NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR
I have a banner on my profile for this story. It's the new one, my other wasn't very good.
I've made a beta switch.
Thank you Bryony! You rock so hard, you cause earthquakes!
DISCLAIMER
Me: So, Mr. Doctor Person, can you amputate Harry Potter's nose and/or ear?
Doctor: No.
Me: Why not?!
Doctor: Because you really shouldn't own Harry Potter.
Me: FINE! *stomps off*
Holly
Chapter Two-School Supplies and Leonardo
My eyes fluttered open as the morning sun cast its golden hand on me. I sprang from my bed. How odd; I usually rolled over a few times, and yelled at whoever woke me up. And, yes, that included the sun. I slipped into my white plush robe and followed the sweet pancake aroma down the stairs. I found Mom in the kitchen, alone, flipping the pancakes. Only her eyes followed each one, and it looked like she was glaring at them.
"Chocolate chip?" I asked, while walking to the cabinet. I pulled out three of everything: plates, cups, forks, knives.
"Of course. Hagrid seems like the kind of person who would like chocolate, don't you think?" Mom was like such a child sometimes! She could be so silly. It was hard to leave her behind, with Dad at work all the time. Who would make sure she didn't toast the potholder again?
"Sure, Mom," I laughed, setting the table. I went over to the fridge and got the orange juice. I wondered if we'd have chocolate chip pancakes and orange juice at Hogwarts. We probably would, unless wizards had their own special dishes. I shuddered at eating small children, like in Hansel and Gretel.
Hearing heavy boots clomping down the stairs, Mom and I smiled at each other. Hagrid had finally woken up!
We were about halfway into breakfast when an owl tapped at the window. In one of its claws, it held a newspaper. I opened the window, and in the owl flew. I noticed it was a snowy owl. Those weren't native to the U.S., so I wondered where it came from. The owl dropped the paper in front of Hagrid, and began attacking his cloak on the back of my chair.
"He wants to be paid," Hagrid said. I raised an eyebrow, and Hagrid chuckled. "Look in the pockets fer five Knuts."
Okay then? "What's a Knut?' I asked.
"The little bronze coins," Hagrid clarified. I dug around in the cloak's many pockets for some coins. I picked out five of the smaller bronze ones, and held them out to the owl. It showed me a leather pouch on its leg. I dropped them in, and the majestic creature flew off.
"We best be off. We got a lot to do today, 'Olly." Hagrid got up from his seat, and kindly thanked my mother.
Walking out of the dining room, I stopped and asked Hagrid, "How will I pay for everything I need? I have no…wizarding money." Hagrid just chuckled.
"Yer parents left yeh a large sum of money in Gringotts-wizarding bank." I nodded simply. My parents really did care about my well being.
"What were my parents' names?" I remembered that Hagrid never mentioned them.
"Morgan an' Richard Evans. Yer related to yer cousin by yer dad, yer cousins' mum is his sister." I noted how Hagrid said 'mum.' His accent was a little funny, but I'd get used to it.
There was a sharp whistling sound and Hagrid smiled at me. "Professor Flitwick is 'ere," he beamed. Hagrid lead me to the door, like I didn't live here myself, and flung it open.
In our driveway, there wasn't a car like I had expected. Instead, there was a curious-looking person in velvet robes. The man was abnormally short, maybe around four feet-something.
"'Olly, I'm a little unsure about those metal birds. So, I'm gonna pass yeh off to Professor Flitwick and be on my way, I s'pose. I'll see yeh at Hogwarts!" With that, Hagrid left down the street. I watched him go, feeling he was hiding something… dark… about my parents, and then turned to Professor Flitwick.
"Holly Evans!" he said in a soprano voice. It'll be hard not to laugh at that. "It's such a pleasure to meet you finally! As Hagrid said, I'm Professor Flitwick. I teach charms at Hogwarts, and I am head of the Ravenclaw house."
"Ravenclaw House?" I questioned. What on Earth did that mean?
Professor chuckled, and added, "Hogwarts divides its students into four 'groups,' so to speak, called houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw. And, because I know you'll ask, you're sorted by a hat created by the founders a thousand years ago." Founders… hat… sorted… thousand years. Good God. This was so much to take in, but I loved it! It was like a whole new world away from mine!
"Well, Miss Evans, we'll be apparating to Diagon Alley. Come now, take my arm." I timidly took Professor Flitwick's arm, and held it tightly. His arm moved a little, and a pressed even harder.
Everything quickly went black. I felt like toothpaste being squeezed out of the tube. My breathing ability disappeared, and every part of me was pushing inwards. Was I imploding?
My body relaxed as my feet touched solid ground. I opened one eye, then the other. Professor Flitwick was smiling up at me.
"You did quite well for your first apparition, Miss Evans. Most people vomit." Professor promptly scurried off down the bustling road. I noticed the sign above me, Diagon Alley. Witches and wizards bustled along, some old, some young. I followed after Professor, still managing to take in every little detail.
I absorbed the Renaissance detailing in each building. Each was extraordinary and different. One shop on my left had little birds carved in its mahogany door. Another had Italian-style stone pillars around a front patio.
Professor Flitwick waited for me by the silver door of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. I noted that they said:
Enter stranger but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
Well, that's the most frightening thing I've ever read. Worse than that horror story in that book Mom got me. I shivered at the thought of the thing.
"About every wizard knows not to try to steal from Gringotts. Come now, Evans, let's go." Professor led me in, and we had to wait on a short line of parents and children. I noticed some curious, and quite ugly, creatures walking through and at the teller counter.
"What are those?" I asked Professor Flitwick, leaning down a little. He just chuckled and moved up in the line.
"Those are goblins," he said. "They run Gringotts. Oh, look! It's our turn!" While Professor was conversing with a goblin bank teller, I took a look around the lobby. The marble floors must have cost a fortune, as with the smooth wooden counters. Brilliant diamond chandeliers hung overhead.
"We would like to make a withdrawal from Miss Evans' account," Professor Flitwick said, patting my shoulder.
The goblin seemed to glare at him, but replied semi-kindly, "Do you have her key, sir?"
"Why yes, I do," Professor pulled a glittering golden key from his cloak pocket. He passed it to the goblin behind the counter, who examined it thoroughly.
"This seems to be in order. I'll have someone take you down to her vault," he said, handing my key back to Professor. "Griphook!" he called.
Another goblin appeared. Griphook took us to a door leading off the beautiful hall. This new hall was less extraordinary. It was adorned with stone walls and floors with torches lighting the path. I almost tripped over some small railroad tracks on the ground. For a while, we walked through a long passage. My eyes took a wile to get used to the dim light, so I kept a hand on the wall. Griphook whistled and a cart raced up to us. I looked it up and down. If we got into that thing, we'd surely die. I mean a cart? Those were highly unstable; especially with three people in them.
Never the less, we all climbed into the cart. I settled myself in next to Professor Flitwick. He seemed perfectly content and unafraid. I, on the other hand, felt sick. I really, really hated roller coasters, and this was exactly like one. I shook a little and closed my eyes. The cart moved quickly, turning every now and then.
I opened one eye to peek. Griphook didn't seem to be steering. I gripped harder on the side of the cart. This is absolutely insane, but…a little fun. Insanity is good, quite good. I swallowed hard and opened the other eye. I let go of the side of the cart. Deciding to be brave, I looked ahead. The frigid air stung my yes. Our transport stopped, finally, in front of a miniature door. Professor and I followed Griphook to it. Griphook took the key and unlocked the door. A large amount of yellow-green smoke rushed out, and when it cleared, I could see piles of glittering gold coins. The mounds must have been as tall as Hagrid!
All this time, there was a fortune for me buried 3,000 miles away from Massachusetts. Maybe my parents didn't hate me, after all.
Professor handed me a large bag, and helped me put a large sum of coins into it.
"The gold ones are called Galleons, Holly. There are seventeen silver Sickles in one of them. Then there are twenty-nine Knuts to one Sickle. It's harder than your currency system in the United States, but you'll get used to it," Professor Flitwick let me look at each coin as he told me about it.
We clambered into the cart again and sped back up the tunnels. We thanked Griphook and departed Gringotts. Professor and I went back into the bright London sunshine and walked down Diagon Alley.
"We best get your uniform," said Professor Flitwick as we entered a small shop with a sign above it that read: 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions'. The woman inside, blatantly Madam Malkin, smiled at the professor and me.
"Why, Filius!" she exclaimed, giving Professor a hug. "Taking this little lady to get her supplies, are we? Well, come this way, hun. I've got everything right here." I noticed another boy walk in behind me. He looked like a spoiled brat if I ever saw one. Madam Malkin greeted this boy, and stood the two of us on stools next to each other. She slipped a robe over each of our heads. Madam began fitting me first.
"Hello," said the boy, "Are you going to Hogwarts?" I glanced at his pitifully slender figure.
"Yeah, I am. I can only assume you are too?"
"Yes. My father left to buy my books next door. And Mother is looking at wands for me. This is so boring; it's the third day in a row I've had to come down here. Dreadful place..." I sensed a strong air of 'I'm better than you' in his voice. "I don't see why first-years can't have their own brooms. Maybe I can bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in."
Oh, gosh. This boy seemed to have some serious issues. I merely rolled my eyes at him.
"Haven't you got a broom?" he drawled on. Why can't he just shut up already?
"Er…no; I don't. Do you ask everyone this?" I said bluntly.
"Play Quidditch?" he ignored my sarcasm.
"What the bloody Hell is Quidditch?" I responded, inching away from the strange boy.
"WHAT'S QUIDDITCH?" he yelled. "Only the best sport in the world!" he paused. "I get it, you're a mudblood," the boy sneered, spitting the final word right in my face. I was slightly taken aback.
"I'm a what?"
Ignoring me again, the boy continued.
"They shouldn't even let your sort into Hogwarts. I bet you've never heard of Hogwarts until you got your letter! Pity, being a mudblood like you; having to live with muggle parents. Ha!"
"The muggles I live with are fine! And they aren't even my parents!"
"Then who are your parents? Where are they?" he questioned with a smirk.
"Dead! My mom and dad are dead!" I defended. How could he judge me without even knowing my name? Congrats, Holly, you've made your first wizarding enemy!
"You're finished, dear," Madam Malkin cooed. I glared at the creep next to me and hopped off the stool.
"I'm ready to get going, Professor Flitwick," I said pleasantly. I also made sure to increase the volume of my voice to say 'Professor Flitwick'. My ingenious plan worked, for the boy's eyes widened and darted between me and Professor Flitwick. I sent a victorious smirk in his direction.
As we walked along, I couldn't help but ask, "What's Quidditch, Professor?"
Professor Flitwick chuckled. "I seem to have forgotten that you didn't know. Quidditch is a wizarding sport. It's played on broomsticks with four balls. It's a little like hockey."
Now, hockey, I get. I played for six years on the Fitchburg girls' team, the Finches, defense. I've almost gotten killed once or twice in Massachusetts because I absolutely love the Blues. Have you even seen Erik Johnson? He's an amazing defenseman, and pretty handsome, too.
"That sounds like fun!" I exclaimed.
"Sorry, Holly: first-years can't play Quidditch."
"Have there ever been exceptions made?"
"No. Students can start to play in their second year," Professor said as we entered Flourish and Blotts, a bookstore.
I liked the cozy, quaint feeling of this store. Books crowded shelves from floor to ceiling. Some books were enormous, the size of a computer monitor. Other books were the size of stamps. The books were bound in leather, silk, and goodness knows what else. Professor had a difficult time pulling me away from Saucy Tricks for Tricky Sorts, so he was forced to let me buy it. Warning me not to use any of those 'blasted tricks' on him, we left Flourish and Blotts.
I was a little ticked off tat my pewter cauldron didn't match my silver scales and telescope. Professor Flitwick tried calming me down, but I still didn't like it. Why can't they match?
"It doesn't look right!" I fought back. I really did have OCD tendencies.
Professor just shook his head and went along to the next shop on our list.
The Apothecary was an utterly frightening place. It smelled like a barnyard. On the floor sat barrels full of odd looking things. I eyed a barrel of onyx-like beetle eyes, five Knuts a scoop, while Professor asked the shopkeeper for a basic set of potion ingredients. I looked at my list.
"Only my wand left, Professor Flitwick," I said to him.
"Oh, good, but if you want to keep in touch with the friends you make, you'll need an owl. I'd like to take it upon myself to buy you a birthday present," he smiled at me.
"Oh, Professor, you really don't have to get me anything."
"I know I don't have to, Holly. I'd like to," he said stubbornly.
Professor directed me into Eeylops Owl Emporium. It was dark and a little chilly inside. I heard some hooting and a lot of feather-rustling. I peeked into some cages. None of the owls seemed friendly, except for one. The owl was a brilliant tawny. His feathers were a medley of brown and cream. He was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, like a work of art. Like the beautiful Mona Lisa. So, I decided to name him Leonardo, after the painter. Leonardo looked at everything attentively outside. I kept repeating my thanks to Professor Flitwick. Leonardo was absolutely perfect!
"Now, we best get to Ollivander's for your wand. It's the best place to find one."
Ollivander's was a small and untidy shop. A small bell rang as we walked in. This store didn't have the same welcoming feeling as Flourish and Blotts. I almost wanted to dash out and go back there. I sighed and forced myself not to. I remembered why I was here, and I smiled dumbly. Professor Flitwick stroked his wand. I held back a giggle.
"Good afternoon, lady and gentleman," said a soft, haunting voice. My head sprang up to see the speaker. The elderly man stared at me with wide, pale eyes. He reminded me of an owl in the way that he never blinked.
"Hello, sir. My name is-"
"Holly Evans," he finished. "I thought I'd meet you soon, Miss Evans. You look exactly like your father, willow, 11 ½ inches, phoenix feather. Richard's wand was very good for charms, yes. Very much like your aunt's. Your mother, however, chose a hexing wand. Not that she hexed anyone. Morgan was a shy creature. Yes, yew, 9 inches, quite short, unicorn hair. Now, I say she chose it. The wand chooses the wizard, Miss Evans."
He traced my scar with his index finger. "Yes, there it is. I sold that wand as well. Very long, yew, phoenix feather. Yes. Now, let's see. Which is your wand arm?"
"I'm…uh…I'm a lefty?"
"Let me see, yes hold out your arm," he said, beginning to measure me all over. Actually, he wasn't measuring me. The tape measure moved itself while Mr. Ollivander looked through shelves of wands. He took down a red-colored box.
"Try this one. Maple, phoenix feather, nine inches. Nice and whippy. Just give it a wave, that's it.' I waved the wand like I did at age four when playing 'fairy princess.' Nothing happened; I didn't quite understand what this was for. Mr. Ollivander tossed the wand on a cushioned stool almost at once.
"Another? Vine, unicorn hair, ten and a half inches. Flexible." Again I waved the wand, and, again, Mr. Ollivander tossed it on the stool.
"Hmmm, no? Try this one, cherry, dragon heartstring, eight inches." No sooner had I lifted the wand, did he snatch it away. Wand after wand I tried. The pile grew larger and larger. It seemed to make Mr. Ollivander happier with every failed wand.
"Ah, this is an interesting wand," he said, pulling down a silvery-blue wand box. It reminded me of my hockey colors. It was cold, but pleasant. "Yes, ten and one-quarter inches, ash, dragon heartstring; very gossamer." I took the wand and felt a rush of cool air in the tips of my fingers. I waved the wand a little, and it started snowing!
"Magnificent!" Ollivander cried. "Yes, a lovely wand for you, Miss Evans. Quite a feminine wand, it suits you." He wrapped my wand box in brownish paper and smiled as we left his shop.
Professor turned to me as we walked down Diagon Alley. "Here is your Hogwarts Express ticket, Holly. On September 1st, someone will come to apparate you to King's Cross train station. Your train leaves at eleven o'clock, so be ready to leave at ten forty-five. Is that all right?" I could tell this was a one-answer question.
"Yes, Professor Flitwick," I smiled, weakly.
"All right; let's get back to Fitchburg." Professor held out his arm and I took it, bundles in my arms. We apparated back to my house. I thanked him, and went inside.
"Hey honey," Mom said. "How did shopping go? Is that an owl?" Mom questioned excitedly, peeking at Leonardo, almost getting her nose bitten off in the process.
"Yeah, he is. Isn't Leonardo adorable?" I cooed, petting his feathers.
"Yes. Leonardo, huh? Only you would name a pet after a painter," Mom laughed.
"Ha, ha, I know. I'm going to show Leonardo his new bedroom, okay?" Mom nodded and I went upstairs with Leonardo. I closed the door and all of the windows in my bedroom and then I sat the cage on my blue comforter, tracing the fabric's creases with my finger. I unlatched the door on Leonardo's cage, and he immediately flew out of it. He didn't recklessly crash into picture frames or knickknacks; Leonardo glided through my large and airy room, like a professional. He eventually perched on the shelf above my dresser. I whistled gently, and Leonardo bowed his head. He hopped closer to me, and I held out my hand to him. I stayed perfectly still.
Leonardo gently nibbled at my fingers. I was amazed that it felt like tiny pinches, not like he was cutting into my skin. I laughed and he hooted, seeming to understand.
That night, I forgot to put Leonardo back into his cage. I fell asleep before he did, but I assume he was perched on my shelf.