Chapter Ten: Reconnection
My eleventh birthday could have been a holiday unto itself. The pub was open that day, and I had groggily stumbled down the stairs to the first floor to find several of our regular customers in the bar with my parents, all of them beaming widely.
"Happy birthday, Alice!" Their well wishes echoed off the walls.
"Allie!" Mum rushed to the front of the crowd, taking my hand. "Mr. Ollivander over here has a special present for you…"
Still half-asleep, I found myself face-to-face with Ollivander Jr., who had taken over his father's wand business when he died several years after the Second War. "Hello, Mr. Ollivander," I fought the urge to yawn right in his face.
"Happy birthday, Miss Longbottom," the man smiled kindly. "I suppose you're wondering what I've got for you?"
"Yes," I lied.
"Mr. Ollivander is letting you come to his shop before it opens to buy your wand," my mother burst out excitedly.
That was enough to wake me up completely. I let out a squeal that was completely unorthodox of me, and boldly ran forward to hug the wand maker before restraining myself. He merely laughed, and patted my shoulder graciously.
"Daddy!" I whirled back around to face my father. "Oh, will you come with me to get my wand?"
For a spilt second, my mother's face fell, but I hardly noticed, bouncingly waiting for Dad's reply. He seemed to glance sideways at Mum for a moment, who waved him off from behind me.
Grinning unreachably, Dad nodded. "Of course, Alice, I'll be happy to come with you."
I then heaved myself up to a bar stool to shovel down the porridge Mum had made for me, tossed her my thanks for breakfast, and hurried back upstairs to dress. In our bedroom, my sister still slept soundly in the next bed, completely oblivious to my ruckus and loud actions.
When I had thumped my way down the stairs back to the pub, daily activity had resumed, and Mum was busily serving patrons drinks and meals. Dad and Mr. Ollivander were waiting for me by the back door, and I made a beeline for them, clutching onto Dad's hand. I hadn't done this for quite some time, and it felt juvenile, me being someone headed off to school next month. But somehow, I knew Dad appreciated it as we maneuvered our way past the brick way to Diagon Alley.
The hubbub of Diagon Alley pressured me to keep a more severe hold on Dad's hand, with the crowds being thick with parents and their schoolchildren. I was not allowed to search for any other school supplies, as we had to wait for the Potters' arrival the next day. But as Mr. Ollivander led us to his shop, which he unlocked with his set of keys before entering, the anxiety to buy other things diminished. The major key to my magical life – a wand – was soon to be in my hands.
The wand shop was intoxicated by musty air, with evident dust nearly everywhere you turned – Molly Weasley would have had a fit. About half a dozen shelves were squeezed into the back space of the front room, and every shelf was filled to the brim with boxes, apparently each filled with a wand.
"You are right-handed, Alice?" Mr. Ollivander made his way up the first shelf aisle, running his finger along the stacked boxes.
"Yes." I broke apart from my father's grip, walking a little closer to the shelves.
The man drew a measuring tape from among his robes and measured my right arm, starting from my thumb and ending at my elbow. He murmured a number to himself, and then began a search among the shelves.
"Here…" he emerged from a dark corner, lifting a figure from its box. "Nine and a half inches, flexible, made with redwood and dragon heartstring." When I stared at the wand helplessly, Ollivander sighed impatiently. "Just give it a flick!"
I obliged, and in response, the flower vase on Ollivander's desk shattered. I blushed heavily, and set the wand back in its box quickly. Dad, flustered, began digging around in his wallet for money to pay off for the broken vase. But Ollivander waved his actions off.
"No, no, Longbottom, it happens every time. They all say that a glorious light is supposed to gleam when the wand picks its owner, but breaking of things can happen too."
"So…that was good?" Dad's eyebrow cocked up questioningly, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing at his expression.
"Yes, I suppose," Ollivander sat himself down at his equally dusty desk. "Will you be taking it?"
Dad glanced at me for the answer, and I peered into the box once more. I had felt nothing with that wand in my grip – I was certain from all those stories I had been told that you had to feel something when holding a wand. Hesitantly, I opened my mouth, "May I try out another, please?"
Ollivander breathed out an impatient air, but lifted the box on his desk to place it away. When he returned, his eyebrows were knit together in annoyingness, but he handed me the new box with a somewhat polite tone. "Thirteen inches, swishy, made with cherry and unicorn tail hair."
I picked up this wand expecting more, and then I felt what I was waiting for. An uplifting in my inner body was felt, and I jovially gave this wand a flick. Now, the dead flower that had been in Ollivander's vase became youthful, with more rich and vibrant color.
"It's brilliant!" I announced. "This is the one!"
Ollivander broke into applause, probably at the thought of yet another successful sale. Dad grinned at me, and once again started picking out several Sickles from his coin purse. As he slapped the money down upon the desktop, I carefully packed our purchase into its box.
When we returned to the busyness of the streets, Dad brought me to the ice cream parlor for me to pick out my own treat – "A surprise present," he told me. Once I received my strawberry cone and we were leaving the shop, Dad took the box from me, peering in on the wand. "Cherry and unicorn hair…my old wand was the same."
I brightened up immediately. "Really?"
"It was your grandfather's wand…and my grandmother gave it to me," Dad appeared nostalgic, but then turned uncomfortable, "but then it was broken."
"How?"
Dad answered me with no pain clear-cut in his face. "At the Department of Mysteries at the end of my fifth year."
I recognized this setting. "Where Mr. Potter's godfather was killed?"
"Yes."
We walked in silence for a few more paces, and then I spoke again. "Dad, do your students ever ask about…what you did?"
He continued walking, an incomprehensible visage on his face. "They have History of Magic for that. Some of the older students are cheeky enough to say that I think I deserve more fame than James's dad…" To this, my father shook his head. "It's not true. What I did wasn't for myself, at any time. They're just silly teenagers – don't pay attention to any of them when you're at school."
His reply caused me to think of his publicity in past years. Dad rarely gave interviews after the first-year anniversary of the war, as Mum had told me, and although he had published his own books – one a how-to guide on raising magical plants, the other an autobiography several friends pushed him into writing – I barely knew my father as a symbol of fame. I remembered once searching for a now-unknown item in our attic back in Godric's Hollow, and then coming across a faded magazine that was opened to a page that smelled of age.
Slapped upon this certain page had been a picture obviously taken with a Muggle camera, oddly, as the figures in it was still. The photo since was always etched in my memory – dated September of 2007, it showed a man coming out of a bright white house. He was carrying a little girl dressed in a purple sundress, her hair messy and flyaway.
I recalled showing it to my mother, who'd snorted when seeing it, but her face had eased at the sight of the two people. She had read me the photo's caption: War hero Neville Longbottom leaves legendary Harry Potter's home with daughter Alice, 2. Up to my eleventh birthday, that picture was the only time I saw my father receive any recognition as a hero outside of his books and old interviews. It was strange, really, hearing people call him that. When I looked at him, I only saw Dad, not the seventeen-year-old who destroyed a Horcrux and helped students survive through a treacherous time at Hogwarts.
Early the next day, James and his parents arrived via Portkey at the Leaky Cauldron, and he, his parents, Dad, and I set off into Diagon Alley together with our supply lists in tow. The Potters firstly separated from us to buy James's wand, and they were delayed longer than necessary in Ollivander's shop – when they returned, Mr. Potter shared that the wand maker realized who his visitors was and began thanking James's father for what he did for Ollivander Sr. during wartime.
After that, the real shopping begun. With little time to converse together about the upcoming changes in our life, James and I were whisked off to Madame Malkin's to be measured for school robes. After being prodded and poked by clumsy assistants' pins, we were declared finished there and then moved on to Eeylops Owl Emporium, for James to select an owl as a late birthday present from his parents. He chose a tawny, young owl, naming him Damon.
The next stop was Flourish & Blotts, to purchase our first year spellbooks and other mandatory textbooks. It was here when I disappeared into the shelves after gathering together my needed books, to search for the photography book I had spotted previously. I planned to buy it with my birthday money for James, as he had shared with me his Quidditch secrets. The one way I could thank him was share with him one of my hobbies.
Soon, we had purchased everything needed, and were sitting ourselves down inside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor for banana splits. As the waitress left after scribbling down our orders, I presented James with his birthday gift from me, unwrapped and still smelling of the bookstore.
"Wow, thanks a lot, Alice!" He skimmed through the book, looking interested, but it'd be just like him if he was saying so just to be polite.
As James slipped the book into a bag that carried his items, his mother smiled at me. "You're excited for school then, Alice?"
I nodded eagerly. "Yes, a lot! It'll just be so fun…and I'll have Liana with me all the time…and James." I added his name unknowingly, wondering if I'd sound too odd saying so. Now grinning, I continued somewhat embarrassedly, "Having my dad there too won't be so bad either."
My father and James's parents chuckled at that, passing among them a special look only they could understand. James suddenly became quite interested in shuffling his chair across the tiled floor, ears burning red.
The silence between us eleven-year-olds broke when the Muggle jukebox in the corner of the shop began sounding, and the opening bars of a song – ironically Muggle as well – played. I smiled when hearing the first few words – I had heard this song play once on the streets of Muggle London, when Mum took me on a tour of the city shortly after we moved there.
"…Somebody to love…" I sung under my breath, hoarse and off-key. "Can anybody find me…"
"…Somebody to love…" James began singing along, being as terrible as I was. But I giggled at his weak voice, and for several more words, we continued singing together. As the song ended, we were both fighting off a heavy case of laughter. James smiled. "That'll be our song from now on. Whenever we hear it, we have to sing along."
"No matter where we are," I added strictly. "Oh, what House do you want to be in?"
This started off our livid conversation of the day. While our parents talked among themselves quietly, James and I spoke animatedly of Hogwarts and its inner essence. We even found ourselves talking of memories occurring in Godric's Hollow when we were younger. I was nearly bouncing in my seat. I now knew it for sure – I had my best friend back. Liana was still, in a way, a different kind of best friend, but James had always been my best friend before her.
We departed later that day with hearty good-byes, giving each other well wishes until we saw each other on September 1st at King's Cross. Energetically sharing my new cache of school-related treasures with pub goers, I promised myself that I'd manually count down the days until September hit. The newest adventure was nearing, and I couldn't wait.
Dad left for school the last week in August, and I didn't even bother bidding him good-bye, because for once, the next time I'd meet him wouldn't be in December, but in the following week.
Liana arrived to stay with us for the last few days of summer holidays. Each night, we stayed up talking until the wee hours, discussing school uniforms, Houses, and the classes we'd take. We'd stick together throughout our first year no matter what, as we swore to each other. If we were in different Houses, Liana herself would concoct a plan for us to be united in the same one. If one of us stayed at school for Christmas holidays and the other didn't, we'd write each other every day of the break. We were prepared for the worst, but hoped for the best.
August 31st, 2016, seemed to be the longest day of my life. Liana and I struggled to remain awake as long as possible, whispering back and forth to each other, until my mother finally barged into my bedroom at half past one, squinting her tired eyes at us, "Girls! Bed!"
Because of our long night, Liana and I both nearly overslept, but it was five-year-old Eleanor who was given the job of flopping her body down upon us until we woke. My friend and I quickly dressed in Muggle clothing – jeans and sweaters, which we normally wore anyways. We would slip our school robes over this attire later, on the Hogwarts Express.
We all ate a hurried breakfast at the bar – Liana, my brother and sister, and I. When hearing of Liana and I entering school for the first time today, customers came up to us, giving us their best wishes. At half past ten, Mum came out from the stockroom, untying her bar apron in a rushed manner. "All right, girls, Frankie and Ellie will just get their coats and then we'll walk you down to the station…"
"Mum," I fought back a blush. "King's Cross is right down the road. Liana and I can get there ourselves."
"But it's your first time," Mum's face remained calm. "You would have wanted your father to come with you, so I don't see why I'm not allowed to come."
"You have customers," I gestured to the morning crowd that was scattered throughout the pub. "You shouldn't leave them."
"Nonsense, Arty can take care of them!" Mum nodded towards the assistant manager, a young wizard in his late twenties who was cleaning out tankards from the previous night.
Liana normally didn't act so subdued, but that day, she leaned over to me, whispering, "Just let your family come, Alice. It'll be nice having someone see us off."
I sighed. "Right then. Let's get our things." She and I dashed to the back room, to lug out our initialed trunks that contained clothing, schoolbooks, and our wands. Plus, Liana took from one of the room's higher shelves her newly purchased owl's cage – in it rested a lovely snowy owl, which she had named Belle.
We emerged from the stockroom to find my mother and siblings in their coats, waiting patiently at the door. Liana began walking towards them, while I hesitated a bit before following her.
"Ready, girls?" my mother beamed excitedly. "Got everything?"
We nodded in response; the butterflies in our stomachs were more alit than ever.
"Right then, we're off!" Mum pushed open the front door to the pub, sunlight spilling into the room. The customers behind us cheered and waved good-bye, and Liana and I took one step closer to our new lives.
A/N: Please review!