The day came to leave and no one seemed to care. My dad took me to the airport, but neither my step-mother nor my sister accompanied us and my dad only took me as far as the security checkpoint. He didn't give me an 'I love you,' or an 'I'll miss you.' No, all he said was, "You're sure?" At my hesitant nod, because there was nothing else to do, he nodded grimly like he had expected it and said, "Well then, good bye." He put his hands in his pockets and walked away. The last image I had of my dad was his retreating back as he left me there.
The fake passport worked and I had a smooth, uneventful series of flights. First coach was posh and comfortable, but I couldn't bring myself to really enjoy it. I slept fitfully in my wide chair and ignored the flight attendants who tried to dote on me like I was someone important. By the time I reached London, I was groggy and grumpy and wanted nothing more than hot soup and a warm bed. It was raining in London when I arrived, just as it had been raining in Washington when I left. Somehow, it didn't make me feel at home. I dragged my duffel off the overhead rack and lugged it with me to main airport where I was suddenly accosted by a plump and businesslike woman. "Miss Skylar French?" she asked in a voice so fast it took me a minute to realize she had said my name.
"Yes?" I garbled out.
"I am Ms. Moore, I wrote you before?" I nodded to signify that I had received her parcel, but before I could verbally reply, she was off again. "I'm here to collect you and take you to St. Catchpole's Home for Children. I will smooth out any inconsistencies the muggles might notice and introduce you to the Cliffords." At my justified look of confusion, she explained, "The siblings that also attend Hogwarts. Surely Dumbledore mentioned them?" I opened my mouth to answer, but was cut off quite instantly by her, "Yes, of course he did. Now, is that all you brought with you?" she pointed to the purse and duffle hanging off my shoulder. I didn't answer for a moment, as I waited for her to start off again, but she appeared to actually be waiting for my answer.
"No, I've got more bags. I'm supposed to get them at Carousal 2."
"Well then, let's hurry, hurry. We haven't got all day and it's a long drive to St. Catchpole's." She wasn't kidding; it was a long, long four hours to Ottery St. Catchpoles. For me, it was full of more restless sleep which somehow succeeded in making the ride seem even longer than it was. By the time we got there, I was hungry, had a headache, and wanted absolutely nothing else but to be left alone. But alas, it was not to be. We were greeted in front of the moldy building by three people, one of which stood ahead of the other two. He was a slick man in a business suit and extended his hand as soon as I was out of the car, maybe even before. The other two were Paige and Mason Clifford, my new 'friends'. The family resemblance between the two was so striking that if they had had the same haircut, they could have been clones, one just a few years older than the other. They looked as happy to be there as I was. I was also sure I looked awful, but at this point, I just didn't care what they thought of me, I wanted to be alone. The man introduced himself as Samuel Dotes, head of this "fine establishment." He stressed what a delightful place this was, how—through his charitable contributions—it had enriched and given new meaning to his life and how he was sure it would do the same for me. I came to the conclusion that this was not a slick businessman, but a slimy salesman.
I'm not sure how I responded; perhaps I politely said I was sure I would enjoy my time here, perhaps I told everyone to go screw themselves, but either way, I was soon shown to a bedroom with two twin beds in it, one that was Paige's and one that was to be mine. Ms. Moore dismissed Mr. Dotes and the Cliffords and began talking at me. I tried to pay attention to her instructions that eventually, we would receive our supply and book lists and we would go to shopping in London, but that Paige and Mason knew all that and would guide me. Finally, finally, she left, perhaps catching onto the fact that I was at this point only slightly more coherent and much more annoyed that a pissed off zombie.
The next weeks trudged on. Paige rarely spoke to me, and Mason even less, but I had never been much of a people person so I tried not to mind too much. Paige was sixteen, in her second to last year of school, Mason was two years below her in age and education. Their parents had died years ago, killed by the evil side in a wizarding war that had ended when I was very little. It had centered in England and therefore, I knew very little about it. They took that as personally offensive.
In mid-July, we received our supply letters; rather Paige received them by owl in the middle of the night and gave me and Mason ours at breakfast the next morning. I shared a room with her, how hard would it be to give it to me there? It was a basic list, but I had nearly everything on it already seeing as America and England weren't as different as they liked to pretend. I needed the new books of course and new robes as my Salem uniform obviously didn't match the Hogwarts one, but other than that, I had everything. Paige condescended to ask if she needed to take me shopping for a wand, seeming to, like the majority of her countrymen so far, confuse the term 'American' with 'imbecile'.
"Oh, yes please, Paige," I preened, "I've ever so longed for a pointy stick like yours. In America, we just pull twigs off trees and hope for the best." I pulled the end of my wand just far enough out of my book bag for her to see it.
"Well you don't have to be rude," she sniffed and strutted away. I stuck my tongue out at her back. I figured I would apologize later, but never really got around to it.
They chose the next Saturday as our designated shopping day and we started out in the early morning, skipping breakfast entirely. We took a train, two buses and then walked three blocks until we arrived at a bar that no one around seemed to see. The sign above the place proclaimed the bar to be 'The Leaky Cauldron' as it squeaked back and forth. Paige led the way in, closely followed by her brother, as I trailed behind. It smelled stale in there and I wrinkled my nose. I had always been taught never, ever to consume alcohol, but I supposed I couldn't really judge those that chose to—how much worse can it be than my supposed devil worshipping?—and I tried to follow as nonchalantly as I could. An old man behind the bar chuckled at my reaction then greeted the Cliffords by name. "Paige, Mason, good to see you. Out doing your school shopping then?"
"Hi, Tom," Paige greeted and her brother mumbled something. "We are. Do you think you could let us through?" I was confused as he certainly wasn't blocking us from anything, but he nodded and came around the counter to us.
"And who's this?" he nodded at me.
I spoke for myself before Paige, who was opening her mouth to explain, had a chance. "I'm Skylar French, sir."
"Nice to meet you Skylar. Are you goin' to Hogwarts as well?" he asked as he led us around back.
"Yes, sir."
"Just call me Tom, there's no reason to 'sir' me," he winked down at me. I nodded and he continued as we reached a dead end alley wall and he pulled out a crooked and gnarled wand. "We don't get many Americans up at Hogwarts, do we now?" he asked the Cliffords. The shook their heads silently. "What made you come down to Hogwarts then?" Was Tom always this chatty? Again I had to speak quickly to beat Paige.
"New opportunities," was all I said. Not everyone needed to know my life story. He nodded and poked at a few random bricks with his wand. Without warning, the wall disappeared as if it had never been there at all. My eyes widened at the street unveiled. How had the muggles not found this? It was loud and bright. All around people laughed and chatted and pushed in and out of shops, enjoying the day of sun. There were carts on the sidewalk with treats and jewelry and knick-knacks. The store fronts each had bright displays in the windows, moving in ways no muggle display could with colors that seemed too bright to be possible.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Tom said as he bowed low. I stepped in slowly following two very impatient Cliffords.
"Come on, Skylar, we have to go," Mason bossed. I hurried my steps, but couldn't help looking around in awe. How were the Cliffords not blown away by all this? I was suddenly quite sure that Disneyland was lying; it couldn't possibly be the 'happiest place on Earth' when this place existed. Paige tugged at my arm and I stopped gawking to glare at and follow her.
While Hogwarts had its fund for the underprivileged, there wasn't much money for each of us and we passed by some of the brighter buildings to look in the second-hand shops. We found the books we needed and new robes for both me and Mason, who had outgrown his old ones. Mine were too long, but as Paige so rationally explained, I could hem them and let them out later. I sighed, but nodded knowing there was nothing else for it. It was midafternoon when we all finished the shopping and I wanted to explore—this place was amazing—but Paige just led us through. "We don't have money for frivolousness," Mason hissed at me when I stopped to look in the ice cream shop window. It couldn't really be just ice cream I thought. The colors were too bright and the scent to strong, I shouldn't really be able to distinguish the individual scents of the different flavors from all the way out here, should I? He tugged at my arm again, an action they were both becoming far too familiar with, and I turned back to him.
"I was looking, not buying. Calm down, I know we have a limited budget." They scowled at me as I scowled back.
"Last stop," Paige announced and she and Mason shared a significant look. I glared at them suspiciously before following them into the dusty shop they had dragged me to. It smelled like sawdust, varnish and something else that made my nose itch and felt like static electricity running up my arms. "Mr. Ollivander?" Paige called as she grabbed my arm and pulled me to the counter. I hadn't been paying attention to the sign outside, but I noticed the plaque on the counter. Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands has been in the Ollivanders family since 382 B.C. The knowledge of wandlore has been passed from father to son through the generations and each generation has improved upon the practices of old. Here, your true wand will find you. Welcome.
"What are we doing here?" I hissed at Paige. "I have a wand!" She shushed me like I was a child and I heard Mason snicker from where he still stood by the door.
"Mr. Ollivander?" she called again.
"I am here," an old man said in a soft voice. He walked out from a back room. "Good afternoon Mister and Miss Clifford. What can I do for you?" He noticed me then, my mutinous expression not seeming to put him off in the slightest. "I have not met this one. Are you here for a new wand?"
"No, I am not," I said sharply before Paige could speak. "I have a wand."
He looked skeptical so I pulled mine out for proof, holding it up before slipping it right back into my pocket. Paige and Mason hardly ever carried theirs with them because we couldn't use magic outside of school, they hadn't even brought them today, but I took mine with me wherever I went. If I ever truly needed it for whatever reason, an escaped murderer grabbing me, a carnivorous beast running at me, or a couple of annoying schoolmates that needed to be taught a lesson, I would be prepared. Besides, the government couldn't lock me up if whatever I used magic against was life threatening.
"She needs you to check her wand. She bought it in America so we need to be sure that it can adequately preform its tasks," she said piously. Before I could say anything, she said, "Come find us when you're done, Skylar, we'll just be wandering the Alley." Without another word to Mr. Ollivander or me, she and Mason practically ran from the shop and through the window, I watched them race away. I wondered if they were planning to go back to Ottery and leave me here alone, but found that even if that was the case, I didn't really mind.
"Well, may I see your wand, Miss…?" He held a long fingered hand out with his unblinking gaze on my face.
"Skylar French. And I really don't really need you to check my wand," I told him with exasperation. "They're just being brats."
"Well, as long as you're here, I might as well," he offered, hand still extended. I eyed him distrustfully. This might be his job, but I was very territorial and I hated other people handling my wand. Seeing that I wasn't about to relinquish my wand to a stranger, but not seeming offended by the lack of trust, he dropped his hand and leaned against the counter, unblinking eyes still on me, like he was trying to dissect my very essence. "Who did you purchase your wand from? I believe there are several wand makers in America."
"Attle's," I answered stiffly. His eyebrows rose an inch and he looked me up and down. "What's wrong?" I was sure he would say that Attle was an awful wandmaker and that I would be better off with any of his own wands, but I was surprised.
"Nothing at all," he said. "Ms. Attle is in fact descended from the Ollivanders, though her branch relocated to the colonies when they were just beginning. Though I have never met her, I have heard that she learned her trade well. Did you choose your wand or did it choose you?" he asked as if this was vital.
"We came to a mutual understanding." He nodded that this was satisfactory and I was pleasantly surprised not to be put in the middle of a mudslinging competition.
"What is your wand's dimensions and description?"
"Twelve and three-eighths inches," I said. "She said she designed it to be twelve and a quarter inches, but to wand didn't want that last eighth of an inch to be lost so she left it." I had thought she sounded a bit batty when she told me that, but Ollivander nodded like this made sense.
"And the wood and core?" he prodded.
"Linden wood with a black coral core," I said. His face dropped with disappointment and I felt offended on behalf of my wand.
"It appears Ms. Attle's business practice is not as scrupulous as I was led to believe," he sighed.
"My wand works fine," I said. "It always does exactly what I need it to." He shook his head sadly.
"That may be the case, but it appears she has lied to you about the makeup of your wand," he explained. "Lindon is another term used for lime trees. The only kind of lime tree that can be used in wands are silver lime trees which I'm afraid are very rarely used now. They were quite popular a century ago, so popular in fact that they were nearly all harvested and regulations were put in place. Coral is also rarely used now. I never use it as it was proven to be far less powerful than the three cores I use in my wands, unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings and phoenix feathers." He shook his head again. "Two such rare materials in one wand is unlikely. In addition, with one so powerful and one quite weak, it is unlikely they would ever work together."
I had always loved my wand. Though when we first stepped into Ms. Attle's shop, I had been drawn to the darker woods, my wand was a very light tan with dark ripples and twists running through the grain. Ms. Attle told me that the ripples and knots told the story of the tree. The one that had been used in this wand had endured whole decades of droughts, infestations and even a fire, but when she found it, it had been almost three centuries old and was thriving as its kind often did. She said she could have hidden the 'defects' with varnish, but they made the wand special and she thought it would be a shame to hide its history. When I had touched it, I had felt such intense energy flow through my arm, I knew immediately that this was the one meant for me. My parents had been irked that it had been one of the most expensive wands in the store, but they had bought it without complaint as per our deal.
"Maybe I'm just an unlikely person," I quipped. It didn't really matter what my wand was made of, I thought, but I was now insanely curious. "Here," I pulled the wand in question out with a sigh. "What do you think it's made of then if not linden and coral?"
He took it with interest, inspecting it first from one end then from the other. He traced the way the ripples curled out from the handle, balanced it on one finger like the scales of justice, and then with the agility of someone half his age, whipped it forward as if to duel an opponent. I jumped back from him as my own wand was pointed an inch away from my face. With the same speed, he whipped it back and twirled it with a flick of his wrist and from the tip spouted several midnight blue bubbles that released the sound of waves when they popped. Finally, he placed it on the counter before me and motioned that I could take it. "So," I asked as I stuck it back in my pocket, "What is it?"
"I am sorry, Miss French, for doubting you and Ms. Attle. It appears that you were informed correctly; this wand is silver lime and black coral, twelve and three-eighths inches, resilient and strong, both physically and magically." I grinned as I ran my fingers over the smooth wood in my pocket. While it didn't really matter what it was as long as it worked, I hadn't like thinking I had been lied to about the object that tied me to this world of wonder.
"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander."
"You are very welcome, Miss French. Your wand is very special. Silver lime is known for performing outstandingly well for diviners and those gifted with Legitimacy." My interest spiked even higher at the mention of the spell I had been trying so hard to understand for the last several months of the school year. "And coral, though it has only the most minimal of its own power, is known to amplify the power of its user. Without the added magic of a hair or feather from a magical beast, I think you must have a vast store of untapped power. I look forward to seeing your progress, Miss French."
When I found the Cliffords, they were sitting outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, the ice cream place I had looked into earlier that Mason had dragged me away from. They each had a small ice cream cone in their hands and looked quite pleased with themselves until they saw me. "What are you doing here?" Mason asked stupidly.
"Paige said to find you when I was done. Looks like the game is over. That wouldn't happen to be some of the frivolousness you said we didn't have money for earlier, would it?" Mason looked to his sister for guidance. Paige was blushing lightly, but she spoke with her usual straight forward tone.
"We both had left-over money from our allotments," she said. "I would say to go in and get one too, but you must have used the rest of yours at Ollivanders, so…."
"I didn't."
"What?"
"I didn't use the rest of it. Ollivander said that since my wand was in fine repair and was such exceptional quality, he wouldn't charge me." Actually, he hadn't said anything of the sort. He had said, 'I believe your companions have sojourned to Fortescue's and I suggest you join them before they leave you unaccompanied yet again.' And he had been right. So I marched right into the parlor with Paige pouting after me. They had some of the oddest combinations in there. I ended up with a chocolate, walnut and raspberry sundae, one of the most normal things they had and Mr. Fortescue seemed almost disappointed as I ordered. Paige and Mason however were forced to sit and wait while I ate, something I made sure I did slowly, just for them.
"We're leaving now," Paige finally commanded and I got up once again, to tag along. We exited Diagon Alley, back into what now felt like a very bland, boring world. On the way back to the train station, Paige stopped at a little shop and bought us all fish-n-chips with some of the orphanages money. Fish-n-chips were better than I had expected, but the chips did not taste as much like fries as I had hoped. I missed french-fries more than I should. We traveled the rest of the way in silence and I let myself nod off only to be roughly shaken awake when the train ride was over.
The last month and a half of summer vacation, or 'holiday' as the Cliffords said, passed too slowly for my taste. There was nothing to do. I am a reader, so I went in search of books, but the orphanage had a pitiful selection, mostly geared toward little kids. I got so bored I tried to read my school books, but the first time Paige caught me doing that, in the privacy of our room, she grabbed the book from me and roughly shoved it under the bed. "Someone could see you," she hissed as if I had killed her pet. "They can't know."
"They'll think I'm reading fictional nonsense," I told her reaching under the bed for my book.
"No!" she commanded. "If I catch you reading those books here, I'll lock them up."
"How do you do homework then? Hogwarts has summer homework doesn't it?"
"The school makes exception for us."
"Ah," I cooed as if at an infant, "how 'pecial you."
"Oh, stop being such a smart-ass," she told me and left abruptly. Left with nothing else to do, I ventured out of the orphanage into the town. It really was a pretty place, all very green and lush. I found a little library and spent most of my time there, getting into trouble several times for falling asleep curled up while reading at the library and waking up after curfew. And that was how I spend every day, except Sunday when the library was closed. The only person in all of Ottery who began to look at me kindly was the librarian.
