Hello again! After updating the last chapter, my muse decided to talk to me again (does a happy dance).

This chapter, I add a character who doesn't have a canon counterpart. Let me know what you think, I decided to add her into the story earlier than I had planned, because it might be a while until we see her again...

Thank you everyone who read, favourited and followed this story.

A bell chimed somewhere inside, as Gracie and Rowan stepped inside the shop. Professor McGonagall and Mrs Evans had opted to wait outside, because with everyone in the tiny shop it was rather crowded. Mr Evans sat down on a decrepit chair to wait, while Hawthorne stood in the corner, watching.

Rowan's skin tingled with magic, the air inside the shop seemed to be full of it. He sneezed, as the dust tickled his nose. Magic wasn't the only thing filling the air. Precarious piles of narrow boxes were stacked against the walls, as if they hadn't had the chance to be tidied away yet.

"Good afternoon," said an old woman softly. She had wide, pale eyes which refused to blink. Rowan found her more than a little creepy.

"Er, hello" Gracie replied awkwardly. "You're Ollivander, right?"

The woman fixed her silvery eyes on Gracie and nodded in confirmation. Rowan decided that she was definitely creepy.

"Let's get your wands sorted. The wand choses the wizard after all! Although, I seem to remember that your father, Miss Prince, used an inherited wand instead of one of his own, meaning it never quite worked for him." The old lady stared at Gracie accusatory, as if Adrian using one of his ancestor's wand was entirely her fault. Hawthorne rolled his eyes.

"Now, why don't we try this?" Ollivander plucked a box from the top of the pile, handing it to Gracie. "Sycamore, unicorn hair thirteen inches."

Glancing at Rowan nervously, Gracie waved the twig, before Ollivander ripped it from her hand. "Nope!"

"Elm, phoenix feather, twelve and a half inches." This one was also taken away from her. Rowan stood back and waited - he had the feeling this was going to take a while.

Finally, Ollivander handed Gracie a wand which she didn't snatch back immediately. "Walnut and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches and rather bendy."

Gracie waved it around and a breeze blew through the room, causing half of the pile of used wands to topple over. Rowan and his father clapped and Gracie grinned that she finally had her wand. Hawthorne did nothing, his expression uncharacteristically blank.

Rowan sighed and moved forwards to find the correct wand for him.

Hawthorne scowled as they exited the shop selling magic wands, Gracie tucking her walnut wand into the pocket of her sundress and Rowan clutching his wand of willow in his hand. To be honest, Hawthorne had been surprised that the rowan wand he had tried hadn't worked, but wand lore seemed too contradictory to be precise. Idly, Hawthorne wondered that if some wands didn't work for wizards and they had to spend ages finding the right wand, how could you tell if you were magic at all? If you tried all the wands in the shop, were you deemed unmagical, even if there was the perfect wand out there for you somewhere?

Moodily, Hawthorne started to follow the others back to the Leaky Cauldron. Although he didn't want to admit it, part of Hawthorne had enjoyed his time at Diagon. However, that feeling was soured by the fact that he wouldn't be joining Gracie and Rowan. For the first time, Hawthorne had to face the fact that he was going to be left alone in Cokeworth without either of them, while they would be learning to ride broomsticks and how to turn into cats like McGonagall. Not for the last time, Hawthorne cursed the fact that he didn't have magic as well. Why did life have to be so unfair?

Lagging behind, Hawthorne was drowning in bitter thoughts; the sort of thing he would never say aloud and never even tell Rowan about. He was so lost in thought, that he tripped on the cobbled road, sending him stumbling down a side street. Brushing the dirt from his scratched knees, Hawthorne took in the filthy alleyway.

It was dark inside the alley, despite the summer sun that had been shining in Diagon Alley. The shop displays were less colourful and showed a variety of oddities that had a malevolent gleam about them. Cloaked figures lurked in the shadows and Hawthorne began to feel horribly exposed in his muggle attire. He was beginning to gain unwanted attention and several heads turned his way, as Hawthorne tried to regain his bearings. One of the figures started to walk in his direction and Hawthorne felt his stomach freeze over with dread.

Suddenly, someone grabbed onto Hawthorne's arm and pulled him into a shadowed doorway. He tensed as he felt a cold, metal blade against his throat and the firm grip his attacker had on his arm tightened as they pulled him closer. The cloaked figure paused, but continued to walk in their direction.

"For goodness sake! Don't yell or we're both dead!" Hawthorne's attacker hissed angrily into his ear.

Hawthorne stayed still, his muscles frozen in place and his heart in his mouth, as the person in the cloak drew nearer. The hand on his arm clung on tighter, cutting off his blood supply, but neither of them made a sound. All three stood silently, daring the others to make a move.

Eventually, the person in the cloak retreated, disappearing into the darkened alley. Both Hawthorne and the person holding a knife to his throat waited several minutes before reacting. The knife was removed as was the hand on his arm and Hawthorne allowed himself a sigh of relief, before turning to face the person who had saved him.

The girl clutching the silver knife in front of her was about the same age as Hawthorne. She had blonde hair so pale it was almost white and she was adorned in expensive emerald robes. To be honest, she looked as scared of Hawthorne as he was of her. The dagger was made of polished silver metal and Hawthorne recognised it as one of the blades that was required for potions.

Trying to look as unthreatening as possible, Hawthorne gave a small smile at the girl. He wasn't sure what to say to girls at the best of times, let alone witches wielding knives. "Um, thanks."

"You're welcome." She continued to point the blade in Hawthorne's direction, yet no longer held the handle as tightly.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"So, er, do you know the way back to the Leaky Cauldron?" Hawthorne asked tentatively.

The blonde stared at him for a moment, as if trying to assess whether he would kill her the second she turned her back. Apparently satisfied, she nodded. "Keep to the shadows," she instructed. "The less people that see us in Knockturn Alley, the better."

They scurried from shadowed doorway to shadowed doorway, Hawthorne following his guide. Eventually, they reached sunlight and blinking rapidly, Hawthorne realised they had emerged into Diagon Alley. In daylight, his companion looked even more regal, with her blonde hair gleaming and her emerald robes spotless, despite their misadventure in the filthy alley. The girl pocketed her knife, but still eyed him warily, even though he would be stupid to try something in broad daylight on a busy street.

"The Leaky Cauldron is this way." She lead the way, marching ahead with her nose in the air, emanating wealth that she had suppressed in the darkness.

Approaching the brick wall which covered the archway leading to the Leaky Cauldron, the two of them stood facing it, each waiting for the other to pull out their wand to let them through. They glanced at each other in confusion, as if wondering what the other was doing.

"Melanie!"

Both turned, the blonde girl with a look of horror across her face.

I wasn't sure what wand Severus Snape wielded, so I invented one for Gracie's use. Rowan gets the same wand as Lily.

Also, I wanted to give Hawthorne the limelight, as we won't hear much from him during term-time at Hogwarts. I would love to hear what you think of Melanie, so I would thoroughly enjoy it if you reviewed (thank you!).