"Coming mum!"
Being a Gryffindor is hard. Everyone frolics under the delusion that fame is something to be treasured, like a really rare coin, or — or some sort of new discovery that everybody wants to claim for themselves. You can call me weird, you can call me different, but guess what? It runs in the family.
I'm (Y/n) Gryffindor and this — this is my horrendously long life.
I'm a thirteen-year-old witch who should have gone to Hogwarts since their first year. But according the 'circumstances', as mum always says, I haven't ever gone.
My mother is a full-blooded Veela, so I have the natural beauty of a Veela in my blood, her name is (M/n) (L/n). Mother is tough. Tough, but kind.
My father is (F/n) Gryffindor, and unfortunately, I've never been able to see him because he died when I was only one. You see, the same night Voldemort murdered the Boy Who Lives, Harry Potter's parents died, my dad was at their house in Godrics Hallow. He was best friends with James Potter while at Hogwarts.
Back to the story, father always visited James and James always visited us. Father was also marked for death ever since he became close with James. Well, I mean come on, do you think that the darkest wizard of all time, the descendant of Salazar Slytherin, wouldn't take the opportunity kill a Gryffindor? The Fidelius charm was (and still is) placed over our house and our Secret Keeper is, or was, I should say, Sirius Black.
Mum thinks it's strange that Sirius never found us, because if he really sold the Potters to Voldemort, he should have found us too. I suppose Mum trusts Sirius, but my feelings are still wary. I think Sirius never had the time to come to us because his 'master' found his downfall in little Harry Potter.
I was in the midst of packing my bag. Me and Mum are staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the remainder of the holidays. Apparently, it's healthy to get out of the house every once in a while... no kidding.
I never get mail, so this definitely comes as a surprise for me.
"Look at this, (Y/n). You have a letter, and it looks very familiar to me, but I'll save you the disappointment of me telling you and let you find out on your own," Says Mum, eyes twinkling as she hands me the envelope.
The base feels quite rough on my palm, so, turning it over, I see a red wax seal bearing some sort of logo.
Frowning, I carefully tear open the top, making sure I didn't catch any of the parchment inside.
I grin, reading the title stamped across the parchment, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..."
"Oh, don't tell me, Mum..." I say, turning to my Mum.
"I won't tell you, dear, you'll find out all on your own," Says Mum, sitting down on one of the couches in the living room.
"Dear Ms Gryffindor," I say, "We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on first of September. We await your owl no later than the thirty-first of July..."
"I wanted to keep it a surprise for you," Says Mum, "I know how much you wanted to go to Hogwarts, and I can't blame you. Dumbledore sent me a separate letter, telling me to tell you that you shouldn't go telling anyone your a Gryffindor. We don't know who to trust anymore. Deputy head, Professor McGonagall, also said that she'll tell you more once you get there."
"Is this real, or am I dreaming?" I say.
"No, (Y/n), this is all very much real..."
Mother and I have just used the Floo Network to reach the Leaky Cauldron.
"(Y/n), go have a look around on your own while I get some money out of your vault, alright? I doubt you'll be a target in the middle of the day. Mind you, be careful, though. And meet me by Flourish and Blotts bookstore in about an hour." Mum says.
"OK," I say, deciding which direction to go in. Mum takes my bags, heading up the stairs to, no doubt, put them away.
I smile softly, weaving in and out of the crowd. I've only been here once before, but it feels good to return. I came to the Leaky Cauldron this year in March. The amount of happy people about or the population itself really is staggering.
I really miss my dad. Mother told me funny stories about what we used to do together. Most of the things happened at the Potter's house. I think mum was just trying to get me flustered, but apparently, me and Harry loved to play together, and during the nights we shared at each other's houses, if we weren't in the same crib, we'd cry loudly that everyone just put us together every night from then on.
Mum is really busy; she works in the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Magical Co-operation. She tries to unite the different foreign countries together, and you can probably tell how important that is. She is, after all, French.
I'm already deprived of the necessary things every person gets, so adding the extra loneliness on top, is no big deal, right? Wrong.
Sadness, anger, annoyance, dejection, swarm inside my head. As I turn a corner, still not looking up, I bump head first into what feels like someone else's head, sending me down onto the floor. My cheeks light up from embarrassment, I refuse to look up and face the person, instead, mutter a small and quiet sorry.
"It's alright," Says the concerned voice of a boy. "I'm the one who bumped into you,"
I look up to see a boy with a mop of messy jet black hair, stunning emerald green eyes, hidden behind round, black, metal glasses. He blushes immediately, but I'm not surprised.
I look curiously at the green-eyed boy.
"Here." He says, cutting the awkward silence and sticking out his hand for me to get up.
I reach up, grabbing onto his hand, and hoist myself up. The boy and I are about the same height.
"Thank you," I say. "What's your name?" I ask curiously.
"Harry, Harry Potter, and you are?" He answers warily.
"Well, Harry, it's good to meet you," I say. He raises an eyebrow at my response.
I know how it is to be adored by everyone, I don't like it, so I assume he doesn't either.
"You don't —"
"Oh, I know who you are perfectly well, it's just that, you're not much different, are you?"
"Well, that's a first," Says Harry, running a hand through his unruly hair.
At that moment, a girl with bushy brown hair pokes her head round the nearby doorway in the corridor.
"Harry, what are you — uh, Mrs Weasley would like you back in for dinner." She says, then disappearing through the door she just came from.
"Harry, I'm sorry, but I have to go. My mum is waiting for me." I turn around, and am about to walk away when I feel a hand around my wrist.
I turn back, glancing curiously at Harry, my eyebrows raised. He lets go immediately.
"I — um forgot to ask for your name." He mutters.
"(Y/n) (L/n)." I say. I choose my mother's maiden name, so as not to give Harry an idea of who I am.
"Also, do you go to Hogwarts, I've never seen you before?"
"Well, yeah, I suppose so, I'm staring in third-year. I'm hopefully staying until seventh-year,"
"Alright then, (Y/n), see you at Hogwarts." Harry waves at me, walking through the door where the girl with the bushy brown hair went through earlier. I wait a few moments, before heading through the same doorway.
The door leads to the front of the shop. I look around quickly. The place is packed with witches and wizards. What catches my eye is the red-haired family sitting down on a table. Harry and the girl from earlier are also there, and they all seem to be having a really good time.
After I scan the area, I turn on my heel and head out towards Flourish and Blotts Bookstore... or where ever it is, anyways...
"(Y/n), where have you been?" Mother scolds when I reached Flourish and Blotts. It took me a while to find the shop, so you could say I've been gone for over an hour.
"It's fine Mum, I didn't do anything you wouldn't do." I say, waving my hand in the air dismissively. "But guess who I met mum? Guess who? Harry Potter!"
Mum raises her eyebrows. "Are you sure? How do you know it was him? Did he have his scar? Did he look like James — messy black hair?"
"Yeah... and he had emerald eyes." I say.
Mum smiles. "My girls growing up," She says, then lowering her voice. "But when you get to Hogwarts, you can't be fooled by this stuff. It's not ideal for a Veela,"
"I-I never said that —" Mum smirks, "Er — let's go get my school supplies."
"Alright, this is what's going to happen, I'm going to get your robes and equipment, you're going to get your wand. After all, the wand chooses the wizard." She then hands me a sack of galleons, wizard money. As I turn around, mum adds, "And try not to take your time, OK?"
"Yeah, OK then,"
I reach the dingy shop, reading the faded golden writing at the top that states: OLLIVANDERS: MAKERS of FINE WANDS - SINCE 382 B.C
I step inside to find the semi-dark room completely abandoned. I look to my left and right. Shattered glass and antique fragments are scattered on the old worn-out carpet. Shelves upon shelves of dusty wand boxes, piled as high as the ceiling seem quite disorderly. Slowly, I walk up to the counter, hesitantly pressing the bell.
"Ah, Ms. Gryffindor, nice to finally meet you,"
A man with white tufts of hair and a crisp suit steps out from behind me, he walks slowly round the counter, leaning over it with his hands intertwined.
I stare at him, letting my eyes linger over his lean figure.
"H-how do you know my name?" I ask.
"You'd be surprised on what I know, and how little I don't know," He replies, succeeding in making me entirely confused. "Anyways, you came here for a wand, I presume. Well, I've got some news for you, I've had two already ready for you."
"Two?"
"Yes, Ms Gryffindor, two wands. Let me just go fetch them,"
He turns on his heel, opening a heavy-looking wooden door. Before it slams shut, I see more rows and shelves of dusty wand boxes.
Ollivander returns with a lavender box and a dark blue one.
He smiles kindly, opening the lavender box. "Try," He urges, I carefully pick up the wand, feeling power seeping up my arm, and somehow, I know that this is the one. A purple light bursts out the tip of the wand and swirls round my arm, as though bonding us. I feel the need to swish it, just to see if it works, instantly a powerful light shoots out.
"Rather peculiar wand, I'd say... no wand is just like it..." He smiles toothily, but it somehow doesn't reach his eyes which stay icy.
He closes it again, placing it on the counter in front of him. He proceeds to open the next box, and I quickly take the wand out. Eager to try another out.
Instantly, a dark blue light emits from the tip, but instead of going round my arm, it zips around my body, top to bottom, making my hair blow behind me like I'm in harsh wind or something, then cascading down again.
"This wand is another set for a Gryffindor by blood... both wands have the same core, coincidently... Phoenix feather, and you would be surprised if I told you the two other wands that share the same core as your wands..."
I put the wand back in the box and Mr. Ollivander shuts it once more. I hand him the twenty-eight galleons, just like he asked, picking the two boxes off the counter.
But before I exit, Mr. Ollivander looks at me gravely, I stare into his now cold eyes. "You shall do great things, Ms. Gryffindor, not only for yourself, but for the entire Wizarding World as well. Just remember this, follow the right path, make your own decisions and most importantly, don't listen to others that will pull you astray..."
Slightly confused, I give Ollivander a curt nod before leaving the shop.
I walk slowly up to the Leaky Cauldron, pondering Mr. Ollivander's 'wise' words, that I don't even realise my mum fall in place beside me.
"(Y/n), are you listening to me?" My mother asks curiously, I look over at her, then straight ahead again.
"Yeah, I'm... fine, I guess..." I say, still not paying a full attention.
"Ok, if your sure, chérie... why don't we go put your things in room number thirteen? That's where we're staying,"
We reach the stairs in the Leaky Cauldron, leading to the rooms, I look out the window and it's already pitch black. I turn to my mum again, "Let me take the bags up stairs, you stay down here. I'll be back."
A man with a crisp black suit and angry expression walk slowly into the bar. I stop as his eyes wander lazily around the room and cease on me. He taps his cane three times on the wooden floor, swishing his shoulder-length white-blonde hair.
Mum turns around, and the happy expression disappears, she looks quickly at me before turning back to the man, "(Y/n)... go upstairs, I'll be a minute,"
Without another word, she starts back down the stairs and up to the man. Mum converses to him in a low voice, as he does the same, eyebrows furrowed.
Weird.
Chérie: sweetheartWord count: 2425Vote, comment, share(Warner Bros. Entertainment and J.K. Rowling are not associated with this content)