About the story : Using Rowling's world in continuity with the seventh book is something the author never, or few, saw on the internet in comparison of all the Dramiones and Marauder's fanfictions. Before being a story about a boy who lived, about an epic battle between light and darkness, Harry Potter was for her a whole new world stocked with fantastic creatures and a thousand dreams that fed her imagination. She lost all of that when Harry Potter ended. So she wanted to recapture Rowling's world where she left it, and stick along to the canon (because each detail is important!) integrating her own characters into the story at the dawn of a new school year at Hogwarts and following them during their seven years there.

Plot twists, childish dreams, fights and thirsts for revenge, new characters and colourful teachers, references to former ones, spells, creatures and surprising magical items, don't think anymore: take the Hogwarts Express with Kate!

Ludo Mentis Aciem is a sentence from Carmina Burana's songs and can be translated by "As the game take over reason". Because what Kate thinks being just an innocent game, which is having a new imaginary house, will expand in an inconceivable way...

This "saga" will be cut in seven parts, each containing 10 chapters, more or less (a lot of those parts will be titled by Carmina Burana's songs, a work the author particularly cherishes)

Part 1/7 : Mane tribulationis - the beginning of troubles (completed) - chapters 1-10

Part 2/7 : Statim vivus fierem - I will be soon alive (completed) - chapters 11-22

Part 3/7 : Multa sunt sispiria - many are my sighs (completed) - chapters 23-41

Part 4/7 : Sicut splendor fulguris - as a flash of lightening (completed) - chapters 42-60

Part 5/7 : Miqui quoque niteris - you're tormenting me too (in progress) - chapters 61-?

Part 6/7 : Mecum omnes plangite - cry with me

Part 7/7 : Canticum Nympharum - the song of nymphs

This is a translation of the french version of Ludo Mentis Aciem by Ielenna (you can find her here and on hpfanfiction). The work doesn't belong to me, I only translated it.

Enjoy !

1. A fluttering of wings.

In our gigantic world, few suspect, or few want to believe, that the smallest being could generate the biggest upheaval. The origins of cataclysms have their source in the little stone that starts the avalanche, or the match that ravages the forest with a devastating fire. An exponential action the disbelievers refuse to admit in order to rest their ascendancy, their very own, and this, in spite of that so famous chaos theory inferred by the butterfly effect. This phenomenon makes the assumption that the innocent flap of a butterfly's wings could lift a hurricane on the other side of the world.

A butterfly? That ridiculously ephemerid insect? Too beautiful to even survive for two weeks in the wild? While on Earth, men nearly kill themselves to mark their territory, to testify their existence, whether they do it by means of insane madnesses or grand gestures. Unsuccessfully, even though they had dedicated their entire lives to it. All defeated. All by a common butterfly. Fortunately the human race can survive humiliation; otherwise, the specie would have extinct long ago.
And this little butterfly, casually landed on her forefinger, could it start a storm that could capsize the heaviest of all boats too? Kate was fascinated by that thought, while examining the pearly porous wings of the insect, whose twisted horn was brushing against her nail. Her mother's voice, resounding behind the door, hijacked her from her pondering.

'Kate! Your father's back!'
'Really?!'

That sentence, which was more to herself than to her mother, caused the explosion of the fake butterfly into a thousand of translucent sparkles. Eleven year old little Kate jumped up on her feet, leaving bed, and rushed towards the window, pulling the dirty, outmoded lace curtain. A beaming smile, underlining her disharmonised teeth, took shape on her face as she saw the old black car, parking in front of the house of 45 Owlstone Road. The number 5 had fallen a while ago though, causing to the owners loads of mails errors. Kate lashed out of her room and went down the stairs at maximum speed, landing in a controlled turning by leaning on the wooden ball at the end of the rail. Her father may have left just this morning, this evening was special. It was her evening. She had been waiting for it for too long. Even though all hope seemed to have been devoured by the darkness of the cellar in which she had hidden for months, she still gave herself the strength to resist. By dreaming of this evening.
Her father was taking off his leather jacket in the hallway when Kate joined him. He was a tall man with a strong stature. On his face, a youth that seemed to linger, enforced by the teasing expression he was always displaying. And when this expression fade away, a statuesque face, in every way disturbing, takes place. Kate had already seen it in a few occasions. But she chased away this memory far in her mind. It was bygone days from now on.

'Dad! she yelled', soaring to him.
'Hey, my little pumpkin!'

When she casted herself into his arms, he absorbed the shock in a hiccup.

'You're too heavy for me to carry you now, kiddo!'
'What are you insinuating, dad? That I'm fat?'
'Seems like I'm hearing your mother talking!'

But the truth was that Kate was too much like her father, Phil. The incontrovertible proves were those so unique grey eyes they shared. Like a steel with a greenish brightness.

'I heard…!'

They both turned towards Grace, the mother, with her long brown hair, slightly in mess, her piercing black eyes and her wide smile between her fleshy lips. She crossed her arms on her chest and rested her head on the sharp edge of the dirty windowpanes glass door separating the hallway to the living-room.

'Definitely ears too sharp, those Muggles!' laughed Phil, bending towards his daughter.
'And wizards really act in bad faith', answered Grace back. 'Especially when it's about promises, isn't it, darling?'

Seeing the sceptical expression on her husband's face, she stepped away from the access opening, revealing the lounge flooded under the wretched paper, giving a glimpse of empty beer cans lying on the floor and cigarette butts dying near the ashtray. It took Phil a few attempts to make a complete sentence:

'Oh yeah, I promised you I'd tidy up.'

He took out his wand of his pocket and waved it under Kate's stunned look. She would never get tired of that…

'Scourgify!'

Straight after, papers seemed to take life and piled up, one after another. The ashtray levitated and made several tours on itself, before it reached the kitchen, as if it was a flying saucer, followed by the empty cans which ended their way in the trash can. In the blink of an eye, the living-room was cleaned, tables shining and air renewed. But the old wallpaper stayed unchanged, in its sad, greyish tint.

'Feels so good not to have to use a vacuum cleaner again!' sighed Grace before kissing her husband.

Kate blinked several times, staring at the scene. She felt warmth springing from her heart and spreading in every part of her body. Was it that happiness she prayed for so long? She wanted to imprint in her memory the image of her parents, hugging in that new house, which certainly deserved serious renovations.

'I couldn't agree more! Plus, your Muggle engine makes such a dreadful noise. Like you locked a dragon up in there!'

But the impatience of the little girl took over:

'Dad, dad! Are we going?'
'You're ready?' he wondered, observing her from the bottom to the top. 'List? Bag?'

Immediately, Kate scurried upstairs at maximum speed. Her heart was racing. She grabbed a folded parchment on her night table, threw her soiled mauve backpack on her shoulders – backpack she, beforehand and with the greatest care, prepared on the night before – and came back down. As soon arrived, he left: Phil put back on his jacket he took off two minutes ago. Kate held a grudge against herself for a moment for not letting her parents enjoy a little time together, but today was her day. She took the lead by opening the heavy door and ran from the stoop to the street, holding the suspenders of her backpack which was hitting her back with each step she took. She almost stumbled twice but her father caught hold of her.

'Hey, hey, hey. What an ungrateful daughter who doesn't kiss goodbye to her mom!'

Of course, he was joking. Immediately, Kate apologized profusely and scampered along to the door. She kissed her mother who held her in her arms, before returning straight back to the pavement. She watched the end of Owlstone Road, as if something would suddenly appear. But the sound of her dad's car door made her turn back.

'We're going by car?' she protested. 'B-but… I wanted to take the Knight bus!'
'Sorry, sweet pea, we don't have a choice.'

Phil waited for his daughter to enter the car and fasten her seatbelt to clear things up:

'The former controller was a Death Eater, and for now, I don't wanna take any risk. Better stay careful.'
'I thought it was over!' she complained while her father started the car whose old engine painfully hummed.
'You-Know-Who might be dead; some of his believers are still free… We don't know what they're up to. We're not their priority targets anymore, but we better stay on our guards.'

Disappointed, Kate settled in her seat, her head into her shoulders and pressing her bag against her chest.

'I've thought that now Harry Potter had killed him, everything would have become… "normal"?'
'It's been only two months, pumpkin! Don't worry… I'm sure that, by the end of the year, each and every Death Eater will be in Azkaban. I promise.'

Oh, her father's promises. Better not count on them. Even though he was saying that to comfort her.

Kate waited for the end of the second Deep Purple's song – a Muggle band her father really liked – and for the car to rattle out of the little city of Carlton, to take an interest in her father's day:

'What did you deal with, today?'
'A Boggart. Nothing very original!' he shrugged.

Phil wasn't exercising the most common of jobs in the magical world. He was a Tracker[1]. Hearing this trivial name, any Muggle would expect to see someone hunting beasts and sticking their heads on his wall. But in the magical world, being a Tracker was a risky job few would dare to do. First of all, it takes an almost perfect knowledge of Muggles, their rites, their objects and fit in their everyday lives. And secondly, you must show extreme discretion. Most of the time, Trackers intervened after odd calls from Muggles, describing paranormal activities, or after the track down of a creature that escaped the wizarding world. It resulted in doors openings, talking toys, creaking boards, or even, in the worst cases, a confrontation between Muggles and the reality of magic. Which Trackers had to avoid at any cost every time they were sent to the field. After that, they called the state employees of the Ministry, the Obliviators, in charge of erasing these poor people's memories of the last events they faced. That could covers anything from the little Puffskein in the chimney to the troll in the garden.
But the Ministry also used Trackers when it came to get rid of a harmful creature that caused losses to Muggles. And between those who were playing at being wizards around a black magic Ouija and vengeful spirits, that kind of case was common practice.

'Was it fun?' asked Kate, curiously.
'Not as fun as the Santa Claus case, but that poor Muggle was surrounded by dolls! People have weird fears.'

The Santa Claus' anecdote was regularly pulled out at the Whisper's table and it was a story they shared with great pleasure. A boggart had attack a student and appeared to her as Santa Claus, in every point similar to the disguised chaps in supermarkets during the season of Advent. The young lady had locked herself up in her kitchen's closet, threatening him with pans, before the Trackers came.

'You didn't tell the shape the boggart takes when you face it!' complained the little girl.
'Your angry mother! Very mad! Red eyes, beating veins, tight fists… Brrr!'
'No, seriously', Kate laughed, bumping her head against the seat, the headrest being still too high for her.
'That's personal, pumpkin!' he smiled, pressing his finger against her cheek.

Kate sank into a profound meditation while snuggling her mouth against her backpack. What will she see, the time she'll face a boggart? Perhaps her cellar's door and the terror that tied her depths each time that old, flaking, metallic handle turned. She hid her face completely, trying to chase away her dark thoughts.

It took them three hours to arrive at the Charing Cross Road car park, in London. Night was barely falling and Kate wiped her mouth from the last bits of the cake she devoured with the back of her sleeve, while contemplating the buildings of the English capital. Her last memories of London were so far away, nothing seemed familiar to her. Everything was fascinating. A smile spread across her father's face when he saw in the distance, the hung rusty sign swinging in the wind. The pub looked tiny and seedy. Its windows were so dirty it was impossible to see inside.

'The Leaky Cauldron', he sighed, nearly touched, a smile stretching in the corner of his lips. 'Man, it's been so long I didn't come…'

He went beyond his disappointment when he discovered, as he opened the door, an almost deserted main room. The inn had closed an entire year and was only just reopening. While some regular customers were savouring their drinks at the bar, a young woman, from behind and crouched, was busy repairing some table legs with her wand. A lot of furniture suffered damages after fights and Muggle-born arrests under the Dark Lord's supporter's regime.

The young lady got up and turned towards them when she heard the front door's bell ringing, announcing the Whisper's entry. She was barely twenty, Kate noticed. She wasn't the prettiest of the witches, even though her expression was very pleasant. She had a stretched face, not very feminine, a chalky complexion with long blonde hair pulled back and a lacking of sparkle gaze.

'Good evening sir, miss', she welcomed them with a slightly scratchy voice.

She addressed an individual smile to Kate.

'How may I help you?'
'We'd like to book a room', declared Phil with his appealing look – he had, in his youth, a serious reputation of a seducer, and for good reason, his crafty smile and steel eyes bewitched a lot of girls.
'Yes, of course!'

Scampering along behind the counter, the young manageress grabbed a key and went to the creaking, unsafe staircase.

'Follow me, please!'
'Tom's not working here anymore?' asked Phil, following her in the corridor after Kate had made a study of the place.
'Oh no!' she sighed while inserting the heavy copper key in the keyhole of room 109. 'He retired when the pub closed last year. I took over when I got out of Hogwarts; I loved the place too much to leave it there like that.'
'How brave of you!'
'Somebody had to do it.'

When she opened the door, she let them a few seconds to discover their room. It was still choking with dust, but the sheets on the big bed had been recently replaced. Above it, an old lady's portrait, wearing a crimson puffed dress with sleeves embroidered with lace, diverted her look from her reading and lowered her glasses to observe the newcomers.

'You're here to buy your school supplies?' asked the maid to Kate with a friendly voice, in the frame of the door.
'Y-yes', she stammered.
'First year, I suppose.'

Kate fervently nodded.

'You'll see', she tried to comfort her. 'You'll have the best years of your life at Hogwarts. Furthermore, from this year forth, you'll have very selected professors… What's your name?'
'Katelyna', she mumbled while pulling on the straps of her bag to hide her anxiety. 'Katelyna Whisper.'
'Nice to meet you, Katelyna. I'm Hannah. Hannah Abott.'

Then, she spoke to Kate's father, before returning downstairs:

'Meal will certainly be ready in half an hour. Take your time to install.'

After the delightful mutton stew Hannah had made, father and daughter were discussing around a drink, at one of the centre tables of the Leaky Cauldron. There was no need to isolate themselves: a quiet customer was stooped over the bar and three doubtful witches giggled further, at the round table near the window.

'Nothing's like a Butterbeer', rejoiced Phil while putting his pint back on the table.
'I would have bet you'd order a Firewhisky', ragged Kate. 'Are you sick, dad?'
'You know, sometimes the best things in life are the simplest, not the booziest! If only Muggles could market the Three Broomstick's Butterbeer, they would make a hell of money…!'
'Can I taste?'
'Hell no!'
'Please', she falsely begged, insisting on vowels.
'Go back to your pumpkin juice, child!' he chuckled, taunting her by drinking another sip of his Butterbeer. 'We'll talk about this when you get older!'

Kate pretended to sulk a moment. But she had enjoyed so little moments with her dad about magic that she couldn't let herself retreat into a childish silence tonight.

'Dad?'
'Hmm?'

He rolled his lips inside his mouth to lick discreetly the Butterbeer's drops that overflowed.

'If the Sorting Hat sends me to Gryffindor… will you be mad at me?'
'Mad at you?' he repeated, retaining a laugh. 'Why would I be?'
'It's well known. That Slytherins don't like Gryffindors, and vice versa!'
'And you think a Slytherin dad should be mad at his daughter because a patched piece of fabric sent her in the opposite house?'

He fixed his gaze in Kate's and tried to sound convincing.

'Whatever the house you're sent in, I'll be proud of you.'

Kate's cheeks flushed and she plunged in her pumpkin juice to hide it, almost spilling it. That was close.

'And… if I end up in Slytherin… do you think I'll be in trouble?'
'About me and the Death Eaters?'

Kate slowly nodded, embarrassed by the subject she raised. Phil sighed and slid his finger along the chipped edge of the pint.

'You know sweet pea… Being in Slytherin doesn't mean you're destined to be evil. Slytherins are known to go through their ideas; they're determined to accomplish their designs. Some think that they will reach it by doing bad things. You, better than no one, knows you can't judge someone on his house…'

His father was, indeed, a very good example. Many were those who tried to rally him to the Death Eaters' cause, even when he was still in Hogwarts. But Phil resisted, against all odds.

'Prejudices don't know everything. Look, I may be a Pure-Blood Slytherin, and yet, I married your mother and I now live in full-immersion with Muggles, which caused us a few troubles…'

He had said those last bitter words in low voice, letting them fade away in his amber drink.

'But… all this would have never happened if it wasn't for aunt Charity…' squealed Kate.
'Indeed… Indeed…'

Charity Burbage[2], Whisper from her maiden name, was Phil's big sister. Nut on the Muggles' way of life since the beginning of her studies at Hogwarts, Hufflepuff student, she became the Muggle Studies teacher for years there, until the Death Eaters tracked her down, when the Dark Lord came back to life. Charity was kidnapped at her house, her husband, a Muggle, died and her son, Eliot, lost consciousness under the spells he's been inflicted, left for dead in his room. Her disappearance long hit the headlines, but reality was way crueler: tortured as an example, Voldemort ended her in front of witnesses. No one ever found her body… The death of his sister threw Phil into the meanderings of his darkest emotions, while he was next on the Death Eaters' list.

'But I regret nothing!' he pinched.

Kate lifted her gaze and stared at him a long time. Much to her relief, he wasn't displaying that expressionless look that made her so nervous, but bore a slight smile.

'If Charity didn't inculcate her passion for Muggles into me, I would probably never have done the job I'm doing, I would have never met your mother and I would have never had this adorable little witch as a daughter. And this, no witch, brilliant, famous and beautiful though she be, could have offered me that… It's Muggle magic.'

Then, he finished his declaration on a more personal note:

'And I would never have discovered Muggle rock! What a waste it would have been…'

Kate laughed out loud remembering her father singing Blue ÖysterCult or Led Zeppelin at the top of his lungs when driving his old Muggle car. Yes, he would never have lived happily another way.

When they went back up to go to sleep, Phil stayed up a while at the window whereas his daughter had fallen asleep in the big bed. But when he noticed Kate was moaning in her sleep, big tears falling down her face, he laid down next to her and hugged her tightly before pressing a long kiss on her burning forehead. She calmed down straight away and her nightmares of the cellar turned into dreams about Hogwarts…

'Daddy, daddy! Wake up, it's daylight!'

Kate's moderated shouts forced Phil to open an eye.

'Let your old man exercise his duty in peace, will you?' he muttered, closing his eyes back and taking refuge under the cover.
'But it's daylight!' she took offense, running towards the window in creaky sounds of footsteps.

Forced to wake up a minute, Phil searched gropingly on his bedside table for his wand. With a wave of his wrist, he compelled under his lethargic eyes, a silvery rope that told him the time.

'Merlin's sake, Kate', he grumbled, 'it's not even eight!'
'But it's daylight', she repeated, insistently.
'Then go take your breakfast downstairs. For now, let daddy kip!'

His last words were muffled by his pillow, but Kate ignored them. All dressed up for a while now, she rushed to the corridor and went down like a whirlwind. Hannah, whose skilful wand was leading the mops, gave her a scolding look.

'I have still sleeping customers, girl!'
'Sorry', she flushed, softening her footsteps.

Hannah smiled while walking towards the bar.

'Sit', she invited Kate, patting on a high chair. 'What do you want to eat? I've got bacon eggs, toasts, pudding and maybe a ladle of beans.'

Kate's eyes lit up; it's been a long time since she hadn't got such a heavy meal. Nevertheless, she held herself back:

'Not sure that my dad would accept to pay more for…'
'It's okay, it's on the house. I don't put a new student up every day. I put you a little of everything.'

For someone used to frugal meals, this breakfast was a real feast. And the fresh pumpkin juice was a delight.

'You'll see, in Hogwarts, house elves are true cordons bleus! You'll never starve!'
'Really?!'

Hannah nodded, watching the little girl literally devouring her plate, while keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet where wizards on pictures were moving.

'Nothing new', she sighed. 'Another interview of a Hogwarts' combatant, a Death Eater's trial, a hysterical witch who found gnomes in her artichokes garden, the Chudley Cannons won a match again for this season. Do you watch Quidditch Kate?'
'No, not really, I… I do not have the opportunity.'
'But your father's a wizard. You don't support any team?'
'Maybe he does, but…'

How could she explain that she spent her last year, locked up in a cellar, in fear of being discovered and tortured by the Death Eaters? Survival and worrying about her dad who was risking his life to keep them safe and supply them with food was way beyond all those preoccupations.

Hannah understood Kate wouldn't finish her sentence, so she went back to her reading of the newspaper.

Phil went downstairs an hour later. Hurried by his daughter's impatience, he had to empty his coffee cup in two sips before leading her to the Leaky Cauldron's courtyard where barrels and empty bottles were stored. In front of them was a tall brick wall. Kate kept stamping. She knew what was behind. Phil pulled out his wand and tapped some bricks, in a very specific order, with it. Immediately, the wall moved and the bricks slid to open a passageway. Diagon Alley.

At this hour in the morning, few wizards were walking down the shopping street, but Kate's eyes were sparkling by seeing their exuberance. Their dark robes, or slightly coloured, their sometimes colourful hats. Some of them wore, as a clip for their capes, a little crystal stag's head that belled when you were staring at it for too long. A tribute to Harry Potter, the chosen one, who saved them all. Kate, amazed by all the shop windows, was running everywhere, her purple backpack bumping on her back. She felt alive again in this world that was hers.
First step was Gringotts. Under his job's conditions, Phil rarely carried wizard money with him. When they entered the white building, with its golden gates as impressive as a dragon, Kate hesitated between laughing out loud at goblins' gross faces or looking down because of their unfriendly, suspicious looks. As Phil already said to her, Gringotts circuits were as sensational as Muggle roller coasters, and father and daughter had a heyday, to the great displeasure of the goblin that was coming with them to the family vault, number 592. Phil went in alone while Kate was waiting inside the carriage. She suspected her father didn't want her to know the real financial situation of her family, which was already quite enough precarious. If only they had found her aunt Charity's body, they would have inherited her money. And according to the Minister's laws, in case of disappearance, an inheritance awaits for five years. There was no doubt aunt Charity was dead, everybody knew that, and yet, Kate's father never perceived his sister's money in accordance to the laws.

They went up the street, stopping in every shop the list told them to go. Starting by Madam Malkin's, the dressmaker, a chubby, smiling little witch, all dressed up in mauve. In spite of the early hour, some clients were wandering around, especially students and their parents, whether they're already at Hogwarts or not. Kate scanned the faces, trying to memorize them. Those kids might be her future roommates. There was this girl, with dark skin, who was strutting about in her new dress. But she seemed too old to be a first year. There was the little good girl, with a pink ribbon holding her blond curls, whose mum and dad were caring about every small detail. And also this poor boy with blond hair, his frameless glasses falling down his aquiline nose, who was extricating himself as best as he could in his robe, too big for him while his dad was talking with some witch he knew, without paying attention to his son's struggling.

Kate, ecstatic, swirled a few times in front of the mirror, wearing her future witch robe. She stroked the tissue where she would, in a few days, sew her house badge on. Sold: three robes, a basic hat, a winter cape and Common Welsh Green dragon gloves, for lack of a purple scaled dragon, her favourite colour.
They both established a break at Florean Fortescue's, the Diagon Alley's ice-cream parlour. While Phil chose Chocolate Frog, peanut butter and honey mead flavours, Kate found her happiness in gingerbread and blue barley sugar flavours. At the top of the ice-creams scoops, the seller put a miniature dragon which was puffing sparkles on them to make their surface creamy. Just the time of a daydream in front of the Quality Quidditch Supplies store.

At Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, they bought phials, a telescope and a copper scales. With a nudge, Kate's blunder took over a box of pipes, grabbed just in time, inches from the floor, by Phil's spell. With a clumsy girl like her, leaving her arms and legs around without noticing, he learnt to be on his guard.

'Well, I don't know that shop', admitted Phil who didn't step a foot here for four years, in front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

And even though no supply of this shop was on the list, Phil entered, followed closely by his daughter whose euphoria was shared. The inside was rainbow-coloured, animated puppets, bobbing up and down the displays, were giving out samples to customers or blowing pink bubbles whose inside were spluttering. This summer, the shop was promoting its new creation: the Looz-nooz[3]. The slogan on the posters, on which a young man was seen losing his nose like if it was a fading petal, was deliberately provocative following the recent events that soiled the wizarding world. "Death Eaters are fans that gone wrong. Be like Voldemort, lose your nose!". Finding his child's soul back, Phil granted himself the purchase of some Canary Creams, Nosebleed Nougats and Headless Hats to Verity, the young witch who managed the shop. Someway, Kate couldn't help herself from pitying her mother, who would have to stand her father's magical jokes once more.

'Here, seven Galleons', said Phil, sticking the seven golden coins in Kate's little hand when they went out of the shop. 'I'm going to buy your books while you go to Ollivanders.'
'What? You don't wanna come with me?' she squealed with a hint of disappointment in her voice.
'Purchase of a wand is a very intimate moment. It's better for you to do it alone. I'll catch you up in front of the shop.'

After rubbing his daughter's head with a friendly hand and a wink, he walked the opposite way to Flourish and Blotts, hands in his pockets. This time, apprehension took place over joy in Kate's mind. Left on her own, she walked towards the wand maker's shop in small, furtive steps. The sign had been damaged during the break-in last year. Today was only visible: Ollivanders, wand mak... B.C.

Kate pushed the door with fear and immediately fixed the old stunted man tidying up boxes scattered on the floor, without using magic. He lifted his dazed look on her, which filled with satisfaction instantly.

'What is it I see? A young girl preparing the start of her school year at Hogwarts?'
'Are you sir Ollivander?' stammered Kate, slowly coming up.
'Himself.'

As she was about to tell the reasons of her presence, she realized it was stupid. It was pretty obvious she was here to buy a wand and not a bunch of radish or the newest Remembrall which effects were coupled with a Howler by the Maginventors. Fortunately, before she even said a word, Ollivander was lending her a wand in its black box.

'Why not start by this one?'

With all the delicacy she could show, Kate grabbed the object. Her whole body immediately shivered and the box disintegrated in Ollivander's hand.

'Hum… I don't think this one suited.'

And while Kate was disappointingly putting the wand back and the old man was climbing the shelves searching for the perfect one, he started to get interested in her:

'What is your name, young girl?'
'Katelyna Whisper.'
'Ah, the Whisper daughter! Yes, yes… I remember your father. And his sister. If I'm right, he still has his chestnut wand, twelve inches, dragon heartstring?'
'I think so!'
'It only took two tries to find his ideal wand. I hope it will be the same for you.'

He then proposed her a second wand. This time, Kate let it slip through her fingers and, when crashing on the floor, the wand drilled it and left a huge hole and a pungent smell of burnt wood. Loads of tries remained vain and ended by disastrous failures. She also set the poor Ollivander's last hair in fire, who assured she wasn't the first to make a blunder.

'I didn't think I would come to this point', he sighed, taking a box on an isolated shelf. 'Try this one. It's here for fifty years; maybe you'd take it with you.'

It was a beautiful wand, a bit small but worked with delicacy.

'Good, I'll try.'

Praying for good luck, Kate grabbed the wand and lifted it over her head in a loose movement of her arm.

Outside, Phil was waiting while looking at passers-by, leaning against the storefront of the shop in front of Ollivanders', Kate's books casually stuck under his arm. He didn't suspect it would take such time. When suddenly, a deafening bang echoed strongly and the warm blow of the deflagration ruffled his hair; the explosion of the wand maker's windows resounded in all Diagon Alley.

'Kate!'

Dropping the books in panic, Phil rushed towards the shop, pushed aside some people and, jumping over a broken window frame, inspected the premises, looking for his daughter.

'Ventus!'

A powerful blast of wind rushed into the devastated place, chasing the warm, smothering dust.

'Kate!' he kept shouting, lifting the fallen cupboards one by one.

A little cough informed him on her position. When he met her up, he found a bristly haired, face full of soot but radiant smiling Kate. She had in her hand a wand that had rolled over to her in the explosion and was, now, gleaming.

'Dad', she coughed, with no concern about the situation, 'I found my wand!'

Ivy wood, eleven inches, unicorn hair. That was the description Ollivander gave her while Phil and him managed to repair the shop with help of their wands. She was so proud of her new acquisition. The light, almost white wood, ended with a handle surrounded by three-dimensional red twists. It looked so precious and sophisticated to her, who expected a common and brown wand. Kate, sitting on the steps outside and without hiding her happiness, found amusing to make her new possession roll in her palms, when her father came back and released a hiccup of surprise:

'Scrofulous toad, Kate, you look like a perfect little doxy.'

With a move of his wand and a Tergeo, the sooty marks on Kate's face disappeared.

'Come on, don't dawdle', he urged her, starting walking again. 'We have one last purchase to make before going back home.'
'But… my list is over!' she said, surprised, while checking the letter she learnt by heart by reading it over and over.
'You think?'
'I've got the cauldron, the gloves, the scales, I've…'
'What does the last line mention?'

She skimmed through the letter and, when she read the line, she lifted a stunned look towards Phil.

'You're gonna buy me an owl?!'
'I thought about a cat, actually. We already have Littleclaws!'

Littleclaws was a Northern Saw-whet Owl[4] her father adopted little time before the Dark Lord's ascension. A really brisk and discreet ball of feathers, perfect for secret and urgent messages. Littleclaws never was a very affectionate animal; nevertheless, it seemed to consider an aberration being separated from his respected master.

'A cat? You'd be okay to buy me a cat, dad?' repeated Kate who couldn't believe her ears.
'Listen sweet pea, with everything going on those last few months, I'd rather have you accompanied all the time in Hogwarts.'

For there was no night without a nightmare for little Kate and Phil worried about her a lot.

'But it's expensive! We spent a lot of money already!'

It didn't matter to him. He knew the importance of that day for his daughter and that's why he didn't count his Galleons to offer her a good robe and supplies of quality.

The Magical Menagerie was a privileged place to be touched by little cute creatures. Purple toads were next to charming orange snails that strongly smelled poison, a white rabbit that turned into a top hat at every jump and even a fire crab. At the bottom of the shop, tens of cages were meowing. Next to them, a black, red eyed parrot croaked at them:

'Croa! Shuuuuuut uuuup, croa! Shut up, tomcats!'
'So, which one do you want?' asked Phil, sticking his hands in his pockets while Kate was examining inside of each cage.

One by one, cats appeared spontaneously in front of her, mewing for her to adopt them. There was a litter of kittens, all black from the bottom to the head, a not much worldly Siamese cat, a big pressing Persian, a little tabby cat, pacing in its cage, a ginger attacking its bars. And a white ball of fluff curled up at the bottom of its cage. Kate was particularly intrigued by this one and scratched the lock. Turning its head towards her, the spotless white Angora cat revealed his wall eyes, one green and one blue.

'That's it! That's the one I want! I'll call him SirSulkington!'[5]

[1] If Obliviators are Rowling's invention, the author made up the Trackers by herself.

[2] Charity Burbage is the woman we see dying in the very fist chapter of Deathly Hallows. Everything about her family is the author's invention.

[3] There again, it is an invention of Ielenna who thought Fred and George may have worked it out during Voldemort's reign. At the death of his twin, George decided to commercialize it in tribute to his brother...

[4] Northern Saw-whet Owls (Aegolius acadicus) are tiny owls. They are, for example, tinier than Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, which is a Scops Owl (Athene noctua).

[5] In the orginal version of Ludo Mentis Aciem, the author named the Angora cat "MisterMinnows", because in French, the word "vairon" means both "wall eyes" and "minnow".