Alexandra Potter: The Girl Who Lived
Chapter One: Never Hit Girls
Not much had changed in the 10 years since Alexandra had been left on the Dursleys' doorstep. Number Four, Privet Drive was the same as ever - more or less. The pictures had changed: where once they depicted the chubby baby face of Dudley Dursley, a rather spherical ten-year-old now stood, often between two proud parents. Vernon and Petunia had aged too: Vernon had grown larger still, and his moustache was much thicker, while Petunia now dyed her hair to hide the faint beginnings of grey.
There was very little sign that Alexandra lived there at all. But if you looked carefully, you might have been able to tell. If you were to open the door to the cupboard under the stairs, you would find a picture hanging there, on display for the hoover and mop. Like the others, this family photo showed the three Dursleys, dressed to the nines. But unlike the others, it also showed a young girl, maybe eight or nine years old. A pretty girl, she had long black hair, naturally wavy, and bright green eyes, and a faint scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on her forehead. She was standing to one side of the photo, as if neither she nor the Dursleys wanted evidence that they were related, and Dudley was glaring at her rather than smiling for the camera.
Aside from the secret photograph, you would have to go to Alexandra's bedroom to know she lived at Number Four. It was the smallest bedroom, of course, and sparsely furnished. There was no carpet covering the worn wooden floor, nor pictures on the pink walls. The creaky bed was small, the wardrobe second-hand, and one leg of the desk was shorter than the others. The sole decoration was a long mirror hanging on the back of the door.
Alex looked around her domain in satisfaction. It might have confused others, to see a young girl so happy with so little, but Alex had learned to value all that she had. And with so few possessions it was easy to keep her room tidy - unlike Dudley's eternal mess.Tidy room, tidy mind, that's what her teachers said. Whenever she passed Dudley's door she saw the truth of it.
"Girl, we're leaving in ten minutes!" Vernon shouted up the stairs. "You better be ready!"
Alex jumped in surprise. She hadn't realised it was so late. It was summer, and though it was close to six o'clock it was still light outside. She quickly opened her wardrobe and pulled out her best dress. It was green, to match her eyes. Like all her clothes, it was from second-hand shops. That wasn't to say the Dursleys were poor - a new shiny car in the driveway was testament to that - but they had always made it clear to Alex that she was not really part of their family. They were her guardians, not her parents.
Alex didn't mind much. You could find some pretty good clothes in charity shops if you looked hard enough. She whipped off her top and shorts and took a moment to look at herself in the mirror. She'd recently started wearing a bra - not a real bra like older girls wore, but still enough to make her feel more grown-up. And shewasbetter developed there than the other girls in her year - thanks to a little use of her talent.
Satisfied with her appearance, she dropped the dress over her head and did the zip up.
"FIVE MINUTES!" shouted Vernon.
Any other girl would have a mother to help with their hair. Alex was used to doing it on her own. She scrunched up her nose andpushed, and suddenly her hair was alive: it straightened with a wiggle, and then began to braid itself into two fine Dutch braids, which then tied around the back of her head like a circlet. It would have taken anyone else at least quarter of an hour and a lot of practice to put their hair into such a complicated style. Alex did it in 15 seconds.
It was her secret. Her talent. She'd first discovered it when she was seven: she'd returned from the hairdressers and absolutely hated her haircut, and in a moment of extreme regret her hair had restored itself. She was stunned; the Dursleys tried to pretend it never happened. But Alex didn't forget. She knew what she had seen. By seven years old, most children have stopped believing in magic, but since that day Alex had been convinced of its existence. She knew it because she could use it.
Changing her appearance was easiest, requiring barely any effort at all. At first she'd been limited to her hair, but her abilities seemed to grow with her age. By the time she was nine, she could change almost anything about herself - on the surface. The hair, eyes, skin - it was all easy. Much more difficult were deeper changes. She still couldn't make any structural changes, like the shape of her nose, or her height. Giving herself size A boobs was the height of her accomplishments.
She could do other things as well, though they were much harder. If she focused hard, or if she was upset, she could make things happen. She could make objects float, tell animals what to do, or make flowers bloom. One time, when she'd been having a staring match with Dudley, she'd actually got some idea of what he was thinking.
Alex shuddered at the memory. Dudley's mind was not somewhere she wanted to be.
"ONE MINUTE!"
Alex slipped her pumps on and hurried downstairs. The Dursleys were all waiting by the door. Petunia gave her a look over - her eyes lingering on Alex's hair - and sniffed. Alex rolled her eyes: that was about as close to approval she ever got.
"Took your time, didn't you?" said Vernon, but he wasn't showing any signs of exploding. This was just his normal level of grumbling.
They took the new car to the concert, which was being held in a local church. None of them actually enjoyed classical music, of course. Vernon thought it was "uppity nonsense" and Petunia wouldn't know culture if it was sunbathing nude in next door's garden. As for Dudley, he spent most of the car ride talking about the television he was missing.
But being "upstanding members of the local community" meant attending Stonewall's junior concert. Alex was indifferent about the whole affair. She didn't particularly enjoy classical music - preferring the music in the charts - but it wasn't as if there'd be much to do at home. She'd already finished what little homework she had, Dudley always had control of the TV, and the Dursleys strictly controlled what books she was allowed to read - they didn't want her getting any "dangerous ideas". The concert, therefore, was a welcome break from boredom.
"Vernon, Petunia, it's so good to see you!" said Mrs. Williams, the woman who had invited them to the concert. Her 11-year-old son was in the choir, and she had a tendency to gush about it.
"Oh Carol, of course we wouldn't miss it," replied Petunia, greeting her by kissing the air next to her cheek.
"And this must be Dudley," Mrs. Williams continued, taking in Alex's cousin. She seemed to be struggling to find something positive to say, but eventually settled on a complete lie. "You'll be a lady killer in a few years, I bet."
Alex struggled to contain a laugh while her aunt and uncle puffed up in pride.
"And who's this?"
It was now Alex's turn to be examined.
"Alex, ma'am," she said - unlike Dudley, Alex had always been punished unless she was excessively polite. By now it was second nature.
"Alexandra," Petunia corrected. She never liked it when Alex shortened her name. She said 'Alex' was a boy's name.
"Youarea pretty one, aren't you?" said Mrs. Williams. Alex couldn't help but grin - such praise was rare, and the scowl on Vernon's face took the cake. Mrs. Williams might be a bit fuddy duddy, but she was alright, Alex decided. "I never knew you had a daughter, Petunia! Where have you been hiding her?"
"Oh, she's not our daughter!" Petunia said, extremely quickly. Alex's smile died.
"Petunia's sister's daughter, you know, " said Vernon, trying to pass it off casually.
"Oh, I see! Visiting your Aunt and Uncle? I'm not sure if Whinging has much to offer a girl your age, but it's always good to see family..."
Alex swallowed. She'd never found a good way to explain that she was an orphan. The Dursleys had no such problems.
"Her parents are dead," said Dudley, managing to showcase both his tact and wit. Alex scowled at him; Mrs. Williams looked mortified.
"Why, young man, that was not a kind thing to say! You should apologise to your cousin."
The Dursleys looked like they were sucking lemons, forced to watch as their perfect child was told off.
"Sorry," mumbled Dudley. It was music to Alex's ears - undoubtedly finer than anything Mrs. Williams' son was about to produce.I should come to more of these things, Alex thought. When they were in public, the Dursleys had to behave.
"Oh, look, dear Mrs. Figg's arrived - lovely to see you, Vernon, Petunia." They exchanged more air kisses, and Mrs. Williams left.
"Well I never!" said Petunia, once she was out of earshot. "Telling Dudley off like that! The nerve of some people... we don't tell her how to raiseherson, do we?"
"What do I always say, Pet? The country's -"
"- going to the dogs," completed Alex in a bored tone of voice. Her uncle said it several times a week.
Vernon turned a beady eye on her.
"That's enough out of you for one night, I think," he said. "You've done enough damage already."
Alex was fuming as they took their seats.Shehad done enough damage? She'd done nothing! It wasn't her fault that Dudley was rude, and it certainly wasn't her fault that her parents were dead. But that had never mattered to the Dursleys.
The music was predictably bad, the seats uncomfortable, and the church was far too hot. Alex desperately needed a drink of water. To make everything worse, Dudley spent most of the concert kicking Alex whenever he thought no adults were looking. Alex was certain her shins would be black and blue the next day.
"Stop it!" she whispered urgently after a particularly hard kick.
"Shhh!" said Petunia, giving Alex a sharp look. Dudley smirked at her.
The intermission was a welcome relief. After gulping down three glasses of orange juice, Alex excused herself to go to toilet, hoping to escape all the grown-up "small talk" as they downed as much free wine as they could in the short break. Dudley was waiting for her when she was finished.
"I'm gonna get you," he said. "Tomorrow at school."
Alex clenched her fists. Every so often Dudley would "get her", and it was never pleasant. Sometimes he'd stick her head through the gap in the barbed wire fence and hold her there. Another favourite was to spill milk on her at break. He'd never been caught in the act by a teacher, and Alex wasn't about to tell on him. She was no tell-tale.
"Oh yeah?" she said, bolder than she felt. "Well, maybe I'll get you. You're so fat, it can't be hard."
"I'm not fat!" he said - too loudly. Some people turned to look at him and he scowled. Alex stuck her tongue out at him.
"You think you're so clever, Potter. You're always such a teacher's pet. But I know your secret. I'm gonna tell everyone."
Alex's heart plummeted. He was going to ruin her life.
"If you do, I'll tell everyone you're gay," she said. She had to beat him at his own game.
"You wouldn't!" said Dudley. He looked truly afraid. Mutually assured destruction.
"Oh, Dudley, I always knew there was a reason you always hang around with Piers. Do you play with your - yourwilliestogether?"
Smack!
Alex gasped, stunned, and brought a hand up to her stinging face. She wasn't the only one - all the adults around them gasped too, and turned to stare.
"You... youhitme," she said. Against her will, tears began to form in the corners of her eyes.
"Dudley Dursley!" a man said. He was tall, with black hair going silver. He did not look happy. Dudley gulped audibly. It was Mr. Stevens. Their headmaster. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"
"She-" Dudley began, but Mr. Stevens interrupted.
"I'm not interested," he said, "you never hit girls, do you understand me? Never."
"Yes, sir," Dudley said to his shoes.
"Look at me," said Mr. Stevens. Alex inwardly cringed, almost feeling sorry for Dudley. Mr. Stevens' "look at me" was one of his most powerful weapons. Dudley looked up, his face completely red from his public humiliation. Everyone was watching, now.
"We will discuss this tomorrow morning, in my office," he said. "Vernon, Petunia, I would like you to come too."
They nodded in agreement, not willing to speak, apparently sufficiently embarrassed by what was happening.
They didn't stay for the second half of the concert. They left as inconspicuously as they could, and drove home in silence. It was not to last.
"You!" said Vernon, as they entered the kitchen, rounding on Alex. She froze in place. Surely they couldn't blame her this time? Not with such a public audience. "To your room, now! I don't know what you said, but you've embarrassed us tonight, in front of all our friends. There'll be no more concerts."
Hardly daring to believe her luck, Alex hurried upstairs. No chores, and no mention of losing her pocket money.
"Not you," she heard as she walked up the stairs.Was Dudley actually going to be told off?Alex hovered at the top of the stairs. She didn't want to miss this. It was hard to make out what was being said, until:
"It doesn't matter what she said!" Vernon bellowed. "Youneverhit a girl. I thought we had raised you better than that!"
"But-"
"No buts! No television - for a week! And you have to be in bed by 8 o'clock, every day!"
"Dad!" Dudley said, completely shocked. Nothing like this had ever happened before.
"Maybe you'll remember this, next time you think to use your fists!"
Dudley came stamping out of the kitchen; Alex wasn't able to get up the stairs fast enough. Dudley saw her there, listening in, and he gave her a look of genuine hate.
They stared at each other for a moment. Then, unable to stop herself, Alex whispered down the stairs.
"Gaaaaaaay."
She ran to her room before she could see the result.
Alexandra Potter: The Girl Who Lived
Chapter Two: A Little Bird Told Me
Dudley never did follow through on his threat, and Alex never told everyone Dudley was gay - not that she was ever really planning to. For Dudley's part, Alex supposed that he'd been sufficiently cowed by the long sequence of punishments he had received. No television for a week was just the start of it, it turned out.
The day after the concert all three Dursleys had spent a long time in Mr. Stevens' office. Dudley had been forced to apologise to her in front of the whole school and had to spend his breaks in the library for a week.
It took a few weeks for things to return to normal, and by then the end of term was approaching. Sports day had come and gone (Alex had managed to come second in the 800m), and the swimming gala was coming up. Alex was looking forward to it: she was a strong swimmer, and thought she might win a few races. With only a week to go, she was going to the pool after school almost every day.
"Do you think Henry fancies me?" asked Annabel as they changed into their swimsuits. She was Alex's best friend, a half-Swedish girl with stereotypical blonde hair and blue eyes. Alex tried not to peek - Anna was rather pretty, and it was only natural to want to look, wasn't it?
"I know so," Alex replied, grabbing her towel, "Matthew told me this morning."
"'Cause he fancies you!" Anna said. They giggled together as they left the changing room. "Race you to the other side!"
By the time Alex returned home, her hair wet, it was getting dark. They'd swum for over an hour and she was starving.
"See you tomorrow!" she said to Anna as they parted ways - she lived just two streets down.
"Bye!"
The Dursleys were all in the sitting room, watching the television. It almost looked like they were hypnotised, the way they all sat there in silence, staring at a screen. None of them greeted Alex as she walked past the door - she wasn't sure if they even noticed she was there. A plate of food waited for her on the kitchen table - the Dursleys had already eaten. She put the slice of pie into the new microwave and watched hungrily through the window as it rotated.
Hoot hoot!
Alex jumped in surprise, snapping out of her stupor. She turned towards the sound, and jumped again when she saw the source.
There was an owl outside the window, perched on the window sill.
Weird.Alex had never seen a real owl before. They were extremely rare, and for one to actually come down and stand outside the window was odd. She was about to call for the Dursleys when she saw that it had a message attached to its leg.
Wondering if she was going insane, Alex opened the window carefully, rather wary of the owl's sharp-looking beak. The owl hooted again, and stuck out its leg. Her hands shaking slightly, Alex untied the string. The moment she had the (rather large) letter in hand, the owl spread its wings and flew away, quickly disappearing into the dark sky.
Shrugging, Alex sat down at the kitchen table, examining the letter. It was thick and pleasantly heavy, made of the kind of high quality paper you'd get in an art shop. There was an actual genuine wax seal on the back, with a coat of arms. And the front was handwritten in cursive script, in green ink. It was addressed to her.
Miss. Alexandra Alice Potter
Number Four, Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
No post code,she thought.But then, I suppose owls don't use them. She giggled to herself at the ridiculousness of it all. It was kinda awesome though: she wondered who had gone to all this trouble.
She opened the letter and pulled out the several sheets from inside - that explained the thickness, then. Alex's eyes widened as she took in the front page.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: The Right Honourable ALBUS P.W.B. DUMBLEDORE PC
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, Int. Confed. Wizds.)
Dear Miss. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been shortlisted for a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A representative from the school will visit your home on June 30th to evaluate your suitability for Hogwarts. Should you fail to gain entry, your file shall be forwarded to the Ministry of Magic for appropriate placement.
An equipment list accompanies this letter. To avoid disappointment, please refrain from purchasing these goods until your place is confirmed.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Her first instinct was disbelief. Her second, quickly arriving on the heels of the first, wasthis explains a lot. She was right: it was magic, what she could do, and there were other people like her out there. And she could go to a school to learn more! She wondered if her parents had been magical too - it would certainly explain the Dursleys' fear to allow her near anything too fantastical.
Not that it was a sure thing, of course. Alex glanced back at the letter worriedly.Should you fail to gain entry...that meant there was some sort of test. Presumably, it would be a magic test, not maths and English and so on. Would she be able to pass? She could do some magic, sure, but not much, and it was really hard. Would it be enough?
There was so much world changing information in just that one paragraph. The Ministry of Magic: that meant that there was some kind of magical government, and it sounded like it was a part of the normal one. Like the Ministry of Defence - the Ministry of Magic. Alex giggled again, imagining a witch in Number 10 Downing Street. And Merlin was real, and had some kind of Order. Was that like an award, like knighthood? Or a group of people? Alex had no idea, but she knew she wanted to find out.
Having extracted everything she could from the first page, Alex turned to look at the equipment list.
First Years will require:
One Wand, fitted.
GIRLS
One (or more) plain black working robe (open style), prepared to receive a House Crest.
Four (or more) girls' winter underrobes, black, with House trim.
Four (or more) girls' summer underrobes, white, with House pattern.
Plain black stockings (for winter).
One winter cloak, black, silver fastenings.
One pair Dragon Hide (or similar) gloves.
Black shoes, leather, with a heel of no more than one inch.
Other clothing suitable for leisure time.
Underwear: black, white, or other neutral colour. NO RED.
All clothing should be clearly labelled with the student's name.
Potions Equipment:
One cauldron, pewter, standard size 2.
One Standard Hogwarts Ingredients Kit, First Year, available at Slug and Jiggers.
One set of knives, to include 1 Large Steel Knife, 1 Small Steel Knife, 1 Small Silver Knife.
One set of scales, brass.
One telescope.
Set of stirrers.
One set glass phials.
Books:
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade I, by Miranda Goshawk.
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, by Emeric Switch.
Magical Draughts and Potions, by Arsenius Jigger.
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, by Quentin Trimble.
A Greenthumb's Guide, by Selena Greengrass.
Introduction to Natural Philosophy, by Adalbert Waffling.
Latin, Grade I, by Samantha Smith
A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot
Students may bring other books. However, parents are reminded that Hogwarts' Library is extensive.
Students are permitted an owl OR cat OR toad. Should any other pets be brought, they shall be handed over to the Gamekeeper.
Alexandra's amazement grew as she read down the list. She had no idea where you'd buy any of it - except maybe brass scales - but she couldn't wait to read the books. She'd read The Hobbit last year - hidden from the Dursleys, of course - and loved it. But here was arealmagical world, and she would get to know everything about it.
She turned back to the first page and re-read the letter. It said someone would be coming on June 30th... but that was tomorrow! She had so little time to prepare!
Alex had never been burdened with false modesty: she knew she was pretty smart. She was the only one in their class to get a level 6 on the maths SAT, which most students didn't achieve until they were 14. She was no stranger to tests. But this magic test completely scared her: she had no idea what would be on it, or how much she would have to do to pass. And the stakes were high. Shehadto get into Hogwarts.
Completely forgetting to tell the Dursleys about her letter, and leaving her pie in the microwave, she ran up to her room. The rest of the night was spent reading and re-reading the letter, practicing her magic in between. She started sitting in front of her mirror, changing her shape. It was by far the easiest part of magic: it took only a moment of really wanting it, and her hair rippled between black to red to purple to green to black again. Her eyes were a bit harder, but not by much. It didn't even hurt anymore. Squinting her eyes, she shifted them to blue, to brown, and then to red.
For some reason, she shuddered. There was something extremely unsettling about red eyes. She quickly returned her eyes to their vivid green. After her eyes, she moved onto more advanced changes. She extended her fingernails, changed the colour of her skin, and, wanting to see how far she could push herself, tried to lengthen her fingers. A series of quite unsettling cracking sounds followed as her bones rearranged themselves. It wasn't quite painful, but the sensation of parts of herself moving underneath her skin was rather strange.
Alex stared at her left hand and wiggled her fingers. She'd never done anything involving her bones before. They still seemed to work okay, but the hand looked unnatural - almost skeletal. With a wiggle of her fingers they returned to their previous length - or at least, what Alex hoped was their previous length. She was never quite sure. She knew that she had no idea what size her boobs were supposed to be by now. Her "true" form wasn't hidden underneath her changes - any change she made was permanent. She had to rely on memory, intuition and how things felt to reverse a change.
After exhausting physical changes, Alex decided to work on her more difficult magic.
It was more unreliable, her other magic. She often wondered why, but hadn't been able to think of any particular reason. Maybe different people found different parts of magic easier than others. Maybe it was the same for everyone. It was one of those questions she would have to ask Minerva McGonagall.
Whatever the cause, causing her other magic to respond through pure will, like her physical changes, was extremely difficult. Sometimes she had to be really upset - or really happy - for it to happen. Sometimes she had to focus for ten minutes before something happened. An exception seemed to be her "mind reading" - though it wasn't quite as easy as that - which just required the kind of deep eye contact that was rare. It was easy to do, but she had to feel like she was falling down through the other person's pupils before she could start getting flashes of images and sounds.
Faced with this difficulty, Alex had started to develop a few tricks to help things along a bit. If getting things to happen through will alone was hard, then why not use tools to help?
As quietly as she could - it was now past midnight - Alex tip toed out of her room and down the stairs to the seldom-used dining room. Alex only had a few memories of her grandparents - Aunt Petunia's parents, that was - who died when she was very young. The sturdy wooden furniture in the dining room was theirs, and somewhat at odds with Number Four's otherwise modern decor. In the dining room, Vernon kept a locked wooden desk, in which sat all of his important documents, and cash.
He thought it was secure. He was wrong.
The dining room windows were also locked, but the Dursleys kept the key right next to them. After all, they were locked to keep burglars out, not in. The window key wasn't the key for the desk, of course. But it was close enough to make the magic work. Alex picked up the key and walked over to the desk. She crouched in front of the locked drawer, and lined up the key, so that it was just outside the lock, as if she was about to insert it. But instead of inserting it, she turned the key in mid air, slowly, very deliberately. She felt a phantom resistance and turned harder.
The lock clicked open.
Grinning, Alex opened the drawer and leafed through the contents.Bills, bills, bills...aha!Vernon was a rather paranoid man, so he kept an unusually large amount of cash in the house. Alex couldn't be bothered to count it, but there was at least three hundred pounds there. She liberated a twenty, rolled it up, and tucked it into the elastic waistband of her pyjamas. All those magic books looked expensive, after all.
Satisfied, she returned the drawer to how she had found it - she'd been careful to note how everything had looked, before she moved things - and locked it again using her magic key.
She tiptoed back upstairs, skipping the creaky stairs, and sat on her bed. The late hour was beginning to catch up on her. Normal children would have been put to bed by their parents long ago, but the Dursleys had never tucked Alex in. So long as she was in her room, they didn't care if she was asleep or not.
Yawning, Alex turned on her bedside lamp, before switching off the main light. She got her letter out, slipped into bed, and began to read it once more.
She was asleep before she reached the end.
Alexandra Potter: The Girl Who Lived
Chapter Three: Minerva McGonagall
"ALEXANDRA!"
Alex jerked awake at the sound of her name. Uncle Vernon was shouting for her, and he didn't sound happy. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she sat up with a jolt when she remembered the events of the previous day.
Heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs and her door swung open.
"Downstairs," said Vernon, spit flying from his lips, "now."
Alex rolled out of bed, saying nothing. Was the Hogwarts' representative already here? A great first impression that would be. Would she be the first person ever to be assessed for Hogwarts in their pyjamas?
She followed Vernon downstairs and into the sitting room, where a witch was sitting in one of the armchairs. The woman was unmistakably magical - it was almost laughable, actually, how much like she looked like a storybook character. She was wearing rather sombre looking dark green robes (which were really very similar to a conservative dress), and a large pointy hat was on her lap. It was interesting though: something about the robes - the quality of their make, perhaps, or the fine minor details - gave them an air of authenticity that fancy dress lacked.
As Alex entered, the witch stood up.
"Alexandra Potter, I assume?" she said, her voice refined, yet possessing the hint of a Scottish accent.
Alex almost felt like she should curtsy. The woman was rather stern looking, yet as Alex saw her closer, she realised that the witch was not nearly so old as she had first thought. Alex would have guessed her to be around forty.
"Yes ma'am," she replied politely. "Are you from Hogwarts?"
Vernon's eyes bulged, and Petunia - hovering near the television nervously - squeaked.
"How in the blazes...?" Vernon began, before glancing at the woman.
"I received your letter just yesterday," added Alex, partly for her relatives benefit.
"Indeed," she said, sending a piercing look at Vernon. "My name is Minerva McGonagall - Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts, if you please. I am the Deputy Headmistress, and the Transfiguration Mistress."
Excitement bubbled deep in Alex's tummy.
"And whatisTransfiguration?" she asked. She'd seen the word on the booklist, and she supposed it had something to do with changing things, but what it was exactly was a mystery.
McGonagall offered her a brief but apparently genuine smile. "First things first, Miss. Potter. You must first officially accept your place at Hogwarts School. Youdowish to come to Hogwarts?"
"Of course!" said Alexandra, somewhat confused. "But... not that I'm complaining, or anything, but isn't there meant to be a test?"
"A test?" said McGonagall, frowning, before - "Ah, yes, I see. Your situation is somewhat unique, Miss. Potter, in that you are wizarding born, yet Muggle raised." Alex guessed that "Muggle" meant someone without magic. Someone like the Dursleys. "As such," McGonagall continued, "you will have received the letter sent to Muggleborns. But of course your name has been down for Hogwarts since the day you were born."
Alex was beginning to think that Professor McGonagall thought she knew more that she did.
"Of course?" she questioned. "My parents had magic too, then?"
For a moment, McGonagall looked gobsmacked, but she recovered quickly, turning to stare angrily at Vernon.
"Am I to assume you have told the girl nothing?" she said coldly, assessing the situation quickly.
"Well, not nothing - that is to say, of course, we haven't told her everything - such nonsense, stamp it out of her..."
"Enough," said McGonagall, interrupting Vernon's empty and aimless bluster. "I see now that we have much to discuss today, Miss Potter. We had best be starting immediately. Go and get dressed - quickly now - and we shall be on our way."
"Now see here!" Vernon said, apparently trying to regain control of the situation. He puffed himself up and stepped closer to McGonagall. The witch appeared to be entirely unthreatened. "I willnotbe paying for the girl to go off and learn how to make teapots sing! She'll be going to the local comprehensive, and that's that!"
Alex's heart seemed to stop. Not even in her worst nightmare had she imagined that the Dursleys would actually be able to stop her from going to Hogwarts.
"Run along, Miss. Potter," McGonagall said, apparently unmoved by Vernon's refusal. "I will explain the situation to your uncle while you dress."
Alex ran upstairs and threw on a skirt and a t-shirt before fixing her hair into a pony tail. Not having any time for a shower, she quickly splashed some water on her face and gave her teeth a token brush before hurrying back downstairs. She found McGonagall waiting for her next to the door - apparently tired of the Dursleys' company.
"Ready?" McGonagall asked. Alex grinned, assuming Vernon had been bullied into allowing her to go to Hogwarts.
"Let's go," she replied, opening the door for the older woman.
They talked as they walked down Privet Drive, the pair of them enjoying the summer sun.
"Normally I would apparate to Diagon Alley, but since you will be unable to do so for many years, I think it best that I show you how to get there yourself," McGonagall explained.
"Okay," said Alex, not really sure what apparition was. Maybe it would tell her in her school books.
McGonagall pulled a long, thin piece of wood from her sleeve. It was clearly more than just a piece of wood: it had been crafted into a highly polished cylinder with a handle, and decorative vines were gently carved into its length.
"This is a wand," McGonagall said, allowing Alex to get a good look at it - but not hold it. "You may call the Knight Bus at any time like so." McGonagall held the wand out over the side of the road, and gave it an upwards flick.
BANG!
Alex jumped in shock as an giant, purple, double decker bus hurtled around the corner at a ridiculous speed. It tipped slightly as it turned, before screeching to a halt in front of them. Alex glanced around, looking for the inevitable faces looking out of windows that should follow such a loud noise on a Saturday morning. There were none.
The bus was an old fashioned one, like you saw in London, where you got on at the back and paid a conductor.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transportation for the stranded witch or wizard," the conductor said, greeting them as they stepped in. He was an old, hunched man with a gruff voice. "Hogwarts business, Professor?"
Apparently Professor McGonagall was reasonably well known.
"Indeed, Mr. Owen. Two tickets for Diagon Alley, please. On the Hogwarts account."
The old man turned to look at Alex then, peering at her, before his eyes widened comically.
"Galloping gargoyles!" he cried, pointing at her forehead, "it's -mmmph!"
McGonagall's wand had twitched and Mr. Owen's words were muffled as if he had a sock in his mouth.
"Thank youfor your discretion, Mr. Owen," she said tartly, before leading Alex to a pair of seats on the upper floor. The bus wasn't quite empty, but it wasn't nearly full either. With a lurch, the bus shot back into motion, the world blurring as they moved.
"What was that about?" Alex said once they were sitting. The man acted like he knew who she was. McGonagall sighed.
"Perhaps I should start at the beginning, as I would for all Muggleborns," she said. "As you have no doubt noticed, magic exists. Men and women who can learn its use are called wizards and witches, and we are sufficient in number to have developed our own society, completely separate from the non-magical - or Muggle - one. This society is kept a tightly guarded secret. Though there is some overlap, we have our own culture: music, literature, sports, businesses, schools, banks, currency, even our own branch of government. In addition to witches and wizards, there are also a number of other magical beings and creatures, such as goblins, centaurs, dragons, and unicorns."
Alex's eyes widened in surprise. Though of course she had known she had special abilities, she had never imaginedthis. A whole society! And dragons! Just how big was this magical community?
"Do you have any questions at this stage?" McGonagall asked, allowing a moment for the information to sink in.
"Only a million," said Alex, unable to hold in a short laugh. She tended to do that when she was nervous or shocked. McGonagall offered her a warm smile.
"Just like your mother. She was bursting with questions too."
"You taught my mother?" Alex asked, surprised. The Dursleys never spoke of Lily and James Potter. She'd never even seen a picture of them.
"I've been teaching at Hogwarts for over forty years, Miss. Potter. I taught both your parents, and let me tell you, better students are few and far between. Their deaths were a terrible loss."
"Forty years?" said Alex, surprised. "But that would make youat leastsixty!"
McGonagall fixed Alex with a look that told her that it was just as rude to talk about a woman's age in the wizarding world as the Muggle. But, nevertheless, she answered the unspoken question.
"You will find that magical people live longer than Muggles, and - after reaching adulthood - age much slower. It is not unusual for a wizard to celebrate his 160th birthday."
Something occurred then to Alex.
"But surely I would..." Alex began, before deciding to rephrase her question. "Do I have any grandparents? Great grandparents?"
McGonagall took Alex's hand in her own and gave it a comforting squeeze. Alex swallowed.
"Institute of Oriental Sorcery!" called the conductor up the stairs. An pair of elderly witches made their way off the bus.
"That brings us to less pleasant conversation," said McGonagall as the bus jerked back into full speed. "And an explanation of Mr. Owen's behaviour."
Many times in her life Alex had dreamt of some forgotten relative coming to rescue her from the Dursleys. With the discovery of the magical world, Alex had thought that dream about to come true. But it seemed she was alone as ever.
Alex clenched her fists. She had survived for ten years on her own. She didn't need anyone.
"Understand, Alexandra, that magic is a potentially dangerous skill. In the hands of a man like Professor Dumbledore, it can be a powerful force for good. But not all men are so scrupulous."
She paused, and Alex thought she knew where this was going. Of course nowhere was perfect.
"In the 1960s, there was one such man. Of course, there have always been wizards and witches who would use their talents for less than honest purposes. Men and women who use unsavoury magic. But this man was different. He was no common dark wizard. His power, Miss. Potter, was frightening. It was beyond the ability of the Ministry to contain. Indeed, even now many are afraid to say his name, calling him You-Know-Who - something he encouraged by killing those known to use his name freely. For decades his influence grew within our society, and before long it was war."
McGonagall paused and closed her eyes. Clearly the memory was still painful.
"It was a close thing, Miss. Potter," she said. "Few truly know how close. The Ministry was about to fall. It was a matter of weeks before You-Know-Who could claim his victory. And then, on Halloween night, 1981, he went to kill the Potters."
Alex was completely still, listening to every word. So this man was the reason she had no parents. This man was the reason she had been denied her heritage for so many years. Still, she was confused.
"But how did Mr. Owen know me?" she asked.
"You-Know-Who, apparently unsatisfied with the deaths of your parents, decided to finish off the Potters for good. He turned his wand on you, Miss. Potter, and tried to kill you."
Without realising what she was doing, Alex reached for her scar, tracing it with her finger. She had never been able to remove it with her powers, no matter how much she tried.
"Yes, Miss. Potter. Miraculously, that scar is all that he could do to you. Somehow, you survived where hundreds others had died. And more than survived: something about you undid him that night. At the height of his power, so close to absolute victory, you destroyed him. For that, you are famous. The Girl Who Lived is known to every witch and wizard in the world."
Alex had often dreamt of being famous - what child hadn't? For many years, she had wanted nothing more than to leave the Dursleys behind when she was 18, to go and make a name for herself, and then, when the world knew her name, when crowds cheered her like the moviestars, she would return to the Dursleys and let them know of what they had missed by not loving her like a daughter.
But this wasn't quite what she had in mind. Famous because she had survived and her parents had died? What kind of fame was that? Not the kind you could be proud of. Not the kind you could gloat about. Alex didn't want to be reminded of that night every time someone met her and pointed at her scar.
"What was his name? You Know Who?" she asked, trying to process her new fame. It was weird. She had always imagined that she would feel different when she was famous. But she felt exactly the same as before. It was like when people asked you if you felt different on your birthday. The answer was always no - it felt exactly like the day before.
McGonagall looked around the bus, as if You-Know-Who would jump out from behind one of the chairs.
"Lord Voldemort," she said, quite clearly, but quietly, not wanting to be overheard.
"Voldemort," Alex repeated, a bit louder, as if daring the world to challenge her. Nothing happened. It was just a name.
BANG!
Alex jumped, her heart jumping to her throat, but it was just the bus. They had stopped on a narrow, cobbled street.
"Leaky Cauldron!" the conductor shouted, and quite a few people stood to get off.
"This is our stop," said McGonagall, and they stood in line to get off the bus, waiting patiently - or in Alex's case, impatiently - for the old people in front of them to get out of the way.
The Leaky Cauldron was a rustic pub. Its low timber ceilings were old, and though it was sunny outside, none of that light penetrated the grimy windows. Here and there a few patrons in dark cloaks were nursing flagons of unknown concoctions, but the place was mostly empty - until they arrived with half of the Knight bus, that was.
Upon seeing their entry, the bald, worn-looking barman stopped wiping a table and moved to the bar, where he began serving drinks.
"We may return for lunch later, but we have much to do first. Our first stop is the bank. This way."
Alex just had time to see a wizard appear in the pub's fireplace in a burst of green flame before McGonagall led her through a side door. Beyond was a narrow and dirty side alley. It was a dead end, with a smelly bin up against the wall.
McGonagall ignored their unpleasant surroundings and walked to the dead end. She removed her wand and tapped a brick in the middle of the wall.
Alex could only gape as the wall rearranged itself before her, forming into an archway, revealing an entrance to a crooked street full of robed wizards and witches. Old fashioned shops lined the sides, and a great white marble building loomed ahead, before a 'Y' in the road.
"Welcome," said McGonagall, "to Diagon Alley."
Alexandra Potter: The Girl Who Lived
Chapter Four: Diagon Alley
Diagon Alley was without a doubt the most amazing place Alex had ever seen. Neck injury became a real possibility as she whipped her head back and forth, trying to see everything at once. It felt almost like time travel: the street was cobbled and the shops all looked vaguely Victorian. None of the gloss and glamour of the modern Muggle world could be found: everything was small, personal, intimate.
All the shops had painted wooden signs announcing their names, and their wares spilled out onto the street with stands meant to tempt shoppers within. Alex could see, as they passed by, the proprietor ofMadison'sweighing sweets from glass jars; excited children clutching colourful paper bags waited in expectation. A group of older girls giggled together as they leftTwilfitt and Tatting'swearing an interesting mix of Muggle clothing and wizarding robes. And McGonagall had to practically drag Alex away fromPatil's Perfumery, from which emanated the most extraordinarily powerful scents: for a moment, she felt like she was walking through a freshly mowed garden, before it was replaced by the distinctive smell of leather, like a pair of new shoes.
Slug and Jiggers Apothecarywas a familiar name: it looked almost like Madison's, but inside these glass jars sat not sweet treats but the parts of animals and plants. A chalkboard outside the front door announced "DEAL OF THE DAY: FROGSPAWN, 5 SCOOPS A SICKLE". Next to the apothecary was Belle, whose windows displayed glass bottles and jars containing concoctions of every possible colour. Before they hurried by, Alex was just able to glimpse one: a tiny thing, containing some kind of green liquid calledBlemish Blaster.NEW RECIPE - S3was plastered over the display, and a nervous looking teenage boy was hovering outside the window, pretending not to be interested.
Not everything was so unfamiliar, though. While it was advertising something called Diricawl meat, the butchers looked quite normal, as did the greengrocers - despite a certain predominance of pumpkin. Gringotts Bank, however, was quite different. It was a grand building, classical in style, and it had a certain solid look to it where the rest of Diagon Alley was rather crooked. Two creatures guarded the front entrance like statues, and they were unlike any Alex had seen before. They were short - about as high as Alex's shoulders - heavily armoured, and rather ugly, with long pointed ears, hooked noses, and greenish skin.
"Whatarethey?" Alex whispered to McGonagall as they walked up the steps.
"Goblins," she replied, barely sparing them a glance. "Vicious, treacherous creatures. I would avoid them whenever possible, if I were you."
Alex frowned. They'd learned all about slavery and racial discrimination in school. She was pretty sure you weren't supposed to talk about whole groups of people like that. Thoughts about racial equality were banished from her mind when she entered, though.
Gringotts was opulent well beyond the bounds of taste.
The entrance led directly to a long marble hall. A red carpet extended down the length of the room, with a row of pillars either side. Each column was sculpted with the shapes of animals and twisting vines, with gold and jewels everywhere. Snakes had rubies for eyes, birds golden beaks, and every leaf was inlaid with silver. It was a glittering, gleaming monstrosity. It was justugly.
Beyond the columns, on both sides, were tall wooden counters behind which goblins sat, lines of witches and wizards queueing for attention. They joined the shortest, and Alex couldn't help but think that the tall counters were somewhat petty - obviously the goblins enjoyed the novelty of looking down on people.
"Next!" spat the goblin - it was their turn. Alex had to crane her neck to see the creature - the counter was taller than she was.
"Miss. Potter needs to access her vault," McGonagall said, her tone abrupt but not overly rude.
Alex blinked.What? She had money? Here?She had been so overwhelmed by Diagon Alley that she had never questioned their trip to the bank. McGonagall had spoken to Vernon before they left - Alex thought he was paying for everything.
"Key?" said the goblin.
McGonagall pulled a tiny, fancy looking, key from her pocket and handed it over. The goblin stroked it for a second, before nodding.
"Very well. Griphook!"
Alex almost jumped at his sudden shout, which turned out to be for another goblin. Alex had trouble seeing the difference between the two - all goblins seemed to look the same.
"This way," said Griphook, turning to walk down the hall. He was surprisingly fast - Alex hurried to keep up. She decided to try being nice.
"Thank you, Griphook," she said as they walked. It was just polite.
Griphook stopped walking and stared at her. For a moment, Alex though he was going to say something, before he hacked up a load of goblin-phlegm and spat right at her feet. Alex froze in place, her face burning, as Griphook turned to continue. McGonagall's lips were quirking, as if she was trying to suppress amusement.
"You had noble intentions," she explained quietly as they moved on. "But goblins and wizards have hated each other for centuries. You're not going to overcome that with mere politeness."
"Well, maybe it would be a start," said Alex rather testily, her pride still stinging.
McGonagall laughed - a surprisingly deep sound. "The day I hear a goblin say 'please' will be the day I celebrate a Slytherin Quidditch victory."
Alex buried a sigh of frustration. It was like McGonagall was speaking a foreign language. Slytherin, Quidditch... these words meant nothing to her. But theyshould have. Her parents had been magical. Those words were her inheritance.
The goblin (Alex refused to think of him by name) led them through a large door to a dark tunnel. Train tracks led down into the darkness - the tunnel was lit only by the occasional torch. They got into the cart, which seemed to be built for two, given how cramped it was, and Griphook sent them hurtling down the tunnel without a word of warning.
Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!
A scream of mixed fear and delight escaped Alex's lips before she could help herself. Embarrassed, she clamped her hands over her mouth, her heart thudding in her chest as she ignored McGonagall's disapproving expression. Alex had never been on a rollercoaster before - the one time she had been to a theme park, it was her job to watch the bags - but she decided in that instant that she loved it.Best. Bank. Ever.
The ride was surprisingly long, passing through endless tunnels and giant underground caverns, but eventually they arrived at their destination. They rolled to a surprisingly gentle stop next to an raised alcove. Torches lit when they approached, revealing a huge wooden door studded with iron.
The goblin already had Alex's key, but the door had no keyhole. Clambering out of the cart, Alex watched curiously as he turned the key in the air - it was very similar to her own breaking and entering. A loudclankcame from behind the door and it swung open.
Alex gasped. The vault beyond held two large piles of coins - one looked like gold, the other silver. She walked into the chamber and looked around. There was a wooden shelf on one of the walls holding several stacks of bronze coins.
"This... is all mine?" Alex said, somewhat dazed. She picked up one of the gold coins. It was very small, less than an inch across, and wafer thin. A goblin's face surrounded by a ring of numbers and runes was printed on one side, a ship on the other. "Is this actuallygold?"
"Without any impurities," said McGonagall, who was standing just inside the door. The goblin remained on the platform. "The goblins have a secret method to make it durable, removing the need to mix it with silver." She turned to the goblin. "What is Miss. Potter's balance?"
Griphook held her key up to a beady eye, examining it. "Two thousand, seven hundred and eighty Galleons; three thousand, two hundred and twenty two Sickles; and seventy six Knuts."
Alex felt slightly faint. "How much is that in pounds?" she asked.
"Do I look like an abacus?" the goblin replied with a sneer.
Alex rolled her eyes - it was just getting over the top, now - and turned to McGonagall for help.
"What is the current rate for galleons into pounds?" the older woman asked.
"A hundred and sixty two pounds to the Galleon," the goblin replied, and then added "now hurry up. This isn't a museum."
"How much do I need?" asked Alex, pulling out her purse.
"Your fees will be withdrawn directly, so you don't need to worry about that. Thirty Galleons - the gold ones - should cover everything nicely. Take some Sickles and Knuts too, for smaller purchases," said McGonagall.
Alex tipped out her Muggle money - not that she had much, anyway - and counted out thirty gold coins. Because they were so small, they fit into her purse easily. Then she added five silver Sickles and a handful of bronze Knuts.
"Okay, I'm ready," she said, and they returned to the cart. The goblin passed Alex her key without a word, and then they were off, hurtling back up towards the surface. As they travelled, Alex took a closer look at a Sickle.
"Why's there a goblin face on the coins?" asked Alex, having to speak loudly over the noise of the cart. "Why not a wizard?"
Griphook bared his teeth at her, but said nothing.
"Because all coinage is property of the Goblins," said McGonagall. "A treaty between the Ministry and Gringotts allows wizards to use it, moving it between various Gringotts' vaults to symbolise exchange. But really, it's still all the Goblins' - It's just moving from one room to another. For the Goblins, wizards don't own gold - we borrow it."
Alex didn't like the sound of that. It was stupid. She'd just learned she owned piles of gold - it didn't sit well to learn five minutes later that wasn't really hers. She felt cheated.
"So my money - it isn't really mine?" she asked as they reached ground level.
"Well, it might as well be," replied McGonagall. "Nothing short of another Goblin rebellion could change it."
Her explanation didn't fill Alex with confidence. From what little she had seen, the Goblins looked about ready to rebel.
They exited Gringotts into painfully bright sunshine. It had been dark in the bank, and it took a few moments for Alex's eyes to adjust. She was suddenly quite glad she chose to wear a skirt - it was looking to be a hot day.
"Where first?" Alex asked, grinning. She'd never been on a shopping spree before. She wanted to buyeverything.
"Robes, I think," said McGonagall, and they turned left into Salisbury Street.Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasionswas a large shop: from the front, it looked like three buildings had been combined to make the displays full of mannequins. It was spacious and cool inside, racks of clothes arranged into islands around the shop floor. They were greeted by a bored assistant as they entered.
"Good morning, welcome to Madam-"
She stopped when she saw Alex, her eyes widening. She was young, Alex noticed - probably still at school. "Alexandra Potter!" she squeaked, and heads turned throughout the store. Excited whispering filled the room; more than one customer was pointing at her. Alex suddenly felt rather self-conscious.I should have changed my hair to cover my scar, she thought. The girl seemed to recover, because she tried again.
"Welcome to Madam Malkin's!" she said somewhat more enthusiastically. "How can I help you today?"
"Miss. Potter needs to be fitted for Hogwarts' robes. In private." McGonagall's voice could have frozen an ocean.
"Oh! Of course! This way, please!"
They were led through a side door to the fitting room. A boy was being fitted already, wearing a strange white robe that looked more like a bed sheet than anything else. A woman was hovering around him, sticking pins into various parts of the robe. Each time she added a pin the robe would shift and change, adjusting its shape to something more form-fitting.
"Here you go!" said the assistant, passing her a similar outfit. "Change into that and pop onto the block."
Alex looked around for some kind of changing room. There was none.
"Here?" she asked, somewhat incredulous.
"Is there a problem?" the assistant asked. Apparently she was completely unconcerned that there was aboyin the room. Sure, boys and girls used to get changed in the same room at the swimming pool - when they wereeight. She was eleven now. She couldn't get changed with aboy.
She looked to McGonagall for help, but she was watching the whole affair with something of a detached demeanor. Apparently this was normal for wizards. Alex steeled her nerves. If it was normal for wizards, then it would be normal for her too. She was a witch now, after all. And so, blushing furiously, and moving as quickly as she could, she whipped off her t-shirt and skirt and dropped the white sheet over her head.
For his part, the blond boy barely seemed to realise she was there. Alex didn't know if she should be relieved or insulted. Loads of the boys at school fancied her. Maybe wizards were different? Shrugging, Alex stepped onto the raised block and the assistant began adjusting the robe, which Alex guessed was like some kind of template. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, and Alex suddenly felt the need to fill it.
"You going to Hogwarts too?" she asked, out of the blue.
"Of course," he drawled.Definitelya posh kid. "The Malfoy family has attended since its founding, you know." He seemed rather proud of the fact. "How about yours?"
She looked to McGonagall, who was now watching her keenly. No, not her - the boy. Alex wondered what it meant.
"Oh, well, my parents went. I'm not really sure, beyond that."
The boy frowned.
"Why not?" Posh, but not too bright, it seemed.
"They're all dead," Alex replied bluntly - as the direct question deserved.
"Oh." The boy looked mildly guilty about bringing it up. "But at least they wereourkind. What was your name again?"
They both knew she'd never been introduced. Alex decided to have fun with him.
"Alexandra," she said, withholding her surname - clearly that was what the boy was after. It was a mistake.
"I see," he said, somewhat stiffly, and then he said nothing more. Alex wondered, if he had been able to turn at look at her, if he would have recognised her like everyone else. As it was, he seemed to have decided she was not worth talking to. She tried to revive the conversation.
"So I expect you know lots of magic already, being a Malfoy," she said, trying to appeal to his apparent love of his family. He didn't take the bait.
"Of course," he said, and nothing more.What a prick.
"All done!" said the woman doing Malfoy's robes. Out of the corner of her eye, Alex could see him change the fitting robe for his regular clothes - unlike many of the young people she'd seen, he wore entirely wizarding wear.
"See ya!" Alex called as he left. He didn't even turn to say goodbye. "How rude!"
"You should have told him your name, Miss.," said the assistant reproachfully. Alex didn't reply.
The fitting didn't take long after that. She changed back into her clothes and sat, waiting for her robes to be finished - she had to have them done then, because she didn't know if she'd be able to come back.
"Can I go look at the other robes?" she asked McGonagall.
"I don't see why not," she replied. "But I think a disguise is in order, to avoid unwanted attention."
McGonagall reached for her wand, but Alex was quicker. She shook her hair, turning it dark red and giving herself a fringe to cover her scar. Then, for good measure, she made her skin paler and added a load of freckles. McGonagall's mouth was open.
"Miss. Potter! Why did you not tell me that you're a metamorphmagus?"
"A what?"
"Someone who can self-transfigure without wand or training. You're only the second I've ever met! I dare say teaching you transfiguration shall be a joy."
Well, that explained a lot. Changing her appearance was so easy because it wasn't the same as her other magic. She was a metamorphmagus.
"Well then, off you go," said McGonagall after inspecting the transfiguration. "Don't leave the shop now."
Alex returned to the shop floor, still thinking about metamorphmagery. McGonagall said it was rare. Did that mean she should keep it a secret? She was so used to keeping secrets that it was second nature by now. As she considered her options, she looked through the hangers, trying to decide if she liked robes or not.
There was surprising variety on offer. There were two kinds, it seemed: robes meant to be worn on their own - basically, dresses - and ones meant to be combined with other things. Of the second type, there were outer robes - essentially like fancy bathrobes, but made for everyday wear - and inner robes, which were like blouses that went down to mid-thigh, the buttons stopping at the waist. Looking around, Alex found some others that looked more like extra-long tops of less formal styles, and she picked out a few of these. They surely weren't supposed to wear uniformallthe time.
Watching the witches in the store, Alex thought she got the idea of how to wear them: you had the outer robe done up to the waist, and then open above it, allowing the under robe to show. But there were a lot of different types, of every material, cut and colour imaginable, from conservative to quite daring. Alex noticed several women were wearing just their underrobes - it was too hot for an outer robe, surely - either with stockings or bare legs. And most of the younger people seemed to mix and match with Muggle clothing - underrobes with jeans was quite popular.
She returned to the dresses, and added a couple of summery numbers to her purchases. She was about to look at the mens' robes - which looked quite different - when McGonagall found her.
"Your school robes are ready," she said, glancing at Alex's selections with what looked like approval. "We can get Madam Malkin to adjust those too, while you try them on."
As they had been fitted, it was no surprise to Alex that her school robes fit perfectly. They were divided into winter and summer, the main difference being the underrobe, which was made of a thick black material for winter, and a thin white one for summer.
"What do I wear with the collar?" she asked when she tried the summer robe on. It looked a bit strange without a tie, she thought, even if the material was embroidered.
"For now, just leave the top button undone," advised Madam Malkin - a slightly plump woman who looked to be about the same age as McGonagall. "A lot of older girls like to get an underrobe with a bit of a plunging neck and wear a necklace with it, but you're a bit young for that, I think. Another option would be a high collar, but that's a bit out of fashion now."
Alex accepted her advice, still thinking it would be better with a tie - or something. She paid for the robes - three Galleons! - and left clutching a single, small, paper bag. Somehow, all her robes fit inside - though Malkin warned her the charm would fail after a day or two.
"Okay, where next?" she said, looking excitedly down the street. Shopping was fun. Especially when you had loads of money.
"Why don't you decide?" said McGonagall, smiling.
"Books!" Alex said. She was looking forward to that most - though the robes had been nice.
"As luck would have it, Flourish and Blotts' is close. This way."
Flourish and Blotts' was unlike any Muggle bookstore Alex had seen. It was small - about the size of the Dursley's living room - and quiet, with no books that you could just pick up and read. Therewerebookshelves lining all the walls, but the books within were locked behind glass. The centre of the room was filled with comfortable-looking chairs, arranged like a doctor's waiting room, and at the back end of the room there was a counter with stools in front, like a bar. It felt more like a jewelery shop than one for books.
The place was empty when they entered - of customers, at least. A wizard wearing heavy purple robes stood in the corner, watching them. An embroidered patch on the breast announced him to be "Ricky" fromSorcerous Security. And behind the counter was a sales assistant.
"Welcome!" he said, moving forward to shake their hands. "Always a pleasure to see you, Professor McGonagall."
"And you, Mr. Blott," she replied. So this was no mere assistant, but the owner himself. And was Professor McGonagallblushing?
"And who's this?" he asked as he turned to Alex. She suddenly realised she hadn't changed her disguise back. McGonagall covered for her. She pulled out her wand and gave her a short, sharp tap on the head.
Alex couldn't help but let out a surprised squeak as she felt herself changing involuntarily. It was extremely strange, being transfigured, when you were so used to doing it yourself. She didn't like it. But she wasn't going to throw a fit over it now.
"Alex Potter," she said, giving him her hand. To her great surprise, he kissed it rather than shaking it.
"An honour," he said, before leading them over to the counter. "I expect you're after books for Hogwarts?"
"That's right," Alex said, taking a seat on a stool. "I've got a list-"
"Not to worry, not to worry," Mr. Blott interrupted, smiling at her. "I have the list too. Now, let's see..." - he pulled a piece of parchment from below the counter - "let's start with Potions. I'll be right back."
He disappeared through a door. Alex got a glimpse of a long corridor lined with cabinets before the door swung closed. Not a minute later Mr. Blott returned, holding a colourful box.Magical Draughts and Potions, it declared, and it was painted with pictures of potions paraphernalia. When he placed it on the surface of the counter, Alex was surprised to see it was made of wood.
"A standard introduction to Potions," he said as he gently pulled the front of the box open. His voice was quiet, almost reverent. Alex's neck tingled pleasantly.
He pulled the book out. Unlike the box, it was quite plain, but clearly of quality make: bound in leather, it was surprisingly small - no larger than a normal paperback - and thin, like a notebook. He leafed to the contents page and showed it to Alex, a long finger running down the chapter titles. A shiver went down her spine. There was just something the quiet of the shop, filled only with the sound of turning pages.
"You see it begins with how to set up a Potions Laboratory correctly, the specifics of ingredient preparation, and then some theory, before listing fifty common Potions. A cure for boils, a nasal supersensory draught, that sort of thing. Simple, yet useful."
He placed the book back into its box and closed the lid.
"How much is it?" Alex asked, curious. It was clear that books were something of a luxury good in the wizarding world. Mr. Blott didn't seem put out by her question.
"Let me see," he said, and he tapped the box with his wand. "Ah, yes. This one is three Galleons."
Alex wanted to gasp, but stopped herself, not wanting to be rude. She did some quick maths: that was almost £500! And if she had eight books to buy... no wonder McGonagall told her to bring thirty Galleons.
"Will that be a problem?" Mr. Blott asked, completely politely. He must have noticed her surprise.
"No, not at all," Alex said, reassuring him. Shereallywanted those books. And McGonagall wouldn't take her somewhere she'd get completely ripped off, surely.
"Excellent. You can't put a price on knowledge, I always say." Alex found that rather funny, as that was exactly what Mr. Blott did for a living. "Well then, what's next? Let's see. Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall's favourite:A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. I'll be right back."
He disappeared again, and Alex wondered why he didn't just get all the books at once. She supposed he liked talking each book over with his customers. He really seemed to love them.
Mr. Blott returned promptly with the book. This one didn't come in a box, but it was sealed in some way - the plain, black leather binding encased the whole thing - no pages were visible. Gold lettering announcing the title and author was on the front and spine, and half-way down the cover was a small keyhole.
"You need a key for this one," Mr. Blott explained, clearly enjoying himself. He took a keyring from his pocket - which bore two keys - and inserted one into the lock. When he turned the key, the leather around the sides withdrew, revealing the pages. Unlocked, it looked like a normal book. "They keys are unique, mind, so if you lose them, I'm afraid you'll have to buy another. I suggest leaving the spare at home, just in case."
Alex thought of the Dursleys, and decided against it. If she lost the key, she doubted they'd be willing to mail her the replacement - if Hogwarts even received the post, that was.
"Professor McGonagall will be able to tell you the contents of this one better than I, I'm sure!" Mr. Blott exclaimed, but he opened the book to the contents again anyway. "As you can see, it focuses mainly on the theory and practice of the Inanimate Mutation and Transformation spells. A fine foundation for further study in Transfiguration. And this one is also three Galleons."
Alex nodded as he relocked the book. A thousand pounds on two books! The Dursleys would be horrified - if she ever told them.
"Charms next, I think!" Mr. Blott said, but as he turned to go, McGonagall intervened.
"Perhaps we might save some time and retrieve all of the remaining books together? Unfortunately, we have much to do today, and I don't know about Alexandra, but I'm beginning to think about lunch."
Mr. Blott's face fell slightly, but he recovered quickly enough.
"Of course, Professor! I understand completely. Well then, I'll be a bit longer this time, but shan't be long!"
"It's a pity," said Alex while he was gone. "I do like the way he shows the books."
"A very... passionate man," said McGonagall with a faint smile.
Alex smiled back - she felt like she was sharing a secret with McGonagall, now - and Mr. Blott returned, carrying a small stack of books.
"Well then," he said, setting them down gently before laying them out so that she could see them all. Beyond the fun of showing the customer the books, Alex supposed that it was important that he display that everything was genuine, and in pristine condition. With the amount she was paying, she'd expect nothing less. "Let's see... these three," - he indicated the books for History, Latin, and Herbology - "are category two, so cost only one Galleon, and have no special features. Let's have a look at the others."
He picked upIntroduction to Natural Philosophy. It was bound, like all the others, in leather - navy blue, this time, with golden edging. It was also somewhat thicker than the Potions and Transfiguration books - though not quite as thick asA History of MagicorA Greenthumb's Guide.
"This one requires a password - though it isn't unique likeIntroduction to Transfiguration. Please repeat after me: 'Before Matter, Magic'."
Alex did so, and the book clicked. Mr. Blott showed her the contents.
"The first half is a general introduction to philosophical thought," he said, pointing to a few of the chapter titles - Anaximander, Ptolemy and Descartes. "The latter half introduces natural philosophy - Flamel, Newton, and the like."
He put the book down, and picked upThe Standard Book of Spells. "You need a wand to open this one. Three taps will do it." He showed her with his wand - which he kept underneath the counter, of all places - and the book flipped open. In the now familiar ritual, he turned to the contents. "Let's see. Ah, yes, I remember now. It starts with the twelve basic wand positions - fully illustrated, of course - before introducing a bit of incantation theory, and then it touches base with each of the Schools of Charms, exemplifying each school with a charm. And you've got a lovely appendix, too - a long section on household charms."
That was going to be the first book she read, Alex decided. While she wanted to understand Transfiguration more, she could already do quite a bit of it. Charms - that was the kind of magic she'd never been able to do.
"And lastly, Quentin Trimble's book on the Dark Arts." He picked up the book, handling it with noticeable distaste. It had a cover of cardboard, not leather, and the paper was clearly of a lower quality. "I will be honest, Miss. Potter. This is a category five book. Normally I wouldn't stock it - it's the kind of book I'd expect Montery Hall to use, not Hogwarts. But, well," - he glanced at Professor McGonagall somewhat sheepishly - "the Professors choose the books, not Flourish and Blott's. This one is just four Sickles."
Alex couldn't help but notice that Mr. Blott neglected his usual contents run-down with the Dark Arts book. He really didn't like it. She supposed she'd find out when she returned to the Dursleys.
McGonagall coughed lightly, and Mr. Blott rang up her books on a rather old fashioned looking till.
"So, in total, it comes to fourteen Galleons and four Sickles."
Over two thousand pounds of books.They had better be good, Alex thought as she counted the money out. She decided to keep her Sickles and pay with fifteen Galleons - some change would come in handy. After giving her the change - her purse was now bulging, as Sickles were larger than Galleons - Mr. Blott stacked up her books, tied them together with some ribbon, before placing them in a nice paper bag not unlike Madam Malkin's.
"Well then, Miss. Potter. I hope you enjoy your books, and I look forward to seeing you again next year!"
They left the peaceful shop for the bustling street and Alex once more had to wait a moment for her eyes to adjust. Her tummy rumbled.
"Can we go for lunch now?" she asked, looking at her watch. It was just past noon.
"One more first, I think," said McGonagall sympathetically. "We'd best split up, I think. You go and get your wand - Ollivander's, just a few shops down on the right - and I can get you your stationary and Potions equipment."
"Alright," said Alex, a bit disappointed she wouldn't get to look at cauldrons. But her stomach was making the decisions now. "Should I wait for you at the wand shop? Oh! I suppose I should give you some money, too!"
"Meeting outside Ollivander's sounds like as good a plan as any. And one Galleon will be more than enough to cover a cauldron, equipment, plus stationary. We'll go to the apothecary after lunch."
Alex passed McGonagall a Galleon and made a promise not to wander off before heading for Ollivander's wand shop.
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