Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for Blake. Anything that looks somewhat familiar, probably isn't mine.

Author's Note: Sorry this is so late guys (for anyone that cares), life caught up to me and suddenly it was Thanksgiving and there was family and cleaning house and then finals and yeah. So, here's the new chapter. It's not as long as I would have liked but I'll work on that. :)

Happy Reading.

{3}

I had arrived in the wonderful world of Harry Potter on June 22, 1994. In case any of you were wondering, this turned out to be a Wednesday. Which meant that I had two months before Harry and Hermione would arrive for the start of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup, which would begin Monday the 25th of August 1994. This put me in a difficult position because I had to somehow learn six years of magic and magical culture, buy a whole new wardrobe, and find a church for Sundays all in just two months. As it turns out, there really aren't very many options for churches in England when you live in Ottery St. Catchpole and have no means of transportation. The fact that I didn't have a wand yet didn't help either.

The first thing I did, which happen the next morning around 7 a.m., was to go into town. At my 'old' school, (the one I went to in America) I was on the cross-country team. I lived in a small town out in western Kansas, but we still had the basic sports, and I don't know, running just did it for me. I guess I never really needed a ball and a court, all I needed were a pair of old sneakers. So that's how I found myself, wearing a makeshift jogging outfit that consisted of borrowed belongings from Ginny, running into town while the rest of the house was still asleep.

The town of Ottery St. Catchpole was quaint, to put it simply. To get there from the Burrow, you had to travel down the same narrow dirt road we had apparated onto just yesterday, across a short bridge over a creek, and make your way to the paved road that led into town. Every once in a while you would pass a house or two, but once you finally got into town, it was just like every other town you would find in the English countryside: stacked buildings made of stone or brick, sidewalks, and cars parked along the street, with neighborhoods around every corner.

The Ottery St. Catchpole Library was an old building about a block or two away from the Ottery Healthstore which was at the entrance of the town from the south, where I came in from, and it took me about a half-hour later than it should have for me to find it. Although, in my defense, English towns are incredibly hard to navigate…they like to pack everything in and make really windy streets.

The air-conditioning was a welcomed relief from the summer heat that had crept up on me with surprising ferocity for 9 o'clock in the morning. I managed to find the computers with the least amount of awkwardness on my part, and plopped down on the chair. The computer, a seriously ancient thing that resembled a cube more than a computer, took forever to boot up, but considering it was 1994, I really shouldn't have been surprised. By the time I was able to get the search engine running, I had wasted at least twenty minutes. There were, it turns out, many churches in England. However, none of them seemed to be my particular denomination.

I had grown up in the Church of Christ, a type congregation of churches that follow the word of God, believe in one cup and one loaf, and never have instruments in the service. I had grown up Christian my whole life, and to me, it isn't a religion, it's a way of life. So, naturally, this would be very important to me. In other words, I needed to find a church…quickly.

There were exactly two Church of Christ congregations that I could find within the one hour search time slot I gave myself. Unfortunately, these two churches were both around four hours away from the Burrow. So either, I had to wake up super early to make it to church in time, or I had to find a way to take the Knight Bus.

This posted another problem for me, hopefully one that could be solved easier and sooner and would get me closer to the Knight Bus. This problem was called: a wand. See to hail the bus, one must flag it by using their wand arm. However, as of yet, I had no wand. So, rather than assume that I could hail the bus by using my dominant hand, I was going to go on the safe side and go to town, literally.

That night after dinner I made my way to the kitchen while Mrs. Weasley was cleaning things up to ask her about going to Diagon Alley.

"Well sweetie," She replied while setting the dishes aside. "I could send someone to go to Diagon Alley with you tomorrow. I would hate to have you go by yourself. Someone your age shouldn't be out all alone." She continued to bustle around the kitchen, seemingly content with having me wait for her conclusion. Suddenly, she turned to me with a beaming smile on her face. "Oh! Bill could take you! I know that he's been wanting to go to Diagon Alley for a while now, something about checking with the Goblins, and it would be the perfect opportunity! I'm sure you understand how hard it is for us to get out at a time like this."

I honestly didn't know how hard it was, of course I didn't really clean anything when my closest friends came over, they ended up making themselves at home anyways. Mrs. Weasley seemed to have different views about that.

So after asking Bill if he would be so kind as to join me (and him agreeing, turns out he did really have to go into town) I was able to sleep happy.

The next morning we set off, with myself fingering the loaned key Dumbledore had given me and walking away wearing elongated borrowed Ginny-wear. Clothing shopping was definitely on the agenda for today.

Bill and I had talked on the way to the apparation point and decided on what was going to get done today. Clothing shopping, wand waving, and toiletries buying were the essentials.

Apparation was as horrible as ever, and I'm pretty sure I threw up a little. Looking up, I realized that we apparated to The Leaky Cauldron. That's when I started getting super excited again, not that I wasn't already, but the past few days has been a big hazy mess. I honestly wasn't sure whether I was asleep or alive. But the prospect of seeing Diagon Alley for the first time made my heart beat faster and my palms sweat. Bill kept looking at me and giving me smug grins, but I didn't care because I was in THE Diagon Alley. "What do ya think?" he asked as we passed by The Apothecary. "It's more than I imagined" I answered. He seemed pleased with this answer and continued down the path toward the bank, explaining to me as we went, the way to go about handling Goblins. Don't be sarcastic, don't be rude, let Bill do the talking, God forbid you ask to go the bathroom, etcetera, etcetera.

The bank itself was extraordinary. It was slightly lopsided, but other than that it was magnificent. It had strong marble columns going down the great hall, with marbled titled floors, and a large arched ceiling. Throughout the great hall there were Goblins mingling about their business. None of them would look up as humans and other various creatures would pass them by. We went toward the bookkeeper at the end of the hall next to other hall that lead to the offices. A grumpy looking goblin glanced at us and then in a tight grumpy tone asked, "State your business". Bill answered back in a strong voice, "William Weasley here to see Mr. Knokbight for a stasis report." As the book-keeping goblin looked up he scrutinized Bill for a good minute before he replied, "Proceed." Bill turned to me and told me to 'sit in those chairs' and 'wait for him', and that it 'shouldn't take too long'. And then he walked down the hallway of offices. Glancing back at the bookkeeper I noticed that he was glaring at me. So I smiled and waved awkwardly muttering 'sorry' before turning and dashing towards the chairs that were up against the wall.

It was a good ten minutes before Bill returned. He talked with the bookkeeper again before motioning to me. Hopping up, I went over to them quick as I could to keep that grumpy goblin from eating me. "The key" Bill whispered to me. "Oh, here." I said, digging Dumbledore's extra key from my pocket and sliding it onto the podium. The goblin picked it up and took a good hard look at it. "Dumbledore." He said. "Yes sir." I replied ignoring Bill's warning look. The grumpy goblin looked at me, sneering, and muttered something under his breath. Which I thought was very rude, but decided it best not to say anything about it. "Griphook!" he yelled suddenly, making me jump. "Take Ms…" He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

"..Safford."

"Take Ms. Safford to the Dumbledore Vault."

The next few hours was a continual cycle of shopping: enter the store, do a quick sweep, get what you need, pay, get out, and then repeat the process. The only three goods things about this shopping trip was: A: Seeing the socially interactive wizarding world for the first time. That was beyond interesting, it was like being in a movie or an alternative reality. B: Shopping with Bill Weasley, who was surprising a hilarious guy. You wouldn't really think it meeting him for the first time, especially with that whole goblin/Gringotts business that went down earlier, but he was a certain kind of quick, sharp, dry wit and humor that I happen to find hilarious. He made shopping for cauldrons funny, and for anyone who has ever shopped for cauldrons would know that is quite a feat. And finally C: buying my owl, who I still haven't found a good name for yet, although I was kind of considering Lester, my grandpa's name. Yeah, you're right, that's not a good name for an owl.

Bill and I were quite the team, zipping through the various stores, and I commend him for putting up with me for as long as he did. Whenever I saw something that caught my eye or that I recognized, I would get excited and start talking about how the object was 'so cool' and how much I had 'always wanted to see it'. He even graciously waiting for me while I looked around Victoria's Secret for a good forty-five minutes before he said that we had to go.

By the time it was time for us to buy my wand, we had purposefully gone into thirty stores and had wandered into at least ten others. Bill had thankfully shrunken all of my purchases, and the few that he had bought, so that they didn't hit us in our faces while we walked.

We were considering names for my new owl-friend when we stopped in front of Ollivander's wand Shop. (Bill wanted to name him 'Albert', who names an owl 'Albert'?). The inside of the shop was musty and had a polished smell. There was an old rickety chair next to the door that Bill seemed to avoid, and an old, yellowing sign in the dusty window that stated, 'Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.'.

There was no bell on the door, just a squeak as the hinges rubbed together. It slammed shut rather spectacularly and produced a cloud of dust that circled our feet as we walked inside. You would think that a wand maker would use his wands every once in a while for a bit of spring cleaning.

No one was at the counter when we first walked in. Bill had to cough a few times and send me a reassuring glance before Ollivander even made it past the shelves.

Ollivander was a creepy old man with wild Einstein hair and clear eyes that looked into your soul. His aura was chilling, but not uncomfortable. If you looked past the creepiness of his eyes and overall personality, he was actually a very nice, wise man. Sure he also knew so much about you that it was borderline creepy, but he seemed genuine and kind. Like a grandfather you didn't really know how to deal with and only saw twice a year, or that old pigeon woman from Home Alone 2.

After measuring my arms and legs as well as between my nostrils and the length of my eyebrows, he started handing me wands of different combinations. Dragon Heartstring, 11 inches, sturdy; Unicorn Hair, 8 ¾ inches, pliable, etc. I was down to my 13th wand when Ollivander finally gave a sigh of relief and gave me my wand: Walnut with Unicorn Hair, 10 ¾ inches, reasonably supple.

The feeling of finding a wand that chose you is a feeling that's hard to forget. When you first hold it in your hand and feel a certain warmth that travels into your very soul, as cheesy as that sounds. It's like finding as extension of your own arm; an arm that cost seven galleons. But I guess that just the price you have to pay to be able to do magic.

The last stop we made that day was to Eeylops Owl Emporium & Magical Menagerie for a pet. This door did have a bell, but you could barely hear it over the animal noises. It was like walking into a barn, being suddenly overwhelmed by sounds and smells that were less than pleasant. Immediately Bill directed my towards the back of the store while explaining to me the benefits of certain pets, although it was unnecessary as I had already decided that I was going to get an owl. Owls have always been my favorite animals; owls and elephants. I don't know what it is, but I always liked rounded birds, especially ones that waddle.

I ended up with a male Barred Owl or a Hoot Owl. He was one of the prettiest birds I had ever seen. And I still had no name for him, poor guy. He seemed do be just fine on the way home though.

The rest of the month, and the month following that, was a whirlwind of learning. Learning how to do magic, learning different spells and potions, learning the names of the people at my new church (which weren't very many), learning my way around the village, learning how to keep out of Fred and George's way, learning especially not to sass Molly Weasley.

A lot of the Weasley kids enjoyed helping me play catch up. Especially the twins, they seem to get a kick out of telling me a spell and letting me find out on my own what it does. Effective, but not appreciated by some in the house.

I found the name for my owl by my nickname for him, well for anyone really: 'nut'. It's usually accompanied by the words 'crazy' or 'stupid', but the meaning is generally the same. And is always spoken with utmost adoration, of course.

Anyway, back to the name. I thought, why not call him 'nut'? But then that would be mean. So instead I decided to call him the latin translation for 'nut': "Nux". Afterall, all spells are based on there latin translations right? It's perfect.

So there you have it. My owl's name was Nux. That poor owl. Well, after I started calling him that, I couldn't change it. He had already accepted his new name. So he was stuck with a name that directly translated meant 'nut'.

That poor owl.

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