use your gift wisely." She stared at him, a silence had befallen the shop, he boxed her wand as he had Lily's then announced the price; they left glad to be free of the suffocating atmosphere however Petunia had the distinct feeling that Mr Ollivander's silvery eyes hadn't strayed from her once. Lily chattered happily on the car ride home but Petunia stayed silent, McGonagall had left after telling them how to get on to the platform. She was thinking over Ollivander's strange words and feeling the first tendrils of worry start to curl in her stomach.
