It is just before noon when there is finally a knock at the door. Haven rushes to open it, and is unsurprised to find Professor McGonagall once again standing on the front stoop.
"Good morning, Professor," Haven greets her. McGonagall gives her a quick smile.
"Good morning, Miss Potter. Are you all ready to go?"
"Yes, I'll just need to let Aunt Petunia know I'm leaving so that I can get some money for school supplies. Also, my mother left me copies of all the texts for this year except for The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, The Magical World in the 1900s Edition 8, and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts Edition 9. Will I be able to use her copies of the books?
"Of course," McGonagall replies. "You will need to procure copies of the books you do not have, of course, as well as all the other items you need from your list. I suggest you bring that page of your letter along. And you needn't worry about money; your parents both had vaults with Gringotts, and your father in particular came from a wealthy family. The Headmaster has been holding your key, and I have it with me now. We will be stopping by Gringotts anyway to convert money, so you can go down to your trust vault then."
"Oh, okay." Haven turns toward the living room. "Aunt Petunia, I'm off to buy my supplies for school!"
"Do you need money?" Aunt Petunia calls back.
"No, Mum and Dad left me some."
"Alright, dear. Have fun."
Haven grins up at McGonagall as she hops onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind her. "You said I'd be meeting some of my year-mates?"
"Yes. We will be collecting a few more of them momentarily, and then we will meet the rest of them in the Leaky Cauldron, where they will be waiting with Professors Sprout and Sinistra."
"What do they teach?"
"Appropriately, Professor Sprout teaches Herbology, and Professor Sinistra teaches Astronomy."
"Cool," Haven offers half-heartedly, thinking that Herbology and Astronomy sound like they'll be on the more boring side. After all, how magical can plants and stars possibly be?
McGonagall looks at her from the corner of her eye, her lips pursed. Haven avoids her gaze studiously until McGonagall holds out her arm. "Please hold on," the Professor tells her. "And whatever you do, do not let go, no matter how unpleasant this feels."
Haven grabs her arm, and with a sharp crack they are being folded up into tiny little pieces and shoved through an even tinier opening without any regard at all for their bones. The world remakes itself before her eyes, erasing the image of Privet Drive and replacing it with a dark alley within the space of a second.
"Ugh," Haven groans, fighting the desire to throw up. "That was terrible, can we never do it again?"
"That was Apparition, which you will learn in your sixth year, so I regret to inform you that no, we cannot never do it again."
"Gross," Haven cannot help but pout. "Where are we, anyway?"
"We are now in Heathgate, Hampstead, where Miss Granger and her parents live. She is a Muggle-born witch, and is by all accounts extraordinarily studious. Having met the both of you, I believe you to be quite similar to each other in a variety of ways."
"Let's go meet her, then."
They walk up to one of the houses, where McGonagall raps smartly against the door. Barely a second later, the door is opened by a girl Haven's age as though she had been waiting for their arrival.
"Miss Granger, this is Miss Potter - "
"Call me Haven," she interrupts, holding her hand out to the other girl and admiring the wild brown curls and brown eyes set in tanned skin.
"Hermione," Granger returns, offering a shy smile displaying rather large front teeth. "It's nice to meet you," she adds as she shakes Haven's hand firmly.
"Anyways," McGonagall says disapprovingly, frowning when Haven looks at her with big eyes. "She will be joining us as we collect the other students and head to the Leaky Cauldron."
"Alright," Hermione says amicably.
"Hold tight," McGonagall tells them, and then Apparates again. When the world reforms around them, Haven and Hermione share a horrified look.
"That was awful!" Hermione informs McGonagall once she has steadied herself.
"So I've been told," McGonagall says sourly, "by your new friend, incidentally." She turns away from them to approach another house, this one belonging to Samantha "Call Me Sam" Greene. McGonagall does not Apparate again, instead throwing her right hand out over the street. A huge double-decker bus unfolds itself into existence, and they climb aboard. The resulting ride is an interesting mix of stomach-lurching stops and starts and excessive speed. Hermione stumbles off unhappily, and Sam is not much better. McGonagall steps onto the pavement of their destination with as much grace as usual. Haven leaps off the Knight Bus chattering happily.
"It was like a rollercoaster," she tells McGonagall. "It was amazing, will we be going on it again?"
McGonagall arches an eyebrow at her. "Why am I not surprised you liked that? You'll probably join the Quidditch team in a few years and proceed to give everyone involved heart attacks."
"What's Quidditch?" Hermione asks before Haven can get the words out. Sam looks over in interest as they walk down the street.
"Quidditch is a sport played on flying broomsticks. It has four balls and three goals per team. It is high adrenaline, and can be dangerous at times. I used to play on the Gryffindor team along with six of my Housemates."
The game itself doesn't sound fascinating, but… "Flying broomsticks?" Haven asks with interest.
"Indeed," McGonagall replies smugly. "You will have flying classes this year, and as first-years aren't allowed their own brooms, you may try out for your House's Quidditch team in your second year."
Hermione shudders. "I'll keep my feet safely on the ground, thank you."
"What?" Haven asks. "Flying is going to be the best class. Can you imagine? All that empty space around you, not confined to the ground, oh I can't wait."
Hermione looks at her like she's mad. "Like I said, I'll keep my feet on the ground."
"No!" Haven gasps. "C'mon Sam, back me up here."
Sam grimaces at her. "You're crazy, girl. Flying does not sound appealing at all. Charms though? The name alone makes it seem like an awesome class. Just wait and see; it'll be way better than Flying."
"I don't know," Hermione says, "I think Potions or Transfiguration will be the best; think about it, Potions is going to be mixing things. What if you could create the Elixir of Life, like in The Alchemist? And Transfiguration? It's like transmutation; scientists have theorized turning lead into gold, but I bet Wixen can actually do it."
A choked sound comes from McGonagall's direction, though when they look at her she seems perfectly calm. "Both of those things are possible, but both are in the field of Alchemy, and fewer Wixen than you might think have an affinity for Alchemy. Here we are," she adds, turning her back to knock on the door as Hermione's face falls.
They are joined by twins, both pretty with dark hair. Niamh, Haven tells herself, has brown eyes while Roisin has blue.
McGonagall summons the Knight Bus again, and Hermione, in what Haven assumes is an effort to distract herself from the choppy motion, resumes the conversation from earlier. "How do you know if you have an affinity for Alchemy?" she asks.
"It's not always a sure thing, but sometimes you can tell what your affinity is by what classes you're interested in, or what subjects you find yourself researching. However, some people are naturally interested in everything, and so their interests are not indicative of their affinity. The only way to really know for certain what your affinity is is to wait for your fifteenth birthday; you will present then, and your specialized magic will settle until sixth year begins, at which time you will begin training in that field."
"So you don't get to pick?" Roisin asks, and looks almost as disappointed as Hermione does when McGonagall shakes her head negatively.
"So what affinities are there?" Sam asks.
"Oh, there are too many to list out, really. I can tell you some of the more common ones, but I'd recommend reading through Magical Affinities for the complete list of affinities and their descriptions. Alchemy is fairly uncommon, but is nevertheless one of the best known, if only because Nicolas Flamel - who is over six hundred years old - and Albus Dumbledore - who has nearly as many accomplishments as Flamel and is the Headmaster of Hogwarts - are both Alchemists, and Flamel is known for being the first wizard to create a Philosopher's Stone, which accounts for his age.
"In addition to Alchemy, a very common affinity is Enchanting, followed by Chthonian Sorcery and Chaos magic. Dianic and Ceremonial are fairly common, as well. Necromancy has gotten less common over the centuries, but is even more well known than Alchemy. Healers and Inyanga are fairly common, and Telepaths are also well known, though they are less common. Left-Handers are also fairly common, and many of them go on to become Aurors or Curse-Breakers: Bill Weasley and Sirius Black are both Left-Handers, and Weasley is a Curse-Breaker as of a few years ago, while Black was an Auror."
They step off the Knight Bus once again. "What affinity are you?" Niamh asks curiously.
"I," McGonagall says with no small amount of pride, "am a Conjuror. I was always rather good at Transfiguration, the best in my year, even, and then we started Conjuring and Banishment, and that was where I truly excelled." She knocks on the front door of the house they've stopped in front of. It is bright red, Haven notices with approval, and opens to reveal a boy her age with hair darker and wilder than even Hermione's, and black eyes, and skin only slightly darker than a bar of milk chocolate.
"Hi Professor!" He chirps. I'll let Mum and Dad know you're here, and Cheyenne will be along in just a minute. The door closes, and opens again less than a minute later to show the same boy, now accompanied by a girl several shades lighter than him with her hair dyed pink and blue an inch from her dark roots.
"I love your hair," Roisin tells Cheyenne, peering at it carefully.
"Oh thank you! Danny," she gestures towards the boy - presumably Danny - over her shoulder, "did it for me about a month ago. I tried to convince him to dye his hair as well, but he told me that 'we already don't match so there's no point in forcing it.'"
"You did a good job," Niamh says, and Haven sees Sam and Hermione agreeing with her.
Danny smiles fondly at Cheyenne. "I couldn't let my little sister look like a train wreck with no one to blame it on, could I?"
Cheyenne scowls at him and says, with the air of someone who has had this exact argument a dozen times over, "Thirty minutes does not make me your little sister, Danny. We're twins."
"And I'm the older twin," he returns in what Haven thinks is a perfectly reasonable voice.
McGonagall interrupts what is beginning to look like a full on argument; she holds out her right hand, and the Knight Bus appears once more. Hermione and Sam groan, stepping on unhappily as McGonagall gives the driver their destination. "The Leaky Cauldron," she says primly.
"There has got to be a better method of transportation," Hermione says miserably. "This is a death trap; that's why it's called the Knight Bus, you know: you get on and you go nighty night."
"Don't be so dramatic," Haven tells her, poking Hermione in the ribs. She jumps and sticks her tongue out.
"Excuse me for having a sense of self-preservation. It's not natural how much you like this ride when even Apparition is better."
"Rude," Haven says, but doesn't bother refuting Hermione's statement; she had literally flown off of a swing and into the air and through the trees, twisting and turning through the air, when she was only seven, after all. It had been intentional, too, she remembers; it hadn't been long after Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had told her about her magic, though they had made her promise to be cautious when they'd found out. She supposes that self-preservation is just not one of the words in her personal dictionary.
"We will be meeting Professors Sprout and Sinistra at the Leaky Cauldron," McGonagall tells them. "They will have the rest of the Muggle-born or raised students with them. There are around eighty of you, so we will be unable to supervise you for the entire trip. We have decided that we will give you a list of shops you will need to go to for your school supplies; you will be put in groups, and you will be expected to stay with your group at all times. Additionally, you will be meeting us back at the Leaky Cauldron at a specified time. Other than these guidelines, you will be free to roam after leaving Gringotts, which we will attend you for."
Haven tries to tamp down the excitement rising in her chest. She can't wait to explore the magical hub she has come to believe Diagon Alley is.
The Knight Bus stops in front of the Leaky Cauldron, and they all file off. Danny nudges Haven's shoulder as they do so, saying, "That was quite a trip, huh?"
"Yeah," Haven sighs. "I can't wait to do it again."
Danny grins at her, a dimple pressing into his cheek, and then he moves ahead to join Cheyenne, who is talking to Sam.
The Leaky Cauldron doesn't look like much from the outside; it is dark and dank, and the once white lettering is peeling off the side of the building. Haven follows McGonagall to the entrance, watching interestedly as the people hurrying along the busy London streets pay the ugly storefront no mind, their eyes sliding off it after less than a second. "Don't they see it?" she wonders aloud.
"The Leaky Cauldron is Warded with Muggle-Repelling Charms, among other things. This is one of the entrances to the Wixen World and has been ever since the Statue of Secrecy was created." McGonagall replies, opening the door and motioning them in.
The inside of the Leaky isn't much better than the outside, and Haven begins to think that the entirety of the Magical World is going to be gloomy and colorless. The tables are dusty, and several of them have glass mugs towering haphazardly in stacks. The chairs are old and rickety and made of mismatched wood. Only a few of them are occupied, and the people - Wixen, Haven corrects herself - sitting in them look just as disreputable as the establishment they are in.
"Minerva," a woman calls from behind them. "We're all over here."
McGonagall turns at the sound of the voice and strides over to a dumpy woman with flyaway brown hair and kind eyes. "Good afternoon, Pomona," she says. "Children, this is Professor Sprout; she teaches Herbology. Professor Sinistra," she gestured to a young woman with her blonde hair in a tight braid, "teaches Astronomy."
"Professor McGonagall," Sinistra adds in a cultured tone, "teaches Transfigurations."
"Now," Professor Sprout says jovially, "it's time to get you all into groups; you'll be splitting off on your own after we stop at Gringotts to exchange money, and you are expected to remain with your groups throughout the shopping expedition."
Haven ends up in a group with Roisin and Danny, and they are joined by Justin Finch-Fletchley, Kennedy Williams, Tony Fox, Will Rose, Gabriel Deverill and Violet Evans. Hermione and Sam are put with Niamh and Cheyenne, and are joined by several other Muggle-borns. The other groups are a mix of people that Haven has not met yet.
The Professors lead them to the back of the Leaky Cauldron, and Professor McGonagall proceeds to tap five bricks on the wall.
"That pattern was the shape of an M," Hermione notices as the wall folds in on itself. "M for magic, I'd bet."
"Very good, Miss Granger," McGonagall replies. "That's exactly right. Now, welcome to Diagon Alley." She gestures to the street on the other side of the doorway, and Haven cannot help her gasp.
Diagon Alley is stunning; the cobblestones that line the wide, winding street are in every color of the rainbow and then some and are diligently placed in some sort of swirling pattern that Haven can't quite make out, but is awed by all the same. Directly across from where they stand is a magnificent building made of white marble and gilded with delicate gold scenes. Above the entrance, Gringotts is written in the same masterful style as the images that almost seem to move and glitter beneath the sun. Along either side of Gringotts there are colorful storefronts in all shapes and sizes. Some look older than others, but all of them are bright and pristine, the colors as vivid as though they'd just been painted, and any windows are clean and neat and advertising various products.
What really catches Haven's attention is the people. Wixen stroll leisurely down Diagon, their hair neat - many of the men have their hair grown out and tied back from their faces in a low tail, and many of the women have it pulled up into complicated buns and braids - and shining. Haven notices that none of them seem to have dull hair, it is all shining chestnut or glossy black or burnished copper or flaming red or deep wine or glistening gold. The majority of them are in long robes in an assortment of hues, and several women wear old-fashioned dresses not unlike the ones from the seventeenth century section of a museum, while the men wear breeches and stockings and billowing shirts.
"I feel like I've gone back in time," Sam whispers in an awed voice. "Their clothing is high quality, but it's so old fashioned in comparison to what we're used to. The dresses, you see? And the breeches? No one dresses like that anymore."
"It is due to the Statue of Secrecy," Sprout tells her as they make their way across the street to Gringotts. "Muggles are unable to enter the pocket of the Wixen World, and while Wixen are able to go in and out, few choose to do so. We have grown stagnant. There are fewer technological advancements now, and this has been the way of things since the Statue was implemented in the early sixteen-hundreds."
"Will we be expected to wear this kind of clothing?" a girl with strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes - Violet Evans, Haven reminds herself - asks with a kind of fascinated horror.
McGonagall purses her lips. "No. While at Hogwarts, you may wear whatever you desire so long as you wear your school robes during lessons."
"Okay," Violet says with relief, and several of the girls sigh in agreement.
Haven follows McGonagall up the smooth steps to the doors of Gringotts. At either side are two heavily armoured guards with beady black eyes.
"These are the Goblins of Gringotts," McGonagall tells them. "They run the bank and keep our money in our vaults for us."
Haven nods at them briefly, her eyes skimming over the golden words by the doors to focus on the images. The golden filigree depicts a battle between the Goblins and Wixen, and Haven cannot help but admire the detail with which the scenes are painted.
She nudges Hermione. "Look at these," she says quietly. "Look at all that detail; whoever painted these was amazingly talented." As she watches, the images come to life, still silent, but the Goblins charge formats on their chariots and the Wixen shoot blinding spells from their wands. "Woah," Haven breathes. "That's awesome."
Hermione flicks a brief glance at the images, frowning in interest, before she follows the Professors inside Gringotts, dragging Haven with her.
The inside of Gringotts is no less impressive than the outside. Metal Goblins protrude from the walls, some of them wielding swords, some with magic emanating from their hands, and one wearing an ornate crown on its head. Every single one of the Goblins wears a fierce expression frozen on its brilliant gold face. The floor is a clean white marble shot through with veins of gold that seem to lead to a large counter behind which several Goblins - these ones unarmoured - sit.
There are lines of Wixen in front of each teller, patiently waiting their turn. Hermione tugs Haven into a line behind McGonagall. They end up standing beside an older woman wearing fancy purple robes and a vulture hat and a boy their own age with blond hair.
"That's an impressive hat," Haven says aloud. Hermione shushes her furiously.
"Don't be rude, Haven!"
"I was just admiring this lady's hat. There's a vulture on it, Hermione. You don't see hats like this every day."
The woman turns around and smiles down at them. "Why thank you," she says. "It was a gift from my son ten years ago; he always said I should give people some warning as to what I was like."
"It looks like it was a real vulture," Hermione says hesitantly.
"Oh, it was," the woman replies. "Frank had it stuffed and put onto this hat for me. Good eye, young lady." She holds her hand out for Hermione to shake, adding, "Augusta Longbottom."
"Hermione Granger."
"Haven Potter," Haven adds when Mrs Longbottom turns a sharp eye in her direction.
Mrs Longbottom smiles warmly. "Welcome back, Miss Potter. My daughter-in-law, Neville's mother," she gestures to the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy next to her, "was your godmother, and your mother was Neville's."
"Really?" Haven asks. "I didn't know that. It's very nice to meet you, Mrs Longbottom. You too, Neville."
Neville smiles shyly at her and shakes her hand. "It's good to see you, Haven."
"Oh, please," Mrs Longbottom says imperiously. "None of this formality! You must call me Gran, Haven dear. Neville does, after all, and you're practically family. Who are you with, Haven?"
"Hermione and I are with the rest of the Muggle-raised students. Professors McGonagall, Sprout and Sinistra are supervising us."
"How lovely," Gran says. "I must go say hello to Minerva. Be a good boy, Neville, and hold our place in line. I'll be back in a jiffy." With that, she strides purposefully between the two lines and taps McGonagall on the shoulder. The two women descend into an intense conversation.
Haven turns to Neville. "So are you going to Hogwarts this year?"
"Yes," he replies. "Gran has been talking about it for years."
"I know nothing about Hogwarts yet," Haven tells him, and Hermione nods in agreement. "Can you tell us about it?"
"Hogwarts has four Houses - Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each House has its own Quidditch team, and you share classes with the other Houses. The year groups are pretty big, so they split up the Houses and mix and match them hoping for Inter-House unity. Apparently that's been less common since You-Know-Who's reign of terror."
"You-Know-Who?" Hermione interrupts. "Who's that?"
Neville shifts uncomfortably, looking nervously over his shoulder as though he expects someone to pop up behind him without his knowledge. "His name was Lord V-V-Voldemort."
Hermione looks unimpressed. "Was he French?"
"No?"
"So he chose a name that means flight from death."
"Uh… I guess so? Anyway, You-Know-Who was the leader of the Death Eaters."
"Oh brilliant," Hermione interrupts sarcastically. He flees from death and his followers eat it. How clever."
"He wanted to close the Wixen World to Muggle-borns and Half-bloods." Neville continues, ignoring Hermione's interruption. "He killed a lot of people because they didn't have pure enough blood or because they didn't support his cause, because he, among many others, believed that Muggles and Muggle-borns are inferior to Pure-bloods. Half-bloods, too," he says, nodding to her, "but to a lesser extent. Um… he tried to kill you," he tells Haven. "Obviously he didn't succeed, but your parents died that night, and so did he. You're known as the Girl-Who-Lived or the Safe Haven because you defeated You-Know-Who and saved the Wixen World from his regime."
"The Safe Haven?" she cannot help asking. "That's a terrible title. And besides, I can't even remember it happening. How do they know I even did anything? Maybe You-Know-Who ran away."
Neville shrugs. "They say you got your scar from his attack, and his robes and wand were there on the ground. Wixen don't just leave their wands lying around. But I don't know. They say you defeated him, and now you're famous."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Haven informs him flatly.
Neville smiles weakly at her. "Unfortunately for you, it's the truth."
Gran comes back, startling Neville. "Haven," she says, "you'll be coming with Neville and I to get money from your vault. Then you'll come join your friends for the rest of your trip. Minerva has agreed to this arrangement."
Haven looks over to McGonagall, who nods regally at her. "Okay," she tells Gran, who smiles in satisfaction. They move up the line, and are finally in front of a teller.
"These are the keys for the Longbottom and Potter vaults," she tells the Goblin. "We wish to make a withdrawal for school shopping."
The Goblin nods at her. "Griphook!" he shouts. "Please take the Longbottoms and Miss Potter to their trust vaults."
"Yes, Gornuk," Griphook replies as he makes his way briskly to their side of the counter. "Follow me," he demands impatiently, and Haven and Neville follow alongside Gran, who swans past the lines of Wixen as she follows Griphook to a narrow hallway with a high ceiling.
Griphook ushers the three of them down the torch-lit labyrinth until they reach something like train tracks. Haven looks with intense interest at the cart resting in front of them. "Everyone in," Griphook tells them. "Keep your arms and legs inside the cart at all times; the Goblins of Gringotts will not be held responsible for the loss of life or limb." With that, Griphook releases the lever that had been keeping them in place, and the cart tears down the tracks at interminable speeds.
Left, right, straight, left, left, a U-turn, ninety-degree angle, right, left. Haven tries to keep track of the turns the cart makes, but loses it after a few minutes. She claps a hand over her mouth to keep her dream of joy from escaping after a particularly steep downward slope which increases their velocity to the point that the wind tears tears from her eyes.
Too soon, the cart stops in front of a vault. Gran and Neville get out of the cart on unsteady feet and unlock it. Neville disappears into the vault and comes back out a moment later with a heavy leather bag. He shows her the contents. "Galleons are the gold ones, Sickles are silver, and Knuts are bronze."
On one side of the coins, an image of Gringotts is stamped into it. On the other side is an image of the same Goblin from the metal statues. The one with the crown, Haven thinks. The detail is once again incredible, and she wonders if that is simply a staple of the Goblin race.
Gran and Neville load themselves back into the cart, and it sets off once again. They arrive at Haven's vault, and she goes in alone.
Inside her vault, there are mountains of Galleons and Sickles and Knuts. She peers around, trying to see if there is anything other than money, but there isn't. She scoops handfuls of coins into a leather bag of her own and makes her way out of the vault, fighting the feeling of disappointment.
"What is a trust vault?" Haven shouts over the tearing winds of the cart ride.
"It is a specific amount of money set aside for a member of the family. It is connected to the main vault, and anything left in it will return to the main vault after the death of the recipient of the trust vault. The family vault might have heirlooms inside it, along with whatever fortune the family has compiled, but it cannot be accessed by family members until they are of age." Gran tells her. "You will be able to visit your family vault once you are considered an adult, and then you will be able to explore the contents of your family history."
"Okay," Haven replies. She will only have to wait seven more years to see what her family has left behind. She wonders what kinds of things will be in the Potter vault, but she can't even begin to guess.
"Haven!" Hermione calls once she and the Longbottoms emerge from the hallway. "We're getting with our groups now. I think yours is over by the statue of the Goblin King."
Sure enough, when Haven looks over to the Goblin King, Danny and Roisin are standing with Violet and several others. Haven assumes that the faces she doesn't recognize are the rest of her group, so she waves in Hermione's direction, saying, "Have fun!" before heading over to join her group.
Neville walks over with her, saying, "It'll be nice to meet some people before going to Hogwarts. I really only know the people who grew up here, and they have their own friends. I'll introduce you to my friends on the train. I think you'll like Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. The Greengrasses are also worth knowing."
"Okay," Haven agrees. "Neville, she says, this is Danny King and Roisin Gage - they have twins who are over in Hermione's group. That's Violet Evans, and I haven't met everyone else, but this is Neville Longbottom, and I'm Haven Potter."
"I'm Justin Finch-Fletchly," says a boy with chocolatey curls and a posh accent. "That's Kennedy Williams," he says of a tall, stunning girl with gray eyes and dark skin. "Tony Fox," Justin points to a boy with straight black hair and brown eyes. "Will Rose," has caramel blond waves and stormy blue eyes, and "Gabriel Deverill," has shaggy hair almost dark enough to be called black, light green eyes and dimples.
"Professor McGonagall was telling us that we could head out just as soon as you got back," Justin tells Haven. "She gave Tony here the list of shops we should visit for our supplies, said to keep away from Knockturn Alley, and that if we finish shopping before sunset we can continue exploring so long as we're back at the Leaky before dark."
"Sounds good," Haven says cheerfully. Where to first?"
"We were thinking Madam Malkin's first," Danny says. "Get the clothing out of the way."
Everyone agrees, and Haven waves goodbye to Neville and Gran before following her group out the doors of the bank.
"My mother's last name was Evans," Haven tells Violet. "D'you think we might be related somehow?"
"Maybe," Violet says doubtfully. "I don't really know. My parents don't really talk about their family much, and my grandfather - when he was still alive - refused to say much more than that he had an older brother once upon a time."
"My grandfather's name was Henry," Haven offers. "He died before I was born, but I think Aunt Petunia's mentioned that he had a brother."
"Maybe," Violet says again. "I don't really know. I suppose it's possible we're related, but Evans is a pretty common last name. There's really no knowing, is there?"
"Guess not," Haven agrees, "but it'd be pretty cool if we were cousins, wouldn't it?"
"It would. I suppose we'll just have to settle for being friends since we can't find out for certain." Violet says hesitantly.
Haven grins at her. "Of course we can."
"Oi, look up ahead," Gabriel calls, pointing directly in front of them. "Madam Malkin's is up there, a little to the left."
Haven grabs Violet's wrist and pulls her forward to walk with the rest of the group. They make their way to the robes shop, and Justin pulls open the door to let them through.
"Hogwarts?" a bored looking woman asks.
"Yes, please," Kennedy replies. "First year."
"Alright dearies, follow me."
They do, and she leads them into a room with several raised platforms. One of them is occupied by a boy their age. He has a rather pinched face and hair on the more silver end of blond. There is a tape measure floating around him, darting in as Haven watches. After a moment, it flies over to the woman, who catches it and tosses it into an open doorway.
The woman gestures Haven and her group onto platforms of their own, and more tape measures fly out to attack them. She leaves the room for a moment, and the blond boy turns to them.
"Muggle-borns," he sneers when he takes in their bewildered gazes.
"Excuse you?" Haven says icily.
"Oh, nothing," he returns airily. "You can just always tell Muggle-borns apart from the rest of us; they have that sickening awestruck look in their eyes whenever they see magic, like they didn't steal it from decent Wixen."
"Decent Wixen?" Haven asks flatly.
"Pure-bloods," he replies. "Every year, more squibs are born into Pure-blood families, and every year brings more Muggle-borns into the Wixen World. You're stealing our magic."
Haven rolls her eyes. "That makes no sense. Pure-bloods aren't the only ones born with magic."
"Then how do you explain second-rate Wixen gaining magic when their parents didn't have any?"
"I don't know. How does one steal magic?"
"I don't know," he mimics her. "Only Muggles can do that, Wixen haven't figured out how yet."
"So Muggles are superior to Wixen?"
"No!"
"But you just said they were," Kennedy interrupts. "You said Muggles knew how to steal magic when Wixen didn't. How is that not superior?"
The boy opens his mouth, then shuts it. "Muggles," he says with an air of superiority, "and their offspring are no better than livestock." With that, he lifts his nose into the air and flounces out of the room.
"Good talk!" Danny shouts after him.
The woman from earlier comes back into the room holding several bags. "These are your robes and cloaks. I'll shrink the bags down for you so you can put them in your pockets. When you get your wand, just tap the bags with it and they will return to their original size. Have a nice day." And with that, she shrinks their bags and shoos them out of the shop.
"Well," says Violet, "I know who I'm not befriending. He wasn't very nice, was he?"
"Nope," Tony replies, popping the 'p' obnoxiously. "Can't say I'm too disappointed. He seemed a bit poncey to me."
"Where do you guys want to go next?" Danny asks, looking down at the list he had stolen from Tony.
"I was thinking maybe we could get our cauldrons and potions stuff now; get that outta the way. Then maybe the Dragonhide boots and gloves? Or d'you think those'll be with the cauldrons? Maybe they're for potions - I bet they're easy to screw up," Justin says thoughtfully.
Kennedy looks at him. "You're crazy. Potions has got to be easy; it's probably like cooking: just follow the recipe."
"I bet you've never managed to burn water before," Justin says mournfully. "If I struggle in any class, it'll be Potions; one hundred percent guarantee."
"How do you burn water?" Kennedy demands. "I've heard of it happening, but I've never managed to do it, even when I tried. I thought it was an exaggeration."
"Nah man," Will says. "I've seen my Pa do it before. He's actually incapable of making himself a cup of tea, and don't even talk to me about actual food. I don't know how he does it, but Justin's not making it up."
Kennedy looks at the boys dubiously. "If you say so," she says, not at all convinced.
"I do," Justin replies cheerfully. "So, is everyone in agreement? Cauldrons and ingredients next?"
"Potage's Cauldron Shop and the Apothecary," Danny confirms, looking at his list. "Sounds good."
They make their way to the cauldron shop, and it's a quick in and out, one cauldron each, standard two, pewter, but Haven can see everyone admiring the gold cauldrons and the ones made of faceted crystal, hardly able to tear their eyes away as they move on to the Apothecary.
The outside of the Apothecary - only a few shops down from the cauldron shop - is perhaps the dingiest and most disreputable storefront on Diagon, with muted, peeling paint and dust collecting on the window frames. The inside, though, is spotless, the grinding pestles and silver knives gleaming, the shelves dust free, the barrels and baskets and tins and compartments filled with what Haven and the others are assured are the best of the best ingredients, kept cool in the rather chilly store.
It is as the shopkeeper is leading them to the back shelves, where the first-year Potions kits are kept, that Haven notices them. It is a group of five red-headed boys, one around Haven's own age and the rest older, standing in a huddle.
"Mum said to only get the Potions stuff on the list, nothing more," the oldest boy says.
"But Charlie," one of the younger boys begins.
"Just think," his brother - they're twins, Haven realises - butts in.
"Of all,"
"The pranks,"
"Awasting,"
"If we don't do our sworn duty as pranksters," they finish together, finally allowing Haven to stop glancing between them every few words.
"As Prefect," another boy jumps in, this one a year or two older than the twins, "I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't even put up a token protest against it. But," he adds, a sly smile creeping across his freckled face, "it would be amusing if something could throw Snape off-kilter in the Great Hall."
"And," says the twin on the right, "it's Ronnie's first year."
"No," says the oldest brother - Charlie - his face becoming deadly serious.
"We've gotta do something to make it memorable!" the second twin agrees gleefully.
"Absolutely not," Charlie replies. "Don't even think about it, Fred. You neither George. I don't want to get letters from Ron about how you've turned him into a penguin, or shaved his eyebrows and painted him green."
"All these ideas, Gred!" says the first twin, who must be Fred.
"And no one to use them on," therefore-George bemoans. "Such cruelty cannot be borne!"
"What is this?" Violet asks out of the blue, startling Haven. "An eighteenth century soap opera?"
Haven tries and fails to stifle her startled laugh, and the boys all look up at her in unison.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's rude to eavesdrop?" Fred asks jokingly.
"No, but my aunt did," Haven replies. "She's also a huge fan of the saying 'do as I say, not as I do,' though, because she likes to listen in on our neighbors' conversations. I guess I've developed some of her habits."
"Oh I like her Forge," George says. "I'm George Weasley," he tells her. "Fred over there is the less funny, less handsome version of me, born only slightly earlier. Mum and Dad were saving all the good stuff for me," he adds confidingly.
"Haven Potter," Haven offers. "And who told you that?"
"Are you really - " Ron begins, his eyes flicking up to her forehead, before Charlie elbows him in the ribs.
"We are going to be the best of friends, Haven," Fred says over Ron's aborted question. "These here are some of mine and George's siblings. Ronnie is starting at Hogwarts this year, Percy is a fifth year and a Prefect. Charlie just finished school last June and is going to be starting his training at a Dragon Reserve in Romania next week."
"Dragons are real?" Violet asks excitedly.
"Indeed they are, miss…" Charlie replies.
"Oh! Violet. Violet Evans," Violet says in answer to his silent question. "And those are Danny King and Kennedy Williams," she adds, turning to point to where their group is grabbing Potions kits. "Tony Fox, Will Rose and Justin Finch-Fletchly," the boys wave to the Weasleys, "and Roisin Gage is over there, by the barrel of newt eyes."
"Ickle firsties," George says mischievously, "are you looking forward to having to fight a Troll for your Sorting?"
"George," Charlie says sternly as Ron's eyes widen.
"We have to wrestle a Troll?" he asks worriedly.
"Oh yes," Fred tells his brother sagely. "Don't you remember when we did it, Gred?"
"Seems like ages ago," George replies boredly.
"Oh be quiet," Percy says with exasperation. "No one's going to be wrestling Trolls, and especially not for their Sorting. It's nothing to worry about," he reassures them.
The twins pout. "You ruin all our fun, Perce."
"I do," Percy agrees, rolling his eyes. "In fact, I never let you get away with anything at all. How terrible of me."
"Yes," Fred says dramatically, "ever since we got our letters and you found out you'd been made Prefect, you've been a real stickler for the rules."
"This isn't you," George adds mournfully. "You used to be fun, but now all you're interested in is stifling our creativity. Soon you'll spend your days writing about the thickness of cauldron bottoms."
"Yes, well," Percy replies blandly, "I've got to practice rule enforcement on someone. Wouldn't want McGonagall to reassess the situation and give Oliver the Prefect badge. He'd insist on Quidditch practice for the entirety of Gryffindor, every hour of the day, regardless of placement on the team."
Fred and George shudder. "Yes. It's a good thing McGonagall's got such good taste, i'n'it. Good old McGonagall, she did us a real favour, not subjecting us to Ollie's rule." Fred says with real relief.
"He's got an iron thumb, that one does," George adds.
Haven wonders who this Oliver person is, and if he's really as bad as the twins and Percy make him seem.
"As fascinating as this character study of Wood is," Charlie breaks in, "we need to get going. Mum wants us home for dinner."
"Already?" Ron asks. "We haven't even gotten our stuff yet."
"Yours is over there," Charlie tells him, pointing. "Meet us at the counter, okay?"
"Alright," Ron replies. "Bye," he tells Haven and her group, waving. Haven waves back, turning to grab her Potions kit and shell out the money required.
"Books next, d'you think? Kennedy suggests once the Weasleys have left.
Danny hums in agreement. "Flourish and Blotts, comin' right up."
"I liked them," Tony says as they walk down the colourful street. "They were friendly, and they weren't like that boy in Madam Malkin's, even though I'm pretty sure they realised we're Muggle-borns."
"Yeah," Will agrees. "They seemed cool. What do you think was Ron gonna ask, though, before the oldest one shut him up?"
"No clue," Haven says, wondering if it might have to do with her being the 'Safe Haven,' or her supposed fame.
Flourish and Blotts is chaotic. Haven doesn't know how anyone manages to find anything. There are two floors, though the second is only partial, and has rickety ladders going up to it. The ceilings are high, and there are mountains of books all over the floor. There are also shelves, filled past capacity, with books and pamphlets crammed into random crevasses. Some of the shelves have peeling yellow labels that read Ancient Runes, or Defense Against the Dark Arts, or Care of Magical Creatures, or Wixen World History, and Haven thinks for a moment that maybe finding the required books won't be such a feat, after all.
She quickly loses hope after finding a book called The History of the Merfolk amongst books about Transfiguration in the section boasting Herbology. She blows out an exasperated breath. "How the heck are you supposed to find anything in here?" she asks Hermione, who looks as overwhelmed as Haven feels.
"Typically," a put-upon voice from the right says, and Haven and Hermione both turn to look at the speaker - a bulky brunet boy with dark eyes and crooked teeth, who looks to be about the same age as Percy the Prefect, "one might use the book by the counter to find the textbooks one needs."
Haven and Hermione exchange perplexed looks. "What Marcus means to say," says Marcus' friend, who is tall and broad, with sandy curls and brown eyes, "is that you can write down the titles of the books you need, and it will tell you where to find them. Dumbass," he adds under his breath, and delivers a swift kick to Marcus' ankle when he sneers at the insult.
"Let them figure it out themselves," Marcus mutters to his friend. "If they're Muggle-borns, they need to figure out how things work here. We can't just give them all the answers."
"They can hear us, Marcus. Didn't your mother ever teach you any manners?" He turns to face them. "I'm Cassius Warrington. That prick is Marcus Flint. Follow me, I'll show you how to work the book."
The girls step behind him, following in the path he clears as he shoulders his way through the throng. Marcus walks behind them, and when they get into the line to use the book, he stands there stoically, not saying anything, and frowning severely.
"So," Cassius says, shifting his position to see Haven and Hermione as well as the slow-moving line, "are you guys Muggle-born?"
"No," Hermione snaps sarcastically. "I've obviously been here hundreds of times before. Couldn't you tell?"
Cassius laughs heartily. "No need to be such a Hippogriff. I was just asking a question. I didn't mean to offend you."
"Sorry," Haven finds herself apologizing for her friend. "We had a run-in earlier with someone who spent the entire conversation demeaning Muggle-borns, saying that they stole their magic from real witches and wizards." She snorts. "As if it's possible to steal a person's magic."
"Must've been a Malfoy," Cassius nods sagely. "Malfoy Senior likes to spout that propaganda everywhere he goes. My father always complains about it at dinner."
They inch forward slightly. "Also," Cassius says, his face curious, "you said 'they' and not 'we.' Are you not a Muggle-born?"
"Muggle-raised," Haven admits, and introduces herself.
Cassius laughs again, a loud, boisterous thing that has him tossing his head back. This time, Marcus joins in with raspy chuckles. "If that really was Malfoy talking to you, he's gonna be real unhappy come the train-ride. He's supposed to make nice with you, and now he's gone and insulted you and your friends. Merlin. Okay." He pulls himself back together, though his smile remains. "A word to the wise: if Malfoy approaches you to grovel, let him, and accept his apology. He'll feel like he owes you. His family is very influential, and he can probably make school miserable for you if you don't."
Haven scowls. "I'll think about it." She won't, but they don't need to know that.
Cassius looks at her calculatingly. "No you won't," he decides. "You seem like you can hold a grudge with the best of them."
She stares him down, not disagreeing.
"Definitely a Gryffindor," Marcus says with surety.
Cassius tilts his head in thought, twisting his mouth. "Hm. Maybe. Could be Hufflepuff, too."
"Her?" Marcus asks incredulously. "No way, Cass. Look at her face. She's one-hundred per cent a Gryffindor. Hufflepuffs are way more forgiving."
"But she's protective of her friends. That's a Hufflepuff trait," he argues.
"She can have Hufflepuff traits. But she'll still be in Gryffindor. Just wait and see."
"When I'm right, you have to hand over the Captain's badge," Cassius bargains.
"And when I'm right - which I am, and you know it, which is why you went for such a ridiculous bargain - you get to convince Percy Weasley to tutor me in Potions," Marcus counters.
Cassius groans. "Deal." Haven watches them shake on it.
"Would you two like to bet one where I'll be as well, or would you like to show us how to work the ledger?" Hermione asks, raising an eyebrow and gesturing to where the person in front of them is stepping away from the massive tome on the counter.
"Ravenclaw," Marcus and Cassius say in unison, stepping forward.
Haven and Hermione stand in front of the book, the boys flanking them.
"What you do," Cassius tells them, smirking at the way Hermione watches him raptly, "is write the name of the works you're looking for. This baby will search the store, and it'll write down what section it's currently under. I don't know if you've noticed, but nothing's where it should be in here."
Hermione reaches for the quill beside the book. She picks it up with two fingers and stares at it disdainfully. "Do we really have to use a quill?"
"What else would you use?" Marcus asks innocently.
"Oh, I don't know. A pen, maybe?" Her tone is scathing, and Haven presses her lips together to prevent a smile from showing itself.
"What's a pen?" Cassius asks, inserting himself back into the conversation with ease.
Hermione glares up at him. "A writing utensil that is far superior to the quill. I know that you two have grown up in the seventeenth century, but I have not." With that, she pulls a black pen from her pocket, clicks it once, and begins scribbling the titles from the supply list onto the page.
"Definitely Ravenclaw," Marcus reiterates. "But imagine if she were Slytherin."
"I don't think I want to," Cassius says in a stage whisper.
Hermione finishes her writing with a flourish, and watches as ink scrawls itself onto the parchment. "Come on then," she says with a sniff, marching off to find her books. Haven follows her, waving to Marcus and Cassius. They step up to the counter to pay for the volumes balanced in their arms, waving in reply.
Hermione disappears around a corner, and Haven follows her quickly, looking for the rest of the books she needs.
Haven finds the few books she needs that her mother hadn't kept in her trunk, in the same section, and waits patiently for the rest of her group to collect the towering stacks of texts that are required. Hermione sits beside her on one of the stockpiles of texts taking up floor space, her nose stuck in The Magical World in the 1900s Edition 8.
"Wands next?" Danny asks, standing in front of her, and Haven jumps in startlement. "Sorry, sorry. I thought you'd seen me coming."
"Clearly not. But I'm ready if everyone else is," Haven replies. "You all found everything okay?"
"Yeah yeah," Danny says. "We were actually wondering the same about the two of you, but it looks like we needn't have worried."
"We got some help," Haven tells him.
"Us too," Tony says, leading the rest of their group into the alcove. "Have you paid yet?"
Hermione nods distractedly. "We both have," Haven says. "Let's head on out."
The wand shop - Ollivanders - looks like it's the oldest shop in Diagon. From the outside, it looks a bit gloomy - gray siding, dusty windows, cobwebs, crooked door, a paint-chipped sign. Inside, though, the floors are freshly polished, and the lights in the candelabras on the walls splash warmth along the walls. Like Flourish & Blotts, Ollivanders has dozens of shelves. They are filled to bursting with wooden boxes that gleam in the low light. There are more cases than there are shelves to fit them, and so they spill out in cluttered piles onto the floor.
"Hello?" Justin calls out, stepping carefully around one of the piles.
"Come in, come in. Welcome to Ollivanders!" a wizened old man calls, dancing around the heaps decorating the floor. "Just wait right there," he tells them cheerfully, waving his hand towards several chairs that weren't there two seconds ago "I'll be with you as soon as I finish up this wand. Tricky business, wandmaking, and trickier with such a finicky core."
With that, the man disappears again, and they sink down into the chairs, which are remarkably sturdy for things that did not previously exist before appearing out of thin air.
"Wow," Gabriel says in shock. "He's really something else."
"Aren't we all?" the man asks, having reappeared suddenly. He leans down into Gabriel's face, inspecting him with protuberant silvery eyes. Haven watches as Gabriel leans away from the craggy face, twitching when the flyaway hair brushes against his skin. "Yes, yes. You first," he continues, stepping back so that Gabriel can stand.
The man rushes back and forth from pile to pile, scouring the shelves. He returns with an armful of wooden cases, sets them down in a heap at his feet, and steps close to Gabriel again, peering into his eyes and prodding at his face. He snaps his fingers, and a tape measure flies forwards, extending itself, and wrapping around Gabriel's arms, or stretching up the length of his leg, or measuring the spaces between his eyes or shoulder-blades or elbows and wrists.
"Hm," he mutters, squatting down to riffle through the pile at his feet. "No, not that one. No. No. Hm… maybe. Definitelynot. Ah! There it is." He stands back up, brandishing a sleek box, the wood of it smooth and warmly coloured. He opens it, proffering the contents to Gabriel, who reaches in and pulls out a long, straight wand the same color as the box which held it. "Acacia, Dragon heart-string, ten and a quarter inches, reasonably flexible. Go on, boy, and give it a wave."
Gabriel does, flicking the wand. A warm breeze fills the room, and he smiles. "Exactly right," the old man says. "Next up, please."
Danny and Justin are the next to receive wands. Roisin steps up after them, and stands still for her measuring. Haven, who has been watching curiously, turns away from the proceedings at the sound of the door creaking open.
"Good morning, Garrick," says a stylishly-dressed man with neat blond hair. He is tall, and his frame nearly fills out the doorway as he steps inside.
"Caspar Greengrass!" Garrick exclaims jovially, looking up from Roisin. "So good to see you, my good man. What brings you here today?"
"Daphne starts school this September, so we're here to get her wand. Daphne, this is Garrick Ollivander." Mr Greengrass says. Next to him is a dainty-looking girl with brown eyes, freckles, and hair as blonde as her father's. She offers Ollivander a shy smile.
"How wonderful!" Ollivander replies. "Please, take a seat with everyone else."
Mr Greengrass and Daphne do so, waiting patiently for their turn. Ollivander finishes up with Roisin, and moves quickly through Tony and Will. Then he gestures Kennedy forwards.
It takes longer to find Kennedy's wand than it had for some of the others, and several of the rejected wands result in broken shelves and shattered vases. Finally, Ollivander digs out a pale box with comparably darker grain veining its surface. He offers it to Kennedy, who takes it out, breathing a sigh of relief when nothing breaks. Instead, a shower of glittering silver sparks burst from the tip, and Ollivander claps his hands enthusiastically. "Apple wood, Phoenix feather, thirteen inches, quite whippy." He eyes her speculatively. "You'll be an interesting person some day, mark my words."
Next to Haven, Daphne is whispering to her father. "Phoenix feather cores are very rare. I've never heard of one being paired with apple wood."
"D'you know a lot about wands?" Haven asks, refusing to feel embarrassed for inserting herself into the conversation.
"I have several books on Wandlore. It's really very fascinating," Daphne replies. "Different woods mean different things about a person, especially if more than one kind of wood is used, and different things still when paired with different cores."
"What does her wand mean?"
"According to the wood, she's very moral, probably fairly powerful, as well. She's likeable, and will probably live for a long time. According to the core, she's very independent, and is more of a leader than a follower," Daphne says quietly as Violet tries to find her wand.
"What does that mean?" Haven asks when Hermione ends up with a rigid hornbeam and Dragon heart-string wand of twelve inches.
"Hornbeam indicates that she has a real passion for one particular thing, and that no one else will ever be able to use her wand. That's just how hornbeam is," she explains. "The Dragon heart-string says that she's got power, and that she's probably got a talent for flashy spells. She's got a lot of personality, according to the length, but she's probably got a strict moral code that she'll be unwilling to deviate from."
If the passion the hornbeam indicates is for learning, then Daphne has probably given an accurate description of Hermione's personality just from knowing the components of her wand; even Haven, who has known the girl for a day, can tell that Hermione is very much how Daphne described her.
"Haven," Hermione hisses, having sat back down, "it's your turn."
Haven stands and walks over to Ollivander, who looks deep into her eyes, flicking his own up at the scar on her forehead every now and then, and pokes and prods at every inch of her face before sending his tape measure to work. He disappears for a few moments, leaving her standing in the middle of the shop and feeling rather stupid.
"Here we are," Ollivander mutters, holding out the first wand for her to try. "Maple and Unicorn hair. Go on, give it a flick." She does, and nothing happens; Ollivander snatches it from her hand and stuffs it back into the box. "Not that one. How about… ah! Hazel and Unicorn hair." Haven reaches out, and the wand sparks angrily before she manages to touch it; the box snaps shut. "Not that one, either. How about vine and coral?" This wand allows her to hold it, but the moment she flicks it, a window blows out. Ollivander rubs his hands together in delight, and nods distractedly in gratitude when Mr Greengrass repairs the glass. "Willow and Wampus hair. Oh, definitely not," he says before she can pick it up. "Holly and Phoenix feather? A newer wand, made only five or so years ago, you know, and the first time this particular Phoenix has donated a feather. No, not that one; it's a bit too protective for you, isn't it? Blackthorn and Thunderbird tail feather." A thunderclap sounds within the shop, and it starts to rain. "Closer," he says happily, "but still not quite right. You're a tricky one, aren't you?"
Together, they go through dozens of wands, and none of them work properly. After Ollivander rules out Phoenix feather and Unicorn hair, Haven begins to wonder if any of the wands will accept her. Ollivander eyes her curiously, muttering unintelligibly beneath his breath. He holds up a finger and wanders off. When he returns, it is with two boxes in his hands. "Ebony and Dragon heart-string," he says, offering her the box. She waves the wand around, and feels an echo of warmth settle in her chest. "Not quite right, I don't think," he says musingly. He looks down at the final box in his hands. "I wonder…"
Haven looks at him curiously. He nods decisively. "Ebony and Blackthorn, with a Thestral hair core. Eleven and a half inches, and quite flexible." He opens the case for her, and she reaches inside. The wand practically leaps into her hand, flooding her with joy, and shooting silver sparks from the tip. Ollivander smiles toothily up at her. "How curious. This wand is one of the oldest in the shop. It was made centuries ago, along with another wand, using the hair of the first Thestral. It - and its brother - was made by a wizard who had never seen a Thestral," he confides. "But," he adds in a cheerful tone, "this is the wand of a warrior; the woods say as much, and the core requires a great deal of power to be used. The only other thing you should know is that the other wand belongs to the wizard responsible for this." He taps her forehead once. "Brother wands are peculiar things," he adds under his breath, before shooing her away and gesturing Daphne forwards.
Haven frowns down at her new wand, and heads over to the others. "We pay for the wands over there," Justin informs her, "and you get a holster and a wand-care kit for an extra seven sickles. It seems like a good deal; the lady at the counter said that you don't want to risk your wand acting up if it's in your pocket, or hasn't been cared for regularly."
They wander over to the counter together, and Haven shells out the money required for the wand as well as the extras. By the time she is done, Hermione is by her side, her book away, and tugging at her arm. "We've got all the essentials, and there's still time before we need to meet back up with the professors; we all thought we'd go look at animals, and maybe stop for ice cream before going back to the Leaky."
"I'm game," Haven says, and follows Hermione and the others out the door, looking back over her shoulder to see Daphne waving. She smiles and waves back.
The first shop with animals they find is Eeylops Owl Emporium. Hermione and Violet look in the windows and promptly decide that they - along with Kennedy, Roisin, and Justin - will not be going inside. Everyone else accompanies Haven in, and they browse the selection of animals. Will ends up with a Tawny owl, and Gabriel with a Screech owl. Danny looks around the shop, his face set in a moue. "I think I might go for a cat, instead," he tells them.
Haven acknowledges his words distractedly, her attention caught by the most beautiful owl in the shop. She is almost pure white, her feathers only minimally speckled with brown spots at the tips of her wings and tail. Her beak and talons all look wickedly sharp, and her large amber eyes stare knowingly at Haven. As she watches, the owl contorts itself into a position that allows it to reach the latch keeping it enclosed. It clicks, and the owl shoves herself into the air, flaps her wings in a flurry, and lands on Haven's shoulder.
"I want her," she tells the shopkeeper, who stares at her with an open mouth, blinking hard, as though she cannot believe what she's just seen.
"Right. Of course. Absolutely." And with that, she bustles around the counter to accept Haven's money in exchange for the owl, a cage, and some food.
After Eeylops, they stop at the Magical Menagerie, but none of the others find an animal they want, and so they head to Fortescue's for ice cream. They are given sundaes, and they make their way back to the Leaky slowly, enjoying the cold treat.
The professors are easy to find in the Leaky, surrounded as they are by the other groups who had branched off. McGonagall eyes them sternly. "Right on time. Now, you all will be returning home soon, and so Pomona and I thought we'd give you a head's up about how to get to Hogwarts on the first of September. These are your tickets for the train," she says, handing out the stubs to each of them. "Notice they say 'Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.' When you arrive at the Kings Cross Station, please head towards the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, and run through it. If you do not arrive before eleven o'clock, you will be unable to get through the barrier. I suggest you arrive early. If you do not make it onto the train, I advise you to send an owl to Hogwarts, or ask one of the older Wixen at the station for help. Whatever you do, do not mention Hogwarts to the Muggles."
With that, McGonagall, Sinistra, and Sprout pack them all onto the Knight Bus and send them home.
It is after dark when Haven finally makes it back to the front stoop of Four Privet Drive. The windows glow against the white trim, making the house seem warm and cozy. It is, in fact, warm and cozy, Haven realises as she pushes open the bright red door - Aunt Petunia's own form of rebellion against the monotony of the neighbourhood, and inspired by Haven's mother after her death. She can smell the shepherd's pie Aunt Petunia must have made for dinner wafting through the air.
"Good evening, darling," her aunt calls from the kitchen. "Would you mind helping me set the table? We were waiting for you to get home before eating."
"Be right there," Haven replies, toeing off her shoes, heading up the staircase to drop off her supplies and owl, and following the sound of Aunt Petunia's voice back down.
Her aunt is bustling around with various dishes that she dumps into Haven's arms the moment she sees her. She offers a quick hug and then pushes Haven towards the dining room, following with the glass dish of pie. "How was your day?" she asks curiously, and listens intently as Haven recounts every detail she can remember.
"You didn't spoil your appetite with that ice cream, did you?" Aunt Petunia asks suspiciously.
"No, I'm still starving, don't worry."
"And you'll make sure that owl of yours doesn't make a mess?"
"Of course. Can I let her out at night? The lady at the shop said it was bad to keep her locked up for too long."
"Certainly, so long as she is outside and not in here. And make sure she's not out and about during the day; we don't want the neighbours asking questions."
"Okay," Haven says cheerfully, laying the silverware out next to the plates.
"Vernon! Dudley!" Aunt Petunia calls up the stairs when they have finished setting the table for dinner. "Time to eat!"
In short order, Uncle Vernon and Dudley have trundled down the steps and sat down. Her uncle makes an aborted gesture to reach for Aunt Petunia's and Dudley's hands; the Dursleys go to church every Sunday, but they do not pray over their food when Haven is around for fear of making her uncomfortable. She wants to tell them that she doesn't much mind either way, but she understands where they're coming from; their religion doesn't condone magic, and so it doesn't much like her. She appreciates the thought, though.
To cover his unintentional movement, Uncle Vernon smooths his hands over his portly stomach, smiles around the table, and tucks in. "This is delicious, Pet," he says sincerely, after swallowing.
Haven and Dudley nod vigorously in agreement, and her aunt offers a pleased smile in reply, daintily taking a bite of her meal and humming happily.
"Haven was just telling me about her day in Diagon Alley," Aunt Petunia says after a moment, taking a delicate sip of her Sangiovese.
Dudley sits up straight in interest, and Uncle Vernon looks at her curiously. Haven details the happenings of the day once again.
"Those boys are right," her uncle says once she's finished speaking. "If this Malfoy character apologises, it may be in your best interests to accept it gracefully."
"But it's not me he's insulted," Haven argues.
"No," Uncle Vernon agrees, "but from what you've said, he doesn't seem to be the sort who will apologise to anyone he sees as less than him."
"Then why should I accept an apology if he offers it?"
"Because it shows that he's trying," Aunt Petunia puts in softly. "It's not at all the same situation, but your mother once had a friend who insulted her, and she refused to accept his apology. They'd been friends for years, and then they never spoke again. I think she regretted it, sometimes."
"But I'm not friends with this boy. Why should it matter whether I forgive him or not?" Haven says obstinately.
"It shows that you're a better person than he is," Uncle Vernon says firmly.
At the same time, Aunt Petunia tells her "I just want to make sure you don't do something you'll regret," and her voice is soft and a little bit sad. "Make sure you're not making the same mistake your mother did. That's all I'm saying, darling."
"Fine," she says sulkily, and repeats the words she'd said to Cassius and Marcus earlier that day. "I'll think about it."
Dudley snorts into his food. "No you won't."
She scowls at him, and he lifts a forkful of his meal to his mouth hurriedly. He chews and swallows it just as Haven makes what remains on his plate disappear.
"Haven Lily Potter!" Aunt Petunia says sternly. "That was uncalled for. Finish your food and head into the kitchen. You'll be doing the washing-up tonight."
Haven heads into the kitchen without complaint; she knows that her aunt is right. She shouldn't have gotten rid of Dudley's food, and she shouldn't have made the outcome of Aunt Petunia's hard work disappear like that. She loads the washing-up machine, and puts the kettle on before finishing the rest by hand and placing them on the draining board to rinse them. She dumps the boiling water over the dishes to ensure their cleanliness, and starts the machine, before towelling off her hands.
In the sitting room, Dudley and Aunt Petunia are sitting on the couch; Dudley is watching the television, and her aunt is reading one of her romance novels - Haven had once made the mistake of reading one of them, and the contents had been far raunchier than she had expected. Uncle Vernon is on his favorite recliner, a tumbler of brandy in one hand and the paper from the morning in the other.
"Aunt Petunia, I'm really sorry I wasted the food you worked so hard to make," she says, and her aunt smiles up at her, extending her arm for a hug.
"That's alright, darling. Let's try not to do it again, shall we?"
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Haven says dutifully, before turning to Dudley. "I'm sorry for making your food disappear. I know shepherd's pie is one of your favorites."
"It's okay," he replies, staring at the screen.
Haven smiles fondly at her cousin and curls up on the sofa next to him, yawning widely and trying to focus on Dudley's show.
She wakes up the next morning, in her own bed, with Hedwig's amber eyes staring at her.