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Chapter Text

Your mother has always been the strongest woman you’ve ever known. Even if you didn’t have any other role models in your life to compare to. It was always just the two of you. She was headstrong and brave, incredibly intelligent as well. 

You wished you looked more like her, if only to help convince yourself that you could one day be as amazing. The two of you looked incredibly different. Your mother's hair was a dark brown with a light wave, while yours was black as night with tight curls. You had a soft, slim face, while she had a strong jaw. Even your heights were surprisingly different. She stood at an average of 5’4”, while you were closer to 5’7”. There wasn’t a lot of visual resemblance at first glance, but there was some.

So you held onto the similarities that you could find between the two of you. You both were on the paler side; however, your mother took the cake on that. She was positively gaunt. You both had fuller lips and hollowed cheeks, and despite the height difference, you both were quite slender.

Her name was Jean. Why she had named you something as outlandish as Delphini, you would never know. There didn’t seem to be any correlation.

When you found your acceptance letter stashed in the mail talking about some magic school, you didn’t think you had ever seen your mother look so scared. For a while, you hadn’t known what to think either; you were sure it was some kind of prank. However, you couldn’t help but hope for it to be real. When you told her such, your mother let out a rattling sigh. Always one for realism, her response will forever continue to shock you.

'Alright.’ She had said with what you thought was a defeated look in her eyes. ‘S’ppose we’re to do this then. ’ 

You weren’t sure what connections your mother had or how she did it, but a short week later, an apparent teacher from this so-called Hogwarts was in your living room talking with your mother. You tried to listen from the staircase, but they were speaking too quietly for your ears to make out anything coherent. For two people who had seemingly never met before, they seemed very comfortable in each other's presence. Your mother never had been one for companionship either; she had no friends as far as you were aware, and you had been home-schooled your entire life, about to enter your final year of secondary education.

You made yourself known, your mother spotting you in the corner of her eye, stands up and waves you over.

“Minerva, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Delphini.” You walk over and stand beside your mother, who rests a hand on your shoulder. Standing side by side, your height of 5 some feet was more obvious; she always said you’d be taller than her.

The teacher– Minerva, as your mother called her, had stood up as well, greeting you with a beaming smile, almost proud.

“I cannot express how lovely it is to see you, Delphini,” She starts. “My name is Minerva McGonagall; however, during your time at Hogwarts, I ask that you call me Professor.” She smiles knowingly.

“So this school is real, then?” You rush out, your mother gently chides you with a soft ‘Delphi’. The older woman just gently laughs.

“I can assure you, Miss Isley, Hogwarts is certainly real.” She begins to question you, “Has anything ever happened to you that went against normal logic? A floating book or an exploding cup? Did you feel different from others around you for reasons you could not explain?”

You side-eye your mother; you were never around other children to have thought yourself different. Perhaps your slightly lonesome upbringing is reason enough for you to be odd, but you had your mother, and you told yourself that was enough. Speaking of your mother-

“When Dollie was a baby, she would animate her stuffed animals to entertain her.” You had never heard this story before. Your mother seems to be reminiscing about simpler times. “She always did laugh the hardest when she got that silly ol’ otter of hers to dance.” She sends a sort of sad smile your way. You furrow your eyebrows and look back at the Professor.

“It seems the answer to that question is yes,” you sheepishly answer, furrowing your eyebrows. McGonagall only laughs.

“Well, my purpose in being here is to get you situated for the new term. Your case is certainly different from anything the staff at Hogwarts has seen in quite a while.”

This only confuses you more. “Different?.. Different how?”

You see her send a quick look towards your mother before looking back at you.

“I’ll explain everything later; for now, we must get all the supplies you need.” She looks around your living room, searching for something. “Typical means of transportation in the wizarding world is the Floo.” It appears this is your very first lesson. “All you need is floo powder and a fireplace. You stand in the fireplace, firmly announce where you want to go, and throw the powder at your feet. You then should appear in the connected fireplace.” She looks back at you, seemingly done with her search.

“Although it seems you do not have a fireplace. Very well, it seems we will have to use another form of transportation.” 

You thought you heard a quiet scoff next to you.

“What will we be using?” You were curious if magic people used cars. Guess you’ll figure that out eventually.

“Apparition. In comparison, it would be akin to teleportation. Now, if the two of you would please grab hold of my arms,” She raises both of her arms for the taking. Your mother lightly leads you to grab her right arm while she grabs McGonagall's left. “I hope the two of you did not have a huge breakfast before this.”

You realized you had no idea where this professor was taking you and your mother. “Wait! Where are we–” You tried to ask, before it felt as if there was an invisible force squeezing your body into too small of a hole. It felt horrible, but before you could process the awkward feeling, you seemed to reappear somewhere else.

You had no time to take in your surroundings, seeing as you were too busy trying not to lose your stomach in front of your future professor. You take a few deep breaths as you feel a hand rubbing circles on your back.

“You’re alright, Dollie, ya did it.” Your mother assured you sympathetically. While you had a tough time with this ‘apparition’, your mother seemed otherwise unaffected.

“How come I’m the only one about to be sick?” You pouted towards your mother after you had made sure you weren’t going to actually lose your lunch. She smirked with a smug look in her eyes.

“Jus’ got a stronger stomach than you,” She teased. “Now focus!”

Taking your mother's words to heart, you straighten up and turn to look where you have been taken.

“Woah..”

You see a taller figure in your peripheral vision, line up next to you.

“Wow indeed, Miss Isley,” Professor McGonagall starts. “Welcome to Diagon Alley”

The space around you is bustling with patrons of all ages, some dressed in lengthy robes and pointed hats. Shops lined each side of the thin alley, all sorts of colors and sounds overwhelm your senses. It was magical. You turn to face your mother; your eyes full of wonder and your smile bright,  just to see she was already looking at you with what you could only call guilt in her eyes. Before you could question it, she switched to a smile. She instead looks at McGonagall.

“I s’pose we should get to knockin’ things off that list.”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Isley.” 

Your mother cringes at the title before awkwardly correcting it. “Jean.” She clarifies, “My last name isn’t Isley, so please, call me Jean.”

Professor McGonagall raises her eyebrows before bowing her head in apology, “Excuse me for my assumption, I did not mean to offend.” She then turns back to me. “In terms of your supply list, we must gather the funds first.”

Funds? In hindsight, it made sense; you just hoped the items you needed didn’t amount to much. Your mother was always set on spoiling you whenever possible, but realistically, you don’t think a blow to the savings is in anyone’s interests.

“Where do we need to go to get money?” You question, saying it out loud, it sounds like a stupid one, your mother's deadpan look only confirming it. McGonagall, though, ever the teacher, answers genuinely.

“Gringotts Wizarding Bank, of course, follow me.” With that, she began walking down the alleyway of shops, with you following close behind.

As you made your way down the square, you tried to predict which shops you’d need to visit later. So far, you had hoped to return to the Owl Emporium and Flourish and Blotts; the plethora of books you had seen in the window excited you.

Soon, the three of you came to a sort of intersection of shops. To your left was another arm of the alley, except this one was dark with what looked to be a staircase leading to who knows where. To your right was a tall wedge-like building, made entirely of some sort of white stone. It read ‘Gringotts Bank’ in chiseled gold letters. Looks like this is the place.

The professor urges us to continue following her as she leads our way into the bank. Once your eyes adjust to the lighting, you can see that it is quite busy, with many people milling about or rushing from point A to B. However, your attention mainly lies with the people behind the many counters lining the place. They seemed of a smaller stature, with sharp noses and large pointed ears. Most seemed to have an angry look on their face, but it was hard to tell from where you stood.

You were about to ask about them, but before you could open your mouth to get a word in, McGonagall had beaten you to it.

“Alright, Ms. Isley, your mother and I must speak with one of the Goblins to situate your money. I ask that you stay here while we do so.” She nods in your direction before urging your mother to come with her to one of the counters.

So they were called goblins. Interesting.

Your mother seems to recognize your intrigue and gives you one piece of advice before following Minerva.

“Be smart.” 

Growing up, she could never stop you from investigating ideas or questions that you had, as much she tried. However, whenever she relented in your stubbornness, her only advice had always been to approach these ideas strategically. You were grateful for the many opportunities you had to explore for yourself, even if sometimes you still ended up getting hurt.

With that advice fresh in your mind, you decided that this was the time to explore.

Your first thought was to march up to one of these Goblins and try to prod for information. Seeing as most of them already looked about one annoying child away from quitting, you decided that maybe that wasn’t the best strategy. So you thought it would be better to calmly approach. You knew nothing about what these Goblins liked, so you weren’t sure any approach you could take would work, but it’s now or never.

You walk your way over to the first available counter you see; the elevation of the counters had made it a perfect height to see who was behind it. The Goblin behind it, though, did not seem to want to acknowledge you, still writing in the book in front of him. Seems you had to do it yourself.

“Excuse me.” You started, trying not to let your nerves get the best of you. Although the goblin still hadn’t looked up, he seemed to respond well enough.

“Welcome to Gringotts Wizarding Bank, how may I assist you?” He droned; he seemed not wanting to have anyone in his presence at all.

“I’m not from a magical family, and I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about this place. It looks very grand.”

As if following a script, he recites a summary of the bank's history.

 “Founded in 1474 by a Goblin named Gringott, Gringotts Wizarding Bank remains the only wizarding bank in Britain. Owned and operated strictly by goblins since its creation, it remains the safest and most secure place for Wizards and Witches alike to store all valuables and currency.”

Well, you didn’t have to fake a reaction to this news. “That’s incredible!” The goblin behind the counter only briefly pauses in his writing. “So you’re saying every person with a pound to their name can credit their monetary safety to this very bank?” You can’t imagine how many people that might be.

“Galleon.” 

You aren’t sure what that meant. You furrow your eyebrows.

“I’m sorry?”

He looks up from his book and quill to stare at you.

“Pounds are the British Muggle currency; in the wizarding world, the currency used is Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts”.

You lean forward on your toes, eager for this new information.

“What’s the coin equivalence of each of these currencies?”

You thought you saw the corner of his lip turn up.

“29 Knuts to a Sickle, and 17 Sickles to a Galleon.” He pulls out a gold coin from behind his desk and hands it out for you to grab, “Here. This is a Galleon.”

You grab the coin from his hands and inspect it. There seems to be a man? Engraved on one side and what looks to be a dragon on the other.

“The detail on this coin is incredible! It’s almost as if it's alive in my hand!”

That seems to get a proud look out of the goblin.

“Only the very best shall be produced and circulated by Gringotts. What’s your name, child?” 

You straighten up, “Delphini Isley, a pleasure.” You give a slight bow at the end of your introduction. You’re surprised, though, when he introduces himself.

“Bogrod.” He says gruffly. “It’s not often I have the opportunity to meet someone as young as you who understands the importance of what we do and produce here at Gringotts.”

You always had a strange thirst for knowledge, anything at all it may be, you loved knowing.

“Would you be willing to discuss the processes of this bank? How are net worth and assets sorted?” You didn’t want to overwhelm, but you wanted badly to know everything there is to this bank.

“Simple enough. Gringotts assigns a vault number to every wizard or witch that does business here. The higher the vault number, the greater the importance or value of what's being held inside. The higher the vault number, the further it is underground.” Bogrod seemed to enjoy explaining how it all worked. Perfect for you.

“Is security the same for every single vault? I’d imagine it would become tedious having to jump through a dozen hoops for someone with next to nothing in their vault. No disrespect to your patrons, of course.” You shoot him an apologetic smile. 

“It all depends on the vault number. Lower-numbering vaults only require a key that’s given to the owner upon assignment. Higher numbering vaults usually need a goblin assist to open the door; the highest numbering vaults have an extra security feature, but that is on a need-to-know basis, I’m afraid.” At this point, he's leaning over the counter to chat with you.

Your next question might stiffen things. “It’s an odd question to ask, but.. what is the range of low net vaults and high net ones?”

He nods at you before leaning back. “Typically, anywhere from 1-300 is a low-sum vault. Vaults 301-800 are mid-size. Anywhere from 801-900 is where you start getting to the high-value vaults. Anything past that, you’re looking at the richest of the rich.”

Fascinating. Just as you were about to ask another question, you heard a shout of your name from the other side of the hall. You look over, and your mother is waving you over, as another goblin begins to lead McGonagall to what looks like an elevator. 

You remember the Galleon in your hand and begin to give it back to Bogrod. He stops your hand and pushes it back towards you.

“It’s leprechaun gold, should disappear after a couple of hours,” He winks, before urging you to join your mother. “Thank you for that bearable chat, I shall remember it whenever a wizard insists that he should have a high-numbering vault with 2 Knuts to his name.”

Thanks to your talk, you actually understand the joke. It causes you to let out a loud laugh, and you vaguely hear your mother shout for you again. You look down at the Galleon in your hand. Leprechaun?

“Thank you, Mr. Bogrod. Even when this Galleon disappears, I shall never forget the help you have been.” With that, you turn and rush over to your mother, putting the coin in your pocket. You get in the elevator, and when she asks what you have been doing, you tell her that you made your first friend here in the wizarding world. To which the Goblin leading you laughs.

“Who? Bogrod? That Goblin wouldn’t know how to make friends if a manual were dropped at his desk! No wonder it's always so empty,” He snickers. The elevator begins to descend, and you don’t take well to people who insult your friends.

“I may not know much about Bogrod, but I now consider him a friend, and he was quite insightful. I don’t take well to people who speak negatively of my friends, but it seems you have much to say. That is telling enough about your character.” You huff and cross your arms, glaring at the Goblin. The elevator falls silent. You see McGonagall shoot you an impressed look, while your mother pats you on the shoulder. When the elevator dings and the doors open, the goblin clears his throat awkwardly before continuing to lead.

“If you would all please follow me.” 

He shows the three of you to some sort of cart on a track. With a butterfly-esque shape, a single seat on top, and two seats facing outwards on each side of the cart. On every corner, two wheels grab onto the top and bottom of the track. The goblin climbs up onto the top seat.

“I’ll be fine sitting on my own; you two should sit together,” McGonagall says, before moving to the other side of the track and sitting down on the sideways seat.

Your mother guides you to sit down, too. “You won't fall out, just don’t go sticking your arms and legs out where they shouldn’t.” She pats your cheek and sits down next to you. There are no seatbelts, not even handles to grab onto, but she said you wouldn’t fall out. You just have to trust that. Not that it helps.

With all of you settled, the cart lets out some steam and begins to move. The ride was what you would call the scariest roller coaster to have ever been invented. With its high speed combined with the twists and drops, it was not a fun time. However, your mother seemed to have been right. Although your brain was telling you that you were going to fall, your body felt as if it was glued to the seat. It’s the small wins.

A few minutes down the track, you flew under a waterfall, but your clothing didn’t appear to be wet.

“The waterfall washes away all enchantments!” The goblin shouted from his perch. Seeming to sense your confusion. A little way down the track, there was a stone platform with another goblin patrolling back and forth. The cart slowed to a stop once the cart was aligned with said platform, the guard intensely analyzing you.

“Where ya’ headed?”  He stated fiercely. The goblin guide answers.

“Vault 943!” 

Your eyes widened as you remembered your earlier discussion with Bogrod.

‘You’re looking at the richest of the rich.’

Why would we be going to a vault of such a high number? You wanted to ask your mother how she did this-

“Alright. Go ahead”

–and you were shot back into momentum, continuing the journey deep underground.

After a couple more minutes of high-speed rail, you can tell the cart is reaching the bottom depths of the vaults. The lighting is surprisingly well done, even this deep underground. Visibility is near adequate. The noise of the cart echoes through the chamber, loud in your ears. It seems to aggravate someone else, too.

You look ahead of you and see a platform being illuminated by a weak spotlight, with a winged creature flaring out its wings in annoyance. The creature is a pale white, with sharp spikes lining its wings and back; it’s incredible. It begins gearing up, raising his heavy body and stretching his neck. It shakes its large head and lets out a devastating roar. Just as it throws its head back, you hear a grating noise from the Goblin in the cart.

You see that he has some sort of noise maker that he shakes aggressively, the animal reacts by flinching back and letting out a painful screech, before backing to the edge of his platform. As if waiting for something to happen. The cart continues to shoot past the creature, and you thought you saw a line of silver wrapping the ankle of the beast. You turn to your mother.

‘I know, ’ you see her mouth, unable to hear over the echo of sound around you. You look down at your lap and just wait for the ride to be over.

Soon, your cart had finally made its way towards the lowest vaults the bank had to offer. You still don’t know why you were down here to begin with. It would only make sense that you would have a low vault if you only needed spare funds for your supplies. The vaults down here are widely spaced, with tall, wide doors. Most likely to give the illusion of a grand appeal.

“‘Ere it is.” The goblin signals for a vault on his left, “Vault 943.” Similar to its counterparts, the vault door was large and intimidating. Many arm-like locks intertwined the entire length of the door, as if protecting it.

You hop off your seat onto the platform, followed by your mother and teacher. Lastly, the goblin made his way off the cart and walked past you to stand in front of the door. He raises his hand and swipes one of his long nails down the center of the door. Some of the arms begin to move, unlocking and falling out of the way, but around half the arms remain interlocked. The goblin moves away from the door and looks towards you.

“Key, please.”

Key? You were never given a key. Maybe your mother had it.  You look toward her, only to see her handing out said key for you to take.

“This is your key to the vault. I ‘ave one, this is your copy. These are the only keys with the ability to open the door, so for the love of Merlin, do not lose them. Ya hear me?” She raises her eyebrow. You stare at the key with wide eyes.

“Yes, ma’am.” You hesitantly grab the key before turning on your foot and making your way to the door. You don’t see a keyhole anywhere on the door, but you raise the key towards the center of it anyway. It appears this was the right move, because as the key gets closer, a keyhole magically forms in front of your eyes.

You look at your mother one last time, and she nudges her head to the door. Telling without words for you to go ahead. You slide the key into the lock and twist it. You look up and see the remaining arms unlocking and disappearing. When the demonstration is done, you push against the door with a little effort. It begins to swing open, some dust and dirt falling from the seams of it. This vault probably has not been opened or used in a long time. You peek your head around the door, and your eyes land on the inside of the vault.

A part of you expected it to be empty. Perhaps the famous Gringotts had run out of low-numbered vaults, so they had to go down the line until an empty number came up. How silly it was of you to think that a place like this would have a baseless issue such as ‘running out of vaults’. No, it appeared Bogrod was telling the truth.

This vault was absolutely packed to the edges with riches and valuables. Stacks on stacks of gold coins–Galleons, as you just learned– covered the floor. Some piles were twice your height. A few chests were scattered about as well, overflowing with what looked to be jewelry. Along the walls were hooks hanging a menagerie of weapons, and shelves lined with books or miscellaneous items you could not recognize. You look towards your mother in disbelief and question.

“The exchange rate I got was incredible,” She smirks, and walks up to you, also looking into the vault. You don’t think she was telling the truth. The amount in this vault surely surpasses that of a hustle gone well, but you wanted to trust that she knew what she was doing. So you decide to move past that and instead move into the vault. You weren’t sure what would happen next. 

McGonagall and the goblin waited outside the vault, while your mother followed you in. She pulls out a dark pouch from– you weren’t sure where– and hands it to you. You put the key in your other pocket and reach for the pouch. When your fingers wrap around it, you can feel that it's velvet. Real or fake, it matters naught to you. She then waves her hands over the plethora of treasure that lies at your feet.

“Go on an’ stuff that pouch crazy. Every coin in here is yours for the takin’”

Now you wouldn’t call yourself frugal, but you also weren’t sure if you felt comfortable enough to just start taking from this vault. It didn’t really feel like this was your vault to raid anyway. With the insistence of your mother's gaze, though, you begin to pick a few coins off the ground and stuff them into the pouch.

After 30 or so pieces, you look towards your mother, asking if that was enough. To which she looks confused and slightly annoyed.

“We’re not just buying ya’ some sweets for your stay at Hogwarts, you silly girl!” With that, she crouches down to your level and begins to grab handfuls of coins, shoving them into the pouch that coincidentally never seems to fill. 

After a couple of minutes of your mother forcing more and more coins down the pouch, she seemed to finally settle. If one were to miraculously find their way into this vault, it would not look as if anything had been touched. That’s how much there was to begin with. You wondered if you’d actually use it all. After all, you weren’t really sure how much things cost here. You wanted to look around the vault a little more. Inspect the books on the shelves and the jewelry in the chests, but your mother stops you.

“Ah-ah, I wouldn’t do that.” She leans in close and speaks in a theatrical whisper, “I think they combined our vault with a random, I don’t know what that stuff is!”

This got a giggle out of you. Your mother had always been one for dramatic displays. With that, the two of you walk back out of the vault and see McGonagall and the goblin chatting. You don’t want to keep calling him that.

“Excuse me.” They both turn to you, but your question is directed only to him. “I never got your name. Would you be comfortable sharing it with me?”

He looks nervous at you speak to him, looking down at his feet.

“Svish, madam.” You step up to him and give your hand out to shake.

“It is nice to meet you, Svish.” He reaches out surprisingly and shakes it. “My name is Delphini.” You drop his hand and step back.

He gives a small smile, “Delphini is a lovely name, young miss.”

You jokingly whisper back, “Sh, not so loud. My mother might hear, and she has quite the ego already!” This gets a chuckle out of Svish and a roll of her eyes from your mother.

“Right, on that note, it’s ‘bout time to get back to the surface so we can shop.” Your mother grabs you by the shoulders and leads you back to the cart. You see McGonagall do the same. Once the group is all seated, Svish takes you back to the surface. You thought you’d see the creature on the platform again, but it seems the return track takes a slightly different route. You just realized that the creature was the third security feature you spoke about with Bogrod, and you hoped it wasn’t treated harshly.

Another trip up an elevator and you were once again standing under the bright lights of Gringotts’ main floor. It took a minute for your eyes to adjust, but when they did, your tour guide and group were already back at the counters. Your mother is calling you over. When you make it to the counter, Svish asks for your hand. You’re left-handed, so you give him that one.

He takes hold of your thumb and presses it on a paper lying in front of you. The contract seems to gain life; it glows and ruffles for a few seconds before settling down. He lets go of your hand, and you take it as a sign that you could have it back.

“Although that key could get into your vault,” he begins to explain. “You wouldn’t be able to even board the minecart without proof that it's yours. This–” He points to the paper you just marked, “-is the proof.” Oh, so technically, you can visit the vault without your mother, as long as you have your key and your thumb, you're set.

With that out of the way, the three of you could finally get back to the shops. On the way out, you sent a quick wave to Bogrod, who acknowledged you with a nod and a smile.

Back on the streets of Diagon Alley, you found yourself a little overwhelmed at the different atmosphere. You look at McGonagall for directions. Your mother walks away to window shop.

“Now, as you can recall, I mentioned that your case is quite different from what we’re used to seeing.” You nod. You do remember that. With that, she continues.

“Typically, when a child shows magical ability, their name gets written down automatically by what's called the ‘Book of Admittance’. When the child turns eleven years of age, they receive their acceptance letter to Hogwarts.” 

“I turned 16 a few months ago.” You state bluntly, obviously, she already knew that.

“Yes, I am aware. So this is why your situation differs heavily.” McGonagall sighs. You don’t want your invitation to be rescinded, but you can’t help but ask.

“Since I’m already so much older than usual, why didn’t you just decide I am no longer fit for it? Wouldn’t I only be immensely behind?” You cross your arms nervously.

“Truthfully, the staff at Hogwarts can never be fully aware of every student that is to one day walk the halls of Hogwarts. We simply were unaware of your letter when it was sent.” She begins to step forward towards where your mother went. You follow.

“However, as a teacher, my job is to allow every magical child the opportunity to hone their magic and allow them to find themselves. Even if we hadn’t situated this until you too were old and grey, you would’ve been given the opportunity all the same.” The short speech admittedly made you a tad bit emotional; she clearly cares deeply for what she does. The two of you spotted your mother staring into the window of a shop named ‘Madam Malkins’, but before you reached her, you had one last question for your professor.

“Why did my letter come so late?”  

She looks in the direction of your mother, and then back at you. 

“I’m afraid it was only a mistake. Now, your mother happens to be in front of the first shop on the list.” With that, she headed towards the store.

What had really happened to have your letter arrive five years late?

~~~

The inside of the first shop was cozy, walls lined with all kinds of robes in all colors and every design. Truly for all occasions, as advertised on the door. Madam Malkin was a squat woman with her light grey hair put in a neat updo. She was quite friendly when she noticed you, with Professor McGonagall in tow, your mother was still loitering outside.

“Minerva! Lovely to see you.” She speaks to her first, before moving on to you.

“Hello, dear! I’m Madam Malkin, welcome to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions! How can I help you? Other than the robe part,” She laughs. 

Now that you think about it, you aren’t sure what you need either. Luckily, your professor takes charge.

“This student is in need of a regular pair of robes for her first day at Hogwarts.” If Madam Malkin notices your slightly mature face, she doesn’t mention it. Instead, she clasps her hands and takes it in stride.

“Ah! A student's first set of school robes! Quite an important occasion. What’s your name, dear?”

You take a step forward. “Delphini Isley, madam, pleasure to meet you.” You give her a slight nod of your head and a polite smile. Madam Malkin lets out a laugh.

“What a beautiful name! How polite too, your parents must be proud.” As if hearing the conversation, your mother steps inside the shop.

“She is quite a marvel, ain’t she?” She says, running her hand down your curls. Madam stutters a breath.

“I don’t believe it! You–” Your mother cuts her off with a hand sticking out to shake.

“Her mother, please, call me Jean.” The two shake hands, albeit a bit aggressively. When Madam Malkin takes her hand back with a clearing of her throat, she jumps back into her optimism. You wonder what she was going to say. She looks at you.

“Follow me, dear! I’ll get your measurements sorted and then we may get you a fine pair of robes for your first day!”

She leads you towards the back of the shop, where a three-sectioned mirror stands. Perfect for viewing your front and both sides all at once. She motions for you to raise your arms, and a floating measuring tape wraps around your waist and hips while she writes down the measurements. She mumbles to herself.

“27…38..” The measuring tape flies away towards the front of the store.

“Now these measurements aren’t for the robes themselves.” Madam Malkin begins. “Those always fit a bit loose; instead, these will go towards items such as your button-up or vest. Now you may head back to Minerva, I shall only be a moment!” You see her head behind a curtain, perhaps to a back room, and you decide to find your mother instead.

You find her rifling through some of the robes with different designs on them; maybe she wanted a pair of her own.

“Did you want a pair?” You laugh, she scoffs.

“Can’t imagine wearin’ something as stuffy as this to events, I prefer a nice dress.” She curtseys.

The two of you discuss the different events that would require these haughty pieces, giggling together like nothing has changed. As if the world of magic was something the two of you had always known.

Soon, Madam Malkin calls you over, and you find her once again in front of the mirrors. She’s holding a hanger with a pristine white button-up and plain black tie in one hand. The other holds a black robe and a dark grey vest with a dark trim along the collar and bottom edge. She ushers the items forward, and you walk up and take them from her.

“There's a changing room just over there.” She points to a few floor-length curtains. “Go ahead and try everything on, and if you’d like, you can come out and show your mother!” You give her a nod and walk over to the changing room.

Moving the curtain out of the way, you see a small room with a seat and a full-length mirror. There is a hook on the wall, so you put the hanger there while you set the robe and vest on the seat. 

You undress your upper half and begin to change into the new button-up. It fits nicely on your torso and arms. You unfold the robe and vest to see a skirt hidden in between the two. Looks like you’d be putting that on as well. After the vest was thrown on, you hastily set the tie around your neck. You weren’t sure how to tie one, so you’d wait on that.

Next comes the skirt. Taking off your jeans, careful not to let the vault key and Leprechaun Galleon fall, you step into the skirt. Although it was a long skirt resting just above your knee cap, you weren’t sure if you liked the openness of it all.  You lastly set the robes around your shoulders, briefly looking at yourself in the mirror before stepping out of the changing room.

You head back to the angled mirror to see Madam Malkin and your mother, now joined by McGonagall, chatting aimlessly together. When your mother spots you, you give her a sheepish smile before pointing at your still untied tie.

“Could you help? I don’t know how to do it.” She waves you forward, and she grabs the ends, dutifully finishing off your look. You thank her and turn to the mirror. You start analyzing every piece of the outfit.

“What do you think?” You ask no one in particular. Madam Malkin answers anyway.

“What do you think, Delphi?” 

You take a second. 

“I like it.”

You take another.

“Could do without the skirt though, got any trousers?” Madam Malkin lets out a loud laugh.

“Trousers, it is dear!”

~~~

The next shop on the list happened to be right next door to Madam Malkins. Flourish and Blotts, as you earlier predicted. Now changed into your regular clothes again and a couple of dozen galleons lighter, Madam Malkin had said she’d send your new uniform as well as some spares to your home.

Stepping into Flourish and Blotts, you were amazed at how many books could fit into such a small store. Piles of books lined the edges of the already overflowing shelves, with other students and their parents milling about the place. You want to read all there is to this place, but you aren’t sure where to start. You step forward to grab the first book you can reach, but your mother seems to know you too well. She grabs you by the shoulder, forcing you to stay put.

“If I were to let ya’ run rampant in here, we’d never leave. We’re ‘ere to get the books you need and that’s that.”

You huff in frustration. McGonagall smiles at you.

“I assume you are quite the bookworm as well?” Your mother answers for you.

“Doesn’t help that this one practically has an eidetic memory when it comes to this stuff. She eats through books like they’re sweets.”

“Just like your mother, it seems.” Is that where you got it from? Your head spins to your mother.

“You have it too?!” You look at her in awe. She only gives you a weak smile.

“Something like that, Dollie, now if you want to get home before dark, I suggest letting Minerva help get your books.” You nod, determined to get your hands on these books.

McGonagall explained that every year, a student is required to bring a new set of books that fit the curriculum of their year.

“Now, with the help of the staff at Hogwarts, we have derived a plan for you to catch up on your studies as fast as possible. The plan is to buy all the books you would need for every year, and take supplemental instruction from every teacher. They would help fill in the gaps and give a hands-on approach.” She begins to walk to the front counter of the shop, where a worker seems to jump from customer to customer. 

“You would slowly be tested until you’ve mastered everything you would've learned in your first years.”

The two of you made it to the front counter. “Is there a deadline for when I should master each unit of every year?” She gives you a sly smile while getting the worker's attention.

“Learning about you, I wouldn't worry too much about deadlines.” She hands a list of supposed books to the worker, who looks at it and bugs his eyes. After a few minutes of convincing, McGonagall managed to arrange a delivery of books to your house. It was quite a few Galleons out of your pouch, but to you, it would absolutely be worth the reading material. You couldn’t wait to get your hands on those books.

Although you wanted to stay in this shop longer, your mother would not permit it for now. She said it was better if you got all your other shopping out of the way first. You promised yourself you’d come back here another time.

The next store on your list was a cauldron shop. You would need a cauldron, some phials, and some scales. On the way to the shop, you passed another with a variety of brooms in the window. The words ‘Quality Quidditch Supplies’ were plastered on the sign. You stop walking and get your professor’s attention. 

“What’s Quidditch?” Your professor looks excited about the question.

“A wizarding game similar to Muggle football, however, it is played in the air on broomsticks. Students at Hogwarts can try out for their house team. Every year, a season of Quidditch is played in a tournament style, whichever house wins receives the Quidditch Cup that lasts until the next season.” The concept of playing for a team in a sport is slightly intimidating.

“Is that the only use for brooms?” You wonder, staring into the shop at the brooms lining the walls.

“There are all sorts of brooms for many kinds of uses,” She begins. “You’ll typically see brooms built for speed being played in Quidditch or for racing; however, the more common broom is built for stability and comfort, as many people use them for travel.” In theory, that sounds cool. For now, you’ll pass. You hated heights.  Instead, the two of you walk away to the cauldron shop.

~~~

Like every other shop in this alley, the cauldron shop continued to impress and amaze you with different things. On top of your needed supplies, you snooped around at other things that you couldn’t wait to learn about. Eye of newt, fairy wings, Shrivelfig. The wizarding world surely would never run out of ways to keep you interested. Alas, your mother didn’t allow you to loiter in the place too long either. When you learned about everything in here and their uses, you’d surely be back to acquire all these items.

You stepped out into the noise of Diagon Alley, admittedly you were getting a little drained. The excitement of today is finally taking a toll on you.

“Alright, Miss Isley, there are only two more items on this list. Then you may go home and rest.” 

Well, thank Merlin for that. 

“What are the last items?” You look at the other stores, trying to guess what else could be needed.

“Every student is allowed a familiar of sorts.” Your teacher sighs, “You may bring along an owl or a cat or a toad, not all three, I’m afraid.” You wonder how many kids have tried to pull that move.

“What would you recommend?” You tilt your head.

“The most common choice is an owl. A popular way of sending and receiving mail is by owl, so in many ways it can be a private way of doing so. However, the choice is given to the student for a reason. Whatever you decide will be perfectly acceptable.”

You tap your finger to your chin, thinking of the pet you’d like the most during your time at Hogwarts.

“I think I know what familiar I’d like!”

A short walk to the other side of Diagon Alley landed you at the Magical Menagerie, the place that apparently holds all kinds of possible animals perfect for the choosing. You decided to go inside by yourself at your teacher's insistence. Many cages carrying owls were outside the shop, but unfortunately, that wasn’t what you were looking for. You stepped inside, and the noise seemed to be even louder than that of the streets. You powered through and searched for your familiar.

You see a wall full of crates on your left, and a couple of tanks full of frogs to your right. You decide to go left. In the crates, there is a variety of all kinds of cats. Orange to black, big to small, there really was a cat for everyone. As you make your way down the line, none of the animals really catches your eye. You would really like a cat, but you don’t think you’ll find the right one here. You wonder if there are any other pet shops in Diagon Alley.

“Are you looking for a feline to take home?” You turn around and see a worker setting down a crate while looking at you.

“Uh..yeah, I am, though I don’t think any of these cats are right for me. If that makes sense.”

The worker nods as if he totally understands. “Ah, of course! The pet chooses the owner as much as the owner chooses the pet.” You glance over the crates on the wall one last time.

“Are these all the cats you have?” You didn’t want to leave empty-handed, but you didn’t want to choose at random.

“I’m afraid so..I mean, there is..” He trails off quietly to himself. What was he about to say?

You would like to try every option, even if this cat doesn’t take to you either. “Is there another cat somewhere?” 

The worker awkwardly smiles at you, “Ah- well, she’s half kneazle if we were to be technical– but! She’s always been a bit aggressive around people–kids especially– so we keep her in the back to avoid any spats.” Poor kitty, or I guess kneazle. Whatever that was.

“I’d like to see her, please.” You ask. He tries to turn your attention back to the cats along the wall, but you wouldn’t be deterred. With that, you were being led to the back behind a curtain. Said curtain is doing very little to soften the noise of the animals in the other room. In the corner of the small room, you see another cage. With the worker's approval, you walk up to the cage and sit on the floor in front of it.

“You could let her out if you’d like. The curtain’s enchanted to not allow any animals in or out to avoid any mix-up.” With that, he makes himself scarce.

You wonder what she looks like, but you don’t put your face up to the cage. The sound in this place alone is enough to make you go crazy, and you haven’t even been here for 20 minutes. You can’t imagine how overwhelming it would be to an animal stuck here for so long, with strangers constantly in your space.

You decide to just open the door and let her do what she needs to do. You scoot back and wait for any movement.

The two of you just sit in silence, letting the noise from the other side of the curtain fill the space around you. When you’re upset and don’t want to talk, your mother would always talk aimlessly about random things to calm you down. You found that a simple distraction is enough to take you out of a bad mood; perhaps it could work with her.

You speak in a whisper; you’d imagine she can hear better than you can, so you don’t feel the need to project your voice.

“You know...I’m from a Muggle family, and I surely thought I was going to spend the rest of my life trying to figure out what I wanted to do. Nothing ever seemed to call out to me. I was just going to float around with some boring old desk job with no purpose and completely alone.” You see the shadow of movement inside the cage, so you continue.

“My mother always told me I was one of the most outstanding people she’s ever known. Courageous when needed to be, Empathetic to a fault, and Knowledgeable. Ya’ know, with the eidetic memory and all. But what good would any of that have done me if I didn’t know what to do with it all! Besides, she's my mother, pretty sure she has to say all of that.” 

“But then, I get a...letter saying I was suddenly accepted into this magic school for magical children. Then a professor is in my living room telling me that this feeling of being different is normal! Then I’m whisked away to these shops to get my robes and my cauldron and my familiar–” You cut yourself off as you start to get a bit emotional. In the cage, you see what looks to be the cat's snout starting to stick out of the cage. You take a deep breath.

“It’s all so new and it’s all so different!. I guess it’s all just hit me right now that my life will never be the same. That maybe this could be my purpose.” You see a pair of eyes and a gorgeous, dark grey head.

“Maybe tomorrow I will wake up and this feeling will be gone, and maybe five years from now I will remember this moment and laugh at how silly I must’ve been to be getting emotional at the Magical Menagerie of all places.” You chuckle to yourself, and you see the cat begin to slowly step out of the cage.

“I’m not sure what will happen to me. I’m not sure if I’ll have any better luck here, but if I am to try, then I would like to have a friend to be with me the entire way.” The kneazle is now sitting on her hind legs in front of you. Her fur is long and dark grey all over with even darker spotting on her back. Large tufted ears, and a whippy tail with another thick tuft of fur at the end. She was probably the biggest cat you’ve ever seen, and she was beautiful.

“Would you be willing to be my friend?” You slowly raise your hand for the cat to sniff, not wanting to startle her. She sideswipes your hands and plops herself right into your lap, barely fitting. You had just found your familiar. You pet along her back slowly, stopping right before her tail. She begins to purr at the movement. Your moment of understanding is unfortunately interrupted by the worker from earlier.

“Hey! How's it– woah..” Seeing the kneazle in your lap, he looks back up at you in disbelief. You only smile sweetly at your best friend.

“I’ll take her.”

~~~

Walking out with a crate in hand and a smile on your face, you make your way to your group. You could spot them across the street, the early afternoon crowd of Diagon Alley seeming to dissipate just a little. They seemed to be in the middle of a tense whisper battle. Your mother has an annoyed look, and her arms are crossed, always the more physically expressive type. Professor McGonagall is a bit harder to read from so far away, but her persona is the embodiment of calm.

You aren’t sure if you should interrupt, but you’d like to go back home as soon as possible. With only one last thing on the list, you decided to prioritize that, so you pretend you don’t notice the stuffy atmosphere and head their way.

When the two of them finally notice you walking up, you look down at the crate in your hand to show them your friend. Your mother raises her eyebrow.

“What'd ya’ get?”

“Apparently, she's half-kneazle? She’s quite large, but was overwhelmed where she was. Hopefully, she’ll fare better at Hogwarts. Don’t know what I'm going to name her, though.” 

McGonagall looks impressed. “Kneazles certainly are tougher to win the favor of; she must’ve seen something in you. They also need a much more thorough look after.  We can make sure you truly learn about what it means to take care of such a creature in your Care of Magical Creatures class.”

“Actually,” McGonagall continues, “One of the teachers at Hogwarts owned half-kneazles during their time at Hogwarts and up until now, perhaps they could lend a hand in understanding your pet.” You would like to know all there is to caring for your pet, so you would definitely take advantage of this extra resource.

“That would certainly help! What class do they teach?” You thought you saw your mother tense in the corner of your eye. McGonagall only smiles.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts”

“I’m guessing that class teaches you how to defend yourself against the dark arts?” 

“Catch on quick, do you? Although the material taught to students isn’t necessarily dark, one could surely misconstrue its purposes to make it so. There are also spells that were created solely for evil, so it’s best to teach students how to protect themselves if they were to ever come across them.”

You’d make sure to do your research on all these types of spells. Hopefully, there is enough information that covers these spells. You had a feeling this class would become a favorite of yours.

“What’s the teacher's name?” You thought you saw your mother tense up even more; she was probably as tired as you.

“To most of the wizarding world, she is called the ‘Golden Girl’. Though she never took a liking to that moniker, you may call her Professor Granger.” She looks proud of this golden girl; you wonder what she’s done to get that name. For now, that’d have to wait, as McGonagall begins to walk off with a look of satisfaction on her face.

“Come along now, we’d best get your wand!”

~~~

All the way at the other end of Diagon Alley, stood a shop by the name of ‘Ollivanders.’ It was quaint on the outside, similar to all the other shops here, but you know that what lay inside would most likely impress you the same way everything else had. Everything was so new, it was hard not to be. 

You thought your mother and professor would join you walking in, but McGonagall told you the choosing of a wand was a personal affair. You were worried about your new friend; however, your mother assured you that she would be in good hands with the two of them. With nothing else keeping you outside, you made your way into the last shop.

The darker lighting of the place was the first thing you noticed, soothing to your eyes. The next was the shelves that lined every inch of the walls from floor to ceiling. They were full of lengthy thin boxes, some of the shelves half collapsing under the weight of them all. There was a staircase on the left of the room, presumably for easier access to the upper boxes.

Nobody was manning the counter, but you heard a faint shuffling in the back. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to be doing, if you were supposed to grab a wand yourself or wait for whoever was rummaging in the back. You decided to play it safe and walk up to the front desk.

“Excuse me?” You hesitantly shout. You hear a dull thump from the back before some quick shuffling. A voice begins speaking, gradually becoming louder.

“Oh! Welcome to Ollivander’s Wands! Apology for the absen–” An old man with long, frazzled silver hair pops around the corner, cutting himself off when his eyes land on you. A grin of awe forms on his face as he puts both his hands on the counter, leaning on it.

“Well,l I almost can’t believe it! Delphini Isley has finally stepped into my shop!” How did he know your name? He doesn’t seem to care about the confusion on your face as he continues to rattle on.

“I always wondered when the day you’d finally show up would arrive, just my luck! You do not know how honored I am to be the one to sell you your first wand! Mr. Garrick Ollivander, at your service.” The excitement on his face is very much visible.

“Uh..how did you know my name..?” You still couldn’t move past that. The man, however, seems to have done so already, as he has now walked around the desk to the left wall of wands, now searching for something.

“We must not dawdle on something so trivial. You, of course, are here for your wand! The sooner we get you one, the sooner everything else falls into place.” He finds what he’s looking for, now walking back to the counter with a box in his hand, placing it there.

“What– ” You try again, but there is no shaking him from his mission. Again, he walks away, this time towards upstairs. He begins to shuffle once again in the many boxes, tossing some off the shelves while he's at it. You wonder how he seems to know what’s in each one. Maybe you’ll just wait a second and try talking when he finishes up.

After a few more seconds of ransacking the place and another skim through the bottom floor, Mr. Ollivander seems to have found everything he needed. 

“I think one of these may work.” He opens the initial box he found, revealing a pale, almost white wand inside. He pushes the box towards you.

“ 10 ½ inch Hornbeam wand with a phoenix feather core, brittle”

You look at the box, and you aren’t sure what he wanted you to do. Everything seemed to happen so fast. He only smiles warmly.

“Go on..give it a little swish.”

You nervously grab the wand; the weight of it seems awkwardly light in your hands, and the coloring you thought was harsh. You weren’t sure what kind of swish he meant, but you decided to move the wand sort of in a circle with a pointed finish. A beam of yellow light shoots from the wand, not expecting it, you jump slightly in the air.

The lamp on the front desk explodes into a thousand pieces. You felt out of your element and disappointed. You were going to apologize, but the resulting laugh from Mr. Ollivander changed your original response to a meek smile. You set the wand down, and he places it back in its box.

“Perhaps not that one then. Try…this.” He opens the second box, grabs a pale brown wand, and hands it over to you.

“9-inch Vine wand with a unicorn hair core, pliant”

The wand this time felt almost too short, as if it would slip out of your hands if you were to flare it too hard. However, you decided you would try to do just that. Despite your previous failure, you move with a bit more confidence this time. You flick the wand at the wall of wands to your left, choosing it as your next target.

This resulted in a white beam leaving the wand; you sort of expected it this time, so you didn’t jump quite as high. Unfortunately, your moment of bravery didn’t stop the spell from hitting the wall and crumbling it to the ground in a mess of boxes. You’re afraid this mishap isn’t so forgivable. 

“Oh dear.. perhaps not that one either. No matter, nothing a quick reparo won’t fix.” He grabs this wand back with a little more haste than the last. He brings his hand up to his face, finger tapping at his chin, thinking. Out of the hundreds of wands in this room, there had to be at least one that would take a liking to you. A few moments later, the shopkeeper's entire body seemed to jolt in renewed vigor.

“Yes, of course!” He disappears around the corner from which he came earlier. You hear rustling from the back, a few more thumps, and what you thought was him humming. You look back at the fallen wands that now litter the floor, and maybe you could help clean that up. A moment later, the sound of something being placed on the counter catches your attention. You whip your head back and see Mr. Ollivander back at his post, with a third wand in front of him.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it before, it’s obvious!” He again opens the box and pulls out the next contender, this one was a dark brown, almost black. It had a thicker base, as if acting like a handle. You grab the wand and get a feel for it. This one is a balanced weight in your hands, and is long enough to not feel like an aggressive movement will be its demise. Taking a closer look at the wand, you see what looks to be many vines embossed around the length of the wand, the opposite of an engraving. It added depth to its beauty. 

With a deep breath, you wave it towards the fallen wands. You don’t think you wanted to do any more harm to his shop; you wanted to make sure you helped.

This time, it was a blue light that shot from the end of the wand; you didn’t jump. The light hit the wands on the floor, and what happened next truly was magic.

The stray wands on the floor began to make their way into their original boxes, and boxes began to make their way back onto their shelves. The shelves you broke earlier also began to fix, and in a few short seconds, it looked like you had never made a disaster of the place to begin with. You could only look in astonishment at what you had just done.

“Marvelous…truly.” You look back at Mr. Ollivande, and he seems to also be staring at the wall you had just fixed. “A natural affinity, you will do amazing things during your time at Hogwarts, Miss Isley.” You can’t help but feel a little bashful at the praise.

“What kind of wand is this one, sir?” He smiles with a sort of melancholy look on him.

“ 12 ¾ inch Blackthorn wand with a dragon heartstring core, unyielding. This wand does not easily choose its owner. They must be great in every aspect to win the favor of it, and it is very resistant to change. The wand you hold was made for a warrior. You, dear child, will be just that. A perfect combination of the ones before you.” 

Was he talking about your family? Because other than your mother, you had no idea of any supposed family members that came before you. You were an only child, and your mother was an only child; she had also said your grandparents had passed before you were born. Maybe he just meant your mother, but she didn’t have magic, so you weren’t sure how he knew of her.

Although he seemed to know your name, after that, you weren’t sure he also knew your mother's name was out of the realm of possibility.

“Are you talking about my mother?” He only smiles at you.

“Who is your mother?” 

“Her name is Jean.”

“And who is Jean?” Is he messing with you?

“My mother.” This time, he has something else to add.

“Ah– that’s who Jean is to you, but before you, who was Jean?” That’s…actually a very good question. Your mother never talked about her past in heavy detail; you only know that wherever she came from wasn’t safe. When she became pregnant with you, she fled said place and never looked back. Other than that, you didn’t know where she was from, the people, if any, that she had in her circle. 

You weren’t even sure what her last name was, only that it wasn’t Isley. You don’t know who your father was, and your mother never brought him up. Your mother was overprotective, and you figured if she never told you anything that it was for good reason.

“...Do you… know who my mother was?” Once again, he gave you a knowing, yet sad smile.

“That’ll be 12 Galleons, Miss Isley.”

~~~

You walked out of Ollivanders with more questions than answers. You were becoming more frustrated by the minute! It was technically only your first day in the wizarding world, and the mystery of your mother seemed to grow greater the longer you were here. First the vault, then Madam Malkin's reaction, and lastly Mr. Ollivander's borderline taunting of your mother's past. You feel more out of the loop the more adults seem to hang information in front of your face. You always knew there was more to your mother, but the wand-maker really put it all into perspective. 

“Woah! What's got your curls in a twist there, Dollie?”

Just who was Jean Doe?

If you asked too many questions, you knew your mother would shut you down. You learned that when your young, curious self would not stop asking questions about where her own mommy and daddy were. For now, you’d have to play it safe and wait for when you had more information. You weren’t sure how you’d get this information, you’d just have to play by ear for now.

“Mr. Ollivander is a strange man," you pout. It wasn’t like you were lying. He is indeed a very eccentric man.

“Garrick has been servicing the wizarding community for the past 70 years; he’s certainly wise in his years to learn a thing or two.

Seventy?! Even if he were to have started working in his teens, that would put him at least in his mid-eighties, and he didn’t look a day over sixty! McGonagall seemed to notice the confusion on your face, and your mother just snorted.

“We wizards and witches have a much longer life span than our Muggle counterparts. Why, a witch in this day in age lives around 137 years!” Your eyes bug at that information. Would you live that long as well? Your eyes move back to your mother. Would you outlive her? She seems to notice your eyes, and she throws her head back in a loud laugh.

“Don’t you worry your little head about anything, Dollie, your old woman’s got some fight still in her.” She comes up and wraps her arms around you in an aggressive hug, shaking you side to side. You giggle, despite the scary thought of not having your mother.

“Well, I’ve gotten my wand, so that’s the last thing on the list!” You were all magic-ed out for the day, you’re afraid. You couldn’t wait to get home. As much as you wanted to immediately get into all the books you had gotten, perhaps a nap first would be best. At the reminder of your wand, your mother prods at what it looked like. You decide to humor both of them.

“12 ¾ inches made of blackthorn wood and a dragon heartstring core.” You recall without any trouble. “Oh! And Mr Ollivander said it was unyielding, made for a warrior.” Your mother didn’t say anything, but McGonagall congratulated you on gaining the favor of such a stubborn wand. “It’s so pretty too!”

You step out of your mother's koala-like hug and open the wand box that you had been awkwardly holding in your hand. Pulling it out and letting the other two get a good look at the vine pattern tangling along it. You still couldn’t get over how nice it looked.

“So it is..” Your mother had a far-off look in her eyes, like her head was in another place. 

McGonagall takes the moment of silence as a cue.

“Now that you’ve gotten everything, I’m afraid your way back home won’t be as quick as this morning.” You weren’t sure what she meant by that. You don’t think anything changed in order for apparition not to work. You had your wand, your potion supplies, your galleons, and your kneazle–

“Does apparition not work with animals?” She gives you an impressed nod.

“Magical creatures cannot use wands, and therefore cannot apparate. If the creature does not possess the inherent ability to teleport, then they must be transported by traditional means. Your options now would be either by broom or by floo.” You see where she was going with this now.

“And we don’t have a fireplace.”

“No, you do not. So the plan is, I fly us back to your home on a broom, and your mother can be apparated back.”

You can’t imagine how comfortable travelling on a broomstick would be; it didn’t seem fun to be off the ground with only a thin stick somehow keeping you afloat.

“Is that truly the only option?” You ask nervously, “How long would the flight be?”

Your mother usually would make a teasing jab at your fear of heights, but this time she decided to have mercy on you. She instead brought a hand to your shoulder, “Ain’t nothin’ you need to worry about, Dollie, it’ll be quick. Twenty minutes at most.”

You resist the urge to whine, “Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who needs to be on that potential death trap!”

McGonagall cuts in before you can get too riled up. “Now I can assure you that flying–if done responsibly– is a perfectly safe way of travel. That’s why it's so common. Now the two of us must exit Diagon Alley; your mother will stay here and wait.” 

You could only look back at your mother in fright. “Go on, love, there’s no one I would trust more with your safety than Minerva.”

With a small huff, you are convinced to leave your mother. Following your professor to the other end of Diagon Alley, you come upon a solid brick wall. You didn’t look behind you when you were brought to Diagon Alley, so you don’t remember seeing it.

McGonagall’s right hand reaches into the left sleeve of her robe, pulling out a wand. Would your robes have the same function? You hope so. She brings the tip of the wand to a random brick in the wall, tapping it twice. The bricks that make up the wall seem to fold into themselves, creating a wide pathway through it, revealing a courtyard and the back of a building.

“This is The Leaky Cauldron. Muggles tend to use this port of entrance instead of being apparated in.”

“Certainly would be easier on the body…” You recall your bout of sickness and embarrassment this morning.

She leads you to what you assume to be the back door. Inside the place, it feels a bit dreary. Lots of natural lighting from the big windows placed high, but a lot of muted colors like grey and brown. Not a lot of warmth in this place, but the patrons here seemed not to mind. Not like you were staying here long anyways.

Dodging between tables, your professor seems not to acknowledge the eyes of the dozen or so people here; they seemed more focused on you anyway. Most would spot McGonagall first, then you, but instead of moving on, they seemed to become even more curious. After a slightly awkward, silent walk, the two of you made it out the other side of the pub.

Outside of the Leaky Cauldron was a regular city street in London, where you saw a handful of people going about their day, paying no attention to the tall woman dressed in robes, and the young girl carrying a large crate in her hands. She quickly led you to an alleyway beside the pub. It was oddly wide, not very discreet, and you were worried someone was going to spot the two of you. The less curious people, the better.

McGonagall pulls out her wand again before waving towards you, before pointing it towards herself and doing the same minute movement.

“I have put a disillusionment charm on the two of us, to muggle eyes, we would blend into the area around us.” That would certainly help.

“Okay, so they won’t be able to see us. What about hearing?” 

McGonagall nods her head, “You have a good head on those shoulders, Miss Isley.” She waves her wand again.

“Muffliato.” 

You’ll keep that phrase in mind.

“What happens now?”

The professor once more waves her wand, and a generic brown broom lies on the ground.

“I will fly you and your familiar home.” She walks up to the broom and raises her hand above it. “Up!” The broom, although having no ears, seems to hear her just fine, and flies up into her open hand. She then settles the front of the broom between her feet, keeping the bristle end still on the ground. “Come along now, your turn.”

You force yourself to step over the broom as well, although you weren’t quite seated on the broom just yet.

“Now, there’s no need to jostle or be afraid. This broom is built for stability, though it's lacking in speed.” She seemed a bit miffed at that. The broom begins to lift off the ground. You tense for your turn. The two of you begin to rise off the ground. You expected it to be a painful experience, but it feels as though there's some kind of pillow supporting your weight in the air.

You adjust the crate so that it rests more in your lap than in your arms. It's a bit awkward with the wand in your other hand, but you make do. They were starting to get a bit tired from holding it for so long. Your kneazle was cute, but she was anything but light. The higher you got in the air, the more you felt you were going to fall. You needed to distract yourself.

“Do you like flying fast?” The broom was now at full altitude, and the two of you began to fly forward, seemingly in the direction of where you lived.

“I’m not one for broom racing, but I enjoy the act of flying whenever possible.” McGonagall doesn’t turn her head to respond, but she was thankfully going slow enough that the wind was no issue. “The broom was one of the first methods of long-distance travelling, but the creation of the floo quickly rose past it in everyday use. My duties as a professor and deputy headmistress do not allow much time for hobbies.”

The city beneath you was certainly a sight, if you looked down too long, though you’d start to get dizzy. So you tried to focus ahead. “What class do you teach?” You don’t think you asked too many questions about your professor's life, partly out of respect, but you needed something–anything– to keep you calm.

“I teach transfiguration, a branch of magic that focuses on the alteration of the form or appearance of objects and animals.” Sounds quite interesting, you wonder what transformations she was speaking of.

“Can transfiguration be applied to humans as well?” The woman let out a weary sigh.

“Yes, human transfiguration is a branch, but I highly advise against it. There are many factors that go into transfiguring an object, let alone a person. It is just too complex for even advanced students, let alone a beginner such as yourself.” 

Ouch. You couldn’t fault her for the wording; in terms of schooling, you’d be even less than a beginner. You’d make sure to catch up as quickly and thoroughly as possible. You wanted to be doing laps around the mediocre expectations all the professors probably have of you.

“Can you tell me more about the other professors at Hogwarts?” You’d love to know who you were up against, and if any needed a bit more compensation. You see McGonagall nod.

“Filius Flitwick is the Charms professor at Hogwarts, as well as the head of Ravenclaw. He is an intelligent man, with a passion for his teachings.” Ravenclaw? You decided to ask when McGonagall was done with pseudo-introductions.

“Severus Snape teaches Potions and acts as the head of Slytherin. He’s a complex character with sharp wit, but he is a brilliant potion master with unwavering loyalty.” A complex character either meant he was eccentric like Mr. Ollivander or a jerk. You also noted that he, too, was the head of a house.

“Pomona Sprout is in charge of Herbology and the head of Hufflepuff. She is a kind and nurturing soul, but don’t let that fool you. She is equally as hardworking and knowledgeable.” She has a bit of a sweeter tone when speaking of this professor; they must be close.

“Cuthbert Binns is the History of Magic teacher; he is traditional in his teachings and a curt man.” She didn’t have much to say about him; he could be good or bad.

“Rolanda Hooch is our Flying instructor, strict and no-nonsense. Typically, only first years are required to take flying classes. Seeing as you are technically acting as a first and sixth year student simultaneously, you will have to attend the course as well.” You slouch in your invisible seat; you can’t possibly see yourself doing any good in that class.

The dense city of London begins to fade into grassland.

“Rubeus Hagrid is now the Care of Magical Creatures professor after the retirement of Silvanus Kettleburn three years ago. He is what you could call a ‘gentle giant’, but he too is heavily knowledgeable and qualified for the position despite his appearance.”

“Sybil Trelawney is our Divinations professor.” 

…did she not have anything else to say? Did they actually teach that at Hogwarts?

“You mean Divination as in ‘this card fell from the deck and it means you’ll die’? Isn’t that heavily unreliable and can be terribly misconstrued?”

Although she was facing away from you, you swore you could see her begin to smile before quickly straightening her face again.

“Now, all staff and students at Hogwarts should be treated with the same amount of respect and decency, no matter personal biases and thoughts. Even if what they teach is a load of rubbish!” You don’t think she meant to say that last part out loud, at least not to a future student, but you decided to move on since you related to her views on the subject. You just don’t see how the class could ever be taken seriously if every single lesson were just up to the students' interpretation.

“...o…kay, well, is that all the staff I should know about?” You think back to the conversation you two had after you got your familiar. “What about Professor Granger? Do you have any words to say about her?”

McGonagall goes quiet for a few seconds, as if contemplating her next words. “Hermione Granger is one of the bravest and smartest people I have ever met. It is not too far of a stretch to call her one of the smartest people of our time. During her time at Hogwarts, she showed exemplary understanding of every subject thrown her way, inside and outside the classroom. She was an advocate for everyone around her, no matter who they were. She endured things during her school years that no child should ever experience, but she succeeded past what anyone expected and became a hero.”

You sit in silence for a few moments. This Granger seems to be quite the character. McGonagall seems to have a lot of history with her. She sounded proud, then regretful, before ending in earnest. You wondered what had happened to name her the hero of the wizarding world.

“You actually remind me of her quite a bit.” This got your attention. “How you defended the goblin back at Gringotts from Svish, only to later make him an acquaintance too. Then, looking at how relentless you become in the face of learning more about the world around you. If Mrs. Granger were to know you, I have a feeling you’d get along well.”

You could no longer see the city in the distance around you.

“Is she well-loved at Hogwarts, too?”

McGonagall laughs at that. “I’d say she's one of the most popular professors currently. Although nowadays I think that has less to do with her track record and more to do with her appearance!” She continues to laugh, albeit quietly.

“Ah, I see! So she’s conventionally attractive?” Easy enough to understand, but you’re more interested in seeing her intelligence in action.

“In the more modest words of the students, 'she's a stunner.’” 

You start to recognize the dirt roads winding on the ground below you, and you need to ask your final questions before you no longer have the opportunity. The new term wasn’t going to start for another month at least. 

“You mention some of the professors being the head of houses, what did that mean?” 

You see McGonagall nod to herself. “At Hogwarts, every new student is sorted on the first day of term into one of four houses. Gryffindor, represented by a lion. Slytherin, represented by a snake. Hufflepuff, represented by a badger. Finally, Ravenclaw, represented by an eagle. Every house has distinct traits and values that shape the house.”

You thought that was a bit odd.

“So what does each house mean? And if you get into one house, does that mean you don’t have the traits represented by the other houses? What if someone lies about who they are and what they value most?” This gets a hum out of the professor.

“All good questions. Gryffindor favors students who have bravery, courage, and determination. Slytherin favors those who are cunning, resourceful, and strategic. Hufflepuff, those who are loyal, hard-working, and fair. Ravenclaw, those who are curious, wise, and open-minded.”

You thought that was a bit generalizing, but you wanted her to answer all your questions first before you interrupted.

“And no, just because you are chosen by one house does not mean you do not have traits of the others. It only means those traits are ones you hold in high regard about yourself. In terms of students lying, there is no issue with that either. Hogwarts uses what's called ‘The Sorting Hat’, a magical artifact with the ability to see a student's individual qualities and preferences.” Is a mind-reading hat morally correct? Seems a bit invasive.

“This hat also takes into consideration a student's personality, potential, and their desires. It also looks at what the student wants for themselves. The hat knows what house is best, but it doesn’t outright ignore what you want.”

That makes you feel a bit better about this whole sorting thing. You think for now that’s all the questions you could ask. You saw your home sitting just up ahead all on its lonesome self. The houses here are each on a couple of acres of land, so neighbors are far. The tall trees and grass surrounding the house also gave it some extra privacy. You assumed your mother's past had haunted her enough to want that, so you tried not to complain about how lonely you got sometimes.

As the broom touched down, no longer supporting your weight, you had to remember to use your legs or else you’d fall over. Settling the crate back in your well-rested arms, you stepped away from the broom. McGonagall brought out her wand and waved it over the broom, which popped into oblivion. She raises her hand towards your front door, and the two of you begin the final part of your journey today.

“After you are inside, I will apparate back to Diagon Alley and retrieve your mother. We will tidy up the last details for your first day, and then I shall head back to Hogwarts.” 

The two of you reached the front door, and you opened it, stepping inside. You turn back around to say your last piece with your future professor.

“So this wraps up the excitement for the day, huh?” You felt a tad bit off at having the professor go; you had felt a sort of grandmotherly connection with her. Though she probably sees at least a dozen students every summer, so maybe you should banish the thought.

“I’m afraid it does, dear. It was a pleasure getting the opportunity to introduce you to the world of magic.” She holds her hands together in front of him and bows her head slightly. The pointed hat on her head was not moving from its spot in the slightest.

You hoped to repay her gratitude someday. “Today was bound to be overwhelming from the start, but having you to help at every step made it bearable.” You nod your head too. “I know the things you’ll teach me will open my eyes and help shape who I become. Thank you for everything!”

She smiles more warmly than you’d ever seen previously. “I could say the same about you, Miss Isley. For now, I look forward to seeing your ability in action.”

“I do hope to impress.” You nod back, you’d make sure of it.

With that, she apparates back to Diagon Alley with a loud pop, and you shut the door.

It was evening by the time you managed to make it back home, and with evening always came pajamas. With the crate in one hand and your wand in the other, you ran as fast as you could up the staircase into your room. Opening the door, you rushed into your room and placed the carrier on the floor, and opened the door for your kneazle to come out if she wished. You then moved to your desk and set your wand down.

You grabbed a pair of black shorts and a baggy sleep shirt out of your dresser, and you dressed swiftly into the comfortable clothes, taking great care in removing the key and coin out of your jean pockets and setting them next to your wand.

Your kneazle friend had made her way out of the carrier in the time it took for you to get yourself situated, now sniffing at the room around her. While she was doing that, you decided to make your way downstairs to make yourself something to eat. You hadn’t had anything since early this morning, and the business of the day distracted you from feeling hunger's full effects.

Making your way down the stairs, you walk behind the sofa just as the front door swings open. Your mother rushes in with a tired look on her face. Seems you weren’t the only one fatigued by today’s events. 

“You alright, Dollie? Got everythin’ settled? I see your friend has made herself at home.” She nods to your left, you turn and see your kneazle hoisted up on the back of the couch, lazily licking at her front paw. You didn’t even notice she followed you.

“Uh, yeah, I just wanted to eat something before going to bed.” You walk to your right towards the kitchen, your mother following suit. The two of you move around each other as you do your own thing. She forgoes dinner, instead sorting through the pile of mail that's stacked on the counter. Eventually, she just ends up throwing the entire stack away. 

You decided to just stick with a bowl of cereal to end your day; you didn’t want to spend any more energy figuring out what to eat. Your cat jumps onto the kitchen table where you’re eating, and your mother just looks over and rolls her eyes at the display.

“Keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble ‘round here.” You nod, mouth full of cereal. She walks over to you and places a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t want her to cause a ruckus at school. I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

She begins to turn off the lights around the house, “Books and everything else should be here tomorrow. For now, try and sleep through the excitement. Love ya’ Dollie.” When you responded in kind, she rushed up the stairs, and you heard her room door open and shut. You look back at your familiar, who is still aimlessly licking at her paw and judging the space.

“You excited to hole up with me while I study all my new books?” You bring your hand up and pet her, and she begins to purr. “We can lie in bed together all day, you’ll get to sleep, and I’ll get to read. Peace and quiet, just what you need.”

After you finish eating, you hastily clean up. You hold your arms out for your kneazle to see if she wants to be carried upstairs. Instead, she hops off the table and sits at your feet. You got the hint, so you just walk the path up to your room, and this time, vaguely hear her behind you.

You settle into bed, your kneazle deciding the best spot to lie would be right next to your head. You really had to give her a name. You relax as the business of today zaps the remaining energy out of your body. The kneazle fur tickling your hairline and the heat of your friend bring you further underwater. With a smile on your face, you get a glimpse of the Galleon given to you this morning. As your eyes close, you realize that it had never disappeared. How kind.