Melidi Ridare
The librarian gave her a customary acknowledging nod as the young orphan strode into the building, her long dark hair flying behind her. She strode with purpose to the reference section, searching for a book she knew well- had nearly memorized by now, at the age of twelve.
She came to the centerfold, where there was a detailed map of the streets that ran around her now, complete with sketches of the buildings' outlines. Her small fingers, slightly dirtied by the dust and dirt in the air and on the surfaces outside, traced the roads until she found Charring Cross. She remembered standing at the exact point her fingers remained at, a fraction of an hour before. It didn't make sense. There was no room for the hidden world inside that restaurant, and she had known something was different from the moment she stopped on the pebbled street- tourists and Londoners flying by her.
She had been wandering London as usual- there wasn't much to do at the orphanage, and London had hundreds of back alleys with little stores and interesting people. She was strolling along when the inn caught her eye. There was nothing special to it- much like its neighbors- but some unseen force pulled her to it and made her stop in wonder.
No one else had noticed the pub, it was as if only she could see it. When she had stepped over the threshold, no one even glanced into the open door.
The barman, Tom, had looked at her strangely as she sent curious glances through the door she just came through and around the dim room. "Looking for Diagon Alley, miss?" Melidi's head swiveled to look at him, and she had asked, always polite,
"Pardon?"
"Diagon Alley. Through the brick wall on the other side of that door," he said, his face perfectly straight and emphasized his statement by pointing a grubby finger through an ajar door, where light shown through. As she had walked towards the stream of sun light, she saw through the fogged glass the brick wall he mentioned, and then, the most peculiar thing had happened.
The bricks began to move, twisting and sliding out of their knitted puzzle to form an arch, a young man stepping through, his eyes bright green and his hair like ebony. She jumped aside, to let him by, and as he passed, she got a glimpse of the words etched above the archway before they slid back into the flat, dirty wall.
Diagon Alley
Wizard London
Back in the library, she sat back for a second to let what she just realized sink in, before jumping up and letting her delicate fingers slide along the stacks until she found the tome she searched for. Flipping through the pages, she found the bolded word she sought.
"Magic (maj'ik) n. the art of influencing events or creating marvels"
Melidi Ridare sighed, instinctively knowing how great marvels were to be found in this new world, what events would be caused, and how powerful of artists she was to meet.