MJ's Hogwarts Journal Chapter 1

Saturday 31^st August

I’m going to Hogwarts. I’m going to Hogwarts. I’m going to Hogwarts. I can’t believe it. I’ll be going to a boarding school, in a castle, in Scotland, for a whole year. It’s in an actual castle. And best of all, it’s a school only for witches and wizards. That means I’m a witch! A real witch. Me?! I can hardly believe it. This is the best thing that has ever happened to me – ever. I’ve always wanted to be a witch, ever since I first watched ‘Bewitched’ and Samantha twitched her nose and tried to make her mother disappear. I tried doing that once before, but nothing happened. I wonder if I’ll be able to do it once I’ve finished school – that’ll be cool.

My older sister, Viki is so jealous it’s funny. Ever since I got my letter, she’s spent the entire summer asking Mom why I get to be a witch and she doesn’t – apparently a Great Aunt on my Mom’s side is a witch, but no one has ever spoke of her before. No one else in the family has ever had magic powers before either. I’m the first. Finally, something good has become of me being stuck in this family.

My acceptance letter to the school was so cool. It looked like it was written on old fashioned paper with a quill and ink. It even had a candle-wax seal too. It was amazing. I had never heard of Hogwarts before I’d got the letter. I tried going to the library to look it up, but I couldn’t find it. I even asked the librarian, but she thought I was just some dumb kid messing about and told me to go away. Some dumb kid? I’ll show her. One day when I know how to turn someone into a toad, she’ll be the first person that I’ll come and find.

Well, after Mom wrote back to the school confirming that I could go – it took a lot of pleading, but once my old man found out that it was free, and that he’d be getting rid of me for a whole year, he was all for it – we found out that the whole existence of the school is kept a secret from everyone who isn’t a witch or wizard, which I guess makes a lot of sense otherwise every kid would want to go. The school’s Head Teacher, Professor Dumbledore, wrote back to us, telling my parents that the only place that you could find out anything about the school was in a place, in London, called Diagon Alley. Professor Dumbledore sent us instructions of how to get there and listed all of the shops that we would need to visit in order to get all of my school supplies, these my parents would have to pay for (but at a small price compared to how much a boarding school would cost). My old man wasn’t very happy when he found out that he would have to fork out the money for my stuff, but when Mom reminded him of the free tuition fee, he soon stopped his grumbling.

*

We went to Diagon Alley a few weeks ago. It was the most amazing place that I have ever seen in my entire life. I could have lived there. I never wanted to leave. Okay, so to get there we had to drive to London. I wasn’t exactly pleased that all four of us had to go, but Mom didn’t feel comfortable driving all the way to London and back and being surrounded by witches and wizards all day without Dad there, so, he had to come along too. And my parents said that we couldn’t leave Viki on her own at home all day, so we ended up with a car full. I don’t see why we had to bring her along too – she’s my older sister, couldn’t she have just stayed at home?

The car journey was dead. Barely anyone spoke all of the way to London. It put me on edge. They were thinking about me, I knew it. How I was different; more different from that moment on than what I had been before, because this was the moment that it all became real. We were actually travelling to Diagon Alley to pick up my school supplies for a wizarding school. My heart raced with excitement. I kept my eye on the road signs and counted the miles down. Viki wouldn’t even look at me. She spent the entire car journey staring out of the window with her head squished against her left fist. I could hear my old man tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Every time we stopped at a set of traffic lights or at a junction, he would start to beat the edge of the wheel. Whilst driving, he kept fiddling with the radio. He’d turn it up, then down, then he’d change the station, then he’d change it back. I could tell Mom was nervous. I could see her eyes from my passenger seat, behind Dad. She wouldn’t look at anything for more than a few seconds. She would look at the passing scenery, then at the car in front, and then she would peer through the wing mirror at the car behind, before checking her make-up in the mirror on the sun blind. She tidied her hair hundreds of times and constantly ran her fingers along her necklace chain. I tried catching her gaze in the rear-view mirror, but like Viki, she wouldn’t look at me. I was scared to even breathe too loudly in case I upset someone and have Dad turn the car around and drive us all the way back home.

After Dad parked the car, our first stop was a little pub called ‘The Leaky Cauldron’. It was such a small, tatty, rundown-looking building that we almost walked straight past it. Squished between a huge book shop and a flashy record store, the pub was almost unnoticeable. In fact, I began to wonder whether anyone could see it other than us. The street was packed with people, yet out of the hundreds who past us by, not one of them even glanced in the pub’s direction – but I don’t blame them. Either side of the door, the windows were all boarded up; the hanging sign displaying the pub’s name above the door was swinging off one hinge and the paint was chipped so badly that the name was almost unrecognisable. “Are you sure this is the right place?” Viki asked, pulling on Mom’s elbow. I must admit, even I was doubtful. If the instructions hadn’t come from the Headmaster, himself, then I think Dad would have ordered us all back to the car immediately and drove us home. Thank goodness for the Headmaster

Mom nudged me forwards. My heart hammered in my chest. If I opened this door and there was nothing there, then my dreams of becoming a witch would be shattered. My arms began to shake as I took a step forwards and pushed open the door. A dim light flickered through the doorway as we stepped inside. A bitter ale scent swirled with body odour and damp wood swept up my nostrils. I threw a hand to my face as a wheezing cough escaped from my throat. My stomach spiralled as my heart dropped. Two long wooden tables lined the walls. Scattered about the tables were a few odd-looking individuals, most of whom were cradling a glass or two of some kind of frothy ale. Each of the room’s occupants was draped in a long, dark cloak. Many of them appeared to have been there so long that they were growing cobwebs. The muffled conversation between three grey-haired ladies muted as we shuffled passed them. The door thudded to behind us. A thick layer of dust shuddered down from a wooden beam above. The candlelight from the tables flickered. The room fell dead. Eyes shot up from their drinks and gazed upon us. I felt my arms stiffen at my sides and my feet froze. I felt myself swallow as I lowered my vision to the floor. This was a trick for sure, I just knew it. Someone from my school must have planned this prank to make me look foolish. How could I possibly believe that something as amazing as being a witch could possibly be real? I felt my eyes fill up and I pinched them closed tight. I was not going to cry, I told myself. I was not going to cry.

I felt Mom’s elbow in my side again, nudging me forwards. I glanced up, all of the eyes had returned to their drinks and the mumbled conversations continued. I shoved my hands in my pockets as I shuffled forwards. We were supposed to be looking for the pub’s landlord named Tom, although I was beginning to doubt whether he existed at all. As we edged forwards, I heard one man mutter, “Stupid Muggles.” My forehead puckered as I turned towards him, but the man lowered his head. A pointed Merlin-type hat drooped over the brim of his head and hid his face from view.

As we neared further inside, I noticed one man leaning over a large book. Whether he was actually reading it or not, I have no idea. His head stayed down and I’m sure that he was muttering to himself, but I wasn’t stood close enough to hear any of it. In the far corner, a group of five men began thumping each other on the arm – they were obviously way past being drunk, yet no one had bothered to throw them out. A fireplace crackled to the right as we neared the bar. My old man muttered some joke about wizards never washing and I felt my cheeks sting as they heated up. “Shush!” I hissed, wondering whether these men and women cooped up in here really were witches and wizards. “They’ll hear you,” I whispered with a harsh tongue. He just shrugged. He didn’t seem bothered that it was possible that he could be turned into a toad at any second. I guess that he had begun to think that these people weren’t really magic after all too. I took my hands out of my pockets and hastened my pace towards the bar.

Two men were stood in front of me. They appeared to be under some disagreement. The man closest to me was quite short. Like the other men here, he wore a black, velvety robe; however, a faded-purple sash hung from his left shoulder. From where I stood, I couldn’t made out his face, for a huge purple turban (matching the exact same colour as his sash) was wrapped around his head. He appeared to be having trouble standing up to his acquaintance, as he stuttered all the while. “Y, y, yes, I know… B, b, but, you… you s, see,” was all I heard him say. A fierce glare from the other man seemed to silence him. The other man was over a head taller than the stutterer. He stood over his associate with a curtain of greasy black hair drooping in front of his face. His hooked nose snarled as he began to whisper something back. I lowered my head from them, worried that they would think that I was eavesdropping.

A bony hand laid itself on my shoulder from behind. My eyes widened. My stomach spiralled. My heart banged against my ribcage. I twitched myself away and spun my head over my left shoulder. My back stiffened. I held my breath. Our eyes met. My breath seeped out of a gap in my lips as I relaxed my shoulders. It was Mom dragging me away from the bickering men. She jerked her head in the direction of the bar and I spun back around. A short, stumpy man stood in my view. He had an empty pint glass in one hand and a cloth in the other. Running his hand through the glass he appeared to be polishing it to death, although by the shininess of his head, you’d have thought that he had just spent the last half an hour polishing his own head. Noticing us hovering nearby he put the glass down and gave us a toothless grin. “Hi there ma’m,” he said with a nod as my parents approached him. “You must be the Muggles.”

“Muggles?” my father repeated in a rather offended tone.

“None magic folk,” explained the man behind the bar.

Apart from Dad, the barman was the only other man in the room not to be wearing a huge cloak. Instead he wore a yellowed shirt and a thinning tweed waist jacket. His waistcoat was missing its top button and he appeared to have done his shirt up wrong. “My name’s Tom. I’m thee lan’lord ‘ere at ‘The Leaky Cauldron’. I’ve been expectin’ you. I take it ya got ya message from Dumbledore…” He paused and watched Mom as she hunted around her handbag.

“It’s in here somewhere,” she muttered as she pulled out two bus tickets, an old train ticket, a packet of tissues, her purse and three pens. “Arh,” she said with a smile. “Found it.” She handed the barman an old-looking, yellowed parchment. Tom’s eyes skimmed across the page faster than I could have read the first line, before he returned his sight to my Mom’s.

“You’d better follow me then,” he said as he lifted up a panel of the counter at the side of the bar. With a tight-mouthed grin, he held his hand out for us to pass.

Once we had all stepped to the other side of the bar, the landlord lowered the panel, preventing anyone from following behind us. Stepping past my parents to lead the way, turning back to me with a grin and said, “First time goin’ to ‘Hogwarts’, aye? Bet yer excited.”

“Yeah,” I muttered pulling the cuffs of my hoodie around my palms.

“Well trust me, yeah,” he said as his eyes widened. “Yer gonna love it. Best years o’ yer life. Yeh can trust me on that, I tells yeh. I would give anythin’ t’ go back there, yer know. Even fer just an afternoon-like.” I allowed myself a smirk, but I didn’t really know what to say. “Arrh, you’ll see,” he went on as he led us out of the pub’s back door. “Best years a me life I spent there. It ain’t all fun an’ games though. You gots ta study ‘ard, yer know, or before ya know it yeh school life’ll be over an’ you’ll end up bustin’ tables yer whole life – not that I’m complainin’-like. I gets to meet loads a famous witches an’ wizards, me: the new Minister a Magic, Mister Cornelius Fudge, the famous Quidditch player Maximus Brankovitc- the-Third an’ o’course yer ‘ed Master, Professor Dumbledore – very nice man indeed there. But a course, yeh won’t be knowin’ who any o’ ‘em is yet, will ya – but yer will soon. You’ll wanna know everything ‘bout everyone – I know I did. Arh, ‘ere we are.” The five of us stood in a small cobbled courtyard. It was so tiny, I bet that you could touch the two opposite walls by standing in the centre of the yard and stretching both your arms out. I never got the chance to try it, but I bet I could have done it.

The back door to ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ creaked closed behind us. “This is it?” Viki exclaimed with a raised eyebrow as she stared at the brick wall in front of us. She folded her arms unimpressed – I have to admit, I agreed. There was nothing interesting about four brick walls. The only other thing out there beside us and the door back into ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ was a metal dustbin in the far-right corner. “I’d have thought wizards would have come up with a more interesting way to shop than a trash can,” Viki said as she rolled her eyes.

“This is j’st the entrance ma’m,” Tom told Viki – why he called her, ‘Ma’m,’ I’ll never know. “J’st wait until yer see inside…” He slid a hand inside his waistcoat and pulled out a wooden stick, no longer than his forearm. It looked like nothing more than a twig that he’d picked up off the street.

Guiding the stick up the brick wall, Tom halted his wrist as he pointed to the tip of the rubbish bin. “Three up,” he announced as he jabbed the stick up at one brick, then the one above and then the one above. “And two across,” he said as he poked his stick two bricks to the left. “And… voila,” he said as he pressed the centre of the brick three times with the point of his twig. Now is the strangest thing that I have ever had to describe: the brick began to move. I don’t mean that brick dust crumbled, and the wall started to collapse, nothing like that; it kind of looked like the brick wiggled, or quivered even. I gasped, taking a step back as the bricks surrounding the one that Tom prodded also began shuddering. Then the bricks surrounding those began to squirm. And the bricks surrounding those. Then the bricks began to twist around. The long flat edge of the bricks swivelled around, so the shorter edge faced us. Then they all started twisting out from the centre of the wall, spreading out further and further. It was as though the bricks were no more than a curtain been hauled back. The bricks spiralled back further and further until they had formed an archway in the wall. My lips parted as I started ahead.

As the cloud of dust from the moving bricks settled, a tunnel of buildings came into view. Coloured blurs wafted from one side to the other. Squinting, I fanned my hand in front of my face, hoping to clear the dust from view. “Go ahead,” I heard Tom say as he gave me a nudge. “Go on through. Yer won’t be disappointed.” Staring through the archway I bit my bottom lip. My nails clenched into my palms. My heart rapped at my chest. An explosion erupted from my stomach as I turned to face the barman, Tom. He could sense my apprehension; I knew he could. I could see it in his wide-eyed smile when he nodded his head towards the archway. I felt my cheeks tingle as I nodded back. Pinching my lips in, I turned my head towards the arched hole in the bricks. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and took a step forwards.

“Hold on now.” It was Dad. I exhaled loudly, trying to emphasise my frustration. I spun on my heels and rolled my eyes at my old man. “Just a minute, ‘ere, Mister Wizard.” I pinched my eyes shut right there. Dad had just offended the man; I knew he had. I know that I know nothing about the wizarding world, but even I know you don’t address someone as ‘Mister Wizard’ – that’s just insulting. It’s rude. It’s… it’s… it’s not very nice. “An’ how exactly do we get back?” barked Dad. “I’m assuming you’ll close the hole up once we’re gone.” I squinted my eyes open just in time to see Tom’s eyebrows rise briefly, as he widened the smile on his face turning his head towards Dad. “I may not know magic, but I’m not stupid,” he spat. Pinching my eyes tight, I clenched my hands into fists. Was my Dad stupid? Was he trying to get himself turned into a bug? These people know magic. You should never offend someone that has the power to set you on fire, or turn you into a tarantula. I’m sure the barman knew hundreds of spells that he could have used on my old man. My arms trembled, as I awaited Tom’s cruel magic spell to punish my old man’s words. I held my breath as Dad’s words echoed in my head.

“Providin’ ya pick out everythin’ on Professor Dumbledore’s list,” came the barman’s calm response. “The girl’ll know what t’ do… she’s smart enough t’ figure it out.” I exhaled, not realising that I’d been holding my breath. Gazing at the bald barman, my lips parted. How had he kept his cool? How had he not cursed my father with a thousand years bad luck? I know I would have. Tom held his hand out, towards the archway. “Go on,” he whispered to me. “Yer new life starts ‘ere.” My eyes widened. My smile prodded hard into my cheeks. I gave Tom a nod and turned back towards the archway. Sucking in a deep breath, I ducked my head and stepped forwards.

Grinding sounded from behind. I spun on my heels. The archway had closed up behind us. I pressed my hand against the bricks. The wall was as plain and solid as any ordinary brick wall. “Wow,” I whispered to myself. I sensed Viki on my right and my parents to my left as I spun back around. Taking a step forwards, the tip of my spine tingled. I shuddered and the sensation trickled all of the way down my back, arms and legs. I pinched my lips in as I stared ahead. Hundreds, no thousands, of people swept in and out of one another. But this wasn’t just any old street, and these weren’t just any old people – they were witches and wizards, I could feel it and I have never been more certain about anything in my entire life. Up ahead, men and women strolled the street in an array of coloured cloaks – some even wore pointed Merlin hats. Sparks flashed from a window in the distance. Silhouetted objects floated in the air way, way up ahead. Even the air smelt different. It was like blown-out candles, but mixed with something else. It wasn’t quite cinnamon, there was definitely a musky smell to it, but it was sweet as well. Ow, it’s so hard to explain. I can picture the smell now, as I’m writing, but putting it into words it so difficult. I guess it’s like imagining what it would be like to stir a huge cauldron bubbling with sharp, but sweet-scented smoke. Oh, okay, describing this is hopeless. But standing there, on the street… standing in Diagon Alley for the first ever time, it was… well… magical.

Shuffling through the crowd, Mom made us all huddle together, so that we didn’t get separated. She kept a hand on my shoulder and Dad did the same to Viki. Viki didn’t grip my arm like Mom asked her to, but it didn’t bother me. I didn’t want to be chained to them. Walking down the street my head didn’t know where to turn first. There was a shop window full of huge witches’ cauldrons, one full of shiny silver weighing scales, there were people dashing in all directions, screeches and hoots echoed from a shop selling owls (I made a note to peer in that window later), there was a shop selling broomsticks, clothes, a book shop, a café, potion ingredients, wizard stationery… I don’t know what kept me from wandering off. I wish I’d have had ten sets of eyes – even that wouldn’t have been enough. There was so much to see. I can’t wait to go back there some day.

Following Professor Dumbledore’s instructions, we headed north – well what I could only assume was north, we just carried straight on really – gosh, I hope witches and wizards don’t all refer to a compass when telling you where to go. I have a really lousy sense of direction. A compass wasn’t listed on the school supply list, or the instructions from the Headmaster. Oh dear. Well having travelled so far south down the country and with there being only one main direction in the street, the way we walked appeared north enough. Anyway, we must have been travelling in the right direction, because we soon arrived at our first destination: ‘Gringotts Bank’.

Towering high above all of the other stores, in Diagon Alley, was one of the most important places in probably the whole of the wizarding world (I know because the Headmaster said so in his letter). It’s the only place in the whole of Great Britain where wizards can keep their money. We had to go there, because I had to open my very first bank account, not that I have any money to put in there. My parents also needed to convert their money into the wizarding currency so that they could buy my school supplies.

Well it was just like Professor Dumbledore had told us: the building was hard to miss. With all of the other shops dwarfed by its size, the bank loomed over the mini village like a mountain. It was even bright white, which made it look like it was covered in snow. A flight of steep steps led up to two giant, bronze doors. And when I say giant, I mean Viki could have stood on top of our old man’s head and there still would have been head height for me. There was a rather short, male creature stood beside the doorway, dressed in a tiny scarlet suit with a matching scarlet and gold tie. He was at least a head shorter than I am. Two long, pointed ears stuck out of his head. His nose was also elongated, as were his fingers and his feet. His eyes were very close together, almost touching the tip of his nose. He appeared to glare at us as we neared the doorway. I tried my hardest to smile at him and hide my frown. I could feel Viki’s fingers jabbing into my arm as she squeezed me tight. The little man bowed to us and the double doors opened inwards. I seeped in a breath, as we stepped inside.

We were greeted by another set of double doors. They were just as big as the previous bronze ones, although these doors were silver. Engraved over the two doors was a passage which read:

“Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.”

Either side of the doors stood another stumpy, male creature. These two wore a similar suit to the first, however they wore different colours. The guy on the left wore a coat of deep blue with a matching blue and bronze tie whereas the other’s jacket was yellow, and his tie was yellow and black. Their stern expressions mimicked that of the previous door guarder. I felt myself swallow as my eyes met those of the little man on my left. His eyes never left mine, as he lowered his stature to bow. As the creature to my right did the same, the double, silver doors opened inwards towards the next room.

I gasped. Stepping inside this room was like nothing I had ever imagined. It was strange, yet so ordinary at the same time. We were now in a long, narrow, corridor-like room. There was a scarlet and gold rug lining the centre of the floor. Standing in a queue someway ahead of us appeared to be a line of men, women and children. Some were dressed in long flowing robes; others wore just ordinary clothes. I must admit, there was a lot of black. A couple of people even wore the pointy Merlin hats that I’d seen a few times already. To the right of the queue was what I can only describe as high counters, like what they have at banks. Except there weren’t accountants or cashiers serving behind them. “Goblins,” Viki whispered as she tugged on the sleeve of my hoodie. “Actual goblins.”

“I know,” I whispered back, not knowing whether I was excited to have actually seen a goblin or terrified at their scary, serious and strict-teacher-like behaviour and that the possibility of Dad saying something to mortally offend these guys and them do something about it was heaps higher than it was when he insulted ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ barman, Tom.

I twisted my head over my shoulder to glance at Dad. Well he didn’t appear to be as hot-headed as he was earlier. He had a tight grip on Mom’s arm. The veins on his hairy hands bulged out the back of his hand. I watched as his eyes shifted along the lines of goblins sat upon stools behind the counters. His bottom lip quivered. Mom slapped the top of his hand, as we moved along the queue. “Stop it,” she hissed. “I know this is strange, but behave yourself, for her sake.” When Mom’s eyes met mine, she forced one of her biggest smiles. The corners of her lips prodded as far up her cheeks as they could go, and her forehead wrinkled as she tried her hardest to keep the smile from slipping.

We moved along the queue fairly quick. Goblins kept calling forward another customer. Some people went up to the counters to hand over paper, others just appeared to be asking lots of questions. There were some in a large group; they handed a key over to one of the goblins, who led them towards one of the doors on the opposite side of the room. I tried getting a peep inside one of the doors, but I couldn’t see a thing. It was too dark inside. On occasions though, I did hear a heavy sounding metallic scrape. It almost made me think of an old train track, with the wheels scraping against the metal rail tracks – although I don’t think a train would run beneath a bank – that sounds pretty silly.

“Next,” croaked one of the goblins from a counter not too far down the line. Mom nudged me.

“Come on,” she muttered jabbing my arm. “That’s us. Hurry up.” She had shaken Dad off her elbow and grabbed onto mine. The grip of her fingers crushed into my bone as she dragged me down the aisle and towards the waiting goblin. She must have been more nervous about being surrounded by these creatures than she appeared.

Considering the shortness of the goblins, the counters were kind of high up. Prodding my elbows on the counters edge I lifted myself up onto the tip of my toes. “Yes,” muttered the goblin in front of us. “How may I help you?” While Mom fumbled about in her bag for the letter from the school’s Headmaster, I stared ahead at the goblin. He, like all of the others in the room, wore a small black suit jacket, a white shirt and a little black bow tie. Just above his jacket pocket sat a golden name tag. It read: ‘Helping you today is: Bsemur. Gringotts Bank, keeping your treasures treasured.’ I wasn’t sure how to pronounce his name exactly, but knowing that he had a name made him feel more human… or should I say more real. His facial features were heavily lined, and skin sagged at the corners of his mouth. Although the top of his head was bald, a thick mass of white hair gathered behind his ears and curled at his neck. A tiny pair of spectacles were perched on the edge of his nose that he used to look down on me. I found myself blinking a lot, as I realised that I was staring. Hearing Mom zip her bag back up, I shot my eyes down to the counter’s surface.

“Arrh, a new student at Hogwarts I see,” muttered Bsemur. “This must be an exciting day for you.” Feeling his eyes on me, I looked up and tried my best to smile. I nodded managing to murmur a little, ‘uh hum’. The lines on his forehead dropped and the creases around his eyes faded. Placing the letter to one side he leant towards me. I swallowed, feeling my eyebrows shoot up into the centre of my forehead. The goblin smirked and held his hand out. “Well may I be one of the first, Miss, to welcome you into the wizarding world.” Although his palm felt swamped by mine, his fingers were so long that they hooked themselves around my wrist. “Now…” he croaked as he took back his hand. “Let me go and retrieve your vault key. I shan’t be a moment.” Pressing his palms onto the edge of the counter’s table, he pushed himself back. He hopped off his stool and waddled down the line of counters and out of sight.

“He’s so cool,” gasped Viki. “Do you think he can hear extra well because of his big ears?” she giggled.

“Shush,” I sniggered elbowing her in the ribs. “If he can, he’ll hear you.” Viki held a hand to her mouth as she giggled again. Typical Viki. She’s just met a magical other-worldly creature and the first thing she thinks of is the practicality of his hearing. I have way more questions than that, like: where did he come from? Where does he live? Did he go to Hogwarts too? How did he get a job in the wizarding bank? Why are all of the accountants’ goblins? Do goblins speak their own language? Does he know any spells? What are the female goblins like? What do goblins like to eat? Why are they all so stern and grumpy looking? Okay, maybe the last one is a little rude. But I could go on and on. Maybe I’ll find out some of the answers to my thousands of questions at Hogwarts.

I gazed up the line of goblin accountants, whilst we waited for Bsemur to return. All of the other goblins were hard at work. Some were scribbling things down with feathered quills for pens, others were loading gold, silver and bronze coloured coins onto brass scales, whilst other goblins held what looked like mini-telescopes or spyglasses in front of their eyes as they examined glowing coloured rocks. A few other goblins were leading people (mostly those dressed in cloaks) to and from various doors placed around the room. I watched as a goblin led one family out of a doorway in the wall and towards the entrance way. They must have been a really important family. The father was very tall and thin. His robes wafted as he, his wife and his son strolled down the carpet, as though they were royalty. I knew they were related; you could just tell. The son was just like his father: pale, angular face, scraped back blond-almost-white hair and dressed entirely in black. The mother too was pale, thin and had a head of blonde hair; however, her fringe and a streak of hair that fell to the left of her face was a deep chocolate brown – almost like the opposite to a skunk. All three strode down the carpet with their shoulders back, heads held high and their noses in the air. They had to be one of those snooty, wealthy families who splashed their money about willy-nilly making everyone else feel bad – I hate people like that. Wealth was scrawled all over their faces, even right down to the silver topped cane that the man carried, thumping it against the ground with every stride as if to say, “Look at me! Look at me! I’m rich and you’re not.” Okay, I may hate that, but wouldn’t it be so cool to be able to do that – once, just once. The power they must feel walking around everywhere. I bet everyone in the wizarding world knows their names. I bet the kid has a tonne of friends too. Everyone always wants to befriend the rich kids, don’t they?

Dad jabbed his elbow into my back as Bsemur returned. I clenched my teeth and seeped a breath as the throbbing seeped up my back. I wriggled my shoulders and went back up on tiptoe so that I could see over the counter.

“Here we are,” said Bsemur as he shuffled back into his chair. He held a small brass key between the thumb and fingers of his right hand. I glanced from the key to him. “This,” he said with a deep breath, “Is probably the most important thing you will ever own in your entire life. You must never lose it, lend it, leave it, break it, borrow it, or anything of the sort. You must treasure it. Keep it safe at all times. Never under any circumstance can we ever issue you with another key. Only two of every key to all vaults here at ‘Gringotts’ exist. You have one and we have one, which is locked up so safe that no witch or wizard has ever discovered their existence, for we value security here almost as much as we value the treasures within. We make no duplicates. We issue no spares.” At this point he actually paused for another breath. “It is your responsibility and yours alone to look after your own vault key. Without it, you will not be able to gain access to your money or any treasured items that you wish to store there.”

“So, why do you have a spare key?” came a squeak from my sister. Bsemur placed the key down, laced his fingers together and lent forwards over the counter looking down his spectacles at my sister.

“Good question young Muggle, good question. I like your curiosity,” however Bsemur did not say this with a smile. Viki flinched back, as the goblin’s eyes narrowed and the creases around his nose thickened. “The spare set of keys kept here, are held only for the upmost extreme emergencies. If we goblins believed that someone or something were accessing a witch or wizards vault who they oughtn’t, then we would take action and use our key to assess the situation. However,r nothing of the sort has happened in ‘Gringotts’ for centuries.” I could feel my old man shifting his weight behind me. I groaned imagining his next rude outburst: ‘So are you tellin’ me someone has broken into this bank in the past? I demand to know the truth and the full truth at that. I’m not having my daughter place her life savings in a bank that allows thieves and such… things to steal her money. What sort of savage beasts are you?’ I pinched my eyes shut and held my breath. My old man didn’t even murmur – I think the presence of the goblins must have scared him too much.

I opened my eyes to see Bsemur leaning towards Viki, pointing a finger at her. “And if you are wondering, my dear, the secret location of the spare vault keys are kept so secret and are hidden in such a depth of our system and are guarded by beasts so dangerous and fearful that you couldn’t even imagine them even in your deepest, darkest nightmares. No Muggle, witch or wizard could ever find their way down there and live to tell the tale.” My eyes widened as I stared at him. He clenched his right hand into a fist and brought it up to his mouth as he cleared his throat. “So,” he said to me as his smile returned. “Are we off to the vault?”

“No,” came a sharp response from my mother. “We just came here to learn about the currency exchange rate and to swap some of our money over into… well, you know… your kind.”

“Very well,” snapped Bsemur and slapped the table with his left hand. I jumped back, stepping on Dad’s toes. I turned around and mumbled an apology, but he was in too much of a trance, staring at Bsemur, to even notice that I had done anything.

As I turned back to face the goblin, he held a piece of paper out towards me. “Here you are, Miss,” he said as I took it from him. “This’ll break down the wizarding currency for you. It’s a good idea to get your head around it before you start school.” I nodded at him and looked down at the sheet of paper. “Knuts,” explained Bsemur, “are the lowest of wizarding currency. They’re the little bronze ones that look like this.” I looked up and saw him holding out a small bronze coloured coin that was a similar size to a penny or five pence, except instead of the Queen’s head it appeared to have an antelope on the coin’s face. “There are twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. And a Sickle is a little larger than a Knut and is silver.” Bsemur held up a silver coin that looked about the size if a ten pence piece and its picture kind of looked a little like a tiger, but he whipped the coin away so quickly it was almost impossible to tell what it looked like. “And last we have the Galleon, which is made up of seventeen Sickles and is gold.” The Galleon was about as big as a two-pound coin and had an engraving of a dragon on it.

Next, he gave me an information pack relating to all of the wizarding money, the vaults below the building and currency exchanges between the money that I’m used to and the money that witches and wizards use. Whilst Viki and I looked through the information pack, Mom and Dad exchanged their money into wizarding money, so that we could buy my school supplies. Bsemur told my parents that any money that they didn’t spend they could place in my vault when we were done; however, as my parents intended to exchange and spend the least amount of money possible, this didn’t seem likely.

Oow, and the information pack came with this cool logo of the ‘Gringotts’ crescent too:

 After leaving ‘Gringotts Bank’ we returned to the streets of Diagon Alley. Since returning outside from the wizarding bank, the mad hustle and bustle of witches and wizards dashing about all over the place had died down considerably. We were able to make out the shops more easily as we walked by and we didn’t have to all huddle together so closely. The sun reflected off a stack of cauldrons balancing in a pyramid form display in front of one of the shops. Its sign read: ‘Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self Stirring – Collapsible’. I have no idea how a cauldron could possibly stir itself, but I cannot wait to find out, once I get to Hogwarts. We passed various shops claiming to stock potion ingredients. As we passed by a store named ‘Slug & Jiggers Apothecary’ a lady of colour, dressed in deep pink stormed out, clutching a red handbag. She bashed into my side. I sucked in a breath, gripping my left arm. “Sorry, love,” apologised the woman. “But Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they’re mad I tell you – mad. I’d stay away from them if you want your Sickles t’ last ya.” I smiled and nodded at her and she wandered off over to a stall on the other side of the street.

As we passed a shop, on our way to get my new uniform, we heard a chorus of squawks. Turning in the direction of the shrieking, I saw a crowd gathering around a girl who had just left ‘Eeylops Owl Emporium’ carrying a brown owl inside a cage. The bird screeched as the crowd cooed and poked their fingers at it. I stopped and stared after her. Behind the crowd, I could just about make out various coloured fluttering feathers. ‘If only I could have an owl too,’ I sighed.

We were about to step into ‘Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions’ to get my school uniform when Mom pulled Viki and I away. “Careful,” she whispered and pointed towards the store. A giant of a man was stood outside. And I mean a giant. He was way over six feet tall. He was even taller than the doors to many of the shops and almost as wide. I could see now why ‘Gringotts Bank’ had such big doors. He had a huge mane of shaggy black hair and was wearing a huge brown fur coat with a massive belt that wrapped around his gut. He swayed a little as he waved inside the window of ‘Madam Malkin’s Robes’ shop, whilst holding two ice-creams in his hand. I shuddered as I stared at him.

“I bet his hands are bigger than your head,” Viki exclaimed as she stuck her palm in front of my face. I leant back, grabbing her wrist and twisting her hand back towards her. “Hey,” she whinged. “Stop it,” and snatched her hand away.

“Girls,” Mom sighed, folding her arms. She straightened her back, trying to make herself appear taller, to tower over us. She didn’t need to; her glare itself was enough to make me and Viki quiet. “We’ll get your uniform later,” she said to me as she gazed back over at the giant. “Let’s go to the book shop and try and make a start on your schoolbooks.” Mom took the list of my school supplies out of her bag. After glancing down the list she turned muttered, “I just hope we can find them all,” before arching her head over her shoulder to try and find the bookstore.

Mom was right to worry. The school’s Deputy Headmistress has forwarded my parents a copy of all of the equipment that I needed. I admit, there were a lot of things on the list, but they were going to last me an entire year. First on the list was the uniform: Three sets of plain work robes (black), One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear, One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar), One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings). Then there were the books and there were a lot on the list: ‘The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)’ by Miranda Goshawk, ‘A History of Magic’ by Bathilda Bagshot, ‘Magical Theory’ by Adalbert Waffling, ‘A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration’ by Emeric Switch, ‘One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi’ by Phyllida Spore, ‘Magical Drafts and Potions’ by Arsenius Jigger, ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’ by Newt Scamander and ‘The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection’ by Quentin Trimble. On top of that was a cauldron (pewter, standard size 2), a set glass or crystal phials, a telescope, a set of brass scales, a case full of potion ingredients and a wand. Apparently, first year students aren’t allowed their own broomsticks, which is fine by me, but the letter does say that a student can bring with them a pet owl, cat or toad. As a pet is optional, I know I won’t be allowed one. I’ll be lucky if my parents will buy me everything on the mandatory list. It’s a shame that they don’t let you have a pet dog though. I guess you wouldn’t get the chance to walk them… and I guess they eat more than owls, cats and toads do. Oh well.

We managed to locate the book shop pretty easily. The shop was named ‘Flourish and Blotts Bookseller’ and was situated almost diagonally opposite ‘Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions’. As we approached the shop, Mom kept pestering me about making sure we picked up all of the books in order as we walked around the store and to tick them off the list as we went along, so as not to forget anything. However, the second we stepped inside we were welcomed by a man in long dark, dusty blue robes. “Greetings, greetings,” he sang as we walked through the doorway. “Come right in. First year student, right?” he said as he looked at me. Before I could respond he was already talking again: “Of course you are, of course you, how silly of me. Of course, you are. All first-year books are here, set and ready to go – all eight of them.” The wizard held his arm out towards a desk to our right, where stacks of books for first year Hogwarts students were already fastened together with a black ribbon.

“My,” I heard Mom mutter. “They are an efficient lot.”

As we left the books shop, Mom pointed out that the giant was no longer hovering outside the store where we needed to get my uniform, so we made our way over. “Oh no,” I heard Dad complain. “You aren’t taking here in there. That place is far too expensive,” he roared. “You read the list; all the girl needs are some plain black robes. You can get ‘em from anywhere, surely. You don’t need to spend a fortune in a place like that.” Whilst Mom and Dad argued, I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered inside through the window. Stood at the counter were the mother and son from the snooty, wealthy family that I saw earlier in the bank. The lady behind the counter was pricing up their purchase and bagging it up for them.

“I saw a second-hand robe shop as we came into the village,” Dad complained.

“We are not sending our daughter to an elite boarding school in second-hand robes. She’ll be gone for a whole year, the least we can do is buy her the best,” Mom retorted. Dad grumbled under his breath as Mom stamped down her foot. “If you buy her clothes second-hand, we’ll only have to come back year-on-year to buy her new ones. At least if we buy her good quality uniform of a decent size, it should last her for most of her time there.” By ‘decent size’ Mom actually meant, something that’s miles too big, that completely drowns me. Dad grumbled again, but Mom stood her ground. In the end Dad agreed to take Viki to some other shop, so she didn’t get bored, whilst Mom took me inside ‘Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions’.

Mom must have recognised the wealthy family too, because as she opened the door to the uniform shop, she straightened her back and called over her shoulder to me, “Come on dear, in here,” in a rather posh tone. The boy and his mother turned to leave, and the woman smiled at my Mom and nodded her head. It was like she was saying that she approved of my mother’s stern parenting. The boy glanced in my direction and gave a jerk of his head, as a sort of acknowledgement, as he passed by. My eyes widened with surprise and I tried not to smirk. Looks like snobby witches and wizards behave in just the same way as the snobby people at home do.

“Welcome!” said the woman from behind the counter. She wore a mauve coloured robe that swished about as she made her way out from around the counter towards us. “My name’s Madam Malkin. Hogwarts, is it?” she asked me. Pinching my lips in, I nodded. “Right, this way,” she sang out and marched Mom and I to the other end of the store. Madam Malkin went through the school uniform list with Mom and between them they picked out my robes, hat, cloak and gloves. Madam Malkin then took me out to the back room to try on the robes, leaving Mom to wander the store. The back room looked just like an ordinary changing room, except it was lit entirely by candles. Madam Malkin held out her hand and I stepped up onto a stool before she threw one of the robes over my head. It was huge. The fabric flopped over the ends of my hands like I had some kind of extended octopus tentacles for arms. The robe itself was so long that even standing on the stool, it gathered in a heap on the floor. I held my arms out and stared down at the extra fabric that swamped my sides. I could have wrapped it around myself twice and still had fabric left dangling. I groaned, as I flopped my arms at my sides. Madam Malkin gave a little chuckle as she looked up at me. “Don’t worry, dear,” she smiled. “I’ll have your robes fitted in no time at all. I’ll just take in a bit here and a bit there… they’ll fit you like a glove when I’m done – honest.” I tried my best to give her a smile. “Don’t worry, dear,” she said again. “All parents are the same. Buying robes and gowns two or three sizes too big, thinking that their son or daughter will grow into them one day – you’re not the only one. Now stand still Poppet, this won’t take a moment.”

Similar to Tom the barman of ‘The Leaky Cauldron’, Madam Malkin slipped her hand inside her robes and pulled out a stick. Hers, however, looked a little different to the barman’s. It was of a mahogany colour and seemed thicker and sturdier. She swished her stick around a bit, muttered some mysterious incantation and a light sparked from its end. The drooping fabric of the robes wafted against my skin. Then the extra fabric started to dissolve. It was as if the robe was shrinking itself to fit me. Madam Malkin wavered her stick around all the while as the excess fabric disappeared entirely and the robe fitted me perfect. “There we go, dear. All done.” I gasped. With my arms still held out at my sides the previous dangling, wafting, flappy fabric had vanished. Instead, the robe fitted me perfectly.

Still standing with my mouth open, amazed at what had happened, Madam Malkin lifted the robe over my head and placed it beside the rest of my uniform. Wiggling her stick, she muttered some words under her breath. Another spark shot out of her twig and the pile of clothes all jittered and shuffled about on the floor.

“That’s the lot of ‘em,” smiled Madam Malkin as she dropped the pile of new school uniform in my hands. As she walked me back to Mom, at the front of the shop, the lady explained to me that when if I find that any of my uniform becomes too small, then all I have to do is come back to her shop and she’ll make the fabric grow longer again – I guess it’s a little like letting a hem down on a pair of trousers, after you’ve sewn it up.

As me and Madam Malkin appeared back in the front of the shop from the fitting room, Mom shuddered and stepped back a little as we neared her. “Blimey, that was quick,” she gasped as I appeared back at her side.

“That’s magic for you,” said Madam Malkin with a wink. I found myself beaming back at her. She was right – magic was amazing. If I had been at a regular school uniform shop, back home, it would have taken them over half an hour and that would have just been to pin up my trousers. I’d have had to have a shirt fitting and a blazer adjustment and let’s not get started on the performance of trying on school shoes. Whereas here, we were already done, and we hadn’t even been five minutes. Mom handed me the bag whilst Madam Malkin helped her fumble about with the wizard currency. I’m so glad my old man hadn’t been there. He’d only have moaned about not understand the currency, then he’d have complained about the cost of the uniform and had to voice his analysis of the quality.

We met up with Dad and Viki as soon as we came out of ‘Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions’ – they were waiting right outside. Dad said that we’d better go and get the rest of my stuff, as there was still quite a bit to go (a cauldron, a set of phials – which I found out means bottles; a telescope, a set of scales, a whole case of potion ingredients, stationery supplies and a wand). Viki told me that she and Dad had popped into a stationery shop called ‘Amanuensis Quills’, which was next door. Dad took us in there next and Viki seemed to take excitement in showing me everything that she’d seen. “Look!” she screeched as she dragged me towards stacks of glass jars full of ink. “Look,” she gasped again as she pointed at a collection of jars. “This one says that it changes colour as you write.” My eyes widened as I picked up the jar. It read: ‘Every Colour Your Heart Desires. Red, Blue, Green, Silver, Violet, Yellow, Brown, Gold, Orange, Pink, Bronze, Scarlet, Black. White not included. Not to be confused with invisible ink.’

Tugging hard on my sleeve, Viki pulled me across the shop to show me something else that she had spotted. “Look!” she gawked again. “Quills!” She scooped one up off the table and stroked it down my right cheek. I leant back, trying to swipe the feather from her. She snatched the feather out of reach and skipped off to another part of the shop. Before following after her, I looked down at the table full of quills. There were dozens of feathers, all of natural whites, browns and greys. Their tips had a little metallic point, similar to the nib of a fountain pen. I didn’t get to look long. Viki was shouting my name from the other end of the shop. “Come look at this!” she exclaimed, waving me over. Dropping the quill, I scooted past Mom and appeared at Viki’s side as quick as I could. “Pirate paper!” she squealed. My stomach tingled. My eyes widened. I elbowed Viki to the side and swiped a stack of paper. Okay, so it wasn’t actual pirate paper. It was old-fashioned looking parchment. When I was younger, my sister and I were often tea-staining paper to make it look like an old pirate’s treasure map. We hadn’t done it for years, but it sure made me happy that she got excited over it. I beamed at her.

“D’you think all witches and wizards write on old-fashioned paper, like this?” I asked her.

“I hope not,” she sulked. “It’ll be mega unfair if they do. You’ll get to write on the stuff all day and with magic inks too.” I sniggered. I couldn’t help it. Viki was so jealous, I could tell.

Seeing out excitement, Mom and Dad made their way over. They had already collected a handful of my supplies along the way and Dad seemed unimpressed by the odd stationery supplies that the store had. He towered over us with a frown. The vein that sits to the side of his right eye, had surfaced above his skin. He wasn’t quite yet red in the face, but the lines around his nose and eyes indicated that this could happen any time soon. Quills, inkpots and parchment obviously aren’t your usual school supplies and the more abnormal the items on my equipment list got, the less happy Dad became.

We left ‘Amanuensis Quills’ fairly swiftly and Dad dragged us onto our next destination. Okay, so I liked going shopping for robes and quills and cauldrons, in fact I loved it, but walking around all day was exhausting. On our way to ‘Potage’s Cauldron Shop’ we passed by three cafés: ‘Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour’, ‘Rosa Lee Teabag’ and ‘Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop’, but Dad wouldn’t let us stop at any of them. “The sooner we finish here, the sooner we get home, the sooner you eat,” was all he would say. I honestly thought that Mom would have changed his mind when we went by ‘Rosa Lee Teabag’ – it definitely seemed like something she’d like. It was a tiny little cottagey-type shop, with net curtains and little square windows. The tables were all round and covered with chequered table cloths. The smell of coffee wafted up my nose as the door swept open.

As we made our way back down Diagon Alley and towards the direction of ‘The Leaky Cauldron’, we passed by a shop called ‘Broomstix’. A crowd, mostly made up of boys, were huddled around the window. “It’s the newest model,” one of them whispered.

“Yeah,” another boy agreed. “The Nimbus Two-Thousand. It’s the fastest broomstick ever.” The right corner of my mouth turned up at the corner, as I took a step closer towards the shop. The crowd dwindled as three boys ran off to re-join their parents. With less heads in the way of the window, I got a better look. A thick, brown branch hovered in the centre of the shop window with a bush of thin, spindly branches behind it. My forehead creased, as my eyes grew wider.

“Just like Samantha’s,” I breathed.

My Dad shouted my name. I flinched. Seeing red patches emerge at his cheeks, I ran over towards him. Okay, so I got told off for wandering off in an unknown place, surrounded by strange people, but it was worth it. I will ride a broom like that one day… I know I will.

We popped into several other stores for my cauldron, scales, telescope and potion ingredients, but I didn’t get to see much of the shops. Dad’s rule was simply: in and out and spend as little time and money as possible. I don’t see what his problem was. This was a completely new experience. There were so many places to go and explore, but all he wanted to do was go home as quickly as possible. I know my old man doesn’t do well with change, but this wasn’t change exactly… it was just like an outing to a different place that we had never been to before. You don’t go to a different park, shopping centre or museum and try to whip around it as quickly as possible, do you? Well I certainly wouldn’t. My old man just doesn’t get it. There was so much to do, so much to see there, but he just whizzed around all of the shops, grabbed everything on the list and marched us straight back out again. We never even got to peer in the window of ‘Gambol and Japes’ Wizarding Joke Shop’.

The last stop on our list was at a place called ‘Ollivanders’. This was the place that I’d been looking forward to the most, for this was the place that I was going to buy my magic wand. As the store came into sight, I prayed that my parents weren’t going to butt in this time. If I was going to be using a magic wand all of the time at school, I wanted it to be something I liked and not something that they wanted me to have.

Having spotted ‘Ollivanders’, just beyond a small crowd of cloaked kids, I skipped ahead of my parents, to get to the shop first. I found myself frowning at the tiny, narrow store. The golden lettering was peeling from the sign. ‘No wonder,’ I realised when I read the smaller print beneath the shop sign: ‘Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC’. I peered inside the dusted window, pressing my hands around my eyes and my nose against the glass. Bookcases lined the room on all three sides, but instead of books, the shelves were full of boxes. Small, narrow, long boxes. It was the most peculiar thing. They looked like the sort of boxes that new watches came in. It looked very strange. Feeling my nostrils tingle from the window’s dust, I brought myself away from the glass. My face met Mom’s who, when she saw that I had noticed her, nudged her head towards the door. “Come along dear,” she said to me. I had to hold my breath to stop a laugh from escaping. Mom had been influenced by that snooty wizarding family too much. I could just tell. It was so obvious. It’s a good job that they never got the chance to engage in conversation. Gosh, she’d probably have been even worse then. And she’d have shown me up too. Oh no, I hope that the school doesn’t have a parent-teacher day.

Opening the door to ‘Ollivanders’, a bell jingled from above. A man, stood upon a ladder sorting through the boxes, threw his head over his shoulder. “Oh, good afternoon,” he said in a soft voice. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t see you coming.” My old man muttered something to himself, but Mom elbowed him.

“Yes, yes, I see you’re here for your first wand,” said the man, with a cloud of white hair, as he neared me. I found myself forcing a smile as I took a step back. “No need to be shy.” His wide, pale, blue eyes gazed into mine. I found myself swallowing, as I tried to step back once more. I stood on Viki’s foot and she hissed at me from behind. Dressed in a dark grey robe with a black cravat, the elderly man introduced himself as, ‘Mr. Ollivander,’ before wandering back over to the bookcase that he was working upon before we came in.

The room itself was empty. Apart from the surrounding bookcases, the only other furniture in the room was the ladder which Mr. Ollivander had been standing on when we came in (which he used to reach the upper shelves of the bookcases) and a small stool in the corner opposite the door, which Dad took the liberty of sitting in.

As Mr. Ollivander returned to us he held a tape measure between his hands. “Now,” he said as he approached me again. “There are a few important things that one must know before purchasing their first wand.” Holding the tape measure at my right shoulder he let it drop to the floor. First, he examined the marking by my fingers, then the floor. “Is your right hand your wand hand?” he asked me. I shrugged.

“I dunno,” I mumbled. “I’m right-handed.”

“Right, right,” he muttered as he lifted the measuring tape from my shoulder and examined it. “It is the wand that chooses the witch or wizard – not the other way around.” He then placed the measuring tape beside me again, only this time at my armpit. I squirmed away a little, but he frowned up at me as he knelt at my feet. “Every wand here is made and sold by myself… and every wand has a core of one of three magical substances: dragon heartstrings, phoenix tail feather or unicorn hairs.” As he said this, he checked the silvery markings on the tape measure all the while. “No two wands will ever be the same, just as no two people, or creatures, are the same.”

Mr. Ollivander spoke at quite a pace and with him fiddling about with his tape measure and poking and prodding me, it was a little difficult to take in exactly what he was saying. “And one last thing,” he said as he jumped to his feet. He placed the tape measure around my forehead and continued with his speech, “You will never be able to perform as accurate magic with another’s wand.” With his measuring band around my head I looked up towards the ceiling, although I’m not quite sure why, because it didn’t help anything – I just saw a collection of cobwebs. “Right,” he said removing the tape measure. “Let’s see…” He began humming to himself, as he returned to the bookcase on the far wall. Climbing his ladder, he reached up for one of the thin, narrow boxes on the top shelf. “Here,” he called over his shoulder as he climbed back down. “Try this one.” My eyes glanced down at the chubby stick in the box, then back up at him. “Well go on, give it a wave.”

My cheeks heated up. Everyone was watching me; I just knew they were. My stomach began to lather. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know any magic spells? Would ‘Hocus Pocus’ work? Mr. Ollivander prodded the box closer towards me. My heart rapped inside my chest. My palms moistened. I pinched my fingers against my sleeve to squeeze the sweat away. Taking a deep breath, I lifted my right hand into the box. My fingers touched the wooden branch inside. “No!” shouted Mr. Ollivander snatching the box away. “No, no, no, no, no. All wrong. All wrong.” I leapt back. Eyes wide I turned to Mom, who looked back at me with the same expression.

From on top of his ladder, Mr. Ollivander looked over his shoulder towards me. “Not you dear, not you,” he chuckled. “The wand. It was all wrong, all wrong. Not you at all.” Having placed the wand back on the shelf, he gripped one of the bookcase’s shelves and pushed himself backwards. The ladder slid to the left-hand side of the room. My eyes shot to the bottom of the ladder – it was on wheels. I smirked. “Now,” said Mr. Ollivander as he jumped down from his ladder and strode towards me. “Try this one.” He had another box in his hands. I peered inside. The stick wasn’t as short as the last one, but it was just as fat. Swallowing, I slipped my hand into the box and gripped the piece of wood in my hand. It was a rather uncomfortable shape. It didn’t sit well in my palm. There was a lump that stuck out right in the centre of my hand. It was really rough too and it made my skin sore. I tapped my hand up and down a few times, but it still wouldn’t sit right. “No?” said Mr. Ollivander with a bit of a pout. With a frown rising higher up my forehead I shrugged.

“Sorry,” I muttered, placing the stick back into the box. “It… it didn’t feel right.” Sliding the lid back on the box, Mr. Ollivander smiled at me. I think he both understood and appreciated what I meant, even if I couldn’t quite explain myself.

After returning the box to its correct place on the shelf, Mr. Ollivander returned to face me again. “I need you to answer me a few questions,” he said from the far side of the room. “Just shout out the answer. The first word that comes into your head.” I sniffed and nodded. “Day or night?”

“Night,” I replied with a shrug. He took a step closer.

“You’re at a crossroad, which do you choose: The sea, the forest or the castle?” he asked as he stroked his chin with his index finger.

“The forest,” I answered with a nod. He came another step nearer.

“Right or Left?” he asked pointing a finger at me.

“Right.”

“Pick an element: earth, water, fire or air?”

“Water.”

“What do you fear most: fire, darkness, judgement, isolation or fear itself?”

“Isolation…” I have to admit, I hesitated a little there. By now though, Mr. Ollivander’s face was no more than a sheet of parchment from my own. His eyes widened as he stared into mine. Then they narrowed. His eyebrows daggered down and his skin wrinkled.

His eyes snapped shut. He twisted away from me and began to pace the room. “Right… right…” he murmured with his hands behind his back. He turned around on his heels and strolled back down the room again. “Ar-hah!” he cheered as he clicked the fingers on his right hand. Spinning around, his robes wafted out again behind him as he ran back up the ladder. He shook his head and climbed back down. Crouching on the ground, he slid his hand into the bottom shelf and pulled out another box. His hands shook as he tugged the lid off the box. “This is it,” he whispered as he held the box over to me. “Go on, take it.”

Closing my eyes, I slipped my hand inside the box. My heart threw itself at my ribs; it bounced back, landing in my stomach. My tongue scrapped against the roof of my mouth. Pinching my eyes tight, I allowed myself to squint as I felt my hand grip hold of the wand. It slid into my palm. I opened my eyes fully. This wand was much thinner than the others and longer too. I tilted my head to the left as I twisted my wrist, examining all of the lines and knots in the wood. Holding it up, I gave it a wave. A green spark shot out and another and then a silvery-white one. My arm shook. I gasped.

“Yes,” laughed Mr. Ollivander as he clapped his left hand against the side of the wand’s box. “The wand has chosen its master.” The thumping in my stomach spiralled into a tingle that spread all the way up my spine. I gave a giggle as I gazed at the wand in my hand. My wand. This was it. This made everything real.

“Twelve and a half inches long, slightly springy, made of cedar. Its core is made of unicorn hair…” said Mr. Ollivander as he returned the wand to its box. He gave a slight hum. “This wand shows that you have both strength and loyalty.” I pinched my lips in, feeling myself blush again. “However, you must be wise when you choose whose side you will be on…” he warned. “Not every cedar’s loyalties lie on the right side.” With the wand back inside its box and the lid pressed tightly on, Mr. Ollivander returned to the back bookshelf. He swiped a sheet of brown paper from a gap between some of the boxes and began wrapping my wand box inside it. He announced that my wand would cost my parents seven Galleons – which, he pointed out is the same price as all of the wands in his shop, and Mom gave him the money. Handing the parcel to me he whispered, “Its slight springiness will do you well for any quickly spoken spell,” and gave me a big smile.

As we left ‘Ollivander’s’, I had a huge grin plastered over my face. I could not stop smiling. Everything just felt so… perfect and so complete. I’ve never felt so whole and so happy and… like I actually belonged in such a long time… actually, I can’t even remember when I ever felt this way before. It’s so hard to describe. It was like eating an entire chocolate cake, but without feeling sick, then wanting to spin around in hundreds of circles and roll down a really steep hill in the grass on a sticky, hot, summer’s day. My heart was racing and racing and racing. But then we got to the wall.

Diagon Alley ended. We were faced with the wall of ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ that Tom, the barman, had opened to let us through; however, the archway in the wall closed up as soon as we had all stepped into Diagon Alley. Dad folded his arms. “Well,” he said as he glared down at me tapping his foot. “How d’we get back, aye? That bleedin’ barm’n said you’d know what t’ do.” He rolled his eyes and gave the wall a kick. “No one in this place told us how t’ get back to the normal world.”

I scrunched my face up, wrinkling my nose at him. This place? The normal world? Balling my hands into fists I held my breath. Counting backwards, slowly in my head from ten to zero, I tried my best not to snap back. I couldn’t. But seriously, what did he mean by that remark? That I’m not normal. Oh, but that he is normal. I may be different now, knowing that I’m a witch, but he is so far from normal it is unreal. I dug my nails harder into my palms. I had to be nice. My old man could easily stop me from going to Hogwarts if I upset him. He would take back my robes, my books, my wand. I was not going to stay at home now – no way. I’d seen too much to go back to being boring-old-me now. Magic ran through my veins. I could feel it. And as long as it was there, I wasn’t going to let anyone take this opportunity away from me.

The words that Tom from ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ spoke spiralled in my mind: ‘Providin’ ya pick out everythin’ on Professor Dumbledore’s list… the girl’ll know what t’ do.’ I wriggled my wrists, loosening my fingers, then I shook my hands. I had to throw away this negative energy, if I wanted to think straight. My stomach twisted itself, knotting away at my intestines. There had to be a way. There just had to. I had to know something more now than what I did before we arrived. Turning to the wall I stared at it. It was just a plain and ordinary wall. The bricks were of an orangey-red and the concrete a greyed-white, just like all of the other brick walls I’d seen. There was nothing special. Nothing stood out. My eyes scanned along the bricks. There was nothing unusual about the layout. There wasn’t any kind of lever or switch, just a flat, plain, wall. There had to be something that I could do. I thumped my right hand against my leg. ‘Think… think… come on…’ I told myself. ‘What did the barman do?’ Staring at the wall, my eyes narrowed. I took a step back. Examining the wall, there was a spot in the centre of one of the bricks. Stretching my arm out I brushed my hand across the wall’s surface. I stroked the brick, poking my finger into the pimpled surface. My eyes widened. Jerking my hand away I turned to Mom. “Can I have the box from Mr. Ollivander, please?” I asked.

Mom looked from me to Dad. I bit my bottom lip. The lines on Dad’s forehead deepened as Mom dove her hand into one of the many bags that now hung from her arm. While she rummaged around, I gazed back at the dot in the wall. The pimpled brick sat towards the left-hand side. Thinking about the opposite side of the wall (in the courtyard of ‘The Leaky Cauldron’) this had to be roughly the area that Tom the barman poked with his wand. Mom handed me the box. My fingers fumbled as tugged at the brown paper wrappings and pulled the lid off the box. I peered inside. There it was staring back at me, my twelve and a half inch, slightly springy, cedar wand – I am never going to forget that. Scooping my hand inside the box, I gripped it in my palm. My heart fluttered and my stomach went all tingly, as I held my wand out in front of me. ‘Here goes everything,’ I thought. My chest tightened as my right arm began to shake. Steadying my aim, I poked my wand into the brick’s groove. I pinched my eyes shut.

My heart drummed louder and louder inside of me. It crashed at the cymbals and beat harder, and fiercer, upon the snare. My pulse panged in my ears. Pinching my eyes even harder, I tightened the grip on my wand. Heavy scraping sounded around me. I stiffened my back. Viki gasped at my side. Something tugged at my left sleeve. I squinted, opening one eye. A thin, bony hand patted me on my right shoulder. My eyes shot open. The wall was gone. The back door to ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ stood a few steps in front of us. I gasped. My shoulders dropped. I did it. I actually did it.

Dad rushed us through ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ and straight back to the car. He was silent all the way home – I was glad. It gave me time to think. The whole day’s experience was beyond strange. Not only were the clothes different and the shops, but I realised that whilst we were looking around all of the shops none of them used electricity. There weren’t any lights or cash registers or neon signs or streetlamps or cars or vans. People didn’t even use pens either, every single store worker wrote with a quill and ink. None of the stationery places sold anything other than quills either. No pencils, no pens, no erasers, rulers – it was like we had stepped back in time. Come to think of it, everywhere was lit by candles too. How strange. It was like we had stepped back in time.

The car journey back home was not as quiet and eerie though, as it was on the way to London. My old man may have been just as silent and fidgety, but Viki was full of lively questions – Mom too. We talked about my possible lessons, what I might learn and what my teachers might be like. Mom discussed my equipment list, whilst Viki and I came up with strange spell ideas and wondered what might happen if certain ingredients were mixed together.

“Oh, and I got you something,” said Viki as her eyes widened. She flinched, having just remembered and reached into her inner jacket pocket. “It’s not a lot, but I thought of you,” she said with a smile as she handed me a small, rectangular, flat package wrapped up in brown paper. “Well… Dad’s paid for it at the moment,” she confessed. “I’ll just give him some money when we get back.” I frowned at her as I took the parcel from her hands. She laughed at me. “Well go on, open it.” Tearing off the paper the colours green and silver emerged. I let out a breath as I ran my fingers over it. It was a small soft covered, green book. The front was covered in silver stars, whilst on the back sat a large snake.

“Wow,” I whispered as I fanned the pages. Each one was blank. The pages lay open on a page marked with a bookmark. It too was green and striped with silver glitter. “Thanks Viki,” I said with wide eyes.

“Dad and I got it from that quill and ink shop while you and Mom bought your uniform,” Viki explained. “It reminded me of you. I thought maybe you could use it at your new school.” I gazed down at the book and smiled. Viki was right – it was perfect. In fact, it was probably the most thoughtful thing that she has ever bought me.

The book seems too special to write just schoolwork and notes in. The cover is made of a soft, padded fabric. And the colouring is a very deep, foresty green. The stars even sparkle as you tilt the cover. It makes me smile. And on the back, the snake is just too cool. It looks almost sinister, like it’s guarding the book. I’ve never seen a book like it before. I’ve decided to keep it as my journal whilst I’m at Hogwarts. Well, duh, I guess that’s obvious as I’m writing in it now. But I just don’t want to miss a thing, or forget a single moment. Every single little detail is going to be scribbled down in here – I just hope that I don’t run out of room.

*

I’ve just spent all day packing. Everything is in my trunk and my messenger bag. I’ve got all of my clothes, books, equipment and potion ingredients. I’ve got my quills, my inks and my parchments. And the most important thing of all: my ticket. Professor Dumbledore sent my parents my train ticket to Hogwarts. I’ve been keeping it in a safe place – in the hidden pouch at the back of this book. It’s a very strange ticket though. It’s of a creamy, white colour and written in gold is: ‘Hogwarts Express. Departure: King’s Cross Station. Ticket; one way. Platform: 9¾. Date: 1^st September. Leaving: 11:00am.’ I didn’t know King’s Cross had a platform nine and three-quarters. Well I’ve never been to King’s Cross train station before, but how do they manage having a three-quarters of a platform? It already seems a little odd getting to a magical school from a busy London train station – doesn’t that mean that anyone can get on the train? And why London? Aren’t there any other stations in the country? So, what happens if you live on the boarder of Scotland and England? Do you have to travel all of the way down the country to King’s Cross just to travel all of the way back up the country again? It’s mad. I guess it’s logical though. Ordinary people, well Muggles, would get suspicious if they saw crowds of cloaked witches and wizards gathering all over the country. If everyone gathers annually in one place, then people might just think we’re going to some yearly convention or something, I guess.

I’m going to Hogwarts. I’m going to Hogwarts. I’m going to Hogwarts. I guess I’ve bugged everyone to death singing that. They’ll probably be glad that I’m leaving, because they’ll finally get some peace. I can’t help it though, I’m just so excited. Tomorrow I’ll be starting the first day of the rest of my life. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to sleep tonight. I can’t. I’m too excited.

You know, I always knew that there was something different about me. I never knew what it was; I’ve just always felt like I don’t belong here with everyone else. And that there’s something more to me than just…well, me. I guess now I know why. I’m a witch.

- Josie -