Life is for Living

"Woe to the man whose heart has not learned while young to hope, to love - and to put its trust in life." -Joseph Conrad Prologue -- August 1981 Something was wrong. The breeze that drifted in through the sheer curtains carried with it a silence that seemed to alarm Lily rather than calm her. She sat up straight in her chair, her eyes darting over to her sleeping baby boy-- had he made that noise? No, he slept quietly in his crib, eyes shut tight beneath a mop of wild black hair, and Lily persuaded herself to ease back into her chair and carry on in her reading. Besides, James was downstairs-- he would have called her name if he'd needed anything. . . if he'd needed . . . help. But it was the absence of any noise altogether that prevented her nerves from easing down. That, and a powerful, sickening feeling befalling her, the like of which she'd only felt once before in her life-- the night that she'd looked directly into a pair of bright red, snake-like eyes and thought with absolute certainty shed taken her last breath. That same fear gripped her now as she sprang out of her chair, letting her novel fall to the ground, and scooped her child into her arms, close against her racing heart. There was no reason for her panic other than an innate sixth sense of sorts, which was screaming at her to get out of the house. "James?" She threw open the door and sprinted down the hallway and down the staircase to the ground floor. She ran into his study and found. . . "James!" At her feet lay a body limp and lifeless. He was facedown, but his hair, wild and free so much like his sons, made his identity unmistakable. A choked scream escaped from her that woke her son and, frightened at the noise, he began to cry. Still holding her baby, she used her free hand to turn James over. His face was white, blue eyes opened yet not aware of anything around them. He was dead. "James! No!" Lily's screams were now heaving gasps of desperation. She ran her fingers through his hair, and her tears fell onto his rigid, cold face. The baby was now hysterical. Barely able to see through her tears, she looked down at her sons' red face. "Harry," she whispered quietly, "I--" "You will stand aside." That voice! Slowly, shaking, she turned her head. Towering above her was the one figure whom she'd feared would one day appear. His thin face was barely visible from beneath his black robes and in his hand he held a wand, pointed threateningly at her. She held her son close, and his cries became muffled against her chest. "You've killed James." "Yes, but you needn't die tonight if you cooperate. Stand aside that I may take your son." "You may take my life, Voldemort. You will not touch my son." "Then you leave me no alternative than to take both of yours." Voldemort raised his wand. Lily placed her lips against her sons' tear-stained cheeks and then whispered into his ear something that Voldemort could not hear. It was in a strange, ancient tongue, and then in the same breath, she whispered the last words she was ever to say: "I'll always love you, Harry." * * *

Chapter One: June 1970 Just two weeks before Lily Evans' eleventh birthday, the most peculiar thing happened. It was another ugly, dreary day-- the sort of day when the weather couldn’t seem to decide whether it wanted to lightly drizzle or unleash a deluge. The students were released from the last day of class with the usual cheering and shouting as they made a break through the puddles for home. Waiting at the front gate of Lemmingtons Primary, just like every day, was Lily's older sister Petunia. Her boyfriend of the moment, a ginger haired bloke named Edmund, was stealing a snog as Lily walked up. "Mum told you not to do things like that, Petunia." Petunia broke away from Edmund upon hearing this and glared down at her little sister. "I don't think that's any of your business, now is it?" Edmund, however, smiled. "Oh come on Petunia, she's only lookin' out for you, after all." He bent down. "How old are you now, anyway?" "Eleven next month," Lily answered blandly. She'd never been too impressed with any of her sister's boyfriends. "You're a regular grown-up now, aren't you? In fact," he said, taking her by the hand, "I think that rather merits your being able to sit up in the front seat today." Edmund drove a top of the line, brand new 1970 Zephyr and it glinted bright cherry red before them. "You're bribing me to keep my mouth shut about snogging my sister, right?" Edmund didn't have to feign his surprise. "Bit young for language like that, aren't you? And yes, I am. Do we have a bargain?" Lily winked and slid into the front seat, Petunia wordlessly climbing into the backseat. Edmund revved up the engine and Petunia leaned forward over her sisters' shoulder to turn on the radio, blaring up a peppy, chart-topping song of the moment. Not climbing back into the back seat, she teased Edmund's ear with schoolgirl kisses and he responded happily as he steered the car with his right hand, using his left to gently pull at Petunia's short, wavy brown locks. Before Lily could say anything, Petunia's knobby knees were pushing their way into the front seat and Lily found herself squishing up next to the window to make the necessary room. Edmund's driving seemed to accelerate the more they played around, the winding country road through the outskirts of Rochester suddenly feeling more like a race track than anything else. "Edmund," said Lily, a bit worried about not only his speeding, but the fact that he wasn't paying attention to the road, "Edmund, slow up a bit, eh?" The radio was too loud and Edmund was too distracted to notice. That's when Lily's fears were suddenly confirmed: dead ahead of them in the road was a stalled Lorry, its' hazard lights blinking, it's trailer blocking the entire road. "Edmund!" Lily shook her sister's sleeve violently and Petunia, upon realizing the magnitude of the impending disaster, let out a scream. Edmund slammed on the breaks, everyone lurched forward in their seats, Petunia's screaming intensifying right along with the screeching breaks. And then it was over. They were safely on the other side of the road, the car skidding to a halt. No one spoke a word. Lily's heart was racing and she stared at her sister and Edmund in a mixture of relief, of fear and of anger. Petunia had drained of all color and when she finally did speak, her voice was trembling. "H-how d-did we get p-past that lorry?" Lily was rather interested in that answer herself, as was the lorry driver who then pounded on her window. He was a rough looking, wiry haired middle-aged man, and Lily couldn't tell if he was angry or frightened as she rolled down the window. "Oy! You lot! All right in here?" "Y-yes sir," said Edmund, still audibly shaken, "yes, we're all right, all of us, thank you." The man looked relieved, briefly, and then mad as hell. "Dunno what you were thinkin, drivin' like a bleedin' auto racer down a narrow country road like 'at! Damn lucky y'all aren't on the way to the hospital right now! Could've sworn you were gonna ram headlong into me trailer!" "So did we," Lily murmured under her breath. "Keep yer bleedin' eyes on the bleedin' road from now on, will yer?" The man then turned and stormed off in a fury. Edmund started up the engine again and they continued on their way, although this time Edmund was barely moving faster than a snail's pace. "Edmund," said Petunia, "how did we. . ." "I dunno. . . I thought we were all dead for sure. . ." Lily was trying to figure it out as well. In the blink of an eye they'd somehow ended up on the other side of the road-- almost as though they'd driven through the trailer. But of course, that was utterly ridiculous. "It was like magic," said Lily quietly. Petunia looked annoyed. "There's no such thing as magic, Lily. Maybe. . . Edmund here is one helluva better driver than we gave him credit for." Edmund pulled up to the girls' home-- a small, simple two story with a barely existent back garden and an even smaller front garden. Even though the home itself wasn't in the best neighborhood, Mrs. Evans made absolutely certain that the home was kept up to its best possible state: her roses seemed to always been in bloom, the back lawn was always cut and kept immaculately, and there was never a speck of dust to be found anywhere in the home. Not to mention the fact that the home had the delightful tendency to always smell like sugar biscuits, as that was Mrs. Evans' specialty. As a matter of fact, an entire plate of the little devils awaited the three as they walked inside from the cold. Mrs. Evans, an attractive woman in her forties with soft auburn hair and stunning green eyes, was visibly worried when they arrived. Lily went straight for the biscuits and did most of the munching, while Petunia did all the talking-- explaining to their mother why they were so late getting home. Of course, she left certain things out of the story, and by the time she'd finished, Mrs. Evans was under the impression that they'd nearly been run off the road by a careless lorry driver. Lily opened her mouth to protest, but a kick in the shins from her sister warned her to not even think about it. Edmund left not too long afterwards, and Lily retreated upstairs to formally retire her school things for the summer, a sugar biscuit wrapped in a napkin for later. "I'd lay off those biscuits if I were you, Lily dear. Not too much slack in your trousers these days, is there?" Lily flushed and threw her sister a sour look. "If you've nothing better to say, then I suggest you leave, Tunie dear." But Petunia had no intention of leaving. She folded her arms and patrolled her sisters’ room, sticking her pointy noise into her books and magazines as though she were inspecting it. Lily rolled her eyes and finished putting away her pencils and pens-- sometimes she thought that Petunia's only source of pleasure in life was tormenting her. "Still reading these stupid fairy tales?" She said, holding up a hardcover book with a picture of a fairy on the front. "I'd think that by now you would have grown out of that silly phase. Most children stop believing in that nonsense right along with Santa Clause." Lily couldn't help the smile that escaped her lips. "Mum gave that book to me. It might interest you to know that A Midsummer Night's Dream is Shakespeare, not Disney. Anyway, I'd rather be a dreamer than a liar like you are." "A wot?" "I can't believe you told Mum those things! I've a right mind to tell her the truth right now--" "You do that and I'll rip your arms right out of their sockets!" Petunia's mouth was thin and angry. Lily got the hint that she wasn't joking. "Besides, I've got blackmail on you. Edmund's little sister told me how the other day you almost got sent home for turning another girl's hair green." Lily stiffened, shocked that her sister knew about that. "I didn't do it! I was just standing there and her hair turned green all by itself!" "Right. Who's the liar now, eh? Anyway, the only reason you got off free is because they couldn't prove it was you, but everyone knows you did it, you sneaky little rat. No one likes you there, you know. They all think that you're a flippin' looney, and I have to side with them on that." Lily's throat tightened and she had to muster up every ounce of self-control she had to not give way to tears. Because her sister was absolutely right. Lily hated Lemmington's more than anything else in the world-- no matter what she tried, she never could seem to blend in. Edmund's little sister had been a mate of hers, but now she was learning that even she talked about her behind her back. She tried hard, she really did! But she just always seemed to be the outcast. It was either because she was too up-front and honest about the things she believed in and was labeled as a 'know-it-all-blabbermouth,' or because whenever it came to playing games on the field, she seemed to always confront the team captains with 'a much better idea'. (They called her cheeky-- but what really annoyed them was that she was always right). Some people have a hard time being show up by other people-- especially when the other person was a short, somewhat pudgy, ginger haired ten year old. With the face, one might add, of an absolute angel. Even her most vocal enemies (including her sister Petunia) had to admit, deep down inside, that the awkward looking little thing had an unusual beauty-- namely her striking electric green eyes that never failed to cause strangers to stare unabashedly. Of course, when someone is ten years old, they don't understand that the reason behind such hostile behavior is actually something called jealousy. No, when you're ten years old and someone calls you a 'know it all,' 'a cow' or a 'spastic,' then you believe them. But things would be different next year, Lily constantly reminded herself. She'd be going into secondary school across town and would have the opportunity to start all over again. Petunia was still in the room. "I've got things to do. Mind leaving?" "Glad to," said Petunia with a smirk, and then she turned and sauntered out of the room. Lily closed the door with a slam and threw her body onto her bed, pulling her face into her pillow. Crying herself to sleep wasn't an unfamiliar thing for Lily Evans. No, it was rather more of a habit. ** Saturday morning fry-ups were an Evans household tradition. And it was common knowledge that no one in all of Kent made a better fry up than Barbara Evans. Mr. Evans, a kind-faced even-tempered fellow, was always first to the breakfast table (nine-fifteen on the nose) and he would settle behind the Daily Mail, calmly sipping his black coffee, while Mrs. Evans flurried about the kitchen, throwing this and that here and there, and sending decadent aromas into the air. And since this weekend was the official first weekend of the girls' summer holidays, the meal was especially sinful. "Classes all lined up for next year, Tunie?" asked Mr. Evans as he started on his second helping of kippers. "Of course," said Petunia with a distinct air of supremacy. "All very challenging subjects, of course, but I expect full marks-- again." Lily cringed, knowing that was a direct slap at her-- good grades weren't exactly her specialty. "And Lily dear, I'm sure we'll be expecting an improvement from you at your new school. I've said it before and I'll say it again, decent marks are your only ticket to success in this world. I understand that you like to question the teacher and analyze everything you're taught, but. . ." he sighed. "it's good to have a mind of your own my dear, but when it comes to not participating in an essay because you disagree with the sentiments, well, sometimes you just have to just do it anyway!" "Well I heard that Walderslade Secondary has a simply superb faculty and a fine curriculum." Lily smiled: Mum was always there to lighten things up. "Really? At Chetterings we hear that Walderslades has one of the worst records in the district." And there was Petunia, always ready to bring them back down again. "Well Chetterings is a Private School, Tunie. We're talking about Public schools--" Mrs. Evans looked up. "Goodness, the post is early this morning!" She hurried off down the hall, as she had been expecting a parcel from a fashion magazine (Mrs. Evans was a devout magazine shopper) leaving Lily to the continuing sermon from her father and Petunia. Petunia, it isn't surprising to add, seemed most delighted with the subject and was quite willing to offer her endless opinions on the matter. (Mr. Evans' responses to these opinions, however, never rose above the obligatory "Mmmm.") Mrs. Evans' excited re-entry confirmed that she had indeed received the parcel she was waiting for and she wasted no time in ripping it out of the box to show it off to her husband. "Isn't it simply divine?" She held up the deep maroon suede coat with toggle like buttons. Mr. Evans looked up from his roasted potatoes and raised a brow. "It certainly is red, isn't it." "It's maroon! Really, Harold! It's all the rage this season! Direct from the States--" "Mmmm," came his reply and Lily had to make every effort to contain her giggle. Mr. Evans shot Lily a devious grin and winked, and she returned it-- a secret ritual shared only between the two. "Oh," said Barbara as she folded the coat back up into the box, "you've a letter as well, Lily. I think it's from your pen pal." Lily eagerly reached for the letter, hoping it really was her pen pal Adelaide from up in Ireland. She was the only person who seemed to understand her. But the thick yellowed envelope and green fancy lettering that met her most certainly wasn't Adelaide's:

She turned the letter over and found it was sealed with an insignia she'd never seen before: it resembled a coat of arms and below it, in frilly script, was a funny-sounding word: "Hogwarts". Starting to think perhaps it was sent to her by mistake, she opened the letter anyway, the rest of her family content in their own affairs and not paying any attention. If they had been, they would have seen the look of shock that suddenly overcame her. She read the words-- they were plain as day-- but simply couldn't believe them:

In a complete daze, she turned to the next page and found the list the message had been referring to:

"Well? What does Addy have to say this time? Off to Majorca again on Holiday? Harold, when are we going to take the girls there? I know they must be dying to go! And didn't you say that we'd be able to afford it this year?" "Did I? I don't remember. Old age, you know." "Old age my foot. Amazing how your selective memory only acts up when it involves money." Harold laughed. "Yes it is, isn't it! I dunno, luv. I've lesson plans to prepare and--" "Oh, nonsense. You've been teaching the same curriculum at that stuffy old University for the past ten years. You could teach it in your sleep." During all this, Lily's hands were still holding the brownish paper tightly, her mouth open, though no sound able to come out. "Sweetie?" Mr. Evans finally looked up from the newspaper at his daughter. "Answer your mother-- what did Addy have to say?" Lily said nothing. Her eyes were still stuck on those glaring green letters "School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"-- the list of "equipment" that included cauldrons and pointed hats. . . how could her parents possibly expect her to carry on an intelligent conversation? Now the entire Evans family was staring at her. "Lily," Mrs. Evans prodded, "what is it, is something wrong?" Her hands were now shaking somewhat. "I . . . I think so, yes." "She's not ill, is she? I read about a horrific flu outbreak in Howth which isn't too far from where Addy lives, isn't it? They said it was the worst in--" "Mum, it's nothing to do with Addy," said Lily, her eyes still stuck on the letter. "Well? What is it then?" Petunia appeared to be most interested of all, because she reached forward and swiped the letter out of her sister's hands. Within seconds, the same shell-shock expression befell her as well. Eyes wide, she looked at Lily, then down at the letter, then back at Lily. "It. . . it must be a j-joke, right?" "Oh for heavens sake! Enough of this cryptic nonsense! Give me that!" Barbara pulled it out of Petunia's hands, her husband reading the words over her shoulder. Lily looked to her parents pleadingly for some sort explanation. To make some sense of the overwhelming confusion. But once they'd finished the letter, they had no answers to offer. Silence at the breakfast table. Only disbelief. I wish they'd stop *staring* at me! "It must be a joke," Petunia said again. "I mean, two weeks until her birthday-- someone's idea of a birthday prank. Maybe Addy sent it to be funny." "Not to be rude," said Lily, "but I don't think Addy is quite. . . that creative to come up with something like this. Besides, her penmanship is pants." "Watch your language," said Mrs. Evans in a dazed, drone-like voice. She stared at the letter again, shaking her head. "H-have any of you ever heard of this place?" Lily asked quietly. "I mean. . . is it real?" "Of course it's not!" Petunia looked stunned that her sister had even considered such a possibility. "I just told you it's just a joke!" "Do you know who sent it?" "Well, no--" "Then how do you know it's a joke?" "For the last time, because there's no such thing as magic!" But Mr. Evans had been peculiarly calm throughout the whole revelation. He took a sip from his coffee and addressed his daughters with a sudden seriousness. "I wouldn't be so sure that, Petunia love." Petunia stared at her father in disbelief. "Seeing this letter just . . . confirms what I have, for years, labored with admitting. Some years back, a fellow professor at the University and I were talking. He and I were good mates and I had an incredible respect for him: a Shakespeare professor. You remember Giles Waring, don’t you Barbara dear? A very intelligent man, he was. One day, in the course of conversation, somehow the subject of his wife came up. I asked her if she was a homemaker or if she worked and he told me that she worked as well. However, when I asked what her occupation was, he became oddly quiet. It took several minutes for me to get it out of him. Finally, he told me that recently his wife revealed to him that she was actually a witch. And apparently she'd recently taken a job working with someone by that very name on the letter right here. I never forget a name-- especially one like that." Lily was on the edge of her seat. Petunia looked mortified. "I was never sure if I believed him. I had no reason not to, him being the admirable man he was, however all logic pointed against it. But now. . . " he sighed. "Now I believe he was telling the truth after all." Barbara looked up at her daughter. "And you. . ." her voice was quiet. "You're a witch. . ." A smile, however slight, tugged at her lips. “I must admit I never expected anything like this. . .” "But how?" Lily cried, "I can't be! I mean, the only thing that I do with a broomstick is sweep with it! Even on Halloween-- I've never been interested in it! I've never done anything that would tell me I could be a witch. . ." But the minute the words were out there, she knew how much of a lie that really was. Turning Lillian Gerkins' hair green. . . had it really been her? And just yesterday, their inexplicable survival of that potentially fatal crash. . . had she done that as well? Without knowing it? And then everything started coming back to her: things that had happened years ago-- odd things she hadn't been able to explain logically. Things that she'd just dismissed as 'one of those things.' Perhaps they hadn't been as inexplicable as she'd thought. Perhaps that letter really was right. . . maybe she really was a witch! "I don't believe it," said Petunia, her voice now very impatient. "No one in our family is one of them. No way that Lily could. No way." Barbara was still trying to decipher the letter. "It says 'we await your Owl.'" She bit her lip in thought. "Owl? What could they possibly mean by that?" "It's almost as though they meant to say 'we await your response,'" said Philip as he flipped the envelope over. "But there's no return address. . . the post boy delivered it?" "Well, I assume so. It was with all the other mail." Mr. Evans stood up. "Come along, then." Lily was right at his feet as he rushed to the front door and threw it open. There, sitting off to the side of the front step was a dark brown barn owl with a patchy white face. He didn't look at all startled by the presence of the humans but merely looked up and gave a quiet, almost amicable 'how do you do' sort of hoot. "Ladies? I think this settles the debate quite plainly." Mr. Evans knelt down to one knee and cautiously placed his fingers at the base of the owl's neck and softly scratched the fur. The beautiful bird closed its eyes, allowing Harold to continue, and once again, let out a soft hoot. Lily broke out into a smile at the amazing sight, and indeed, her father looked quite pleased as well. "Perhaps we should take him inside?" Mrs. Evans was now getting adventurous as well. "If he delivered this letter from any great distance, I'm sure he could use some water." "Right," said Mr. Evans, "though. . . I'm not sure how to handle these creatures." He pulled down his long sleeve tightly and held out his arm in front of the owl. Apparently the bird understood and his inched forward, climbing onto his arm. Mr. Evans let out a gasp. "Goodness, he's heavy!" He stood up carefully, not wanting to disturb the owl in any way: it's claws looked quite painful. They brought him inside and Mrs. Evans spread some newspaper overtop the carpeting. The bird stepped down and then hooted quite happily once Mrs. Evans presented him with a small bowl of water. "Then. . . I suppose all I have to do. . . is give him a letter with my response." Lily looked up at her parents. "The only question now is. . . what is my response going to be." Petunia blanched. "You don't mean that you're actually considering attending a place like that!" "And why not?" Lily said, gaining an odd acrimony at Petunia's tone of voice. "Why not? Are you mad? Okay, so let's just say, for the sake of argument, that you are one of them. It doesn't mean you have to go to one of their schools! You can still stay here and at least try to be normal!" "Maybe being a witch is what is normal for me." "You'd be a freak! What would I tell all my friends at school? 'Where's Lily, you ask? Oh, she's a witch, or didn't I tell you? And right now she's off at school learning how to fly broomsticks.' My social life would be over!" "Fine attitude that is," Mrs. Evans scolded. "Never a thought for anyone else but you, is it Petunia! Lily, darling, I for one would stand behind you if you should decide to attend." "As would I. Not everyday something like this happens, is it!" Mr. Evans smiled and winked at his daughter fondly. “We have a witch in the family. . .” he came to her side and placed his arm around her supportively. “Isn’t it wonderful, Barbara?” "Am I the only one in this entire family who understands what's going on here!" Lily turned her head from its comfortable snuggle in her fathers’ shirt to find Petunia's face red and fuming, her eyes wide and wild with ferocity. "Lily is a witch! How can you possibly be okay with this? How can you even look at her the same way!" "Were the situation reversed I am certain you would be grateful for all the support you could get from your family--" "Were the situation reversed I wouldn't even consider attending such a place and make every attempt at being normal!" "As a father and mother we love our daughter, Petunia Evans! And as her sister, we would have expected a much different attitude on your behalf! We raised you better than this!" Harold Evans' voice rarely rose above a shout. The fact that he was now bellowing frightened Petunia and she held her tongue immediately. Lily was starting to feel ill: the floor seemed to be tilting sideways and there was a horrible queasiness consuming her stomach-- the sort that only comes from extreme anxiety. And to call Lily Evans anxious at nine forty five on the nineteenth of June 1970 was a gross understatement! She made a break for the bathroom and didn't return until a good hour later. When she walked back into the room she was painfully aware that the eyes now looking upon her viewed her in a different light altogether than they had earlier that morning. And it would always be so.

Chapter Two: New Beginnings Dear Sir or Madame: I gladly accept your invitation to attend your school beginning 1 September. However, since none of my family has any experience with anything like this, we do not know where we might find the needed materials. Please send us a reply with further directions as soon as possible. Thank you for your time. Sincerely,
Lily Evans The eight days that had passed since the bomb dropped over 13 Broadlands Close were surreal to say the least. Lily was caught between excitement and apprehension; delight and terror-- the news about what she was of course was most appealing (after all, what eleven year old doesn't wish they had powers?) but the fact it was reality? Well, that was too much for her to understand. She stood before her bedroom mirror, looking into her reflection: long, violent red hair held firmly into place in a ponytail, enormous, glaring green eyes jumping out at her-- an unusual looking little girl. How could it possibly be that anything extraordinary could come from such a strange looking person? Why did this have to happen to her -- a girl whose only wish was to be normal? Why should she be the one to possess magical powers? How could ordinary little Lily Evans possibly make any good with it? There was a light tapping at her door and her heart stopped-- was it Petunia? For the past week Petunia's usual sisterly tormenting had turned into something far more intolerable: the cold shoulder. Lily might as well not even have existed because Petunia did all she could to avoid acknowledging her. It was exactly what Lily didn't need: her own feelings of insecurity were only amplified by the fact she felt her own sister was disowning her. But it wasn't Petunia who entered. Mrs. Evans crept inside slowly, the bearer of a bright, always hopeful smile-- as well as sugar biscuits and milk. "Lily dear? You left your biscuits downstairs." "Not hungry, Mum," she said quietly as she folded her letter and began addressing the envelope. Mrs. Evans placed the milk and biscuits down on her daughter's desk and then leaned against it, folding her arms. "Finished your letter?" Lily nodded. The Owl that had first delivered the life-altering letter was still hanging about the house. He seemed quite delighted with all of the attention that the Evans (aside from Petunia) were showing to him, and hadn't left all week. He was currently taking up residence on Lily's windowsill and hooted happily as Lily carefully extended the finished letter to its beak. Seeming to understand Lily's apprehension, the Owl delicately retrieved the letter from her fingers and flapped its wings happily. Lily pushed open her window and, with a final hoot, the Owl rose up into the air and soared high out into the deep velvet night sky. Together, they silently watched its figure wane into the horizon. There would be more letters. . . she was especially dreading the letter she had to send to Addy. How on earth was she to go about it? "Dear Addy. You won't be hearing much from me for a bit, because I'll be starting on at a boarding school in Scotland. Love, Lily. p.s.: I'm a witch, by the way." Oh how on earth was she supposed to tell her . . . "Lily?" Lily's tired eyes looked to her mother. They begged for help . . . or at least reassurance . . . "You're worried. You're wondering if you've made the right decision." Barbara took Lily's hand in hers and squeezed it. "It's a treacherous thing, you know. The heart. But the one thing that you can never accuse it of is lying. Your heart is your true inner person. No matter how you may try to reason with it, as we all try to do, whatever it's telling you over and over again, deep inside you, that is your answer." Barbara was mere inches from her daughters face, her own bright green eyes perfectly reflected in the teary-ness her daughter's. "But Mummy, what about what people will think--" "Have you ever known me to care about what people think? Why should my daughter be any different?" "B-But I know that you and Dad have always wanted your girls to go to University and get an education--" "And you will!" "But you'll be able to brag about Petunia to all your friends-- when you and dad play bridge and pinochle with the Masons' and the Stanleys'-- what could you possibly say about me to them?" "The truth," said Barbara, holding Lily's chin up with her fingertips. "That you are an exceptionally special young girl. That you are a truly a wonder. And most importantly. . . that we are proud of you." The tears were coming now and Lily's words were shaking. "I'm s-scared, Mummy. I'm s-scared of leaving y-you and dad and being alone for the entire year. . ." Mrs. Evans enveloped the shaking girl in her arms and kissed her warm forehead. "How many times do I have to tell you? When you have people who love you, you are never alone. Remember that, won't you?" Lily nodded. "Now dry your eyes like a good girl." Lily wiped her eyes and steadied her breathing. Barbara stood back up, still smiling, and walked towards the door. She paused and turned around slowly, "I'm actually quite excited, you know. Perhaps you could even, er, help me out with my garden once you get the hang of things. That Mrs. Mason thinks her garden is just so wonderful," she winked. "I've always said that my garden needed a bit of magic." She left, slowly closing the door behind her and for the first time in a week, Lily smiled. Genuinely. She looked down at her watch: 10:32 p.m. Hmm. I wonder how long it takes to get a reply by Owl . . . As it turns out, not long at all. Her reply arrived within the week on the eve of Lily's eleventh birthday: Dear Miss Evans: We understand your concern and answer several letters of this nature every year. In the event that the student is of Muggle (non-magic people) parentage, Hogwarts has a prepared letter to instruct the student in how to go about preparing for their journey. Attached is your copy and we hope that it will answer all questions you may have. If you need any further assistance, please notify us and we shall try our best to assist you. Regards,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Lily curled up on the Sofa and eagerly poured over the words. Her mum and dad joined her not too long after and asked for her to read the letter over again, out loud, so they could hear as well. Dear Student: This letter is in response to your recent query. The discovery of your magical heritage can be quite an overwhelming experience when you have spent your life in a typical Muggle (non-magical) environment. However, this letter has been prepared to help answer any questions that you have as a student, and that your parents may have as the concerned guardians they no doubt are. History and Mission Statement
You will be attending the only all wizarding institution in the whole of Britain, and one of the most prestigious such establishments in the world. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is located in the picturesque hills of Northern Scotland and was established in the year 1015 by the four greatest wizards of that time. Their names were Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin, and it was their desire to seek out children who showed signs magical ability, to take them in and to provide them with the best possible training in the magical arts. Upon arrival, students are sorted into one of the four Hogwarts Houses, named after the four founders, which will be their home for the duration of their stay with us. Rules
As an establishment that has been around for nearly one thousand years, we have many strictly enforced rules at the campus. Students are not allowed out of their dorms after hours for several reasons-- no exceptions to this rule under any circumstances. Students are required to refrain from using magic not only in the hallways, but also on their summer holidays at home (as instituted by Ministry of Magic's Decree for Underage Wizardry, sec 214.a). The students will be given a Hogwarts code of conduct book upon their arrival and are expected to adhere to them strictly. Rule breaking results in the students loosing points for their respective houses, as well as the possibility of detention, suspension, and in some cases, expulsion from Hogwarts. Materials
For First Year students of Muggle parentage, the task of purchasing school equipment may at first seem quite difficult. Of course, if you, as a parent, wish to pursue your own search of these items, you are of course free to do so. However, the easiest method of obtaining these essential items, is to visit the all-wizarding High street in the heart of London: Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley is located just after the major intersection of Charing Cross Road and St. Giles High Street. At number 136 Charing Cross Road (directly located after the large Muggle book shop “Foyles”) you will find a pub called "The Leaky Cauldron." Enter this pub and proceed straight to the back for this is the entrance to the alley. (It is recommended to have either the resident bartender assist you with entrance, or any of the patrons. They are quite used to Muggles needing help and will be only too happy to assist you in this regard.) IMPORTANT NOTE FOR PARENTS: Muggle money is NOT accepted in the wizarding world. Might we recommend your first stop in Diagon Alley be at the Wizards Bank, Gringotts, to exchange your notes for wizarding money to purchase the needed materials. (Gringotts bank is located in the center of Diagon Alley). Holidays
Students are given the option of returning home for the two major holidays of the school year. A two-week recess is given for Christmas from 20 December through 5 January, and a one-week Spring recess is given from 30 March through 5 April. If students do not wish to return home for the holidays, then they are allowed to remain on Hogwarts grounds. The Hogwarts Express
All students depart for Hogwarts aboard our Hogwarts Express. It departs on 1 September at precisely eleven a.m. from King's Cross Station in London. Please ensure an early arrival on this date as it is usually a very busy time of year at the station. Your ticket will arrive by Owl Post one week prior to departure and all students must present their ticket in order to board the train. You will find the Hogwarts Express at Platform 9 3/4. For Muggle parents all goodbyes must be made prior to the student's entrance to the Platform as Muggles are not permitted through the entrance, which appears as a barrier between platforms nine and ten. We hope this letter has answered the many questions you no doubt have regarding your child's future at our institution. The safety of all children is our primary concern, and Hogwarts is arguably the safest fortress in our world. Our teachers are renowned in their respective fields and provide a highly effective, award-winning curriculum. Hogwarts has an impressive success rate: 94% of our graduates continue on in the fields of their choice with notable success. But above all, Hogwarts is viewed as a home away from home more than a school. It is our job to make your child feel as welcome and as comfortable as possible and we are most excited to have them with us this year and look forward to meeting them! Best wishes from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry faculty, and good luck to the prospective first year student! Albus Dumbledore
Hogwarts Headmaster *** Of course, Petunia was not interested in coming along with the family on their journey up to London. Lily had celebrated her eleventh birthday the day before, which consisted of a quiet dinner at home and with her parents, Petunia, Edmund and his sister Lilian. The dinner provided Petunia with the perfect excuse to not go down to London the next day: apparently she'd come down with an unbearable stomachache. But everyone knew the real reason. The idea of mingling with people of Lily's sort revolted her. Mr and Mrs. Evans, however, appeared more excited over the adventure than even Lily! The hour and a half drive wasn't an easy one-- the Motorway was at an absolute standstill (Mr. Evans always called the M1 the world's biggest parking lot), and once they made it into the city, it was no less frustrating. "It's beyond me how people can tolerate living here," he muttered as he finally managed a way off the motorway, only to be met with the Monday morning stop and go traffic that so defined west London. The rather nondescript suburbs of cluttered newsagents and chip shops did eventually begin to morph into something that even Mr. Evans couldn't moan about. There were rows upon rows of grand Victorian and Georgian homes nestled beneath luscious leafy trees that hid them from the insane traffic and bustles of people. Flowers bloomed in every spot imaginable-- hanging baskets over store windows, sprawling out and hanging down residential windows. Even the noisy beeps of those monstrous red double-decker buses somehow sounded less angry here. "Mmmm, Bloomsbury," said Mrs. Evans softly. "I always used to want to live here." "Not if you see the price tag," said Mr. Evans gruffly. "Oh Harold, let's stop here! It's simply too lovely to pass up! We can walk--" "Walk?" "Yes Harold, walk. That rather revolutionary new concept which involves placing one foot in front of the other." Mr. Evans gruffly slid into a miraculously vacant spot on the side of the road next to Russell Square. They piled out of the car, Lily stretching happily, squinting up at the bright blue sky. (It had been threatening rain when they'd left Rochester). Lily was in her element-- it was her birthday, after all, and so far it was turning out quite promising! "Right, we've a bit of a walk, but the directions are pretty self-explanatory. Doesn't sound like we can miss it." The three strolled quietly beneath the soft rustles of the ancient trees canopying them and turned onto Charing Cross Road, lost in admiring the great variety of shops, enormous edifices and stately buildings. Mrs. Evans had to control herself as they passed the National galleries and the vibrant Trafalgar Square. (Harold scolded her for being worse than a "bloomin' tourist" and Barbara scolded him in return for actually resurrecting the word "bloomin'" and so on and so forth, as was their habit!) "Oh look, Harold!" Mrs. Evans' eyes was oohing over a window, "Foyles! How lovely it’s looking!" "I wonder if the new Agatha Christie novel is in yet . . ." But Lily hadn't noticed the bright red letters of the bookstore or its handsome window display. Her eye was upon a man walking towards them, dressed most peculiarly in a long, scholarly black robe had hair that climbed down his back. He went unnoticed by the focused business crowd and slipped silently in behind a door that Lily had not even noticed just a moment ago: a door thick and blackened by time-- something no ordinary eye could possibly have spotted. "That's it," said Lily, tugging at her mothers' sleeve. "That's the pub the letter talked about-- the Leaky Cauldron." "Where? I don't see anything--" "Here," said Lily eagerly, approaching the foreboding door, twisting its knob. "Oh. . ." began Mr. Evans, "Right . . . er . . . b-best s-stay close, now." The family stepped into the warm confines of the pub, Lily’s stomach churning in excitement. The man she'd followed was now sitting at the bar-- a simple bar made of dark mahogany. In fact, the entire pub itself was dark, filled with thick cigar smoke and the gentle hum of conversation. Conversation, one should add, that was made by people who took Lily completely by surprise: they were of every height and color and nationality, dressed in long draping robes from every corner of the spectrum, a great majority (the women at least) donning matching long pointed hats. A shudder tore through Lily-- not out of fear, but rather, disbelief. This is the real thing. Mr. Evans cleared his throat and took Lily's hand in his-- it was cold and clammy. "Right. L-lovely place, isn't it Barbara?" He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "Right then . . . lets get you started, shall we?" The pub goers stared at the newcomers briefly and, unimpressed, went back to their pints and conversation. That eased Lily a bit-- it was as though they were used to such foreign intrusions. They inched forward and the bartender, who looked very much like an ordinary bartender, appeared. "Help you?" "Y-yes," said Harold, "where might we find the entrance to . . . Diagram Alley?" They bartender chuckled. "That's Di-a-gon Alley. And you can find it right through those doors out back. At the brick wall tap the combination three up two across . . . Sure you don't fancy a pint?" "Oh no, but we're ever so grateful. Cheers!" "Cheers." They filed out through the back of the pub together, finding themselves met by a high brick wall. Lily scanned the wall. . . three up two across . . . which one is the right brick? Which one . . . But none of them had to worry about it too much. The door from the pub creaked open and out stepped the same man who Lily had followed into the pub. He paused upon sight of them and raised his brow. Lily stirred uneasily underneath his intense gaze and then, to her surprise, he let out a smile that at once softened his harsh and haggard appearance. "Don't worry, it took me years before I was able to remember the right combination." With a flurry of movement he was at the wall and seemed to merely wave his hands across the bricks. The ground beneath Lily’s feet rumbled slightly and she unwittingly grabbed hold of her father's hand that squeezed it supportively. The Evans gasped as the wall slid open to reveal to them something only possible in storybooks. The winding cobblestone street itself wasn't so extraordinary, it was what occupied that pebbled road that made Lily's head spin with disbelief. It was unlike any High Street she'd ever seen in her life: the shops were huddled together, some looking like they were standing on top of the other (somehow that didn't strike Lily as an impossibility), some of them lopsided, most of them oddly shaped, and all of them selling goods that Lily had never imagined even existed. Her eyes were moving too quickly from shop window to shop window, but Lily was almost certain that some of the signs were reading things like Sale Today Only: Shooting Star Racing Brooms 10% Off! And she could have sworn another sign read Floo Powder-- 25 Sickels an ounce! "Before you do anything, you'll need to stop off at Gringotts." The man was still with them, visibly amused at their state of awe. Mr. Evans was somehow able to respond somewhat coherently. "Gr-gringotts?" "Yes, the Wizards Bank. You'll have to change your Muggle money. It's right there down the road, see it? Tallest building in the Alley. Then might I suggest making your first stop at Ollivanders for your wand." He bowed somewhat graciously, ready to make his leave. "Oh, and don't let those Gringotts Goblins scare you any. They're just doing their job. Good day." He bowed again and, with swish of his robes, began to make his way through the hemming crowds. Lily gulped. GOBLINS?!? The Evans, still at a loss for words, started their journey as well. Lily tried her best not to stare at the strange looking women in their long, brightly colored pointed hats or the men in elegant robes, finely embroidered. She tried not act surprised when they passed something called "Eyelops Owl Emporium" with its dozens upon dozens of proudly perched owls, nor did she want to betray her nervousness as they approached that towering building of gleaming white with enormous, shiny brass doors. "Gringotts," Lily whispered as they approached the doors. It seemed to open by itself, but the stifled cry from Mrs. Evans made Lily look down. A tiny man with a fat face, abnormally pointy nose and ears, and long fingers with equally as long fingernails, had opened the door for them. A Goblin. The lobby stretched on into what must have been infinity, the ceiling rising just as high, and Lily felt like she was going to faint: not from fear, but from unbearable excitement! Her Mother, however, looked like she was going to faint from fear, and she had latched herself onto Harold's arm. Harold was doing an admirable job of remaining composed, but the fact that he kept unbuttoning and re-buttoning his shirt collar gave his anxiety away. They reached a teller window at the far end of the massive black and white marble-floored lobby that read "MUGGLE EXCHANGE POINT". They were the only ones in the queue, which made Lily confused as to why the teller (also a Goblin) looked so annoyed when they approached him--as though he was too busy to deal with it. He listened with stunning lack of interest as Mr. Evans explained to him their situation ("We're new at this," "we need some money changed," "what's your exchange rate," etc.,) He answered the questions dutifully, making no secret his distaste for having been bothered, and looked downright appalled at Harold's reaction to the news that one Wizarding "Galleon" was the equivalent of Two British pounds! Harold was a penny-pinching tightwad if there ever was one, and when he handed over two hundred hard earned pounds, and received One Hundred Five Galleons, you can bet he let the Goblin know how he felt. The Goblin didn't seem to care and continued in his duties. "Before you leave, I am required to let you know that it is highly recommended all first years open a Gringotts Platinum Savings account. Starting their first term, a specified amount is deposited into their account and every year dividends are earned and interest accrued and, of course, as the legal guardian, you may deposit as much into the account as you please throughout the course of the year, at all times maintaining a minimum balance of 300 Galleons." "Three hundred Galleons? That's . . . what, five hundred pounds?" "Four hundred eighty, Sir." Mr. Evans whistled. "Er . . . sorry, but I can't. Sorry, Lily." "Of course," added the Goblin quickly, sensing he was about to loose a customer, "there is the Bronze Account. No minimum balance and only ten Galleons to open." Twenty minutes and two hundred and ten pounds poorer, they left the bank. Harold was shaking his head as they left. "Only thirty minutes here and they're already getting a tenth of my worth until the day I die. I guess capitalism transcends universes." "Really, Harold." "Well Lily? What's first on the list?" Lily surveyed her letter. "Er. . . textbooks, I suppose." Her pace slowed and she found herself standing below a frilly sign proclaiming: FLOURISH AND BLOTTS -- FINE BOOKSELLERS. The bookshop was warm when they entered and smelled of a strange mix of incense and chocolate. The clutter of the shop was its appeal-- subjects were arranged in no order whatsoever and sometimes there weren't even shelves to accommodate the books, only towering stacks of books that looked like magic was the only thing keeping them from toppling over. "Excuse me?" Lily spun around at the sound of the timid voice coming from behind her. She came face to face with a girl, obviously the same age as her, with long brown hair that hung lank and unimpressive around an apprehensive looking face. "Yeah?" "You don't know where the botany section is, do you?" Lily shrugged. "Sorry. I’m lost too-- never been here before." The girl seemed encouraged by that and she smiled. Suddenly that brown hair didn’t seem so unimpressive--her smiling hazel eyes lit up her entire face. “O, MaryandJoseph, I'm glad I’m not the only one! Everyone else seems to know exactly where to go!" Lily nodded. "I know! And I hate having to always ask for help-- I feel like such a prat." "Me too!" The girl tucked the book she was carrying under her arm and extended her hand, "I’m Adelaide, by the way. But most people just call me Addy.” Lily blinked. “Addy?” “Yeah, that’s right.” Her Irish accent was now quite obvious, and Lily was trying her best to remain calm. “You're not . . . from Howthe by any chance. . .” “Y-yes. . .” Lily's heard was racing, “And. . . you said your last name was Wyndham?" "Right . . ." Lily's heart nearly leapt out of her throat. "Addy! It’s me! Lily Evans! Your penpal!” Adelaide’s eyes grew wide, and for a moment they were both quite speechless. And then, without any warning, the squealing erupted like a mass volcanic explosion! Lily dropped her books to the floor and enveloped her friend tightly, and Addy was doing an equally good job of nearly squeezing the breath out Lily! “I can’t believe this,” said Addy, her words fluttering at a million miles per minute, “You're one too! Brilliant! This is absolutely brilliant! Oh, you don’t look like anything like those photos you sent! I can’t believe I’m really meeting you! And here of all places! Oh! When did you get your letter-“ Lily had to cut her off to get a word in. “Only two weeks ago. You?” “Same here!" “At least now I know one person around here!” "And it was your birthday yesterday," said Adelaide, absolutely seething with excitement. "Happy birthday!" She embraced her again. "I was going to wait to break the news to you about my being a witch until after your birthday, but . . . now I guess I don’t have to!” "Oh Addy, this is the best birthday present I could have possibly been given!" She spun around, scouring the shop for her parents whom she spotted a few aisles over. “Mum! Dad!” Grabbing hold of Addy’s arm, she flew towards her parents, where Mr. Evans who was holding a thick book entitled Deadly Beasts and Where to Find Them-- he looked properly horrified. “Lily dear, did you know that the photographs actually move. . .” “Dad! This is Addy!” Harold glanced up from the book and eyed the girl in front of him. “I’m sorry?” “Adelaide Wyndham! My penpal from Ireland! She’s one too!” Barbara popped up from around the corner, her face beaming. “You’re joking! How fantastic!” The two girls were giggling, arms now linked through the others. “Addy, these are my parents-“ “Nice to finally meet you,” said Mr. Evans cordially, shaking Addy’s hand and Barbara quickly followed suit. “You have to meet mine as well,” said Addy. “They’re outside waiting for me. I think they’re having difficulty . . . er . . . adjusting, you know?” Mrs. Evans nodded vigorously. “Indeed! I should love to meet your parents, Addy.” Lily rushed to the register to pay for her eight textbooks. Addy led them back outside Flourish and Blotts to a middle-aged man and woman outside the front window display-- the look on their faces proving they felt every bit as out of place as they looked. The Evans and the Wyndhams got on immediately with each other (the fact that they were the only Muggles for miles surely had something to do with it) and they kept each other company as Lily and Addy progressively worked off their checklist. "Right then," said Lily, "we've got textbooks, robes, cauldron, vials, scales, telescope, wand-- oh! Wait! I haven't a wand!" Adelaide was greedily finishing a chocolate ice cream cone, so her speech was muffled as she spoke with her mouth full, "What? You crazy? A wand was the first thing I bought!" She tossed the remnants of her sugar cone into a rubbish bin and led Lily off towards the opposite end of the alley. The name of the shop was Ollivanders and it lay quiet and unassuming between several other much more appealing establishments, but the moment Lily stepped foot inside, she was at once keenly aware that this shop was nothing like the others she had been to. Here, she could feel the magic around her-- a sensation she'd never felt before, and it filled her with a delicious surge of excitement. Ollivanders was small, dark and smelled of endless centuries. Behind the tall front desk, the store stretched into the back, concealed by shadows, and indeed, the entrance foyer itself was only lit by a few soothing, flickering hanging candles. (Candles hanging upon nothing, of course) There was a rustling noise from deep within the shadowy unknowns of the shop, and then a gaunt, willowy figure emerged from it: he held no smile, his expression betrayed no emotion and he sized up his customers for quite a while before saying anything. But when he did speak, Lily was at once put at ease: his appearance may have been unnerving, but the warmth in his voice was just as soothing as the candlelight around her. “Ahh, Miss Wyndham: the mahogany and bluebird feather! First one I’ve sold in many a decade. To what pleasure to I owe your swift return?” Adelaide pushed Lily forward. “I-I need a wand, Sir.” The man drummed his fingers on the table. “You don’t say.” Right. That * was * a stupid thing to say . . . He stepped out from behind the desk and stepped towards Lily who fought the initial urge to step back as well. He stood over her, contemplatively as well. “You are new to the wizarding world just as your friend is, are you not?” Lily nodded. “Nervous?” She nodded again. “Well, don’t worry. . .” he bent down until his wrinkled, drawn face was inches from hers, “this is only the most important purchase you will ever make in your entire life.” Lily held her breath and then-- to her relief-- he winked at her. "You said your name was?" "Lily. Evans." He straightened his stance and went back to the front desk. “This way, Miss Evans. You know, of course, that it's not you who really chooses the wand. It's the wand that chooses you. If you’ll just step this way-“ His words were cut off by the loud swish of the shop door opening and then banging back shut just as forcefully. A tall woman with platinum blonde hair swept up and pinned tightly was standing imperiously, her arms folded, face scowling. “Oh, Mr. Ollivander! You will never guess what the girl has done! Oh come child, do not hide behind me-step out and show Mr. Ollivander what you’ve done!” A girl stepped out from behind the woman-a perfect mirror of her, only two feet shorter. She was scowling as well and holding a black wand, which was snapped in half. “Mum, I didn’t do it! You-“ The mother waved her hand at her daughter’s face, “Silence! You’ll not speak while I’m speaking to Mr. Ollivander!” She approached the desk, practically pushing Lily and Adelaide out of her way. Mr. Ollivander didn’t look entirely pleased with his new company. “10 inches. Walnut wood. I. . . only just sold her the wand this morning.” “I know!” said the woman, whose thick Scandinavian accent was now quite audible, “And look what she’s done to it! Of course, she’ll need another one immediately…” “Of course, just as soon as I’ve finished with my current cust-“ “… preferably the same sort! Or the best money can buy-I’m not picky about it. Only a wand, after all.” Mr. Ollivander tensed, and his fingers began drumming on the counter rapidly. “Well, if it’s only a wand, Mrs. Holstrom, it won’t bother you to wait while I tend to my customers.” “Oh come now, Mr. Ollivander, it won’t take but a moment. My time is valuable and Narcissa here has an appointment later this afternoon so, if you would please just fetch another of the same.” Mr. Ollivander’s irritation was mounting. “No two wands are exactly the same-“ “Yes, yes, of course, now if you please, we are in a rush.” Mr. Ollivander bowed graciously to Lily. “Excuse me, Miss Evans.” He disappeared into the back, leaving the girls alone with Mrs. Holstrom and her sour-faced daughter. Only the tick of the clock could be heard in the uneasy silence. Addy cleared her throat, "Well! So . . . you're starting on at Hogwarts as well, eh?" The Holstroms didn't answer. “Tough luck about your wand,” Addy pursued, looking sadly at the broken wand, “and to have it broken on the same day you bought it!” Mrs. Holstrom groaned and rolled her eyes. “I shall never understand the Irish preoccupation with luck.” Adelaide’s mouth fell, surprised that such a friendly gesture had been so rudely dismissed. “Well, I only meant that-“ “I know what you meant, and I assure you that it is none of your affair.” The mother and daughter both were staring down Adelaide and Lily -- the daughter with an especially cold chill to her already icy blue eyes, just daring her to say something back. Lily had to muster all her strength to restrain herself: it probably wouldn't have been wise to start anything with her--this mother was, after all, a full-grown Sorceress. And Lily was little more than a Muggle. Mr. Ollivander reappeared holding out a wand that was a boring brown color. “Try this on for size: 10 inches, Walnut wood and Jarvey hair.” Mrs. Holstrom whisked the wand out of Mr. Ollivander’s hand before Narcissa had a chance to touch it, and then dug into her green drawstring purse. “Yes, yes, it’s lovely, we’ll take it. Seven Galleons, I believe? Here you are, then. Come along, Narcissa, come along. We’ve much to do today. Thank you again, Mr. Ollivander. Good Day.” The Holstroms left in a flurry of movement, leaving Lily quite speechless. “Wow,” Addy said finally, “are they always like that?” “Always,” said Mr. Ollivander. “I thought you said the wand chooses the wizard.” “So it does. So it should. You see my dear: a wizard can use any wand, but it doesn’t mean that they are meant for it. It is a firm belief of mine that there is one wand, which truly belongs to its owner--it obeys their command faithfully and loyally. A wand is indeed a wizard’s best friend. Those like Mrs. Holstrom?” He shook his hand sadly, “they deserve the wands they get.” “What did you sell her again? Did you say Jarvey hair? What’s that?” Mr. Ollivander smiled. “A Jarvey looks quite similar to a ferret, only they have the ability to speak. However their speech consists only of insults and the like. I simply thought it would compliment Narcissa’s delightful personality.” The girls laughed and Mr. Ollivander smiled down at Lily once more. “And you my dear. Hold out the hand you write with." Lily obeyed and Mr. Ollivander measured her arm, muttering under his breath as he did so, his eyes focused solely on the job at hand. He looked at Lily contemplatively and then nodded triumphantly. He bent below the front desk, resurging with a wand made of lightwood. "Willow, 10 ¼ inches. Quite swishy, if you you'll pardon the expression. Perfect for exquisite charm work. Go on-- swish it!” Lily took the dark wood wand in her hand, and smiled. It felt so right in her small, eager hands-- they seemed to warm up at the mere touch of it. She made a small circular swish, feeling rather embarrassed at not knowing what the heck she was doing, and to her complete amazement, a jet of bright green light shot from the end of it. Mr. Ollivander was delighted. "Ah, a perfect fit." "Cor," Addy cried, "It took him ten minutes to find one for me!" "What's in it?" "Unicorn tail." "And it's true that no two wands are the same?” “Yes, that is quite correct . . .” he paused, “well. . . there are occasional exceptions. Once every so often, wands can be quite similar. I had one phoenix give out two tail feathers a few decades back, but . . .” a mysterious cloud befell him for an awkward moment, but he quickly dismissed it. "Well, that's not important. If you are satisfied, Miss Evans, might I ring up your purchase?" Lily nodded happily and soon, the two girls were back on the streets of the Alley, which was decidedly less crowded now that the afternoon was now descending towards evening. The Evans and Wyndhams were standing close together next to Ollivander's store window. "Well now!" said Harold jovially, "All finished?" Lily nodded, holding out her wand proudly for all to see. "Isn't it pretty?" "Lovely darling, lovely," Barbara. "Was that the last of it?" "Yeah-- all finished." "Brilliant! Best be on our way, then, right?" Lily knew there was more eagerness in her voice than she'd wished to betray, and it made her smile. Lily knew that her mother was being a very good sport about it all. As much as she wanted to stay in the Alley and wander in and out of the curious shops and discover all its nooks and crannies, she nodded in agreement with her mother. (Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham looked thoroughly relieved). Stepping back out onto Charing Cross Road, Lily felt like a girl transformed. The streets of London, which had formerly impressed her, now seemed dull and unforgivably ordinary. She'd seen the other side. It was there that her heart was wishing to return to. The were, however, two consoling things about re-entering the Muggle world. One was the fact that the Wyndhams insisted on treating Lily to a belated birthday dinner and the group of them ventured off to find a suitable place to indulge themselves in a decadent birthday feast. And then, of course, there was the girl walking alongside her. The first friend she'd ever had in her life.