A/N: This is Lily's POV.
Disclaimer: Hmm… lemme check…. No, still don't own Harry Potter. Ask me tomorrow.
Chapter 1: New Revelations and (Possible) Cuteness in Boys
"I" Petunia screams at me. "WILL" She looks funny when she's mad. Is her eye twitching? "KILL" If I could, I'd tell her what color her name is: A poisonous orange. "YOU!" It's usually sort of a soft red, but the way she screams it made it another shade of violent orange. Maybe that's because of her voice. I am interrupted in my pensive moment by a pair of skeleton hands closing around my throat, threatening to cut off my air supply. I don't even flinch; this has happened too many times to count.
"Um," I say politely. "May I kindly have my neck back?" Petunia screams a wordless roar in my ear, a neon orange that nearly blinds me, it is so bright.
"Petunia!" Good ol' mum. Mum. A comforting off-white, nearly ivory. Her name is quite close. Marie. It's a butter-cream, and I can nearly taste it. "Get your hands off of Lily!" Ah, my name. Deep purple, a beautiful color, if I do say so myself. And I do. Petunia (Or Mushroom, as I like to call her, after an orange mushroom my father and I found one summer. That was two summers ago. Before my father died. He had just been diagnosed with cancer, and was trying to get in as much family time as he could before- No! I can't think about that. My grandma, who also recently died, said that dwelling on the past was good when you were bored. But now, I was not bored.) obliged. She let go of my neck, and stood up to leave, but not before hissing, "I'll get you later, midget!"
Unfortunately for her, Mum heard. "Petunia!" Well, really. It is not fair to call me a midget. I may be a little short, but at least I am proportioned well. Unlike some people I know (Cough, cough, PETUNIA cough!) I am beginning to get curves. My sister is fourteen, and I am eleven, but I am still getting curves before her. Behind her back, everyone says I'll grow up to be the pretty one. But I honestly don't care. Petunia always dyes her hair. Blonde, brunette, you name it. I don't even remember her natural color. I think it was sort of mousy brown. Oh well. Does it matter?
I walk downstairs to the kitchen, but Mushroom is already there. I spin on my heel, marching back up the stairs.
"Lily…" My mother says warningly. She does not fall for a thing, I tell you.
"What?" I am the perfect picture of innocence.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
"I think I'll take a shower, thanks." I squeeze past her, mentally crossing my fingers.
"Not so fast." No such luck. "It's Sunday, girls. We are having a family breakfast. We have since your f-father and I were married. We will continue to do so, come rain or shine. Sit." I did as I was told. We sat in silence, eating our toast and kippers, until there was a sharp rapping at the window. My head snaps toward the green-blue sound. A grey owl, its color true to its name and sounds, is perched outside the kitchen window. I quickly stand up, wincing as my chair scrapes a ragged black flash. I struggle with the window, because it has a strange tendency to stick. The bird flaps in and sticks out its foot. I check it, thinking it may be hurt, when I notice a small note tied to its leg.
"What's that, Lily?" I love my mother's voice. It is a paper color, like the first page of a brand-new book, or a fresh page on an easel. When she's happy, it's seems more like tiny silver bells, and when she's mad, it's like a deep, vibrant red, bursting out in angry tones.
"It's a……… letter," I tell her.
"Oh, gee! A letter! Now, children, what do we do with letters?" I send a death glare Petunia's way.
"We shove them up our sisters' -" I begin to mutter, but quickly stop at the look Mum gives me. I tear the letter open. A sheaf of parchment falls out. I have only ever seen parchment once, when my dad took me to the London Museum. I open the folded parchment, and read aloud: "`Dear Miss Evans, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of all the things you will need for the school term. You will get these at Diagon Alley, in London. To get there, you must go to the Leakey Cauldron, pass through it and into the back yard area. You will see a brick wall. Tap the brick in this location: three up, two across. You will go through the arch, and can do your shopping from there. Good luck! Minerva McGonagall, Dept. Headmistress.'" Mum is looking at me in shock. Petunia looks as though I will grow horns at any moment.
"Freak!" Petunia screams, before tearing away from the table to run up to her room and have a good cry. I have no idea why she's crying; it's not as if someone's playing an elaborate joke on her. If she only knew the half of my freakishness. I wonder what would happen if they found out about my colors.
"But…" Mum begins feebly, "Why would someone play such a cruel trick?"
A strange thought occurs to me. "Mum," I say carefully, "What if, well, what if it's not really a… trick?"
The disbelief in her eyes is eminent. "How could it be real? Lily, use your common sense. There's no such thing as magic! Why would this-" she checks the letter "Minerva McGonagall want you, if there was such a thing, at her magic school? We're normal, Lily!"
I feel my anger swelling up inside me. "Use your common sense, mum! Do we have any proof that there's no such thing as magic? And what about those not-so-normal things I've been doing all along? Remember Bobby Jean? Her purple hair? She had been making me mad. I remember thinking, `Gee, she wouldn't be so perky if she had purple hair!' and it just happened! And that boy at the park two years ago? Said my hair looked like it had caught fire? I think I made his shoes catch fire. I don't really think it was the chemical in them that made them spontaneously combust, do you?" I can see the shock written plainly across her face at my outburst.
"Well," she says shakily, "I suppose- I'll come with you today to this-" she checks the parchment again "Leakey Cauldron, and make sure you get to, er, Diagon Alley. If it's all a hoax, well, we'll go home. But I need to take Petunia to her dance lessons at one, alright?" I nod, feeling slightly guilty about my anger. I run up to my room, and begin to pace, waiting for twelve-thirty, when we would leave. I can't calm myself, so I curl up with a drawing pad and listen to soft classical music with my headphones. The music inspires me: the deep burgundy of the violin, the light green of the piano, and the gold-yellow of the trumpet. It varies in shape: A long, high note on the violin would be a straight line, lengthening as the note went on. The piano, when playing an octave, is more like a green staircase, moving up and up somewhat disconnectedly. Before I know it, Mum is calling me, telling me to eat quickly so we can leave. I look at the finished product of my labors: A calla lily, bursting with color, stands in a blue vase on an old furnished dresser. Calla lilies are my favorite flower, and not just because of my name. I love their shape and texture, and their colors amaze me. I usually only like the white ones, but I colored in this one with my nearly dull purple pastel. It looks so realistic that I just stare at it for a moment, completely forgetting about my newfound magic. I remember, eventually, and run downstairs to eat. We all eat quietly, Petunia trying very hard not to look at me, but if she must, she turns those red-rimmed eyes on me in a glare she obviously thinks is scary. She is very bad at her withering stare. I have nearly got it down. The only person I can't get is Mum. Not that I'd want to, but still. I sweetly smile back, and twiddle my thumbs menacingly (I know, how is that menacing, but you should see her face right now. I am fighting not to crack up.) All this goes unnoticed (I think) by Mum; she just keeps eating her egg salad. I stab a piece of lettuce, and I swear I can see a vein throbbing in her forehead. I stand by what I said earlier: she looks really funny when she's mad. She twirls her fork around, and we seem to be having a staring contest. I always win. Sure enough, after only thirty seconds she blinks and looks away.
"Well," Mum says briskly, clearing our plates away. "We should get going."
I nod prettily, letting Petunia glower. Mum frowns at her, because obviously she is being rude for no reason. As we stand up to go to the car, Petunia mutters to me, "Freak!"
I think this is the third time she's said that in the last two hours. I jump at the chance: "Missing link." Petunia looks confused, and I can see her trying to work it out. I'd forgotten Petunia is not a fan of science. She is still working it in her head when we reach the car parked outside, so I jump into the front seat without her noticing.
Five minutes into the drive, she exclaims, "Hey!" I guess she's not as much of an ignoramus as I thought. Although, it took her long enough to figure it out.
The two of us sit moodily, all the way to London, which is not very far. We travel through the streets, not stopping until I say, "There!" Mum has to look for a bit until she spots it: An old sign reading The Leakey Cauldron. We park our car, and Mum and I (Petunia refusing to go within twenty feet of the place) walk in there. We pass several old men playing cards, by an old bar with a man that had almost no teeth behind it, and out through another door. We come up to a brick wall. We stare at it for a moment, before I nervously tap the brick that is three bricks up from the bottom and two bricks across. Instantly a small hole appears in the wall, growing larger and larger until a huge brick arch stands in front of us.
Mum appears speechless. "Well," she finally says, "I suppose I'll see you at four, then?"
I don't really want her to go, but I nod. I step through the arch and pull out my book list. I search around for a bit, and spot a store titled Flourish and Blotts Bookstore. It looks pretty tiny, but I suppose starting anywhere would be best. I weave in out of the crowd before reaching the door. As I step in, the place seems to grow in size. It is now seven times as large as it looked, and it has two stories. I go to the center table, where there are some people around my age. There is a sign on it, saying, Buy all your Hogwarts' books now, before the prices go up! I pick out the ones that are for my level.
I go up to the check-out area, and fish some money out of my pocket. The lady behind the desk eyes my English notes and shakes her head. "You'll want to exchange your Muggle money for Wizarding money, dear. That's Gringotts, on the left. Big white building. You can't miss it. Would you like me to hold those for you until you get back?" I nod and hand her my new books. Exiting the store, I search around until I see it: A white marble building, with a huge sign that says Gringotts. I nervously make my way toward it, and nearly jump when I enter. A huge desk, with fifteen or twenty little men lined up in a row behind it. Most were helping others, so I walk up to one and clear my throat anxiously.
The goblin (?) peers down at me reprovingly, and I say in very small voice, "Um, I'd like to exchange this for wizard money?" and hold out my bills. He snatches them, and puts them in a very old cash register. The machine whirs and beeps for a moment, before spitting out several gold coins and about twenty silver ones, along with thirty brass coins.
The goblin (As I have decided to call them, strange little gremlins that they are.) says, "Would you like to store some of these in an account, or will you keep them all?"
"Um," I respond, still slightly nervously. "I'll put some in an account, please."
"Name?" The goblin-thing (Goblins have a sort of sickly-yellow aura about them, enough to make me want to look away) says in a bored voice. He has clearly done this before.
"Lily Evans."
"Occupation?"
"Er, student?"
"Type of interest?"
"Simple? For now, at least."
"Right," the midget says, "Your bank account is number three-hundred and forty-two. Here is your key. Do not lose it."
I take the tiny gold key and a bag full of the coins and run back to the bookstore. The lady takes four of my gold coins and five of my silver ones. I take the books and set off for my next destination: The apothecary. Unfortunately, this is very hard to spot, so I spend a very long time looking for the thing. "You'd think they'd send a wizard or something, but oh no, they leave me to fend on my own." I mutter furiously, still scouring the streets for the apothecary.
"Well, they probably thought you'd bring a parent of some sort with you," a pleasant voice says from behind me. I spin on my heel, turning to face a boy, a bit taller than me, with messy black hair, and glasses that covered penetrating hazel eyes. "James Potter," he says cordially, sticking his hand out for me to shake. James. A light aqua color, which happens to be my favorite color. For some reason, it being his name makes me like it all the better.
"Lily Evans," I say smilingly. "Er, do you know where the apothecary is?"
He laughs. "You're a Muggle, aren't you?" at my confused look, he says, "Non-magic person. Well, Mum and I were about to head over to it. Only she's chatting with Dorianne." He makes an ugly face. "Mum and Dorianne both want me to get together with Stacy, Dorianne's daughter. Only problem is she can't form a coherent sentence around me. Even if she could, there wouldn't be any substance to her talking. She only cares about herself and boys and boring girl stuff. Not that girls are bad, mind you" he says hurriedly, "It's just sometimes all they can talk about is shopping."
I nod. "I hate that. The girls at my school, well, they're just annoying. They turn into giggling puddles of mush whenever a boy comes within ten feet. Especially Hot William." Now it's my turn to make a face. "All he cares about is his football team. It's so annoying!" I hadn't noticed we had been walking, but now he held the apothecary door open for me.
I step in, and he follows, after yelling, "Mum! Come ON!" Mrs. Potter kisses each of her friend's cheeks (Her facial ones, you sick-minded people!!) and sends a glare at James. She doesn't notice me until she has stalked up to the apothecary. Her hazel eyes, the same color as James's, only a bit more evil-looking, narrowed distastefully in my direction. "Who," she asks icily, "is this?"
James grins, a swoon-worthy smile (Whoa! Where did that random thought come from?) and says easily, "Oh, hey Mum. This is Lily Evans. Lily, this is my mum, Jenna Potter."
I stick out my hand for her to shake. She takes it, and says, practically sneering, "I haven't heard of you. Are you a Pureblood? Of the noble kind, naturally."
James says quickly, grinding his teeth, "No, Mum. She's- she's Muggleborn." Mrs. Potter's lip curls.
"I see," she says, glaring at me. "Well, dah-ling-" (I swear that's how she pronounced it) "Well, we've been discussing it, Dorianne and I, and we've decided that you are to be engaged. When you're seventeen, during the summer after you graduate, you and Stacy will be married." She's still glaring at me.
I feel my fists clench, and James steps on my foot slightly. "…Right…" he says in a bored tone. "Come on, Lily. Let's go and get our potions things."
Leaving a fuming Mrs. Potter behind, we begin scooping the necessary materials into bags. "What the-" I begin hotly, but James talks over me.
"It's okay. She does this all the time. When it comes time to tell her, I will. If she tries to make me, I have it all figured out."
"Why does she hate me, though?" I ask.
James laughs mirthlessly. "Partly because you're Muggleborn. She doesn't think Muggles should be witches and wizards."
"And the other part?" I ask as I scoop dried beetles into a sack.
James won't look at me. "Because," he says carefully, "She thinks that if I have any female friends, especially ones that are less than noble Purebloods, they'll interfere with her plans for my `Happily Ever After', which is weird."
"But that's ridiculous!" I exclaim, although I feel as though I'm lying to him as well as myself. "How does she get off- I mean that doesn't make any-"
"I know," James says, with a hint of disappointment in his voice. "She's batty. Come on, lets go pay."
"James, what?" I ask, feeling guilty for no reason. "Did I… say something?"
James smiles, a bit forced in my opinion. "No. She's just beginning to irritate me, is all."
I nod understandingly, and we pay for our things. Mrs. Potter stands near the doorway, glaring a hole in my head as James offers to carry some of my things. She forces her way between us, and James says, "Let's go get our robes, Lily." We ignore Mrs. Potter and set off, running through the crowds of witches and wizards, until we finally come to rest at a shop called Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions.
We enter the shop, and a slightly plump, maroon-clad witch bustles over to us. "Hogwarts?" she asks, surveying us. Without waiting for an answer, she drags me over to an old stool, and flicks her wand at a measuring tape. It instantly begins measuring me, and with another flick of her wand, a quill begins scrawling the measurements. By now Mrs. Potter has caught up with us, and she settles on glaring at me from across the room.
I pay her no attention, except for smiling angelically at James, who instantly saw what I was doing and smiled back. We remained like that, and though I knew we were just pretending, I couldn't help but notice that he was kind of cute. But I'm sure it's just happiness at having found a friend so quickly. We finally break our eye contact, and I pretend to be pretending to be blushing furiously-even though I am. Stupid red hair! It makes me blush, I have a bad reputation for having a fiery temper, the possibilities go on and on. Although, James is looking impressed, so I doubt he suspects a thing, and Mrs. Potter is looking livid, so she also probably suspects nothing-except that I looooove her son. Ack! Bad thoughts! Now that possibility is imprinted into my brain, and it will stick fast. Stupid brain that happens to work intelligently. The robes are quickly finished, and James says quickly, before his mother can intervene, "I need to get an owl. Want to come, Lily?" I nod, and we look at Mrs. Potter.
"Fine," she snaps, "But we simply can't go to Eyelops. Filthy place. We'll go to the Magical Menagerie. Lola-"
"It's Lily, Mum." James says through gritted teeth.
"Of course dear, of course. Keep quiet, then Lily." Without waiting for a response, she swept out of the shop, us trailing behind.
"She really hates me," I say in an undertone to James.
He grins. "I know. Isn't it great?" He laughs at my incredulity. "Come on, you can get an owl or a cat or something."
"I don't think I have the money," I say doubtfully.
"Don't worry," he says easily. "My gift to you." I blush again, and he asks, "How do you do that?"
"Magic," I respond happily, entering the Menagerie. I am rewarded with an amazing sight: Owls, sitting in luxurious gold cages near the ceiling, cats, prowling in their confinements, an odd assortment of poisonous-looking toads, and a few sleek black rats. I hear a meowing, so I walk over to the cage in the very corner. In it is a black cat with one eye, looking slightly put-out. I reach into its cage and pull it out, scratching it behind the ears. It purrs contentedly, and I am suddenly bombarded by a soft, yet deep red, wafting across my mind's eye. I try and put it back in its cage, but it lets out a forlorn yowl, and again I have another shade of red drifting across my mind. I can tell that this one-eyed cat is the one for me. I pick up its cage, and walk over to James and his mother.
"You want to get that- that thing?" she asks incredulously.
I stick out my chin defiantly. "Yes."
I can see her grip tighten on James's shoulder. He winces slightly, and says, "What'll you name it, Lily?"
"I don't know," I confess, "But if it's a girl, I'll name it Ruby."
"Why?" he asks curiously.
I hesitate to answer. I would name her Ruby because everything she does is a shade of red. But I can't tell him that. "I really like the name," I lie. His mother steers us over to the counter, and James slips me a few galleons, because we both know his mother wouldn't let him buy me a cat.
"Is this a boy or a girl?" I ask the witch behind the counter.
"That old thing?" she says haughtily. "I think it's a girl, but I don't know. Are you sure that's the animal you want?" I glare at her. I hand over the galleons, and James hands over his before taking his brand-new barn owl away from the counter. I follow his lead, and for the fourth time this afternoon, we completely ignore his mother.
"What're you naming him?" I inquire about James's owl.
"Harry," He replies. Seeing my inquisitive look, he elaborates. "I really like the name, and my great-uncle was named Harry. Uncle Harry had been everywhere, and liked to tell funny stories about the places he'd been. Not, `Oh, when I was a little boy…' stories, but really funny ones. He died four years ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry. My grandma died a while ago, too. She also had good stories." I say sadly.
"It's okay," he says, before changing the subject. "What about the rest of your family?"
"My mum works as an animal emergency veterinarian. My sister Petunia is the biggest snot ever. I swear, her head's going to explode one of these days, it's so big. And not just in the metaphorical sense, either." I add as an afterthought.
He laughs. "My mum-well, you saw her. Mostly a stay-at-home, planning-big-functions, straighten-your-tie-or-you'll-ruin-the-party kind of mum. I have one brother, named Georgie, he's five. He's bloody annoying. Always stealing my stuff, or getting me into trouble."
"At least he's not dyeing his hair every week to try and imitate yours," I point out.
"You're right. He has the same hair as me. Mum hates it. She thinks all her friends will `think us common ruffians,' in her words. My dad works in an office at the ministry of magic. He has good connections with the minister, so we always have to go to fancy parties and things. Wait, what about your dad?"
I look down. "Um. He- he died. Two years ago. He had cancer."
"Lily," he says, taking my hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I should've assumed when-"
"No," I say gently. "You didn't know. It doesn't matter. Well, it does," I correct myself. "But it doesn't matter that you were curious." Mrs. Potter clears her throat loudly from behind us. I close my eyes in controlled irritation, and take my hand off of his shoulder. I open them and see a tiny shop labeled Ollivander's: Maker of Fine Wands Since 382 b.c. We enter and look around nervously.
"Hello," a wispy voice calls from behind us. James and I jump and spin around, but there is no one there. Since the voice was very quiet, and Mrs. Potter was looking at us curiously, we turn around to face her. The person-or thing, whatever it was-clears its throat. At least, I hope it was the throat. James and I turn around. "Up here," I think of cotton, blowing off of-something, I guess, but nonetheless, cotton blowing, because the voice was so wispy. We look up. A man, slightly creepy, I would say, is peering closely at us from on top of a ladder. His eyes roll madly, his hair, grey and frizzy, stands on end, he drools slightly-no. Just kidding!! He has fine white hair, is balding, and though he looks nice enough, he gives off a bit of a sinister aura. Not really a color, but just an impression. It's hard to explain. He climbs down from the ladder, and he gets this strange look in his eyes as he looks from me to James. "Hogwarts, then?" he surveys us, and I feel like he can see right through me. I involuntarily step back a bit and stand almost behind James-not that I'm hiding, mind you; I just don't want to be attacked first, and since James is such a big strong man, he can surely defend us all from this possible molester. Okay, I'm hiding. He's really, really scary, though! James lightly steps on my foot, and I stand next to him, foot now throbbing somewhat. I smile nervously, but Mr. Ollivander (I suppose that must be who he is) takes no notice of us. His gaze is focused somewhat longingly on Mrs. Potter. James and I grin obnoxiously at each other.
"George! Er, Mister Ollivander, I should say." Mrs. Potter's voice is high and breathy. I make a revolted face, and James sniggers. Neither of the adults notice.
"Genevieve," Mr. Ollivander's voice has lost all of its wispiness, and was now a deep, throaty growl. It sounds painful, and he stops to gag on a bit of spit for a moment. Ew. Wait. Mrs. Potter's real name is Genevieve?
"I know," James says. I swear he can read my mind. "And, no I can't," Stop it!!! I think frantically. "Never!" he grins. I am really freaked out now. "Don't worry," he's doing it again!!! Maybe I should try not to give away my emotions through facial expression. "You know, you really shouldn't give away your emotions through facial expressions." I glare at him, then remember. I am utterly expressionless. I am a blank canvas, ready for painting. "You are a blank canvas, ready for painting," James says sarcastically. Ha! He'll never know what I'm thinking of. It's not in the magical world…
"What on earth is a `Telerfoon'?" he asks bemusedly. I stare at him in shock.
God he's weird.
I ignore him. I am once again blank. I decide to watch Mrs. Potter (Not for long, I'm guessing…) and Mr. Ollivander flirt outrageously.
"Oh, Hugo!" she squeals. I make a gagging noise, forgetting my resolve. "It's been years! Just years!"
"Too long, Jenna- may I call you that?" He has taken on a sort of German-Italian-French-British accent (A/N: If you've ever seen the movie Some Like it Hot, then you'll know what I'm talking about. The sailor guy who wants to marry Sugar, with his `tragic' little `sickness' of `not being able to love'. A very good movie, highly recommended by yours truly) and is making me feel my breakfast come up.
"Why, yes, Victor!" Wait. Wasn't his name Hugo two minutes ago? I suppose she's just trying on different names, seeing which suits her. "You know, we've got some catching up to do," she said airily.
"I'll bet you do," I mutter quietly. James stifles a laugh, but none of the adults notice.
But wait!!! Isn't it socially unacceptable to be flirting with another man while out shopping?
"So you think it would be socially acceptable to flirt with someone when, say, you are in a doctor's office? Perhaps in a zoo. Would that be acceptable?" He's really starting to scare me. "Maybe, Lily, you should stop voicing your opinions aloud, then."
I shake my head, trying to clear it of an imaginary fly. James laughs, so I send him a death glare. He pretends to keel over sideways, and makes a great show of choking, then wheezing, and finally falling to the ground and kicking his feet around, moving them comfortably, then deciding that since they're dead, dead people don't much care how gruesomely or uncomfortably they are positioned. I can't help it. I giggle. At my giggle, however, Mrs. `Genevieve' Potter stops flirting shamelessly with Mr. Ollivander, and glares at me. I think my giggle is some sort of warning signal to her to: Drop Everything And Kill. DEAK. Hmm…
"May Jamesies please get his wand?" she asks, sugary sweetness coating her poison glare. James, I can see, is clenching his fists at being called `Jamesies'.
I can almost hear him in my head. Eurg. I hate it when she calls me that. Probably to impress Ollie.
I smirk. Ollie? I wonder.
Ollivander. He would say.
Okay, this is slightly creepy. I am beginning to think.
Lily! I think…I think we're really talking through our minds! I can see his eyes widen at me and my mouth is gaping.
No! Make it stop! Please, James! I plead silently.
I can't. I'm sorry! He looks genuinely sorry.
Mrs. Potter is looking curiously from James to me, and says, "What?"
James and I snap our attention back to her, smiling innocently. "Nothing," we say hastily, at the same time. We continue to grin innocuously until she turns away from us, flutters her eyelashes at Ollie, and pushes James toward him. I wonder if we need eye contact to do our brain-conversations.
Brain-conversations? His thoughts are deep purple. Slightly amused. Well. This is odd. My colors show up here, too. In my brain, that is.
Your colors? Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh no…
Um… Nothing! Well, you know how when the sun shines in your eyes you get stars?
Yeah…?
I just got it.
Oh. Right. Ugh, he's measuring me. That tickles!
I giggle. Mrs. Potter looks at me, and I look behind me, trying to look as though I'm searching for the `mysterious' laughter. Is she still looking?
No, she's gazing fondly at Sebastian.
Sebastian?
His new name. Tell me when one of them suits him.
I think Wispil would be very good. Or maybe Cottonhead.
Why?
Because his voice is like cotton, it's so wispy.
That's an interesting analogy.
I have a lot of interesting analogies.
"No, no, won't do at all…" Mr. Ollivander is on a ladder, pulling out small, thin boxes, and replacing most. He finally pulls seven boxes from a few different shelves down. James and I decide to break our connection, so I don't mess up his magic abilities or whatever. I watch as James takes a wand, only to have Mr. Ollivander take it back immediately. He tries to twirl it, but fails miserably. The wand clatters to the ground, and rolls under a chair. Mr. Ollivander crawls on his hands and knees, clumsily trying to reach the wand. I press my lips together, willing myself silently not to laugh. Mr. Ollivander, having relocated the wand, straightens up, flashes a winning (or so he thinks; really there's a piece of spinach stuck in his teeth, but Mrs. Potter doesn't notice.) smile, and climbs seductively (if it's possible, but he managed to do it, sort of…) up the ladder. He grabs a few boxes and climbs down again, shoving the boxes on a conveniently placed table. He gingerly, almost lovingly, hands one to James, and as James pulls it out of the box, his color-a light aquamarine-ish blue-suddenly surrounds him. I suppose that's an aura. It's funny, but I've only ever seen them when I'm really tired, usually late at night or very early in the morning. The aura-thing swirls around him, and Mr. Ollivander looks positively delighted. Poor guy. He'll never get a woman if he's in love with all the wands in this shop. I'll bet he sings them lullabies, or maybe even names them. That would be a laugh.
"Oh, Charles! I am just ther-rilled!!" he says, pronouncing the word thrilled funny. He realizes he is not alone, and looks embarrassed. James steps back, wand in hand, inspecting it. I hardly notice as Mr. Ollivander steers me over to his desk, where he starts measuring me.
James!
Yes?
Why are your mother and Pierre allowed to flirt shamelessly?? Won't someone find out??
No, and even if they did, why would it matter?
Well, first of all, it's MORALLY wrong, and second of all, WHY Mr. Ollivander?? He's, like, fifty!!
So?
What do you mean, so??!!
So is a conjunction indicating the reason for an action-
Ugh, I KNOW what the word so means, James!
Sor-ry! You're the one who asked. Sheesh. Women…
But what about your `family name'?
What do you mean?
Don't `What do you mean' me, James. Won't it ruin your family's honor?
No…
Okay…
What now?
But it doesn't it kind of freak you out?
No. She does it all the time.
SHE DOES THIS ALL THE TIME??????
On all of our shopping trips.
Ew. With random strangers?
Ew! NO!!! With her old boyfriends, mainly.
She must have had a LOT of old boyfriends.
Yeah, well…
She must have been the school slut!
I'd be laughing if I could in your brain. Let me try: HAHAHAHAHA.
Not that I think she's a slut, but THAT MANY BOYFRIENDS!!??
Well… seven years, many boys go to that school, Lily Darling.
Shut up. Well, it doesn't bug your dad??
No. He does it too. Mum gets mad at him, though. Don't know why.
Oh. Hey, Leonardo's pulling down a couple of boxes. Don't mess up my wand selection, okay?
Righto.
I take a wand that Mr. Ollivander offers me. He snatches it back, rather rudely, I'd say, and hands me another one. We have a sort of cycle of handing, holding for two seconds, and snatching for about twenty wands, before he hands me one. I am about to hand it back-wood burns a bit when pulled through your hand excessively, you see-when I feel a slight tingling in my arm. I am blinded by my own aura, deep purple, interrupted by bits of lighter and darker purples, until-
"Francine!" Mario cries, unaware of his audience. "I will miss you most of all!" He gulps and smiles nervously, so Mrs. Potter smiles adoringly, almost as if to say, `Don't worry; I'll love you no matter HOW weird you get!' I make a point of not looking over at James, so as not to start giggling uncontrollably.
Well. That was certainly… Interesting… I think to James as we walk out of the shop, ignoring the "Ta-ta! I'll see you, dah-ling Fabio!" of Mrs. Potter.
I'll say. It's a good thing both of us are good actors, because otherwise I'd probably have died from laughing so hard.
What time is it?
About three.
Good. Enough time to get my other things before my mum picks me up.
When's that?
At four. What else do we need?
Our potions' things, like the cauldron, scales, and the phials. We also need a telescope.
That should be fine.
We set off toward Percival's Caldrons and Other Potion Accessories, which is apparently the store we want. We quickly buy our things, and then James and I joke for a bit, and run around Diagon Alley, away from James's mum. She tries to follow, but we weave in and out of the crowd to lose her. James makes me follow him into a prank shop, where I learn all about wizarding pranking materials. Though I am not usually one for stupid games, we both stock up on the many joke objects, with James promising to help me out and take all the blame if we're caught. But he promises we won't be, and I'm not very worried. By now it is nearly four, so we exit the shop, soon coming upon a fuming Mrs. Potter. I bid James goodbye, promising news by owl, and flounce back towards the Leakey Cauldron. Stepping out of the small bar, I spot my mum instantly. I run over to her, and she envelopes me in a he hug.
"How was it, honey?" she asks curiously.
"It was fun," I say happily. I try and listen to my mum about whatever she's talking about, but I really can't concentrate. I am trying to find James with my mind. After a few tries and no answer, I decide that our powers are either not strong enough right now, or he's ignoring me. I settle for murmuring my replies to my mum, not really paying attention, but not completely ignoring her. When we get home, I play the first part of "Carol of the Bells" on our ancient piano. I've been meaning to learn something other than, "Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away," but I haven't gotten around to it. Oh, well. I only play "Carol of the Bells" when I'm really thinking, so my mum knew better than to disturb me. I watch as my fingers move effortlessly over the keys, my middle finger hitting the E flat, then my pointer on D, back to E flat, and down to C, over and over again. And that's what my brain was doing. Going over the same idea over and over. Only I'm too scared to admit what it was.
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