She had always loved the smell of new books at Flourish and Blotts. She could spend hours here, dragging her fingertips along every spine, sifting through every freshly printed title. In the unlikeliest event she'd been born a squib, Bella was certain she could've quite happily spent the rest of her days as a shopkeep here, a guardian over most of the knowledge of the magical world.
It was among her precious books that she first happened upon him. The boy was young and small, dressed in curiously over-large muggle clothing that was faded and worn. Secondhand, maybe. He had the messiest mop of jet black hair she'd ever seen, zapping this way and that, curling here, crooked there—it was as if the thick strands were sentient, rebelling against the tyrannical reign of hairbrushes. He was staring intently at a handsome blood red tome with gold leaf lettering. Curses and Counter-Curses (Bewitch your Friends and Befuddled your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and much, much more) by Professor Vindictus Viridian. He looked as if he wasn't sure about whether to go through with cursing his to-be-victim, and in his hesitation Bella knew she ought to intervene.
"I wouldn't bother," the boy whirled toward her, surprised to have company. Bella fought a smile. She'd always been terribly good at sneaking up on people, growing up the way she had. "You can't use magic outside of school until you turn seventeen, and any one of those at Hogwarts will earn you a ticket straight to the Headmaster's office."
"I was trying to find out how to curse my cousin," the boy confessed, pushing his broken round glasses up his nose as she chuckled.
"I don't doubt they deserve it," her voice was soft, kind. He had noticed how much they looked alike...they probably could've passed off as siblings if she didn't sound as posh as she did, "Bella Lestrange, pleased to meet you."
Belladonna Lestrange was built tall and lean like a purebred racing horse. She was much older than him, that much was obvious, with raven hair cut just past the sharp line of her jaw. Her face was all angles, cheekbones high, cheeks gaunt, nose long and thin, lips soft and pale pink and topped with a cupid's bow. Her skin was alabaster and blemish free, and her eyes were the prettiest he had ever seen, made up of every colour. They blended, edge to iris, from dark inkwell blue to clear blue sky, then to jade green, then a golden honey brown that spiked out like rays of sunlight. They reminded him of a cat, clear and beaming in the sunlight bathing them from the shop window. She wore the strangest clothes; a black leather coat that swept her ankles over a crisp white shirt with a wide, matching black leather tie. Both the shirt and her hands were stuffed into the pockets of tailored black trousers. The leather didn't look like any leather he had ever seen, scaled like snake skin, only much bigger. Her boots matched the coat and the tie.
"Harry Potter," he introduced himself.
"Oh," her reaction was the most subdued Harry'd had all day, with her eyebrows jutting closer together in the softest of furrows, but it made him grin, "I'm not sure why I've always pictured you to be red-haired like your mother."
"You knew my mum?" his eyebrows furrowed.
"Only from the books and papers," Bella had the decency to look apologetic, "I'm sorry I mistook you for a muggleborn."
"A what?"
"A..." she frowned again, "what've those muggles taught you, Potter?"
"Not much," he deflated, "they told me my parents died in a car crash."
Bella snorted, but Harry didn't look much amused, "no that's a joke."
"It is?"
"The Potters fought in the war, believe me, a car crash wouldn't keep them from raising their only son," Bella made Harry smile. Her eyes darted to the book he was still holding. Yes, it would make sense...why else would he want to curse his cousin? "Who are you here with? The Muggles?"
"No," he shut down a little too quickly, "Hagrid brought me here, he's the Gamekeeper at Hogwarts. The school sent him to take care of me."
Bella chuckled, "I know who Hagrid is, Potter, I'm a third year."
"Oh," Harry flushed, trying not to look very pleased that the very pretty, very nice girl was only a couple of years older than him.
"He hasn't left you to fend for yourself, has he? I'm sure all of this can be terribly confusing for someone new to it," Bella glanced over his head for the very large man.
"He's gone to get some things, he's shown me where to get the rest of my list though," Harry was quick to defend him.
"Would you mind some company?" she offered him a very pretty smile that seemed to temporarily stun him before he grinned at her, "I've got to get through my list too, we'll probably end up at all the same places anyway."
"Yeah!" Harry lit up, "yeah, that'd be great. Thanks!"
"Cool," Bella stuffed her hands back into her pockets with a tinkle in her eye, nodding her head over her shoulder, "come along then, Potter. Let's get your book list sorted first."
"Aren't your parents going to wonder where you went?" Harry worried as he rushed to keep up with her pace.
"Not really," she dismissed. Harry opened his mouth, no doubt to ask more, but Bella had already cut him off, "they're dead."
"Oh," Harry's face fell, "sorry."
Bella shrugged, "left me a castle and a fortune, it's not all sad."
"So you're all alone?" Harry seemed very interested, "you don't have to have an adult as a guardian?"
"Officially? Well there's grandmother," Bella hummed, "she's not all there, between you and I, she hasn't been since my mother...mostly, I take care of myself, though I suppose there's the house elves."
"House elves?" he looked adorably bewildered. Bella chuckled.
"I think we ought to add a few books to your school list, help you catch up," she only half-teased, but Harry had gone a very bright shade of red, "think of it as a pre-education. Ah, there's a shop assistant. Nigel! Could we trouble you? Yes, we're in need of some help."
It didn't take very long for Harry to understand what Bella had meant about a fortune. Every shop they went to, adults seemed to scramble over themselves to serve her, ever-so-politely rushing through their 'yes, Miss Lestrange's and their 'right away, Miss Lestrange's. Harry had never seen anything like it. Bella, for her part, was easy to talk to. Her smiles were always soft and brief, but her tone was always genuinely kind. She'd point things out to Harry as they passed, and answer any question he had with an amused sort of fondness. Several times, odd looking witches and wizards would greet Bella as they passed, and she'd flash a smile and greet them back each by name. At his curiosity, Bella smiled again, "my family's quite well-known in Europe."
Outside Wiseacre's, Bella checked Harry's list again, "well, you've got a pet and the wand left. Which would you care for first?"
"Just the wand," Harry was quick to dismiss, cheeks tinged pink, "I don't think the Dursleys will let me keep a pet."
"Oh rubbish to that," Bella clucked her tongue, "tell you what, I'll get you one. Consider it a welcome-to-Hogwarts gift."
"You don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to," she rolled her eyes, "oh don't spoil my fun, Potter, I've a terrible shopping habit and you mustn't try to curb it. Besides, how else will you write me if you haven't got an owl?"
Harry grinned at that. Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium with a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. He couldn't stop stammering his thanks, which filled Bella with a terrible sort of smug satisfaction.
"Don't mention it," Bella's voice dipped just deeper, "I get the feeling the Muggles haven't exactly been keeping up with your Christmas presents. There's just Ollivanders left now—only place for wands, really, Ollivanders, and you've got to have a decent wand to make a decent wizard."
The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as Bella held the door open for Harry. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair in the corner. Bella gestured for Harry to go forward, leaning by the door with her arms folded and their shopping by her feet. Harry looked uncomfortable.
"Good afternoon," greeted a soft voice. Harry jumped. Bella's silky hair spilled in front of her as she looked down, smiling at her crossed dragonhide boots.
Ollivander was positively ancient, his wide, white opal eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," Harry squirmed.
"Ah yes," Ollivander didn't smile, "yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
Ollivander swept closer to Harry. "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."
Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.
"And that's where..."
Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands...well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."
He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Bella.
"Ah, Miss Lestrange! How nice to see you again...speak of the devil. Yew, thirteen-and-a-half inches, unyielding. Exactly so. The perfect match, I'd dare say, if it weren't for the cores..."
"Dragon heartstring," Bella nodded, ignoring the confusion in Harry's eyes.
"I daresay a little more power than...of course, the limits of a wand are only ever reflected in the limits of its wielder," Ollivander shook his head, turning suddenly stern, "I trust you've been putting it to good use?"
"Of course."
"Hmm," Ollivander gave her a piercing look, "well, now—Mr. Potter. Let me see."
He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket, "which is your wand arm?"
"Er—well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.
"Hold out your arm. That's it," he measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
Harry had only just noticed that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.
"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor, "right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."
Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—"
Harry tried—but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Ollivander.
"No, no—here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
Harry tried. And tried. Bella watched as he grew all the more visibly frustrated. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere...I wonder now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand, and Bella watched his shoulders sag. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Bella clapped and Ollivander cried, "oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well...how curious...how very curious..."
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "curious...curious..."
"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"
Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother—why, its brother gave you that scar."
Harry swallowed.
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Exactly like Miss Lestrange's. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember...I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter...after all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes but great."
Harry shivered. Bella watched over him with fresh concern as he paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, steering him out of the shop as Ollivander bowed behind them.
"He can be quite unsettling, I suppose."
"Very," Harry agreed as soon as the door had shut behind them, "er, what he said about your wand—"
Bella pulled it out of her coat pocket, handing it over to Harry. He frowned, setting the new trunk that had most of his shopping in it down on the side of the street, accepting the wand. He turned it in his hand, looking it over. It was bone white and longer than Harry's with a spiral that served as its handle, followed by a stretch of cross hatching that blended into the shaft. A pretty wand. Harry couldn't imagine something that looked like this killing his parents. "it matters little which wand chooses you, but rather what you choose to do with it. Your choices mark your character. Remember that, yes? Good. Come. Time for ice cream. We can wait for Hagrid there."
They spent an entire hour at a table set out on the street beside the magical ice cream parlour, laughing under the summer sun. Harry, who had never had ice cream before, had been delighted to try a tester spoon of about eight of the two hundred ice creams on offer before deciding he was getting quite full from just tasting them. He picked an absurd combination of strawberry and peanut butter for himself that Bella refused to even try, going with her standard stracciatella.
"Harry! There ye are!" the voice came from behind them. Bella turned around in the midst of wiping her mouth to face the familiar large man bustling over with great big strides, his long bushy dark hair and equally bushy dark beard swaying with every movement. He was carrying a sack over his shoulder and quite a few brown-paper-wrapped packages looped together with rough hewn rope. "Alrigh' Lestrange? Made a friend, have ye, Harry?"
"I hope you've been keeping well, Hagrid?" Bella smiled up at the large man.
"Great," he grinned beneath his beard, "been 'aving a bit ter drink with Old Tom, er, ye know, ter calm me down some after Gringotts."
"Have you now?" Bella chuckled, nodding as she got up, "well, I should head off. This has been...fun."
Harry smiled up at her, and she smiled briefly back, reaching down to ruffle his hair. He scowled at once, making her chuckle, "chin up, you'll enjoy Hogwarts a lot more than spending time with the Muggles, I'm sure. If you need me to sort anyone out, you can ask around for me."
"Thanks," his cheeks were flushed.
"Hagrid," Bella bid him farewell with a nod as she turned to collect her trunk full of school things. She glanced back at the pair with one last final smile before disappearing into the crowd.
"Hogwash wha' people say about that girl," Hagrid's expression had turned very dark, "only half-decent Slytherin I've ever met. Yeh could do a lo' worse than makin' a friend like that, Harry, you best remember that."
"What do people say about her?" Harry was confused, "what's Slytherin?"
"One o' the school houses," Hagrid answered, "rotten, the whole lotta them. Lestrange's a'right. Brightest witch o' her age, 'course, all the Professors talk about her. Never had any trouble with her, never hurt nobody. But the kids talk...'course they talk, with a family like that."
"Bella said her parents are dead," he frowned back at Hagrid.
"Oh, aye," Hagrid agreed, "her uncles killed 'em. They used ter work fer You-Know-Who, her whole family did. 'Cept her father did summat, betrayed 'im, they say...ran away with her mother and her. Only all'a them lot—You-Know-Who's followers—they started lookin' fer 'em all over. So they hid her away, no one knows where. Her own uncles tortured 'em. Tore 'em to pieces in the home they grew up in, together, three brothers. Lestrange only survived 'coz they never found her."
"Where're her uncles now?" Harry was worried.
"Prison," Hagrid glared at nothing, "an' they'll never get out."
He shook his head, "but that whole family's always been like that, long 'fore You-Know-Who were even born. The Lestranges've always bin involved with all sorts'a awful dark magic, an' dark magic leaves a mark. But she's not like that. Yeh can't help who yeh've been born to, Harry, remember that."
Harry thought about the pretty girl who'd bought him his owl. He thought about how quiet she was, and how kind. He couldn't imagine how someone could survive something like that and be the way she seemed to be. Harry wondered if that was what people were going to think of him, at Hogwarts. What people would say about him. He frowned, "so what do they say about her?"
"They're afraid of her," Hagrid's answer was simple, "all of them."