Angela Cross and the End All Spell

Angela Cross and the End-All Spell

--a Harry Potter Universe fanfiction--

Chapter Four

**Shopping Spree**

"Mom? What are you doing?"

When Angela and Mr. Weasley had returned to the Lounge, they arrived to what appeared to be a clamor of some sort: a huge group of the little serving creatures were all swarmed around the large, comfortable chair Sheri had been sitting in. Actually, sitting may not have been the appropriate word, for Sheri was laid back as far as she could in the soft red leather, her feet propped up and her hands soaking in a pair of ornately-detailed china bowls filled with a clear, oily liquid. Angela was aghast as she came closer to find her mother's feet were actually resting on the shoulders of one of the creatures, who was smiling as best he could but was obviously trying not to buckle under the strain; the creature, about three feet tall with extremely large ears, no hair, and wearing nothing more than what appeared to be a bed sheet tied on to look like a toga, was squinting through its humongous brown eyes, grunting slightly as it kept trying to rebalance her ankles on its shoulders.

"Oh Angela!" Sheri exclaimed, completely ecstatic but not wanting to move from her position. "You've got to see this, these little guys are amazing!"

"Jeeze, take your feet off of him!" Angela said angrily, moving in to stop her mother from using the creature as a footstool.

"Don't be silly," she said with a frown as Angela pulled her ankles up, resulting in the little creature dropping back onto the ground at the sudden shift in weight, "They love it! Don't you, guys?"

"But of course, madam," squeaked one in a thick British drawl.

"We aims ta please, missus," said another.

"More grapes?" asked yet another.

"No, no more grapes," Sheri responded casually. "Do you have any Triscuits?"

The little creatures suddenly looked very nervous and upset, then with their heads hunched downward in surprisingly intense shame they slowly shook their heads in a unanimous no.

"Oh well, it's no big deal, I guess," she said casually, and the little creatures let out a tiny and simultaneous sigh of relief.

Sheri pulled her fingers out of the soaking bowls and shook them off lightly as another little creature sprinted up to her and handed her a hand towel, which she took without even looking at it. She was too busy looking at Angela with delight.

"They do anything you want!" she said with a thrill. "They're called house elves."

Angela looked at the little creatures, which nodded, bowed, and curtseyed back.

"I can't believe you," Angela said in utter disgust.

"What?" her mother replied as though this was no big thing. "This is what they're supposed to do."

"You were using that one as a footstool!" Angela said angrily, pointing to her left.

The little elf had since gotten up and despite looking as though its shoulders were in immense pain it smiled very politely at Angela. "Oh no, ma'am, 'tis alright," it said in another squeaky voice, though lower than the earlier one. "Plunky don't mind it one bit if it makes Madam comfortable."

"See?" said Sheri, vindicated.

Angela turned towards Mr. Weasley, hoping he might have something to say about this to her mother, but he just shrugged casually. "Well, it is actually the truth, you see. House elves do love to take care of people. I'd love to get one to help Molly around the house, but they're so very expensive."

This was an attitude she had expected her mother to have, but for Mr. Weasley to agree with it... Angela just looked at Mr. Weasley, aghast.

"I want to go," Angela said curtly, and immediately stepped out of the room. Mr. Weasley followed her out, as did Sheri (albeit reluctantly).

"I don't see why you have to be in such a mood," said Sheri, a little upset that her relaxing time had ended. "They were perfectly happy, after all."

"I don't want to hear about it," responded Angela, heading back in the direction of the telephone-elevator and feeling somewhat disgusted with both her mother and Mr. Weasley.

"I mean, that's what they're born for," continued Sheri. "I wonder how much they can lift. Mr. Weasley, can they make things float like you were doing earlier?"

"Certainly, house elves are quite capable in magic," he responded as though nothing was wrong with the topic. Angela scowled and stepped up the pace through the crowds.

They couldn't have gotten to the booth fast enough for Angela's tastes. Her mother and Mr. Weasley had continued on unendingly and obliviously about the uses of house elves, discussing all the benefits of them and both going on and on about how much they wanted one. Angela got in the booth, which had descended down to them as they were on the way to it, and kept her back to the twosome who filed in behind her, thankfully not talking about house elves any more; apparently Angela's cold-shoulder on the matter convinced them to finally curb the discussion for the time being.

Angela and Sheri had to put their badges back in the change-tray before the booth would journey back up, and after a minute slowly rising through the darkness they were back in the alleyway, pouring out promptly to get some breathing room.

Putting the annoyance at the whole house elf incident as far behind as she could (though she couldn't shake her sudden disappointment in Mr. Weasley, who she had assumed was much better a person than that), Angela took in a deep breath now that they were out in the open. The stink of the garbage bin at the back of the alley wafted into her nose, making her crinkle her brow a little, but it was still pleasant to be standing outside, so far away from the humdrum of Oklahoma with so much adventure lying ahead of her. It almost didn't feel real, but looking out of the alley at the passing cars and pedestrians and hearing the honking of traffic beyond helped reassure her of the authenticity of the situation.

Magic school, magic school, she sang to herself gleefully in her head, making her happy once more, I'm going to magic school! Quickly remembering, Angela reached into her back pocket and retrieved the letter she had received from Hogwarts earlier. Opening the envelope, she pulled out the attachment to the letter which carried the list of school supplies she'd be needing and looked over it with a wide grin on her mouth. Not just away from Oklahoma, but away from what was sure to be a whole childhood of nomadic school-to-school journeying, away from the day-to-day toil of dealing with her mother's craziness, and away from the utter boredom of 'Muggle' life. It was such a liberating feeling, and she was sure that as time moved on and she learned more and more of the magical world around her that it would only grow.

Mr. Weasley noticed the list in Angela's hand. "May I?" he asked. Angela nodded and handed it to him, which he scanned over quickly.

"Let's see... Yes, yes... Ooh, I think Ron may have forgotten this... Ok... Ah, same book I used when I was in school..." After a minute, he nodded at his completion of the list. "Right, looks like we'll be getting you set up right away," he said, smiling. "Come along."

Mr. Weasley walked up to the empty space where the car was supposed to be and without having to hunt for it found the door handle and opened up the car, the vehicle's interior and the inside of the door floating in mid-air and looking slightly disconcerting to Angela. He then removed his robes and hat (showing his bald-spot a little more predominantly) and placed them neatly on the driver's seat, pulling out an old bomber jacket which he put on instead. The two girls moved towards the car, expecting to get in and go wherever was next on their destination; however, to their surprise he instead shut the door and headed out of the alleyway, leaving Angela and Sheri confused enough to not move more than a couple of steps.

"But... But what about the car?" asked Sheri.

"I'll be back to get it later," he said, wondering what the hold up was.

"And our stuff?"

"It'll be fine," he responded to Sheri, "I'll have them sent to your room."

"Our room?"

Mr. Weasley turned around completely and looked at the two girls with slight impatience. "Come along, come along, I'll explain on the way," he said while motioning them towards him with his fingers. Angela immediately continued on out of the alley, while Sheri looked back at the empty spot where the car was and then ran to join them, not wanting to be left behind.

It was a beautiful bright, sunny day out on the streets of London. The clouds (and apparently the snowfall from the Ministry window) had vanished since they had first landed, and to Angela's pleasure there was a cool breeze coming down the street. Pedestrians were walking everywhere, and Angela wondered just how many of these people knew about the magical world she had just started experiencing. British accents pervaded around her and she found herself having to be careful on the curb since cars were now coming up behind her instead of towards her on the left side of the road.

Angela couldn't help but feel a little like a tourist as they walked, for this was the first time she was out of the country and she wanted to absorb everything around her. She was doing her level best to not be as obvious about it as her mother, who was craning her head left and right, side to side, and pointing at everything, no matter how ordinary it might be. Amusingly enough, Mr. Weasley seemed equally enthralled with the scenery, especially the ordinary things.

"So where are we headed?" asked Angela as she kept pace with Mr. Weasley.

"Diagon Alley," Mr. Weasley responded with a smile.

Angela looked at him confusedly for a moment. "Diagonally?"

"No, no," Mr. Weasley corrected, "Diagon Alley. It's the local wizarding community. It's where upcoming students like yourself can come to buy school supplies. Molly and I brought Ron with us yesterday to pick up a couple of things. Of course," he added, lowering his voice with some obvious embarrassment, "most of his supplies we already had. Diagon Alley can be a little... pricey at times."

Mr. Weasley, still keeping up his pace, looked down at the ground a little sadly. Angela nodded understandingly at him: she and her mother were not exactly what one would call wealthy. In fact, most of her clothing was purchased from second-hand stores and thrift shops.

Feeling bad for him, Angela tried to think of a different subject to direct the conversation to. However, everything she could think of involved magic and that was, for the moment, a topic she wanted to avoid due to its connotation with Diagon Alley and the subject of money. Fortunately, though, she was rescued from the uncomfortable silence as the tour suddenly became spectacularly short.

"And here we are."

Angela and Sheri stopped behind Mr. Weasley, who was standing before what appeared to be a dingy little pub nestled between a record store and a book shop. Small, dilapidated and in dire need of a paint job, the pub was a pitiful sight indeed, practically invisible between the stores. No one would even glance at it as they passed, their eyes moving straight from one store to the next without ever settling on the pub. Creaking on old rusty hinges above the door hung a sign saying The Leaky Cauldron.

There was of course no alley to be seen. And Angela of course resisted the urge to ask where it was: Mr. Weasley would - of course - show her.

"Where's here?" asked Sheri... Of course.

"I'll take you inside," said Mr. Weasley.

"The record store, or the book store?" she asked in confusion. Angela suddenly noticed her mother was looking from one store to the next without even once looking at the pub between them.

Mr. Weasley grinned amusedly. "Ah, that's right, you can't see it," he said with a chuckle.

Taking Sheri's hand with his left and gripping the rusty doorknob with his right, Mr. Weasley opened the old wooden door. Sheri's eyes went wide.

"Where'd this place come from??" she said, startled and her mouth agape.

Figuring the answer wouldn't reach her anyway, Mr. Weasley just continued to smile and led her in, which to Angela looked quite amusing: even though the door was quite capable of letting in someone of great size, Sheri turned to her side and shimmied in carefully, as though she was afraid something would scrape her nose or face. She shut her eyes tightly and slid through the wide door, Angela following her casually and not understanding just what her mother was seeing.

When they were all in Angela shut the door with a loud, creaky thud and Sheri opened her eyes. Both Angela and Sheri were a bit surprised at the contrast this place had with the Ministry of Magic's facilities: unlike the grand opulence of the large offices, the Leaky Cauldron was small, dank and dark, a complete opposite. There were rotting wooden tables and barstools left and right, and like the contrast with the Ministry's building the people were also complete opposites of their counterparts. No straight-backed, ragged-running, business-minded rat-race-mentality here; all the patrons were quiet, relaxed, and speaking casually. Also unlike the clean-cut suits of the Ministry, most of the patrons wore older and more heavily worn robes, a distinct white-collar/blue-collar difference separated by only a few blocks of walking. A few of the faces looked up in curiosity to see who had stepped in, then went back to drinking and chatting amongst themselves. Angela saw all sorts of people sitting about: a trio of old hags in heavy robes, all wearing solid black glasses over their eyes and having a small argument about a glass eye that was sitting on the center of their table; a stern, ruggedly handsome man with a beard sitting in a dark corner wearing a tree-green cloak and looking around carefully as though he were waiting for someone; a humongous, hunchbacked woman with wiry hair and long, gnarled fingers, drinking from a smoking cup and looking at everyone in the pub out of the corner of her eye with an evil glint, with a young boy with brown hair, robes and wearing a pointy hat sitting by her, looking at everyone in the pub with equal-level boredom; and many more, most just minding their own business. A small, triangular window matching the arc of the ceiling on each side of the pub let in shafts of light to the otherwise dark room. Sheri was looking around in bewilderment; Angela assumed her mother was wondering if this was the record store's or the book store's interior.

"Ah, to eliminate any confusion you may be experiencing," Mr. Weasley told the two, "as you are probably aware by now, we try to keep the Muggle world as in the dark about the existence of ourselves as much as possible-"

"But why?" Sheri asked. "These things you can do are amazing! Why, if I could have someone use magic to help me do my antiquing, I'd-"

"That's exactly the point," interrupted Angela, "otherwise everyone would be trying to get magic to do the work for them." Angela remembered the many nightmarish thoughts she'd had of her mother dragging her off from store to store to have her levitate out pianos and other impossibly-huge items.

"I don't see what's so wrong about that. It'd make life easier for everyone."

You mean it'd make life easier for you, Angela though as she sighed and rubbed her temples. She wished she wasn't feeling so impatient with her mother at the moment, but Sheri had a knack for bringing out the worst in her, especially now when she wanted so hard to understand the wizarding world. Her mother could be so selfish and so single-minded sometimes that it was driving her to have a migraine, and as much as she wanted to convince Sheri that it was just wrong to use people for what they could do for her, she knew in the end it would be utterly futile.

"Well," Angela said, trying to think of anything that might at least keep her mother from rebutting for a while, "imagine if everyone else had someone to do magic for them, then you'd have all sorts of competition with your booths."

"Oh," Sheri said nodding, "that's true." Apparently Angela had gotten through to her, though for all the wrong reasons.

"Um," said Mr. Weasley, trying to get back to his original point, "as I was saying, we try to keep the Muggle world from knowing about us. Like you said, Angela, if that were the case then everyone would be looking to magic to solve their problems, which just isn't done. So we do our level best to hide our existence from them." Mr. Weasley motioned at the door they had just stepped in. "For example, the Leaky Cauldron is charmed so that Muggles can't see it. They just see the neighboring buildings side-to-side."

"Ah," acknowledged both Angela and Sheri, now understanding their respective confusions about the entrance to the pub.

"Yes, precisely. You'll find a lot of the wizarding world is designed for privacy. In fact, there's an entire department at the Ministry that deals in Muggle relations. Which I am pleased to be a part of," he added, again with an air of pride. Angela wasn't sure just what Mr. Weasley saw in Muggles, but figured it was probably as fascinating for him to see someone using a stereo system as it was for her to sit in a flying car.

Walking them through the pub and past the barkeep, who Angela noted looked much like a bald, unshaven walnut, Mr. Weasley led the two into a small courtyard out back, where nothing awaited them but weeds, a trash can, and a brick wall. Mr. Weasley had pulled his wand from his jacket pocket and proceeded to look at the wall as though he were trying to remember something.

"Hm, I don't take this way very often. Let's see... Three up and three across?" Mr. Weasley tapped the bricks of the wall above the trashcan in succession, but nothing happened. "No, that wasn't it. Three up and... two across?" Again, he tapped the bricks, and this time the bricks quivered. Mr. Weasley smiled and stepped back as the bricks in the wall began to twist and turn and push themselves out of the way, and in a matter of seconds they had parted into a huge archway. Beyond the arch led a long, cobbled street where droves of people were milling about and tending to their daily lives, reminding Angela of a scene from an old Charles Dickens book.

"Welcome," he said with a flourish, "to Diagon Alley."

Angela and Sheri were both looking at the scene with awe, which Mr. Weasley apparently couldn't get enough of. Angela smiled at him, her eyes aglitter, and he ushered them through. As the three stepped out onto the cobblestones, the stony wall shuddered slightly and the bricks filled back in, hiding the archway from sight.

It was a whole other world on this side of the wall, like stepping into Wonderland or something. True, it wasn't opulent like the Ministry, but this street had a charm all its own that Angela felt quite comfortable in, and at a glance of her mother she could see she felt much more comfortable here as well. It felt like being at a swap meet, with all the buzzing of shoppers and the stores on every side selling their wares, and both Angela and Sheri were craning their necks in every direction to see all the sights, which were indeed quite amazing. The first store they passed was a cauldron shop, where massive and tiny cauldrons, gold and steel, new and old were stacked haphazardly on top of one another; the owner, a fat man with a scowl and a moustache that covered his mouth, was desperately trying to rearrange a stack of them so they wouldn't topple over. Farther down, an apothecary apparently named Slug & Jiggers from the text on the front window, which was by comparison quite clean on the outside though produced a terrible stink from the door that Angela could only guess was either bad meat or good cheese. The first shop that really caught her eye though was the one crowded all the way from one side of the street to the other by kids of all ages and even a few adults.

The store, which was called Quality Quidditch Supplies judging from the wooden sign over the door, featured a broom placed on a stand in the front window in an extremely fanciful display. While Angela had no idea what a Quidditch was, she quickly remembered seeing a broom on the list of school supplies and now had something to feed her imagination - she'd be flying one at school! She looked at the broom in the window as they passed the shop and imagined flying it to class, traveling the countryside on it, and otherwise zooming about the sky sidesaddle. Although she had no idea where they were going to stop first in the alley, she immediately stepped up the pace, wanting to be back at that broom store before they might close.

Past a shop with owls of every kind sitting in cages hooting and flapping about, past a shop that sold musical instruments and telescopes and other strange devices Angela couldn't figure out, onward past a stationary store that seemed to carry parchment and rolls and quills of all shapes and sizes and a clothing store that had mannequins displaying varying fashions of elegant robes (and posing fancifully as they wore them), the group walked with energy as the bright England sun shone down upon them (a rarity, Mr. Weasley acknowledged, as the country seemed to prefer the color gray for its sky-tone) until they finally stopped in front of an imposing looking building situated at an intersection in the alley.

"Gringotts," Mr. Weasley said as they approached.

The building stood taller than anything else in the alley Angela could see, its walls made of white marble and its massive, open doors hammered from bronze and the size of some of the shops they had passed earlier. Standing next to the door at attention was a small creature wearing a uniform of red and gold and reminding Angela of the guards outside of Buckingham Palace, had they been they four feet tall and had long pointy noses and pointy ears. It looked very much like one of the creatures from the gold statue in the Ministry, though unlike its counterpart it was not smiling or looking happy in the slightest, but rather dark and crafty. It bowed as the group walked in, where they were met by a second set of doors, this time silver and nowhere as imposing, with something engraved upon them:

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.

Angela had no idea what the specifics of that meant, though it seemed like a good idea not to rob the bank at any rate. A pair of the little creatures, who were standing by this set of doors, bowed as they opened them up and let them pass.

"Gringotts is the wizarding bank, Angela," Mr. Weasley explained as they walked in through the doors and came out in a gargantuan hallway lined with marble. "It's here that we keep our money, as well as many other items that we'd like to keep safe. Well, as safe as is possible," he added on with an uneasy smirk.

"What do you mean?" Angela asked, trying to pay attention as best she could and trying to avoid being distracted by the sights of the many little creatures that were sitting behind row after row of tables, counting gold coins and writing on parchment and weighing gemstones the size of golf balls on scales.

"Well, Gringotts is supposed to be the most secure bank in all of England," he said, lowering his voice so it wouldn't carry, "but a couple of weeks ago there was a break-in. Nothing was apparently taken, but for anyone to try and rob this place is pretty spectacular indeed. I hear that dragons guard the underground vaults."

Angela looked at the ground she was walking on with a sudden start. Were there indeed dragons living underneath the bank? Sheri was suddenly looking at the ground with worry and apparently thinking the same thing, though more so.

"Anyway, the goblins say nothing happened, and I'm inclined to agree with them."

"Goblins??"

"These little fellows," Mr. Weasley pointed out to Sheri, who was half-relieved to know what the creatures were and half-scared to suddenly realize that she was surrounded by hoards of suit-wearing, white-collar goblins.

"They have extraordinary magical ability and wouldn't think more than a second about throwing a curse on anyone foolish enough to try and steal from here." Sheri's subsequent eye-widening was telling Angela that Mr. Weasley was not being very successful in reassuring her mother. Undoubtedly, she was now worrying that a throng of goblins was going to start tossing curses at her pell-mell.

Looking at the hall some more, Angela thought it really didn't look too different from any other bank, if you had crossed it with Grand Central Station. There were huge desks with tellers everywhere (all goblins, apparently), customers filling out forms and waiting in line, and doors that defied counting stretching off into the distance, with people walking in and out of them all the time, all being led by one goblin or another. On further thought, while this building was bigger than the others in the alley, Angela noted that the interior was much larger than the outside could have possibly been.

Mr. Weasley walked up to an empty counter where a small, hook-nosed goblin sat, scribbling madly on a piece of parchment with its eyes furrowed in intense concentration. "Hullo," Mr. Weasley said pleasantly, which caused the goblin to immediately stop writing and look up, eyes still furrowed.

"Yes?" the goblin said, obviously unhappy he had been interrupted in his work.

"I'm Arthur Weasley from the Ministry, I'm here to pick up a Stipend Bag for Miss Angela Cross?"

"Do you have your papers?"

Mr. Weasley pulled out a roll of parchment sealed with a large wax stamp on the back and placed it on the desk. The goblin picked it up and with an incredibly long forefinger-nail sliced open the seal and eyed the paper's contents. It looked back at Mr. Weasley, then down over the tall counter to Angela, then back at the paper.

"Mm hm... Mm hmm... Yes, this all seems to be in order."

The goblin held the roll of parchment out in its open palm and with a sudden whoosh the paper flashed and burnt up in an instant, causing Angela and Sheri to hop back a foot. The goblin then ducked down behind its large desk and there was the sound of rummaging before it reappeared, this time holding a small leather bag tied shut with a copper-wire drawstring. As it placed the bag on the desk there was a slight chiming sound, like coins tinkling inside.

"Now," the goblin said, focusing its attention squarely on Angela and giving her a very stern look, "have you ever handled a Stipend Bag before?"

Angela shook her head. The goblin sighed and furrowed its brow even further, which Angela had at first thought was impossible.

"Alright, some rules about the Stipend Bag..."

"I can explain it to her," said Mr. Weasley in slight protest. Apparently he had wanted to introduce her to all the aspects of the magical world, and was a little perturbed that he wouldn't get to handle this part.

The goblin completely ignored him. "First, this is a limited amount of money. I am tired of having to explain to everyone who gets one that when the money is gone, it's gone until the next payoff, which I can see by your wire will be next year. So when you run out, don't come crying to us!"

Angela was taken aback by the goblin's demanding tone; apparently this was something it had to deal with all the time.

"Secondly, do not lose this bag. They take forever to charm and frankly I have better things to do than re-stitch one on my day off. You lose it, I'm going to be very cross indeed.

"Thirdly, please do not turn the bag over without closing it shut. The last thing we want is for your entire year's stipend to go pouring out onto the floor and into the street. We will not refund you if this happens. Do you understand?"

Angela nodded in response. The goblin just looked at her sternly though, apparently wanting to hear her say it. "I understand," she said. She didn't need anyone telling her to be careful with money - it was something she was already quite familiar with - but she did her best to placate the little banker.

The goblin raised a whiskery eyebrow at her and sat back up, then looked from her to the bag. "Please open it up and make sure everything is in order." Angela looked at the bag, but wasn't sure how easy it'd be to open it, as it was shut tight with a metal wire tied in a knot. A little hesitant, she began to tug gently on the wire to see how hard it would be to unravel, but she didn't have to do anything after the first tug: the wire promptly began to unravel itself. It twisted and turned gently, looking more like silk billowing in a gentle breeze, and when it had completely undone itself it went rigid and once again looked like hard wiring. Angela bent a little farther over the counter and looked into the now open bag, but couldn't see anything beyond black darkness inside it. However, Mr. Weasley and the goblin were both looking at her expectantly, so she slowly put her hand in to see what the bag held.

There was a quick rush through her system as Angela felt coins brushing against her fingertips; this is what she'd be using to buy school supplies! She pulled out one of the coins and looked at it, Sheri moving in for a closer look with a little gleam in her eye that Angela had seen on more than one occasion and wasn't at all comfortable with. It was a small, gold coin with what looked like a griffon emblazoned upon it and One Galleon written on its surface; there was also a serial number etched into the side.

Returning the coin to the bag, she felt through to see how many there were, but as she dug through she began to wonder where the bottom of the bag was. Her eyes began to open wider as her fingers swam through the coins, which now seemed to go on deeper and deeper, and she also noticed that she was down to her elbow in a bag that should have at the most been able to hold her hand up to her wrist. Then, after some further digging, she finally touched a flat, leather surface with her hand.

She couldn't resist feeling a little disappointed it wasn't an unlimited amount of money, but the amount that was in there was still significant; Angela felt like she had just won the lottery, and it pleased her to no end. When she pulled her arm out, careful not to yank any of the coins out with her, the goblin held the two ends of copper wire, looking at her to make sure she was paying attention, and touched them together. Immediately the wiring rewound itself and closed the bag tightly. It was fairly unusual to see the bag that seemed to carry so much coin to take so little space, but she still looked at the little deerskin bag with a giddy leap in her heart.

"Sign here," the goblin said in an utterly businesslike tone, like it did this sort of thing every day, and presented a scroll to Angela, which she signed with a quill pen from its desk. And with that, the bag of money was hers; as she took it, she was pleased to see that it only weighed about half a pound as well.

Once the bag was in hand, the goblin ducked behind the desk once more and there was the sound of rustling. Angela looked over the corner of the counter to see what else she was supposed to be expecting, when the little goblin popped back up holding what appeared to be a gigantic block of cheese.

"Thank you for opening a Ministry account with Gringotts," it said with a sudden eerie pleasantness to his voice, "As with all government accounts, we also provide our new customers with this complimentary cheese package. Enjoy!"

The group stepped out of the bank and down the steps back into the crowds, little coin purse jingling in Angela's very tight grip so as not to lose anything and the block of cheese tucked underneath her arm.

Angela was already planning on which stores to go running through first when Mr. Weasley took a left from the bank and made a beeline for the other side of the street. Angela and Sheri weaved through the crowds along with him until they were in front of a cute ice cream shop.

"A magic ice cream store!" Angela squealed unintentionally, immediately knowing the first place she was going to spend her new money on. Mr. Weasley threw her a quick smile and then made for a little table that sat out in front upon the cobblestone sidewalk. Sitting at the table, daintily drinking a cup of tea underneath the shade of a large parasol, was a thin, pale man with white robes and what appeared to be a humongous purple turban wrapped around his head.

"Quirenius?" Mr. Weasley said to make sure.

The man looked up, a little startled at hearing his name, and spilled a bit of his tea on the white table.

"Ah! A-A-Arthur Weasley, hello." The young man stood up, tall but apparently very unsteady. The two shook hands politely and Mr. Weasley moved aside to give Angela and Sheri a better view.

"Quirenius, this is Miss Angela Cross," he said, introducing her.

The young man smiled and shook her hand. "It's a p-p-p-pleasure to meet you," he stammered out.

"Angela, this is Professor Quirenius Quirrell, from Hogwarts. He's been sent to be your mentor from here on out."

"Nice to meet you," she said, halfway through fully hearing what Mr. Weasley had said. "Wait, from here on out?"

"Yes," Mr. Weasley responded, a little apologetically, "now that we have your financial situation handled I must return to the Ministry, I'm afraid."

Angela gave Professor Quirrell a quick look-over; she wasn't entirely surprised that the school had sent her someone to walk her through the motions, though the man looked like such a mousy and insecure fellow that she was immediately hoping she wasn't going to be stuck with him for her entire stay at Hogwarts. Everything about him, even the way he walked, made him look like a stiff breeze would push him over or a loud noise would make him jump to the ceiling. Besides, she had really been hoping that if she were to have a mentor that it would have been Mr. Weasley; she wasn't as confident anyone else would have been as patient with her or her mother, and he was extremely friendly to boot.

"I get a mentor?" she asked, just to make sure.

"Yes," said Mr. Weasley, patting Quirrell on the shoulder in a friendly manner, "Professor Dumbledore sent him. He'll help you get your school supplies, get to the Hogwarts Express, and see to any other needs or questions you have while you're in their care." Quirrell nodded between Angela and Mr. Weasley, though he was unnervingly quiet. Angela wasn't feeling particularly compelled to talk with him either, so there was a silence for a moment where neither had anything to say.

"So you work at the school?" Sheri spoke up, which Angela was for once thankful of. "You're a teacher there?"

"Y-Y-Yes ma'am," Quirrell responded politely, "I teach Defense Against the D-D-D-Dark Arts to the student b-body." He seemed quite uncomfortable bringing up the subject, flinching as he said it.

"See, that's why Professor Quirrell was chosen to be your mentor," Mr. Weasley piped in, "he'll be helping you to learn more about the spells you acquired from the Book of Black during your stay at Hogwarts." Quirrell gulped slightly at the mention of the book, and Angela wondered just what this little man had to teach her.

"That I w-w-w-will," Quirrell said, trying to sound gung-ho with a playful swing of his arm. "We'll do all w-w-w-we can to learn about those d-dark spells hiding in that h-h-head of yours, hmm?" It was obvious he was making an effort to come across as sure of the situation, but Angela doubted anyone felt assured by this. Even Mr. Weasley made a quirky smile and shrug behind Professor Quirrell to Angela, one of those Dumbledore must know what he's doing, so let's not worry about it gestures.

"Well, I'll be on my way then," Mr. Weasley said, and with a friendly bow and a smile he took her hand and wished her luck. He did the same for Sheri, waved to the group, and headed into the crowd. "You'll do fine!" he called out as he turned the corner, shooting her a couple of thumbs-ups before vanishing from sight.

There was a slight silence after he was gone. He had left so abruptly that it felt quite unusual to be standing in this magical world without him. Angela worried a little bit about what was going to happen now, but quickly consoled herself at the fact that the Ministry had taken such a vested interest in her that she was bound to see him again before too long.

"A-a-alright," said Professor Quirrell, trying to get the group back on track, "let's have a l-l-l-look at those school supplies."

In a flash, Angela had her supply list out, the weight in her pocket from the Stipend Bag sitting there reassuringly. It was going to be a little disappointing not to have Mr. Weasley around while she went shopping, but she was still quite happy to finally get her very own witching supplies. She scanned the list to see what she'd be needing:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)

by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' 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

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection

by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring and owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS

ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Angela frowned with disappointment as she read the last part. Some of the other schools had broomsticks in their supply lists, but Hogwarts made a specific note that no one could bring broomsticks to school. The thought of zipping through the sky was quickly shot down and left her with the feeling of disenchantment she was all too familiar with from her life.

"No broomsticks?" Angela asked Professor Quirrell quickly, hoping there was a way around this clause.

"Y-Y-You have to learn how to fly first," he said. "After your f-f-first year you can bring a broom t-t-to school."

Angela let out a tiny sigh of relief; so she'd still get to fly, just not on her own broom. Yet. She could live with that.

With the spring back in her step, Angela started off, looking gleefully at the list and suddenly wondering just how she was going to carry everything. Sheri and Professor Quirrell followed along with her.

"Pardon me, Mister Quirrell," Sheri said, trying to be helpful as they left the ice cream shop, "but did you know you stutter?"

Angela just looked gleefully at the list and pretended she had heard nothing. Nope, nothing at all, she thought adamantly through gritted teeth.

It was a long afternoon, but certainly the most fun Angela had probably had in her entire life. Never before had she had so much money to spend, not to mention so many great things to spend it on awaiting her; it was an effort to keep reminding herself that she had to make this money last the whole year. It seemed like a lot when she started, but things in Diagon Alley were sometimes pretty expensive. She could see why Mr. Weasley was complaining about getting his kids school supplies.

First had been the cauldron; Professor Quirrell had mentioned she would need something to put all her books in anyway. It was here that he explained how wizarding money was broken up, where one Galleon equaled seventeen Sickles which equaled four-hundred and ninety-three Knuts... It made Angela's head hurt to try and figure out why anyone would make such a convoluted currency system, but thankfully she discovered that if she put small change into the Stipend Bag that it would automatically convert it as close to Galleons and Sickles as it could.

The second stop was what Angela had been looking forward to almost as much as getting a broom. It was a narrow, ragged little store with gold letters peeling off over the door reading Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. In the window there was a single wand sitting on a dusty purple pillow.

An old bell chimed in the back of the store when the trio opened the door and stepped in. It was little shop, very neat and orderly, with thousands and thousands of small wooden boxes lining shelves that followed each wall and extended into the back of the shop through the little open passageway on the opposite side. There was one rickety old chair sitting near the door and a heavy wooden desk near the rear pass, and that was it for the décor. There was also a strange hum to the room, not something that could be heard but instead felt along her skin, like a weird electricity that coursed hidden in the air. There was magic in here, strong magic, and it filled Angela with a charge just to be around it.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice, causing everyone to jump slightly (perhaps more than slightly for Professor Quirrell, who let out a sharp squeak with his leap). Out of nowhere stood an old man with wide, silvery eyes who smiled at the group. Despite his apparent age there was a life in them that reminded her of when she first saw Dumbledore at the Ministry of Magic.

"Hi," said Angela, still a little surprised but feeling a little more confident upon making eye contact.

"So you're the latest Twink," he said, giving Angela a quick once-over. "It's been a long time since I provided a Twink with a wand. Hmm..." Mr. Ollivander stood there, looking her over again with his hand on his chin, deep in thought, unblinking. He furrowed his brow a little, but his smile had not faded: whatever was going through his mind he was enjoying.

He stepped a little closer to Angela, and she couldn't help but step back a little; he may have had some life to his eyes, but being looked over this close by a complete stranger was a bit disconcerting for her, not to mention uncomfortable; Angela tended to be stingy when it came to her personal space. Mr. Ollivander seemed to understand and gave her a little berth, though he still kept eyeing her in thought.

"It's quite a challenge, you know," he said, "trying to figure out just what to do with you. Just what wand does one find for a new breed of witch? But," he said, turning towards the many shelves next to him, "that's up to the wand, don't you think?" It seemed the challenge of discovering what direction to go for Angela's wand was quite entertaining to him.

As he ran his eyes over the shelf, he finally noticed Sheri and Professor Quirrell standing silently at the side, which genuinely seemed to surprise him. "Ah, Quirenius Quirrell," he said, honestly embarrassed that he had been so focused on Angela that he had not greeted his other guests, "it's been a long time, pleasure to have you in my shop again. Seven inches, teak, a unicorn's hair at its core?"

"Y-y-yes, that's the one. A pleasure to s-s-see you again, Mr. Olliv-v-vander."

Mr. Ollivander looked at Quirrell with a cocked eyebrow and a hint of worry. "Hmm, you seem a little frailer than when I last laid eyes on you, son, your job been treating you well?"

Quirrell looked a little startled to be asked such a question, but smiled weakly and tried to wave it off. "Oh it's f-f-fine, sir, I'm very h-happy at Hogwarts. Just a lot of s-stress what with the upc-c-coming school year and all. Lots to do and all that."

"Hmm..." Mr. Ollivander looked at Professor Quirrell a little dubiously, but decided to focus on Sheri instead.

"And you must be the young girl's mother," he said. "A pleasure."

She waved with a friendly hello and took a seat in the chair by the door. Mr. Ollivander replied with a small bow and then returned to Angela.

"Right, let's find out where this little path will lead us," he said as he pulled out a tape-measure and became businesslike. "Which is your wand hand?"

"Um, I'm right handed..."

"Hold out your arm, then." Angela reached out as Mr. Ollivander measured her from shoulder to finger, from wrist to elbow, the height her shoulder stood from the floor, from her underarm to her knee, and the size of her head; Angela wondered if perhaps she was going to be receiving her school robes here as well. "Well, this is going to be interesting indeed," he said again, though Angela suddenly noticed he wasn't holding the tape measure anymore but was instead looking along the shelves at the many boxes lining them. The tape measure continued record every nook and cranny of her without his help.

"You see, wands are as individual as you and me," he noted as he wandered through the door to the rear of the shop and back, still looking over the boxes carefully, "no two are alike. Some have phoenix feathers at their cores, some have unicorn hairs, some have dragon heartstrings, some are made of maple, some are made of larch, some willow... With every combination, every permutation, we have a wand that is as fit for the owner as the owner is fit for it. But you," he said, looking back at her finally, "you are a particularly unique case. Twinks are as rare as they come in the wizarding world, and as such the wand for you may very well be just as unique. That'll be enough," he added, waving at the tape measure, which promptly rolled itself up and plopped onto his desk.

Mr. Ollivander approached Angela with an assortment of boxes, though while some looked so old and dusty as though they hadn't been touched in a century, some of the others were quite new and clean, even polished. "Ok, let's start with something a little interesting," he said, opening the oldest box of the lot. "Rubber tree, twelve inches, phoenix tail feather. A little rough to start, but quite strong." He handed Angela a wand from within the box. "Take a go at it."

"Er, what do I do?" she asked, a little nervous about holding it.

"Give it a quick wave."

Angela did as he said, waving it about lightly and feeling like a band conductor. Before she got to try some more fancy wrist motions, Mr. Ollivander quickly grabbed it out of her hand. "What a shame, I thought we'd get it on the first try."

Opening another box, he placed another wand in her hand. "Seven inches, moves quite fluidly. Composed of palm, has a unicorn hair at its core." Angela looked at the wand and then tried a fancy flicking action with her wrist, but still nothing happened. Mr. Ollivander snatched the wand out of her hand almost immediately and frowned at it.

"Hmm, still nothing. Interesting, that belonged to the last Twink to come in here, too. I was hoping there'd be some connection." There was a pause as he gave the matter some thought. "Maybe we've been going about this all wrong, let's try this instead." He took a wand out of the freshest looking box of the group and plopped it in Angela's hand. "Give this one a shot."

Angela quickly gave the wand a flick, avoiding anything showy this time, but suddenly there was a warmth flowing from the wand into her hand. Angela looked at Mr. Ollivander to see if this was normal, but he just prompted her to keep at it, smiling. Angela quickly began trying out the wand in a series of wild twists and spins, and to her delight a light-green trail followed the wand around, reminding her of a lightsaber. With the final flick of her wand, an explosion of blue sparks popped in the center of the room like a firework going off. Sheri clapped with an enthusiastic ooooh.

"Well what do you know, newest wand for the newest witch." Angela looked the wand over more carefully now. It was a pretty rosewood color and the handle even had a nice twisting pattern carved into it. "Rosewood, eleven inches, with a phoenix tail feather in the shaft. Just completed crafting it, too; you're the first one other than myself to try it out. How does it feel?"

"Incredible!" Angela exclaimed, waving it about some more and following the pretty trail of green with her eyes. She couldn't get enough of it, it was an amazing feeling to finally be producing a little magic of her own. There was now no question in her mind that she was a witch, and at this moment of her life she couldn't have been happier.

"Hmm, smooth, excellent control. A little showy. Not a bad job if I do say so myself, though." Mr. Ollivander held out his hand and Angela, rather reluctantly, gave him back the wand which he placed in its box.

"Take good care of this wand, Miss Cross, you're the first owner it's ever had and I hope it'll have some good memories of your times together."

Angela nodded avidly and gladly paid Mr. Ollivander the seven gold Galleons for the wand. This was the best thing she had ever owned, and as they left the shop with her new acquisition in hand Angela's thoughts were no longer focused on soaring through the sky on a broom but instead performing amazing feats with a swish of her new wand.

The rest of the day was an experience that Angela thought could never be repeated in her whole life. She had visited almost every store on Diagon Alley, and each one held wonders she had at one time thought she would never see anywhere except in her dreams.

There was Eeylops Owl Emporium, a dark shop they had passed earlier that sold all sorts of owls. Angela considered buying one at first, but the noise they all seemed to be making made her think twice. According to Professor Quirrell, however, owls seemed to have a ton of uses in the magical world, their primary use being a failsafe means of communication anywhere on the planet. Angela remembered how many birds from distant lands had greeted her at her doorstep before and considered getting one to simply be a practical idea... not to mention having an owl was totally cool and made her feel even more like a witch. After looking throughout the shop she finally settled on a pretty tawny owl that she immediately dubbed 'Percy'.

There was also the book store, Flourish and Blotts, where Angela felt she would be spending a lot of time if she ever got a chance to come to Diagon Alley again in the future. The shop had shelves stacked to the ceiling with books that looked as big as slabs of concrete; books made out of thick glass sheets that, while appearing totally transparent, only showed writing on them when you opened them to a specific page; there was even a large birdcage in the center of the store where books of all kinds were fluttering about like butterflies. Angela picked up every book on her long list and carried them all out in her cauldron, eager to read every page as soon as possible.

One store called Gambol & Japes was even a wizarding joke shop, which sold magical fireworks that turned into the shapes of wild beasts, hand-buzzers that were supposed to turn whoever gripped it plaid in color, and even gloves that compelled anyone who wore them to walk on their hands until they took them off. Angela avoided trying them out for fear her Stipend Bag might open up and spill its contents everywhere.

When she exited Gambol & Japes, Angela noted the sky was growing darker; she had spent more time in the stores than she had anticipated. When she asked Professor Quirrell where she and her mother would be staying while they were in London, he took them back to the Leaky Cauldron - making sure to point out to her once more the pattern to open the bricks into Diagon Alley - where a room had already been arranged for them to stay in upstairs. True to his word, Mr. Weasley had had all their luggage sent up and ready for them.

"I'll b-be visiting Diagon Alley occasionally to s-s-see if you need anything, and if you have any q-q-q-questions, just send your owl to me with a note." Professor Quirrell, despite his attempts at closing the evening in a friendly manner, was coming across as hurried and impatient, the only closing advice he gave to Angela being a quick (and surprising) note that underage witches and wizards weren't allowed to use magic outside of school. Angela didn't get a chance to ask any real details about this rule as Quirrell waved them a prompt goodbye and rushed out.

So Angela and Sheri were left alone in the wizarding world once more. But this time, there was no feeling of uncertainty in her heart or fear about what was to come. True, she had a host of butterflies fluttering about in her stomach, but it was all from pure excitement: she couldn't wait for the next day to come, where she would learn more and more and become closer to a world that was so utterly wonderful that she was just sorry she hadn't found it sooner.

Both in their respective beds, lights out and in their pajamas, Angela lied awake, staring at the moonlight that began to shaft in through the window at the top of the room. Just twenty-four hours ago she was in Broken Arrow, feeling like her life had reached a dead-end at the ripe old age of eleven in the go-nowhere town. And now here she was, tucked under the sheets in a bed in a pub in London, in a part of town none of the regular world even knew existed, a magical wand sitting on the dresser right beside her, a bright new education in magic awaiting her in a couple of weeks. She was half-afraid to go to sleep for fear of waking up and finding herself back in Oklahoma, at the possibility that none of this had happened. But then the snores of her mother in the bed beside her reminded her just how long they had been going at this, how they had barely stopped since last night, and almost immediately fatigue and sleepiness hit her.

And with that, Angela slept for the first night ever in the real world of magic and dreams.