Hello, everyone! Welcome to my story. Before you begin, I wish to make two things very clear:

In light of J.K. Rowling's recent transphobic remarks, I wish to express that I do not hold any of those sentiments in common with her. Everyone is valid; and more specifically in this context, trans women are women. Period. I just want to write where I personally stand, as I realize I'm releasing this story relatively soon after the time where J.K.'s comments rattled the world.

The second thing is this: I understand that OC stories are not very popular in the Harry Potter fandom. This, however, is my addition to Harry Potter that I wrote for myself. Harry Potter inspired me as a child and helped to save me from deep depressive states through my young adulthood: if you do not like this story, thank you for the time you gave it and please move on.

Feel free to interpret Belle as a reader-insert, if you wish! I'm mostly posting this for myself: I started this story when I was 14 and never finished it, and now at 23 I'm rewriting it! Over quarantine I wrote 500k words in this story alone-I'm hoping to finish it, once and for all, for I have truly come to love Belle Skylar, as she's everything I would've wanted to be if I were a character in these stories.


When I received my acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I was the happiest person in Great Britain. That letter, which I refused to let go of for the following six hours, was my confirmation that all my dreams about Hogwarts could come true. I would make a great many friends and learn all I possibly could about the many fields of magical study, and surely it would all be perfect. The arrival of this letter all but guaranteed it.

This is why I was so exceptionally excited when my older brother, Robert, took me to Diagon Alley on July 31st, a month before I was supposed to leave for school. I had been looking forward to the day ever since I received my acceptance letter to Hogwarts on my birthday. But finally, after two months or so, it was time—we were going to go school shopping for my cauldron, my spell-books, and perhaps most importantly, my very own wand.

As soon as I stepped foot inside the wizarding shopping streets, I laughed. It was a laugh of relief and joy and anxiety; an instinctual, gut reaction. The streets were beyond crowded, lined with wizards and witches in deep robes of rich velvet. There were other potential Hogwarts students around my age running about the streets, sprinting from shop to shop the way I hoped soon to do. So many wonderfully interesting things lined windows in front of all the stores, like broomsticks—the new Nimbus 2000 was out, and that in itself was incredibly exciting—robes, and silly knickknacks. The squawking of owls and the many conversations of people filled the air, so much so that it was almost impossible to hear the vendors and owners of the shops promoting their newest deals and items.

But my joy was accompanied by sadness. My parents weren't here to see me take my first step to prepare for my first year at Hogwarts. And so I sighed, "I wish Mum and Dad could be here."

Hearing my lament, Robbie placed a hand on my shoulder. Being my elder by thirteen years, he had had plenty of time to spend with our parents during his life. He had been twenty when they passed, but I had only been seven. He knew how hard their deaths had been on me, and he knew how hard it was now, because he said, "They'd be very proud of you, Belle."

I nodded, appreciating the words. Robbie smiled back down at me and then pointed towards the school shopping list he held in his hands. "And they wouldn't want us dallying about while there's plenty of supplies to buy, eh?"

This was enough to rocket me down the street. Robbie laughed as he was forced to sprint to catch up with me.

Inside Madame Malkin's we went to buy my plain black robes. Inside Flourish and Blotts we went to purchase my basic textbooks. Inside Owl Emporium we went to buy me a pet owl, whom I named Blumiere. Inside a few other shops we went to buy other necessities for my future Charms and Potions classes. We did this for close to two or three hours before finally, it was time to proceed to Ollivander's.

I found myself nearly bouncing as I walked up to the dark wooden door of the wand shop. When I opened it, it squeaked ominously; inside, it was musty and dark. If Ollivander hadn't been sitting at his desk, writing in a dusty parchment tome, I wouldn't have believed that it was even occupied.

The moment the man looked at me, he smiled. His teeth were pearly white.

"Belle Skylar Krum," he mused. His eyes were startling grey, and the way he appraised me… it felt as if he could stare straight into my thoughts. "Quite the reality check, seeing you here."

Unsure what I was supposed to say, I exclaimed, "Here I am!"

"Here you are," he repeated, the smile now more present upon his face. He descended from the podium upon which he'd been standing and shuffled over to the rows upon rows of wand boxes. I followed quickly, perusing them all and trying to figure out which box he'd pick for me.

At last, he seemed to select one. From within a deeply purple box, he retrieved a long, spindly wand with a knob at the end. Turning back to me, he held it out and murmured, "Test it out for me, hmm?"

With a small smile, I took the wand. And it felt amazing, to feel a wand that could potentially be mine in my hand. For the past three months, I'd dreamed of having my own wand—no, more than three months, three years. And this could be it.

The moment I raised the wand, however, it started screaming at me.

With a yelp, I thrust it back toward Ollivander. The elderly man didn't seem alarmed at all; I, on the other hand, was a little traumatized.

"It doesn't like me," I gasped, making sure I was no longer within two meters of the blasted piece of wood.

"Quite all right, quite all right," he reassured, already having replaced the wand in its box. He returned his attentions to the many other boxes along the shelves before exclaiming, "No, no, no," and wheeling towards the glass display case I was standing in front of. With a gentle hand on my arm, he then said, "Excuse me, dear," and waved his other hand.

The display case unlocked, and he selected the wand that had most caught my eye—a lovely wand of white with swirls along the grip. It was shorter than the last, but no less stunning.

"Try it," goaded Ollivander, gesturing for me to take the wand out of the case.

Eager, I tried to do so… the key word being tried. For some reason, I simply could not get a grip on the wand in question. My hand somehow danced around it, or my fingers clasped around thin air.

With a disheartened sigh, I replied, "I think this one would prefer to remain in its case."

Ollivander nodded swiftly in agreement and, once my hand was clear, relocked the case. He sauntered back behind the desk and towards the rows of boxes, humming merrily as he did so. For some reason, this eccentric wandmaker reminded me of my father.

As soon as I thought of him, I almost felt my father's voice whisper 'This one,' in my ear. I had no time to register what I thought I'd heard by the time Ollivander turned back around. Unsure if I'd just experienced something odd or simply imagined it all, I could only wait and watch as Ollivander gently chose an emerald box with a large golden ribbon adorning it.

"This one," he declared, more as a statement than a question.

Wanting to believe he was right, I took the box from his hand. It was so pretty I almost didn't want to disturb the gold ribbon atop its lid. But I untied the bow and carefully pried off the lid of the box. Then, with shaking hands, I took the wand into my palm.

The moment I did this, silver and white sparks burst out from the tip of the wand and swirled through the air, forming spirals and stars. I stared, delighted, as they rose towards the ceiling… but even as Ollivander and I watched, the sparks began to turn dark and float back down towards me until they dissolved into pitch blackness.

The spectacle over, I glanced at Ollivander and asked, "Is… this the wand?"

Ollivander looked back at me, though his gaze held something that I could not see. He looked almost sad before nodding and saying the words I so wanted to hear.

"This is the wand."

I couldn't help but glance back at it and grin. The wand itself wasn't gorgeous, but the magic it had just performed was certainly beautiful. As I was studying it, Ollivander recited the facts of its creation.

"It is eleven and three-quarters of an inch long, Miss Skylar, and is crafted with wood from a fir tree. The core is a phoenix feather, and this wand is unyielding in its flexibility with its owner. In other words, this wand has chosen you—and only you—as its owner."

I rather liked the sound of it all. Even as the wandmaker explained all of this to me, the wand in my hand became even more lovely.

Ollivander broke me from my fascination when by calling my name. "And Belle?"

I looked towards him, wondering if he had anything else to say about the wand. But with that same sad gaze, he murmured, "Do be careful, my dear."

"I will," I promised, but I was confused. Was there something wrong with the fact that this wand in particular had chosen me? Or was he simply concerned for my well-being during my first year?

The answer was never specified. We finalized the transaction, Ollivander wished me a wonderful day and a memorable first year at Hogwarts… and then that was it. My wand was now just that: mine.

Ready to tell Robbie about everything that had just happened, I yanked open the door of the shop only to run into a boy trying to enter.

The boy dropped a couple bags that he was holding. They must have held heavy textbooks, because one of them landed squarely on my foot. I yelped more in surprise than in pain, but hearing it, the boy gasped, "Blimey, I'm sorry!" and removed the bag from squashing my limb.

Though the force upon which the books hit my foot had been painful, I knew it had been my fault for exiting the wand shop so suddenly. So I just smiled and said, "Don't worry about it, I should have been more careful. That was on me."

The boy looked back at me in puzzlement, as if he hadn't expected me to be sorry. His eyes were a bright green, though it was a little difficult to see them due to the dirty glasses upon his face. For a brief moment, we studied each other. It looked like he was about my age.

Seeing as he was entering Ollivander's, I decided it was safe to assume that he too was about to begin his first year at Hogwarts. With a grin, I asked, "You going to buy a wand, too?"

"Y-yeah, I suppose so," he replied, gazing up at the sign of the shop.

Noting how uncertain he was, I figured this was his first time in a wizarding alley. Even though this was my first time in Diagon Alley in particular, a lot of the shops were around in other wizarding shopping centers, so I was fairly familiar with what I was doing. The fact that this boy was not suggested that he was not raised by wizards—so, trying to be helpful, I exclaimed, "That's great! And hey, if you're Muggle-born and need someone to show you around, my brother and I can help."

"Muggle-born?"

"Raised by non-magical people," I clarified. The fact that I needed to do so all but confirmed my theory.

"Oh. I think I'm all right, I have someone showing me around already."

As glad as I was to know that the boy wasn't running around without a clue, I was admittedly a little bummed that I couldn't help. He could've been my first Hogwarts friend. Knowing, however, that I shouldn't pry, I simply responded, "Excellent. If you're going to Hogwarts, I believe we'll be meeting again. I suppose I'll see you then."

He smiled and nodded in acknowledgement. Deciding that this was the best I would get, I dodged around him and moved back to my brother, who was waiting for me on the opposite side of the street. And of course, as soon as he was within earshot, I began talking his ear off about my experience at Ollivander's.