Disclaimers: I do not own the rights to the "Harry Potter" series. They are copyrighted to J.K. Rowling, starting in 1997 through 2003-2004. I thank Ms. Rowling for allowing pathetic, unemployed wretches like me mangle her work of art. I do however, own Sarah Madison Potter. She is my own creation... I thinks... Please don't use her without my permission.
Sarah
By Chibi-NarutoKawaii
Year 1, Chapter 3: Gringotts, and not-so-friendly blondes.
Last time:
"Welcome, Sarah," McGonagall said, "to Diagon Alley
Sarah's eyes widened as she gazed through the arch. To her left was a shop bearing the label "Crockpot's Cauldrons -- All Sizes -- Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver, Gold -- Self-Stirring -- Collapsible."
Ahead of her were more shops, some with piles of goods outside them, others with groups of people staring at goods inside the windows.
McGonagall smiled at her. "Come on. We've got to get to Gringotts."
Sarah twisted her head around to look at the Irishman. "Gringotts?"
"The wizarding bank.," McGonagall said. "It's run by goblins." He nudged her gently in the back, urging her forward.
The three walked down Diagon Alley, heading toward the snowy white building of Gringotts. As they walked, Sarah's eyes gravitated from building to building. Outside the Apothecary, a plump wonam was shaking her head, muttering "Dragon liver, a Galleon an ounce... Mad, they are..."
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign stating "Eeylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, Snowy and Eagle."
Outside 'Quality Quidditch Supplies', several boys -- and not a few girls -- had their noses pressed against a window with a over a dozen highly polished brooms in it. "Lookit!" Sarah heard one of them say, "It's the new Nimbus model -- the Two Thousand. It's the fastest yet."
They passed shops selling robes, telescopes and silver instruments emitting smoke, globes of the moon, piles of spell books, potions...
"Gringotts," McGonagall said, pointing at the towering white building. Beside the bronze doors stood -- there was no other word -- a goblin. He was about a head shorter than Sarah, with a wrinkly, angular face, long pointed ears, and wearing a long-tailed overcoat. He bowed as they walked through the doors. Inside, they faced another set of doors, silver this time. Engraved on them were words, surrounded by more of the moving gold squiggles from the arch.
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"Rather paranoid, aren't they?" Sarah asked, quirking an eyebrow upwards.
"They have to be." said McGonagall. "They store the gold of most of the wizarding families in the world here. Oh, there are branches in most major countries," He added, seeing Sarah's sceptical look. "But this is the main branch. Come on."
The cat Animagus motioned the two over to a goblin at the counter. All along it were at least a hundred more goblins, scribbling in ledgers, weighing coins and precious stones on sets of brass scales, and helping other witches and wizards.
"Good morning," said McGonagall to the goblin. "We're here to take some money out of Miss Sarah Potter's safe."
"You have her key, sir?"
"Yes, somewhere..." McGonagall said as he rummaged his pockets, pulling out several packets of cat treats and a small money bag before finding the small golden key.
"Ah, here we are!" he said triumphantly as he handed the shaped piece of metal to the goblin, which examined it closely.
"It seems to be in order." The goblin said.
McGonagall cleared his throat, leaning his elbow on the counter. "I've also got a message from Dumbledore. He wants you to know that Hagrid will be arriving for the You-Know-What in vault 713, later today."
The goblin glanced at the ginger-haired man before scribbling something in his ledger. "Very well. I will have someone take you down to Miss Potter's vault. Griphook!"
Griphook was another goblin, dressed in a crimson uniform that looked suspiciously like a bellhop's uniform. Once the three humans and one goblin had crammed themselves into a small cart in the next room -- which looked quite like a dungeon -- it went hurtling down the tracks it sat on.
As they entered a maze of insane twists and turns, Aunt Petunia bit back a scream. On top of the g-forces, Griphook didn't seem to be steering.
Eventually, after about five minutes of a stomach-twisting ride, they slowed down and stopped in front of a large iron door with a small keyhole in the center.
Griphook unlocked the door, and a copious amount of foggy green smoke came billowing out. When it cleared, both Sarah and Aunt Petunia gasped as piles of bronze, gold and silver coins were revealed.
"It's all yours." said McGonagall.
"Wow..." Sarah tried to count how many coins there were in there, but failed miserably. She started as Griphook thrust a small leather bag in front of her.
"The gold ones are Galleons," he said, pointing at a pile of them. "There are seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon, and twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a Sickle. The current exchange rate is ten Muggle pounds to a Galleon. Rather favorable for Muggleborns. Last week it was twenty pounds to a Galleon."
Sarah nodded, barely comprehending the goblin's words as she placed enough money to last her several terms in the bag. "I'm ready. Let's go get my stuff."
Another wild caart ride later, the three stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Sarah didn't know where to run to first, having more money than either her or Dudley had at one time their entire lives.
"Come on. We'll get your robes and the rest of your uniform first," said McGonagall, pointing toward 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.' "Listen, you two. I'll be right back. I need to check on something for Dumbledore." Sarah nodded, and she and Aunt Petunia walked into Madam Malkins.
Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed in mauve robes that brushed the floor.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she said when Sarah opened her mouth to speak. "Got the lot -- another first year getting fitted right now."
In the back of the shop, a pale boy with white-blond hair and a pointed face was standing on a footstool while one of Madam Malkin's assistants pinned up a long black robe.
"Hello," the boy said, "You're Hogwarts too, right?"
"Yeah." said Sarah.
"My father's next door getting my books and mother's up the street looking at potions ingredients," said the boy. He had a lazy, drawling voice, and Sarah decided that she didn't really like him.
"Then," he continued, "I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms." He sighed pathetically. "I don't see why first years can't have their own. I guess I'll ask father to get me one and somehow smuggle it in."
The boy, who Sarah had decided reminded her of one of the spoiled brats down the block, looked at her. "Have you got your own broom?"
"No," said Sarah.
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No," Sarah said again, wondering what the bloody hell Quidditch was.
"I do -- father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house team, and I have to agree. Know what house you'll be in?"
"No. I doubt most, including me, would even care." Sarah retorted.
The pale boy looked mortally offended. "Well, if I got put in Hufflepuff, I'd probably transfer straight to Durmstrang. Duffers, the whole lot. My whole family has been in Slytherin."
"Whoop-dee-freaking-doo..."
The boy looked closely at Sarah. "Are you Muggleborn?"
"Am I what?"
"Muggleborn. You are, aren't you?"
Sarah glowered at the pale boy. "I don't have the slightest clue what youo're talking about. My parents were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."
"Were?"
"They died when I was one."
"Oh, sorry." He didn't sound very sorry. "Well, I don't think they should let halfbloods and Muggleborns in. It's not the same, them not being raised to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families." He glanced over at Sarah. "What's your surname, anyway?"
Before Sarah could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, dear," and Sarah, glad for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the stool.
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, then." The boy drawled.
'Not if I can help it,' Sarah thought at she grabbed her bag and followed Aunt Petunia out.
Outside, McGonagall was waiting for them. "Come on, we'll grab your books next."
Inside the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts, the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books of all sizes, small as postage stamps or large as paving stones. Aunt Petunia had to literally drag Sarah away from Magical Pranking and The Best Methods of Not Getting Caught.
"The last thing Hogwarts needs is you pranking magically. You're already dangerous enough with normal methods."
Flipping through the shelves, Sarah managed to find the perfect substitute: Magical Pranksters at Hogwarts: from Peeves to The Marauders. Little did Aunt Petunia know that most of the subjects best pranks were detailed in there.
In the Apothecary, Petunia wouldn't let Sarah get The Basic Prankster's Kit of Potions Ingredients.
"No, no, and NO! No magical pranking!"
After they left the Apothecary -- Sarah still scowling -- Aunt Petunia checked over Sarah's school list.
"According to this," she said, "All that's left other than your wand is a magical familiar; cat, rat, toad or owl." She glanced at Sarah. "Listen, I'll get you an owl. The professor here--" She jerked her thumb at McGonagall. "--said that they're darn useful. Carry your mail and everything."
"B-but you don't have to do that!" Sarah exclaimed.
"No buts. Besides, I feel a little bad about the 'No magical pranking' thing. It's an early birthday present."
Twenty minutes later they walked out of Eeylops Owl Emporium -- a dark and rustling place -- carrying a large cage with a beautiful snowy owl in it. Sarah kept stammering out her thanks, Petunia waving them off.
"It's no problem. Come on, let's go get your wand."
The last shop was narrow, with a dusty window display . Above the door was a sign reading Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
A tinkling bell rang out from the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was tiny, empty except for several spindly chairs that Petunia and McGonagall sat in to wait.
Sarah looked around the shop. In front of her was a low counter, covered in long, narrow boxes. Behind it was several rows of tall shelves, filled with more boxes. For some reason, as she looked at those boxes, the hairs on the back neck stood up straight.
"Good morning," said a soft, almost sibilant voice. Sarah jumped, and, if life had been an anime, would have been located on the ceiling. From the creaks behind her, Petunia and McGonagall had jumped as well.
An old man was now standing behind the counter, his pale, almost silvery eyes gazing widely at her.
"Umm... hi?" Sarah said nervously.
"Ah, yes," the man said. "Yes, yes. I thought I would be seeing you soon, Sarah Potter." It was evidently not a question. "You have your mother's eyes, and a bit of her face. Almost yesterday, it seems, that she was in here, buying her wand. Ten and a quarter inches, swishy, made of willow, with a core of unicorn hair. Good for Charm work."
Mr. Ollivander leaned closer to Sarah, who wished he would blink. The eyes were creepy.
"Your father, on the other hand, used a mahogany wand. Eleven inches, pliable, with a dragon heartstring core. Excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say he favored it -- it is truly the wand that choses the wizard."
Ollivander had gotten so close to Sarah that she could see herself in his misty eyes. The old wandmaker slowly reached a long, thin finger up to Sarah's forehead. He gently touched the lightning bolt scar resting there.
"I'm sorry to say that I sold the wand that made that. Thirteen and one half inches, yew, with a phoenix feather core. If I had known what that wand would do... hindsight is twenty twenty, I suppose."
He clapped his hands together. "Now, let's get you started. Which is your wand arm?"
Sarah blinked. "Right, I guess."
"Very well." Ollivander picked up several of the long boxes. He opened one of them and pulled out a rather thin wand. "Here. Ebony and unicorn hair, eight inches, rather firm."
Sarah took the wand from him, looking at it strangely. "Ok, now what?"
"Give it a wave!"
Sarah did so, feeling sort of foolish, especially after Ollivander immediately took it from her, saying "No, no, try this one." He pulled another wand from a box. "Beechwood and dragon heartstring, seven and a quarter inches, rather whippy."
Sarah had barely taken the wand from him and started to wave it when Olivander grabbed it from her with a shake of his head. "No, perhaps another."
The testing of wands went on for a good while, but each time Ollivander became more and more excited. "Tough customer, eh? Well, here, try this one. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
The instant Sarah's fingers touched the wand, a warm feeling swept through her body. When she brought it swishing down, a fountain of red, gold and silver sparks shot out of it.
Petunia whooped, McGonagall grinned, and Ollivander cried out, "Oh, bravo, Miss Potter! Very good, indeed, but very curious... curious..."
"Sorry, but what's curious?" Sarah asked apprehensively.
"I remember every wand I sell, Miss Potter. Your wand, with it's phoenix feather core, has two brothers. One gave you your famous scar," he said, leaning in and tracing the raised mark again. "and the other was sold only yesterday. Very curious, indeed."
Sarah shivered as she paid seven Galleons and four Sickles for her wand. Ollivander's misty, mysterious words had made her think. If Voldemort had one of the three wands, and she had another, who had the third?
The noon sun shone down on Sarah, Petunia and McGonagall as they exited The Leaky Cauldron, where they had eaten lunch.
As they walked back to the Underground, Sarah flipped through Magical Pranksters at Hogwarts, which McGonagall had charmed to look like a regular novel. According to it, Peeves was a poltergeist that had been in the castle for about two centuries, and only the Headmaster and the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron, could control him. He had done so many pranks that only his most fantastic pranks were in the book.
The Marauders, a group that had been at school during the early to mid 1970's, had been almost as bad as Peeves. Dozens of pranks in a year, and none knew their real names. Whenever they had signed their pranks, they had used the names Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.
As they stepped off the Underground in Surrey, Sarah (who had been so engrossed in the trip to Diagon Alley) realized that in the excitement, she had forgotten about Alex and Jen. What was she going to tell them?
The rest of the way home, she worried about how her other two friends and bandmates would take her change in schools. Duds, she knew, would support her one hundred percent.
"Hey, sis," Dudley said as Sarah sat her bags in one of the chairs in the living room. "Alex called. He said he had something to tell you. He'll be over later."
Sarah sighed. "Ok. Hey, do you want to hear about the shopping expedition?"
"Sure. I wanna see some of the stuff you got."
With that, Sarah proceeded to tell him all about Diagon Alley, it's denizens, and it's goods.
An hour later, the doorbell rang. Standing outside was Alex Smythe, decked out in an orange sweatsuit, his amber eyes shining behind his chestnut bangs.
"Hey, Sarah," he said. "Want to head to the Garage? It's probably the best place, soundproofing and all that."
"Why would we need soundproofing?" Sarah asked. "It's not like we're going to kill each other..."
Alex shrugged and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "You might want to..."
"Whatever," Sarah said and walked outside, closing the door behind her. Alex followed her to the Garage, mumbling things under his breath the entire way.
"All right," Alex said after they had closed the sliding door behind them. "I have to tell you something."
Sarah shifted nervously. "Yeah, same here. Wanna say it at once?" Alex nodded gratefully at this suggestion.
"On three, then."
"One..."
"Two..."
"Three."
They both took a deep breath, then blurted out "I'm going to some school called Hogwarts to learn magic!"
They stared at each other for a few seconds, then burst out laughing.
"You too, then?" asked Alex as he clutched his stomach, which was hurting from his bout of laughter.
"Yeah. Does Jen know?"
"Know! Bloody hell, I was worried you'd have the same response as her and punch me in the gut!"
A/N: I tried to end the chapter on a funny note. Not sure I succeded. Yes, half of the band is going to Hogwarts. Yay! And now for the review responses!
Emma-Lizzy-Black (signed): Blinks and tries to understand the sentence Umm... Asks Serpent's Redemption for help Ah! Yes, McGonagall is a guy.
Anonymous (anon): Sorry about the length between updates. I try my best, but I try for perfection of plot and dialogue, which sort of slows me down...
fireflashphoenix (signed): The muggle culture thing... I understand how you feel. In response to point A: I have a bit of a plan to deal with that. Sarah is going to be really good in Charms... Until about early fifth year, it's just acoustic guitars and normal pianos at Hogwarts.
With point B: Neither Sarah nor Alex are going to forget the muggle world, since Jen and Dudley would chase them down. In defense of this, Dean Thomas, a muggleborn, has a poster of the Westham (might be wrong about the name) football team. As of book five, he still hasn't been convinced that Quidditch is better than football.
I hope that helped explain it a bit.
ducky (anon): sighs Ducky, Ducky, Ducky... what am I going to do with you? I'm glad you like it, but please tone it down. Younger people than you and I might read your reviews.
Well, that's all the reviews. Thanks for reading, and please press the purple button!