Read the disclaimer at the very beginning and Chapter 2: Diagonally, Quidditch Is a Spell, Dear to get up to speed.

Words: 3,425 Pages: 12

Chapter 3: Two Copies of No Relation, Please

July 11th

Margaret Wood and her mother stood in the entrance of the most magnificent bookstore she had ever seen. It was called Flourish and Blotts. There were rows upon rows of shelves, each filled books of all sizes and colors. There were short, fat books with yellowing pages and gold lettering on the covers. There were tall and skinny tomes with cream-colored pages and boasting such subjects as; "A Thousand and One Ways to Clean: The Spells We All Should Know" and "Kneazle's With Measles".

Margaret looked over at the shelf closest to her right; 'Ancient Runes' the title of the section read. Every book in the area had strange symbols on their spines. Only a few of them had titles that Margaret could read. The next section was on something called Arithmancy, then Astrology and Astronomy. On and on it went, until Zombies, which shared a space with Yetis and Werewolves.

A tall, thin man approached Margaret and her mother. He carried himself as if he was the tallest man in the world; high and proper. He wore long, hunter green robes with silky black lining. He had brown hair, cut close to his head, dark gray eyes surrounded by wire-framed, silver glasses. His nose was long and sharp; his lips seemed almost too wide for his face. But it wasn't any of these features that got Margaret's attention. It was all the little flourishes about him. The odd twist in his hair, the sparkle in his eye, the swagger in his step, the tilt to his smile and the glittering 'F & B' gold piping on the front of his robes. If any man had the appearance of a wizard, it was this man. He was by no means young; he was graying at the temples and his face was beginning to wrinkle around his eyes and lips. He looked like the powerful wizards Margaret imagined from the story books she read. Margaret tried not to stare at him; it was very hard. He even had Betsy captivated. He made both mother and daughter very nervous.

"Good afternoon, ladies," The man greeted. His voice was deep, but light and airy, like thunder being caught on the wind. "Is there any way that I can be of assistance?" He was awfully imposing, what with his voice and stature. Margaret took a slight step back, but nothing more, because she felt that would be rude. Betsy didn't move at all. She was staring at this man with what Margaret could only describe as fear.

"Uhm, ye-yes. My daughter, Margaret, needs books, school books, books for school" Betsy began. She grabbed Margaret by the elbow and dragged her forward, recklessly. Margaret stood in her new position, dumbfounded. She had never seen her mother act so… flighty. Sure, there had been times, when she and Morgan would bring home friends and Betsy wouldn't stop speaking. She'd just go on and on about this or that, causing the twins' friends to grin and snicker at each other. She and Morgan, usually got over that, but this was positively humiliating.

"Margaret will be starting Hogwarts this year. She's a witch. Well, I mean, she, Ms. Granger, said that Margaret was one, but she didn't mean it as an insult."

The man started to smile even wider as if he had just realized what was happening. Margaret was afraid to look at him. She was probably blushing six shades of red on behalf of herself and her mother. Betsy was still speaking, not paying any attention to anything around except the wizard in front of her.

"So," The man cut in, "you'll need a full set of the required texts for a Hogwarts' first year?"

"Oh yes! That would be wonderful. Isn't that just wonderful, Margaret," Betsy asked. Margaret turned to face her mother. She didn't return Betsy's cheerful smile.

"Yes," Margaret admitted, tightly. "But we'll need two full sets of books, because my sister is starting this year as well." He bid them to follow him as he yanked numerous texts (two of each) off shelves. He wound his way through the aisles, naming off the books as he went.

"Two copies of "Astronomy and Beyond", two of "Magical Theory", two "The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection", "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi", "A History of Magic", "Magical Drafts and Potions".

"Astronomy and Beyond" was a large, almost square black book, with the title written in silver, and there were golden specks underneath it to represent the stars. "Magical Theory" was also black, and three times as thick as the astronomy text. "The Dark Forces" tome had an ugly, brown cover, with the title and author stamped on in a font similar to leaking slime. The Herbs book was a brilliant, mossy green. The cover was soft and the whole book smelt like a fresh cut lawn. The history text was a dull and muted gray. It was a heavy, thick rectangle massing seven times the astronomy tome. The potions book was a navy blue, a perfect square, an half the size of the history book. It smelled awful, like burning rubber and rotten eggs.

The man stopped in front a series of shelves in a section labeled 'Transfiguration'. They were now upstairs and as far away from the front entrance as they could be. Both Margaret and Betsy were balancing identical stacks of texts. Margaret's arms were getting tired and they were sore. The man was paying them no attention. He was squatting down to better see the lowest row of books. He was mumbling to himself. Margaret looked over at her mother, hoping that she wasn't staring at the man anymore. Betsy wasn't. In fact, she too preoccupied with juggling the books in her arms that she didn't even notice Margaret's gaze. Although Margaret wasn't accustomed to the lack of acknowledgement, she much preferred it to her mother prattling on to strange men.

"Where were they? Where, where," The man was mumbling into the shelves. "Ah, yes," He put a long, thin finger on the spine of a thick, brown covered book. "Here it is; "Standard Book of Spells: Grade One". The man stood up, back to his full height, pulling up two brown cover books. "The last ones. I'll have to go in the back, to find more," he was still mumbling, a great contrast to his natural speaking voice. Mumbling, his voice became rough and thick, like he had just woken up after smoking a whole pack of cigarettes in the minutes before he went to sleep. He suddenly became aware that Margaret was watching him, just over the tip of the large stack of books.

"Was there anything else you needed," he asked, politely. Margaret knelt down and deposited her stack of books onto the carpeted floor. There were tons of things she needed; a wagon would be most appreciated at the moment. Betsy placed her own stack onto Margaret's so that it was taller than her daughter. Margaret looked at new stack and supposed a crane would be more useful than wagon.

"Are there books about the general knowledge of magic? You know for people who might not know very much? I'm afraid my sister and I are at a terrible disadvantage," Margaret began. The man had started to nod, while she had been speaking.

"Are you by chance a muggleborn," the man asked. He was smiling, again. A muggleborn? That was it. That was the word Ms. Granger had used. Muggleborn. She and Morgan were muggleborns. Ms. Granger was one, too; she had said so. Margaret nodded her answer. The man searched his robe pockets. Then, after a few silent moments, in which mother and daughter watched, he pulled a slip of paper from an inside location. He handed it over to Margaret. It was a list of book titles and their authors.

"These are the ones that most muggleborns have found to be the most useful."

He looked over at the tower of texts and frowned. Betsy followed his gaze.

"Perhaps a cart," Betsy suggested. The man shook his head.

"No, no. A spell," he corrected. "I'll take these down to the register with me, put them in a bag and place a weight lessening spell on them. You can keep shopping, if you'd like." He held fast to his wand, a long, thin stick with all sorts of curves and flourishes carved into it. He waved it at the tower and it lifted a few inches from the ground. He turned and walked back towards the stairs, the books followed him. Margaret watched in fascination as the floating books descended the stairs in the same bouncing manner as the man.

When both the books and the man had disappeared, Margaret stared at the thirty titles on the piece of parchment paper. All of them could be found upstairs, because the shop had put them all in the same section.

"This way mum, near where we picked up "A History of Magic". Margaret began to lead her mother. They passed the start of the 'Transfiguration' section. They walked past several more aisles, and then Margaret turned abruptly into a cove. Betsy followed.

There was man in the aisle with a young boy. The man was tall and lean, with slight muscles in his arms. He had flaming red hair and clear blue eyes. Freckles covered his nose, ears and arms. The boy looked like the redheaded man, except his own hair was a subtler red, almost brown. He had no freckles. He was tall for looking as young as he did. His eyes were the same blue as the man and anyone could tell that they were related.

"That was terribly awkward," Betsy stage-whispered to Margaret. She cut her eyes to the right, glancing at the man and his son, not wanting them to hear. Margaret was on her knees, gazing at a shelf that had nearly fifty books on it.

"Was it," Margaret asked. Then, "what was?" She didn't look up from the rows. Betsy cast another look over at the father and son. They weren't paying Betsy and Margaret any attention. They were busy, searching for a book it seemed. The red-headed man was holding a booklist, written on the same type of parchment of Margaret's and Morgan's list from Hogwarts. The dark-haired boy was swinging his own bag of books carelessly. Betsy turned back to Margaret, who had pulled a book from a shelf and was reading the summary on the inside.

"My rambling; it was embarrassing. I was just nervous. I probably shouldn't be, but I don't know if there's some kind of etiquette I should be using towards wizards," Betsy confessed. Margaret shut the book she was looking at, and glanced up at her mother. She frowned.

"Do you really think we should act differently? I mean, they're just people, aren't they," Margaret asked.

"Yes, of course they are. But…," Betsy trailed off.

"But what," Margaret asked.

"They have magical powers, I don't. It makes me nervous to think that if something happens to you and your sister here or at this school, I can't do anything about it."

"Mum, we'll be fine. I don't think wizards are the type to go after the unarmed," Margaret explained. She thought for a moment then added, "In any case, I don't think that Morgan and I will be left completely defenseless."

"No, I guess not. I suppose this will just take some time to get used to," Betsy replied. She looked down at Margaret still kneeling in front of the shelves. "How many more books do you think you might want?"

Margaret stared down at the two books she was holding in her hands, comparing them. How many she wanted, probably shouldn't be the question. It should have been how many was she allowed to buy. Because to be quite honest, Margaret would buy every book in the store if her mother allowed her to buy all the books she wanted.

"I don't know," Margaret spoke softly, "maybe two or three. Is that okay?"

"Yes, yes, that's fine. Maybe we can pick out something for Morgan and Dad?"

Margaret frowned. Morgan would be about as likely to read a book that Margaret picked out as Margaret was as likely to play a game that Morgan wanted. It probably wouldn't ever happen. But sure they could pick out a book for her. Right now, however, Margaret had decided on the books she wanted.

"I think I'm ready. I've got three," Margaret told her mother. She stood up, lugging the texts with her.

"Let me see," Betsy said. Margaret held still as her mother picked up each text and looked at them. She picked up "The Greatest Wizarding Events of the Past 200 Years" by Maia Herstry, and then "The Greatest Witches and Wizards of the Past 200 Years" by Maia Herstry. When Betsy picked up "Hogwarts: A History", she spoke.

"Are there more copies of these texts?"

"Yes."

"Could you get another copy of the Herstry books for Dad and Me? And two more of this," Betsy asked, holding up Margaret's copy, "one for Morgan and one for Daddy and me. Margaret passed the Herstry books to her mother, before grabbing two more copies of "Hogwarts: A History". Once they maneuvered the seven books between them, Margaret led her mother down the spiral staircase. They weaved between wizards, looking at books that described how to take care of dragons and through hordes of witches standing around a cardboard cut-out of a handsome wizard who would be at the store to sign his new book "Charming Spells and Smiles" next week. Then mother and daughter approached the register. The man, who had helped them earlier in the day, was waiting for them.

"I see you found quite a bit. Will this be all," He asked. He gave them a smile and Betsy nodded. She moved forward and took several coins from a new satchel she had gotten at Gringotts. He rang up their purchases.

"There you are," The man behind the register counter was saying to Betsy. Margaret looked to her mother. The man passed Betsy a bag filled with all their new purchases. Betsy took it. Instead of the bag jerking her arm downwards with all the weight, Betsy seemed to be able to lift it above her head and hold it there (though Betsy really had no reason to do so). Behind Betsy was the red-headed man and with him his darker-haired son from the aisle upstairs.

"I've placed a feather-light spell on the bag, so that anything inside of it, feels as if it weighs nothing at all. I hope you have a lovely rest of your day, Ms…," The man trailed off, he paused and leaned forward a bit, hoping for Betsy to supply the rest.

"Oh. Mrs. Wood. I'm Betsy Wood," Betsy told the man. She offered her one unoccupied hand, hesitantly, and he gave it a pleasant shake. The red-headed man and his son were now staring at the back of Betsy's head with identical looks of disbelief (though, for two entirely different reasons).

"Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Wood. I'm Tiberius Flourish; my great uncle owns this shop."

Betsy returned the man's warm smile and turned away from him to motion to Margaret that they were ready to leave. She had just opened her mouth before she was cut off by the dark-haired boy.

"Are you really a Wood," he queried of Betsy. "Are you related to Oliver Wood, then, the Puddlemere Keeper?" His blue eyes had gone wide and seemed ready to pop from his head. His cheeks were flushed in unrestrained excitement. "I'm Braden Weasley," the boy announced. He grabbed Betsy's hand in a vice like grip and began pumping it up and down enthusiastically. "I'm a big fan. Could you let him know that?"

The boy's father rushed towards Betsy. He shot her a very apologetic smile and grasped both his son's and her hands, to try and pry the boy's fingers away.

"I'm really very sorry about this. He's a bit obsessed," The boy's father explained. "Braden, son, let go. She's not related to Oliver Wood." The boy's, Braden's, trance-like state broke at his father's words. He dropped Betsy's hand and stood motionless for a moment, and then he turned only his head to look at his father.

"Not? Not related to Oliver Wood," he wondered. His father shook his head. Braden Weasley looked terribly heartbroken, as if he had just been told his puppy had been run over. His eyes dimmed and his smile drooped.

"Sorry, but they're muggles, well, muggleborns, really. They're not related to anyone with magic, right," The father asked of Betsy. Betsy stood astounded by this man's intelligence of herself and Margaret.

"Yes," Betsy nearly whispered, "but how did you know?" Margaret had been watching the whole scene from her spot a few feet away. She unconsciously pressed her fingertips over her face and neck, through her long, brown curls and twirled a hem of her t-shirt. She had no idea if she had some kind of physical deformation that noted her as a muggleborn. Well, her clothes were certainly different. The Wood family had been the only ones, as far as Margaret could see, who wore jeans and t-shirts. Everyone else wore robes with varying degrees of elaborateness. Would it really matter that her parents didn't have magical abilities? She hoped not. Braden's father didn't appear to have a problem with it. Margaret assumed the only reason he had mentioned it at all was to make Braden realize that it was terribly unlikely that Betsy and Margaret were related to anyone in the wizarding world.

"My wife told me," the man answered. Then as if realizing that his answer really made no sense to the Woods (because they didn't know who he was nor to whom he was married) he clarified, "I'm Ron Weasley; Hermione Granger is my wife." A look of recognition swept over both Betsy's and Margaret's faces. Mr. Weasley stuck out one large hand and Betsy shook it.

"It's very nice to meet you," Betsy told him. He looked to Margaret.

"And are you Morgan," he asked, "or Margaret?"

"I'm Margaret," Margaret answered. She shook Mr. Weasley's hand, too. It was large and rough, and calloused, but warm. "Ms. Granger is your wife?" Mr. Weasley nodded. "But her last name isn't, I mean, your last name isn't, um."

Thankfully, Mr. Weasley caught on to what Margaret wanted to know.

"Right. Right," he started, "Hermione's kind of famous in the Wizarding world. They know her as Hermione Granger, not Hermione Weasley."

"Oh," Margaret said.

"Braden, would you care to say 'hello' properly?" Braden was staring at the carpet covered ground, the very tips of his ears burning red. He was clutching the sides of his black robes in his fists.

"Hullo," He mumbled. Margaret had to strain her ears in order to hear him. It felt weird to be near Mr. Weasley; having him know of her and her family, but to know noting of him. It made Margaret uneasy. She certainly didn't think Mr. Weasley would do anything to her. But all the same, Margaret wasn't used to not knowing something. And it seemed the Wizarding world had a lot of things Margaret didn't know.

The group (Mr. Weasley, Braden, Betsy and Margaret) fell into an uncomfortable silence, in which no one knew what to say. Mr. Flourish, who had been waiting patiently behind his register counter, cleared his throat, signaling that he was ready for the next customer. The sound jolted the group out of their reverie. Betsy and Margaret took a step towards the shop door. Mr. Weasley placed his purchases onto Mr. Flourish's counter and watched Margaret and Betsy reach the exit.

"Hermione and I like to get all the kids on the train to Hogwarts by 10:15. We'll look for you," Mr. Weasley called out. Betsy smiled in thanks to him. She and Margaret both lifted their hands and waved goodbye to Mr. Weasley, Mr. Flourish and Braden.

They exited the shop and walked towards the Apothecary. The streets of Diagon Alley were still crowded with patrons. It seemed that no matter what time of day it was (early morning or late afternoon) the Wizarding world was always busy. And for Margaret, everything was going along perfectly smooth, just like the cobblestone street. She hoped it would last.

Thanks for reading.

Leave a review, telling me what you liked, what you didn't like, what you thought could have been better.

New chapters will be posted as soon as I have finished the chapter that follows it. Example: If chapter five was the last posted chapter, chapter six will not be posted until chapter seven is finished being written.

If you have any questions please email me or write it down in the review.

I plan to respond to all reviews (good or not so good) in the chapter that follows the one the review was posted for. Example: If you post a review after reading chapter four, it will be answered or commented on at the end of chapter five.

I don't like this chapter as much as the previous two. Margaret's a bit more serious and thought oriented than Morgan. So any chapters focusing on her (which won't be as many as the one's on Morgan) will seem more about what she thinks and wonders. They might seem a bit like slow reading, a maybe even a bit boring. So don't worry if you don't like them as much as Morgan's exciting, bouncy, faster reads.

You'll also notice that the amount of pages dedicated to Margaret is significantly less than others. I'm going to say this is because Margaret is more to the point. She gets right to it, while Morgan would rather take the long road. But the truth is, I'm like Margaret more often than I'm like Morgan, so writing about someone I relate to almost everyday is a bit boring, but alas, I shall prevail.

Cheers, all!

Joe and Izzy: YAY! Thanks for your review. The Oliver Wood thing will come up a lot; sort of like a long standing joke. I didn't come up with the idea of Harry naming his kids after his parents, I've read at least two other fics who did it first and it made sense to me, so I said, sure why not. Keep reading. Enjoy.