Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. This is for fun, not money. Also, donuts would be nice but no one has sent me any yet.
Amelia Potter Has Her Perceptions Shattered in Multitudinous Ways
Amelia loved the scent of London.
It was hard gray and cold rain and the creaky ache of an old city.
When Dudley had collapsed that morning after consuming hot peanut brittle, which he knew he was deathly allergic to, Amelia had been a bit peeved by it. She was first shouted at for letting Diddykins eat the biscuit. Never mind the fact that she was a ten-year-old who was frying bacon on an appliance taller than her. Also never mind that his father was sitting not three feet away.
She was then shouted at to leave the house and pick up Dudley's uniform for Smeltings Academy from London.
Blessing in disguise.
Amelia knew roughly where she was going because Aunt Petunia, nose high in the air and lips pursed, had deigned to mention the neighborhood and the shop's name before she left with Dudley for the hospital. As she walked, she knew she must have looked very strange. Tiny with bright green eyes and a mop of messy black hair she kept short because she liked what one kindergarten teacher had called it, a pixie cut.
Most of all, though, Amelia caught passersby looking at her with one main question in their eyes: what was such a young thing doing alone in Big Bad London?
They didn't know Amelia was never alone.
The distant sound of jazz echoed in the Tube station. Amelia's whole being immediate perked up and she raced through the concrete tunnels to find the source.
A minute or two later, Amelia found what she was looking for.
A trail of orange and blue bubbles in the air, leading her to a wrinkly old man holding the golden instrument to his lips and generally being the awesomest and most amazing person in a five-kilometer vicinity. She listened, enraptured, as he produced bubbling, playful tunes. She watched as those tunes danced out of the horn, bubbling orange and blue brooks and gold streaming ribbons filling the hallway. Amelia wanted to jump and dance and generally behave like a nut in front of the stranger, but chose instead to just smile hugely and nod her head along off beat.
Then the song was over. Amelia watched as the Colors dissolved and vanished into nothingness.
Moving from where they usually sat, twined around her own arms, her own Colors reached out to touch a soft light orange bubble and reel it in with thin arms. Her grin turned into a softer smile and Amelia reach out her hand to let the Blue reel in the orb. Just as her fingers brushed it and she felt a peculiar warmth in her gums, it melted away.
That was Amelia's gift, that was the reason Amelia Potter could never be alone—she had, if nothing else, Colors.
"Are you lost?"
The man with the trumpet was giving her and her outstretched hand a funny look.
She shook her head. "My parents are just around here."
Never advisable to tell adults the truth.
Skipping away and up the stairs with a crowd of people, Amelia pulled the crumpled paper she'd scratched the address on. Numbers always looked strange to Amelia and the 507 looked like a lurchy green and yellow.
Half an hour later, Amelia was at the department store front desk asking about the Durselys order.
"They sent you?"
Amelia, sparkling master of the Art of Untruth, replied, "Oh, they're just a few streets away! They just sent me here and we'll all go home together in Uncle's red car." She added a big cheesy smile on at the end for extra believability.
The lady peered at her uneasily but nodded her head slightly in assent. "Just wait here, I'll grab it," she said. Amelia heard her muttering as she walked away. "A child…roaming London…unbelievable…bloody daft…"
Amelia waited, bouncing on her heels. She'd been unusually restless lately. Distracting herself, she looked around the huge store. She liked the plum accents. Purple, to Amelia, was definitely something Holy.
As if responding to her thoughts, her Colors shifted to shades of the blue-red color. She looked down at the centre of her chest, the hub of the warm sentient energy that she loved so dearly. It was thrumming a lively dark dancing violet. Unlike all other Colors she'd seen, in names or numbers or sounds, her own Colors were never still.
Lilac rivulets rested around her wrists like bangles and Amelia giggled as Colors began doing a wiggle up and down her forearm. Another instance showing her that the source of restlessness was probably the pent up energy her Colors seemed to be hiding. What could make her Colors, neither substance nor non-substance, gain this kind of momentum? What could affect the alien particles? Amelia loved reading books on the Mysteries of Physics but her primary school library was limited. She knew atomis were at the centre of all being…electrons spun around them. Energy could only be transferred. Other Colors? But did the rule of matter not being created or destroyed apply to Colors? Was this a growth thing—
A squeak behind her interrupt her thoughts.
Outside of the window was a man in a bright. purple. dress.
He must be an angel.
Uniforms and Counter Ladies abandon, Amelia sprinted to the window and skidded the corner toward the door. The man, who had been opening the door at that exact moment, slammed the 4'6 girl right off her feet.
The two shrieks echoed through the empty store but Amelia was okay, she'd landed in a pile of women's knickers. Her Colors, as usual, were also there to protect her (Purple Almighty, she knew she would probably be dead without them by now...seeing as Dudley existed and Vernon persisted).
"Are you alright, young ma'am?" the Counter Desk Lady asked worriedly, helping her out of the clearance box.
Amelia plucked a yellow thong off her head and stared at it curiously before it was quickly snatched and thrown off. Mr. Purple Angel was also peering at it, but also at her.
"Miss Potter, I am of the utmost embarrassment! By Merlin, I didn't mean to bump into you so! And you are such a small little thing, you just went—" He made a whoosh arm gesture.
He had the highest voice she'd ever heard on a man.
Amelia, however, was occupied by other things about him.
He had Colors of his own.
Bright sunny yellow and sky blues basically rose like the sun and sky, shining out of his body in springs. Springs! Feathering his core were hints of pink and a tease of purple shadowing every facet.
He. Was. Magnificent.
Amelia realized she must have been staring, open mouthed. Mr. Purple probably took this total and complete and oh my gOD this is AMAZING awe for anger, however, and bowed deeply in parting. "I'll leave you now, Miss Potter. Again, so sorry, didn't realize, should be off. Ta!"
And, with another bow, he was gone.
Amelia could not put in to words how she felt at that exact moment. So she turned to Counter Lady and said, "Well. Angels, must be busy people. Are the uniforms ready?"
And that was how Amelia Potter met her first wizard.
To Miss Amelia Dorea Potter
Cupboard Under the Stairs
Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
Wide green eyes stared at green ink, then narrowed.
Who knew she lived in the Cupboard Under the Stairs? Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were very careful to always pretend Dudley's second bedroom was hers whenever guests were over. Also, green ink? Green ink was suspicious. And her middle name was Dorea? Seeing as Aunt Petunia never, well, said anything ever, this was news to Amelia. Amelia Dorea Potter. Amelia was almost fanatical in her belief in names. Names and birthdates.
Amelia Dorea Potter. It was perfect. Her parents—
She literally shook the thought out of her head before it could sadden her. Focusing on the letter, Amelia wasn't sure if she wanted to open it.
"Girl! Where is our bloody post?"
Shuffling towards the kitchen, Amelia laid down the other letters, stilling staring at (contemplating) her own. She was just about to send a vine of Color to poke at it when—
"Dad! The freak is stealing our post!"
Oh, Diddykins, Amelia cheerfully thought. One day, I will damn you to a pit of brown and yellow 233s and then I will drown you in ketchup.
A hammy hand clamped down on her shoulder and the letter was abruptly yanked from her hands.
Amelia gritted her teeth and turned slowly to her Uncle, who's voice often cause her to see splotches of brown and hear walrus noises. "It's mine. It has my name on it."
Uncle Vernon slipped on his reading glasses and peered down his nose and three chins. As he read, his face went from pink to red to purple. Amelia tilted her head and looked on curiously. Would he turn blue? Explode? Explosive diarrhea, maybe?
"Petunia!" he barked. "Come here."
Aunt Petunia, alarmed by her husband's reaction, walked behind him. A plate slipped from her hand fell to the floor and shattered.
Both her Aunt and Uncle were staring, horrified expression on their face, at the front seal of the envelope.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"I'm a what?"
"Yer a witch, Amelia!"
A giant man had lumbered through the door of Hut on the Rocks.
Now he was telling her she was a witch.
"Like…" Amelia didn't really know where to even start with a statement like that. "Wand waving, pointy hat witch?"
Hagrid, the name of the huge man, nodded vigorously. "Think abou' i', Amelia. Ever made anythin' happen by acciden'? Somethin' ye can' explain?"
Amelia looked down at her hands and the intricate glowing lines of her Colors. She then looked back up at Hagrid and saw something of a shadow of Color, a dark green and brown, tucked under the hugeness of his natural presence—
"That's enough!" spit Vernon, from where he was cowering on the staircase. "When we took the brat in, we swore we'd put a stop to this nonsense!"
"You knew?" Amelia's brain, poor little thing, was having a few foundational values complicated.
"Of course we knew," sneered Aunt Petunia. "My parents were so proud when my perfect little sister got her letter. We had a witch in the family. How marvelous."
A tinge of neon green edged the sound of Petunia Dursley's voice. Was that jealousy?
"Then she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"
"Blown up?" Amelia's Colors were currently doing a siesta up and down, from her head to her toes, the color of blood and roses with electric blue thrown in. "Blown up? Are you going to finally tell me the truth then? Not your usual spiel about drunk driving and a car crash?"
Amelia couldn't be lied to. Lies smelled like cigarette ash and fresh lemon.
"Car crash? James and Lily Potter, killed in a car crash?!"
Mr. Hagrid the Huge really didn't like that.
Somehow in the face of that thundering anger, Vernon still managed to grunt threateningly. "She's not going. That's final."
Hagrid thought this was amusing. He snorted, "An' I suppos' a great Muggle like yerself is gunna stop her? Ye better give this up, Dursley, or it'll be Albus Dumbledore and not me who visit ye next."
Aunt Petunia paled like a ghost. Uncle Vernon wasn't so deterred. "Get out! I won't have anymore of this. Get out and tell that barmy lunatic who runs the school never to knock on our door again!"
Hagrid the Huge really, really did not like that.
His face darkened into a scowl and his Colors ached with a sudden dark burgundy.
"Don't you ever, ever insult Albus Dumbledore in fron' o' me."
A pink umbrella was pulled out of the giant man's giant coat pocket and spark. Pink sprinted through the air and hit Dudley smack on his bottom.
Screeching commenced. There, dead center on Dudley's bum, a pig's curly tail.
Amelia's mouth fell out. At this point, she was either going to laugh hysterically or fall over.
"Alrigh'. Well, we best be off, Amelia."
Now she had to leave with him? Staring at the hand held out to her the size of her torso, Amelia just had a few question first.
"Er...where would we be going? Will we be back? When is your birthday, by the way, and also what's your full name—"
Hagrid looked...well Hagrid didn't know how to look. Then he pat her tiny head with his giant hand gently and said, "I promise I'll answer all yer question while we're flying. I promise ye, we're only going shoppin' then I'll bring ye back to this lot."
"Flying? You flew? On what? BY FIONA, YOUR MOTORBIKE HAS COLORS, GOOD GOD IN A PURPLE HANDBASKET—"
Amelia's brain decided to fall over at this point.
"Diagon? Two agon? Diagonally?"
"Fer the sake o' Merlin's left hairy buttock—"
"—means struggle or contest, so naming your marketplace 'two struggles and slash or contests' that just doesn't seem very welcoming, yknow, names being important for welcome—"
Hagrid had not expected Amelia…to be quite as…
"—Of course, maybe it's like agon in reference to athletics and chariots and stuff so that's a little bit brighter. Or is it a pun—"
"Amelia, it's called Diagon Alley an' tha's tha'. Here we are now, Leaky Cauldron." He seemed eager for the tiny child to stop talking. They pulled up in front of a dingy old pub (having landed from the sky because they were flying on a motorbike)about twenty minutes ago.
Amelia crawled out from where she was basically buried inside the sidecar about three times too big for her. Hagrid helped her out and handed her rucksack to her, making it look tiny in his huge hands. It occurred to Amelia how strange she and Hagrid must look together, with her reaching his hip and all.
The door squeaked as Hagrid pushed it open and Amelia got her first look at the Wizarding World.
Dust. A lot of dust. And dresses. Everyone here was wearing dresses too! Hope rose in Amelia that she could maybe, one day, see—
"Mr. Purple Angel!"
—Amelia was gasping. Like fate, there he stood, tiny in comparison to everyone else (she could empathize), decked out in his purple regalia, looking like the sun shining through the clouds on a rainy day—
Hagrid looked down, completely baffled. Whilst everyone else in the pub was looking at Amelia like she was a revelation, but Amelia was staring at Dedalus Diggle like he was the Merlin himself.
"...I suppose ye've met Mr. Diggle before?"
Amelia nodded her head slowly.
"Miss Potter! What a pleasure to reunite! So sorry again about last time. Not my greatest moment—"
Amelia wasn't really listening though. His Colors, there they were, just as bright and springy as ever. But as Amelia finally looked around her, she saw something even. crazier.
Every single person in the room had Colors of their own.
Granted, some were tinged a little differently, like Hagrid's, but it was almost blinding to look across the room. A man in the corner, grey and green. A woman at the bar, red and slick. The man behind the bar, thick and brown.
"Miss Potter? Miss Potter, are you alright?"
Amelia blinked and focused back on Mr. Purple. The truth was she was squinting and looking a bit odd.
She noticed more people had joined them.
"Bless my soul, it's Amelia Potter!"
"Such an honor, Miss Potter, such an honor—"
"How'd ye do it, little lass? How'd ye—"
Hagrid cleared his throat very loudly and gave the last man a shut-up-right-now look. "We'd best be off now. Lots te do, ye know. Tom, great t' see ye!"
And then he hauled a semi-mute Amelia off towards the back room.
"Ye never told me ye'd met Dedalus Diggle—"
"Dedalus Diggle? His name is Dedalus Diggle?!"
Just when she thought Mr. Purple Angel couldn't get any better, he got even better.
"Well, ye don' have te say it like tha'. Bit of an oddball, ole Diggle is but a nice feller, good friends with Headmaster Dumbledore—"
Amelia shook her head rapidly. "No, Hagrid, I think that's the best name I've ever heard. I—Hagrid, I have to see Diggle the Purple Angel again! I must. Hagrid, I must."
At that moment, Hagrid finally realized how out of his depth he was.
"Er, o' course. Send him an owl, if ye like—"
"What, like a present? Would he like that?"
"Oh, no, forgot ye don't really know these things. Owls are how wizards send 'round their post."
Hagrid looked relieved this wasn't followed by a half a million questions. In fact, he looked down at the young girl in relief but then saw her looking very, very alarmed.
"Hagrid, what in the name of the LILAC SPLATTERED UNIVERSE is BEHIND THAT WALL?"
Amelia was going to need to invest in some sunglasses.
Heavy duty, as-close-blackening-out-the-world-as-possible sunglasses.
She had been walking for the last ten minutes with one hand clutching Hagrid's arm and the other clamped tightly over her own eyes.
Hagrid was growing more and more concerned as the minutes passed.
"Amelia, wha's wrong? Are ye crying, lass? I thought ye would be excited—"
Quickly seeing the misunderstanding taking root, Amelia came to a stop somewhere on the cobblestone street. For the first time in almost eight years, Amelia considered telling some about the Colors she could see and feel. Would Hagrid believe her? The Dursleys never did…then again they turned out to be lying sacks of poop.
"Hagrid…do you think we could go somewhere, er, darker? Just for a moment?"
And so they went, to a small alleyway where Hagrid's huge body and muted, soothing greens and browns blocked out the blazing, blinding calamity that was Diagon Alley.
And, as simply as Amelia could, Amelia explained.
Hagrid was so out of his league.
So, so out of his league.
Hagrid looked away from his own shock and confusion. He looked down to the little girl who'd just shared her deepest secret and saw something different. She was…unsure. "Do you believe me, Mr. Hagrid?"
And Hagrid understood. This little strange girl was reaching out to him, going completely against everything she'd known so far from adults.
"O' course, I do," he answered gently. "O' course."
And he clasped her hand and placed her hand gently on her eyes again. "Looks like I'll be leadin' ye around then, til we find some o' those sunglassy?"
And that's when Hagrid saw Amelia Potter give him her first true smile, the one she reserved for little spiders she saved from the rain or homeless trumpet players in the Tube.
And he was done for.
"Wait so you're telling me goblins are real and they run a bank?"
Apparently they were in front of Gringotts, a huge and fancy white marble Wizarding bank at the end of Diagon Alley.
"Yep. Nasty little buggers, goblins…greedy like ye've never seen. Never wanna ge' on the wrong side o' a goblin, Amelia. Never."
Amelia frowned a little. People were quite greedy too…
"And they have those magic sticks too, to control their Colors?"
Hagrid's explanations had been better than he'd thought. Apparently her Colors were magic. Amelia personally thought that was an empty statement, she'd definitely need to investigate further into the nature of this magic. But it was a start.
"Nah, Ministry don' allow other magical creatures te have wands— watch yer step, we're comin' up on some stairs."
Amelia's frown deepened. "Sounds pretty racist to me."
"Muggles, they hated people because of their skin colors. Called racism. Whole thing lasted four or five hundred years…anyway, sounds like stick wavers are doing the same thing! But you know, with other sentient species."
"Nah, ye don't know goblins, Amelia. Bloody thirsty, they are— anyway, I should shut up now. Let's go get ye a few dimes te start shoppin', right? I think yer alright te take off yer blindfold now, we're not near many witches o' wizards anymore." Hagrid helped her untie her the strip of clothe he'd ripped from the bottom of his coat.
Amelia opened her eyes once more and was greeted by Colors again, but not of the eyes-burning, migraine-inducing variety. Goblins felt more solid, stoic and unmoving. Their magic felt like a grinder, like the tugging of an iron pulley. It also looked a lot darker en masse—mostly different shades of grey and black, with occasional brown.
The building itself was made of creamy marble and fancy chandelier and mahogany lengths. Sat high above Amelia, goblins busied themselves with gold, silver and bronze coins.
As they approached the main desk, Amelia peered at the head Manager curiously. As they came closer, she noticed the patterns. Goblin Colors, it seemed, were more about the fine detail. Like magnificent embroidery, their magic was cut deeply with swirling, repeating beautiful patterns, like fine black jewelry.
"Here te access Amelia Potter's vault, please," Hagrid proclaimed.
A hush fell over the entire bank. Amelia felt every eye in the room pin itself of her.
Her Colors, which had been rather frazzled and slow today, what with all the mind-blowing revelations, wrapped themselves around her tightly and warmed significantly. Amelia, while a curious and chatty girl to some, was definitely, definitely not the kind to bask in en masse attention.
Amelia tucked herself more closely into Hagrid's side, hoping his hugeness would shield her. Also, what? She had a vault? She had money?
"Yes…of course…" the head Manager finally replied. "Key?"
"Oh, I've got it here. Also…the key for you-know-what, for you-know-who. Dumbledore's orders."
"Yes indeed. Griphook will attend to you. Griphook! Vault 687 and 713. Good day, Rubeus Hagrid. Goodbye, Amelia Potter."
The rest of the day passed in a continuously outrageous fashion.
Most notably, Amelia learned why she was a celebrity, gained another companion and set Ollivander's Wand Shoppe on fire.
"I'm the what?"
"Girl Who Lived, they call ye. Chosen one. Defeater of Darkness."
"I was one! My parents were murdered!"
"Sensitivity…not the Wizarding strong suit. They celebrate ye, Amelia. To them, during that First War, they needed a miracle and ye gave them one."
"I was one. And what kind of name is Lord Voldemort anyway? A tacky one."
Hagrid jerked, sloshing his pint all over himself. Several people nearby, obviously eavesdropping, gasped. The waitress dropped her tray.
"I…er, ye shouldn'…say…He…um…Dumbledore, yknow…"
Amelia thought these wizards were an overly superstitious, rather irrational bunch.
"Humanss, ssuch imbecilesss…lassst time I ever agree…free foodsss they sssaid…it'll be funnn to be a pet, they sssaid…"
Amelia was in Flourish & Blotts, blindfold off for the second time that day, in the History aisle when she heard the soft, sarcastic voice.
"I ssshall avennge my fallen dignnnity…and eat asss manyyy bloody birdss as a I bloody pleassse…"
Amelia followed the sounds and poked her head over a short chest of old magical romance novels. Behind the box, a small blue snake was curled up against the wall. It looked up at her and she swore it rolled its eyes.
"Annnother human girl-child…Bob wonderss will ssshe ssscream like the othersss…"
Amelia just tilted her head quizzically. "Your name is Bob?"
The snake jerked in surprise. "Girl-child speaks the tonnngue?"
"Er. Sure. Do you need help getting out of there?"
"Yesss, small one. Lift me ssso we may sspeak faceee…to faceee…"
Amelia was dubious. "I don't usually say this…but I really don't think I'm the small one here."
She reached down and lended a hand. As the serpent wrapped himself around her palm and forefinger, he raged. "Insssults! More insssults! I shall…I shall…I shall curse you, girl-child! I ssshall make you ssquirt urine from your eyeeeballsss!"
Again, unlikely. But she supposed being polite was important. "Er…sorry, then. Wouldn't want that. But your name? Bob? You're sure?"
He gave her the stink eye. "I am Bob, son of Psyrana and Tchandran…I was named after the ruler and king of all this universe!"
"Yesss. Now, girl-child, take me to some mice. Possst-hasssste!"
"Can't really help there, to be honest. I've got to buy books first."
"Inssssolence! I demand mice!"
"Place me upon your ssshoulder. I ssshall help you buy your booksss…bloody ussseless though they aree…then you will find me a feasssst!"
"Er, we can share my lunch, if you like…"
He looked at her appraisingly. "Lunch, you say? The daytime human meal?"
"Yep. Do you like potatoes?"
The snake looked displeased. "I enjoy ssssmall birdsss and rodentsss. Find me a ssparrow and there may be hope for you yet, girl-child. I will accompany you hencceeeforth."
And that's how Amelia got a pet snake named Bob.
"I leave ye alone for five minutes and ye find a baby magicoluber constrictor and befriend it?"
This oddity of hers he could relate to. So Hagrid shook his hairy head and laughed heartily. "At least the lady at Magical Menagerie was glad te have gotten rid o' him…escaped and ate all her baby owls, he did. And while it's normal to have a cat, toad or owl, I don' think anyone's gonna mind ye havin' the blue lil' guy so long as you get him te behave…"
Bob sniffed, affronted. "I am no babeeee…and 'behavee myssself'…like I'm sssome common houssehold garterr!"
Amelia pressed her lips to hold back her giggle. While her first interactions with Bob the III were a little…well, how people probably reacted to her, the sarcastic serpent had become a fast friend since.
"Anyway. Las' task o' the day! Ollivander's! Te get yer wand, Amelia!" Hagrid said, excitedly.
Amelia was very curious about this magical stick business, so she was indeed excited. Blindfold was back on so she couldn't see the shop, but a slow growing taste of bark and spice in her mouth hinted that they were getting close.
The jingle of a bell as they entered the shop and the smell of old parchment, mixed with dust and a sharp earthy spice tingled on her tongue. The Colors, she could already tell, were strong in this shop.
"Hagrid, I think I'll be okay without the blindfold here."
"Ye sure? Ollivander's is pretty high, magic-wise, in Diagon Alley…"
"Mmm…but it feels different. Tastes more like."
Hagrid shrugged and began untying. "Whatever ye say."
"Amelia Potter…" came a whisper.
Just as the cloth fell, an old wizened face invaded her vision.
Ginormous yellow eyes blinked owlishly. "…I've been expecting you, Miss Potter."
Amelia looked interestedly at the wandmaker. His eyes were imbued with yellow, misty Color. The only area concentrated with the yellow mist other than his irises were his hands. His hands looked like were gloved, yellow mist clinging to the skin until his wrist.
"Rubeus Hagrid…" Those strange yellow eyes moved from her to her companion. "16 inches, oak, am I correct? Rather bendy. Snapped 1943…"
A bit shamefaced, Hagrid nodded. "I think I'll jus' wait fer ye outside then, Amelia. Good seein' ye, Mr. Ollivander sir."
Yellow Eyes nodded absentmindedly. He was now staring rather intently at a spot in the ceiling.
"If you could give me your dominant hand and arm, Miss Potter, we may begin…"
Much measuring later, Yellow Eyes Ollivander began to hand wand after wand to Amelia.
Wands, Amelia noted, were soft to the touch. Depending on the wand, it could feel cold, prickly, hot…the wands had gentle Color of their own, rather more tactile than visual, and varying temperament. A feeling object. To be honest, it felt a bit rude to Amelia to call wands objects. They were more like…lite beings. Their Colors were extremely subtle and almost seamlessly joined to the fabric of their wood, but they were there.
"Picky customer, eh? Not to worry, not to worry…I wonder…" the old man slipped away for a few moments, come backing with a white box.
"Holly, 11 inches, phoenix feather. Nice and supple."
This wand felt rather tender. Amelia reached out her hand and felt warmth bloom through her hand. The Color at the centre of the wood glowed a gold-red and she waved the rod, showering the air with sparks.
To be honest, Amelia kind of tuned Mr. Yellow out at this point because something was happening with her wand and her body. Specifically, her forehead where one very lightning-shaped scar of Doom resided.
See, since Amelia had first looked in a mirror, Amelia knew that there was something very, very wrong about the scar on her forehead. A green malignant light always seemed to seep out of it like pus. It was the main reason she, a, avoided mirrors like the plague and, b, had never not had a fringe.
The wand in her hand was warming in her hand, its own magic climbing up her arm rapidly and burning her body as it chased its way towards her scalp and then—
A crack like a gunshot. Everything in a two-meter radius burst into flames. Her scar throbbed.
The wand in her hand was ashes.
"I've never seen such a thing…fine one minute and melted into ash in her hand the next…"
Hagrid had burst in as soon as he'd heard the noise. There, Amelia stood, surrounded by flames, Bob hissing viciously while hiding in her hair and Ollivander flabbergasted.
"Accidental magic, perhaps? It was a very strange wand for her to bond with, perhaps her core perceived it as a threat—"
"It was my scar." Amelia's voice was uncharacteristically grim.
"Yer scar, Amelia?"
She closed her eyes and nodded. Pushing up her fringe, she exposed the pink jagged cut in her temple. "When the wand tried to…connect with me, the Color—magic—in my scar reacted."
No one spoke. Except Bob.
"You are a very ssstrange human, girl-child…" Amelia grimaced in response. The wand…it felt like her scar had killed it. Murdered it.
"I might…I might have something."
Ollivander led Amelia and Hagrid to the backroom. A darkened space, there was only one small desk lamp and one huge black wardrobe.
Ollivander pulled out three keys and complicatedly clicked open the front of the closet. Amelia could only watch as the black giant unfolded into many black compartments and a smooth central surface. Ollivander clicked open the central trunk with his last key and colors whooshed upon release, lighting up the shadowy room.
"Come, Miss Potter." Only his yellow eyes could be seen from this angle.
Amelia stepped forth, peering into trunk.
"You…can see magic, can you not? It touches you in ways it does not touch me or Mr. Hagrid."
Amelia shrugged. "I call them Colors."
Ollivander gave her his first smile. Crooked and just as misty as his magic.
"Look at the Colors in this chest. It is the wand that chooses the wizard, Miss Potter, but for you, we might need a more…bilateral approach."
Amelia understood when she peered into the chest. In the top-left quadrant, there was tiled wood, fifty different types at least, each emitting a particular scent. In the top-right quadrant, there were molds; some longer and wide, some shorter and thinner. Bottom-left, bottled liquids, colored from palest pink to midnight blue. And in the last corner, the barest quadrant, laid down three materials: uncut phoenix feather, raw dragon heartstring and a pale unicorn tail hair.
"I will be creating your wand here for you, with your help."
Amelia, who had been rather quiet and questionless for a while, couldn't help the flood of wonder that bubbled up in her. "Are there…only these possibilities? Like, could magical scales or a different type of hair not work? My hair? And those liquids, what—"
Hagrid grunted in amusement. Obviously, the solemn mood broke when Amelia Potter's curiosity came a-calling.
Ollivander answered her questions to the best of his ability. "These are the only wand constituents that I work with. See, wandmakers also need to have a certain…suitability to the materials they combine. There should be a bond and trust with the traits they curate. It's rather a lot like forming a child…I never forget a single wand. Trying to expand to foreign substances, I tried once in my youth…it lowered the quality of my wands exponentially. They were incredibly weak or volatile and generally unusable. Also, human hair is dead particle."
Amelia absorbed this, like a sponge. She nodded her head and opened her mouth to continue—
"I admire your inquisitive nature, Miss Potter, and I would be happy to answer your questions but we should continue on," he gently interrupted her. "Let us start with wood. Reach in your hand. Run it over the samples. Look carefully. Tell me if anything…feels."
Amelia nodded and reached a hand towards the top-left. Her fingertips gently ran over the coarse, the smooth. Her Colors, she saw were inching forward nervously, running over the timber. Finally, near the bottom, Amelia came across something.
A dark brown wood, wilder than the others, rather uncut, leapt like a heartbeat under her touch. Her own colors shifted very slowly into a darker and darker brown and, like a first conversation, the two magics timidly twirled and then clicked into sync. The hard magic leaning inside the wood softened just enough for Amelia to know this was right.
"Greenheart wood? How interesting…yes, quite interesting, quite interesting indeed…" Ollivander carefully pulled out the tile, revealing a foot-long branch. "Greenheart wood is the strongest wood in the world, Miss Potter. Terribly difficult to mold or cut, which is why I think I've only ever sold about two wands made of it…The trees rarely have any fallen branches."
Amelia reached out to run a lax hand across the bark. It tingled her palm.
"Now, onto the mold. You don't have to worry with this part, Miss Potter, I'll handle this." Tapping a finger against his lips, Yellow Eyes looked at the lengths and sizes. His gaze flicked quickly between the greenheart branch and the quadrant for a few minutes. Hagrid and Amelia waited in silence.
Then, it seemed he had come to some kind of conclusion because Ollivander pulled out two molds. Both on the smaller side, one a rather jagged, ziggy shape and the other smoother but curving into loose spirals at the handle. Ollivander laid now the greenheart wood on the central surface, laying the two molds on either side. He tilted his head back, then forth. Squinting forward, then leaning backwards. He even reached out one hand to wrap his finger around the circumference of the branch and twist his fingers left and right. Lips pursued.
He turned to Amelia. "Do you have any opinions, Miss Potter? Both molds are feasible, but I can't quite…seem to…grasp the current?"
Amelia's mouth curled in nervousness. But she leaned forward. For some reasons, she sniffed.
The bark smelled like fresh moss and…was that blood? For some reason, Amelia was sure, the jagged cut would bring out the blood. Not necessarily bad. Absentmindedly touching her scar, she let her eyes drift to the softer cut. A warmth blossomed and the smell of grass. It would balance.
"That one," Amelia said simply, pointing at the smoother mold.
Ollivander nodded his head and busied his hands by putting the wood and mold aside. "12 inches, shapely but stubborn."
He gestured to the liquids next. "Maturation of wands is an extremely rare process. Usually, it is for woods that need a bit of…softening. As you might agree, your wood will probably need it. I won't explain which liquid is what. Your magical sight should guide you and biases can be poisonous here."
Hagrid, behind her, finally made a noise. "Bu' wha' if—"
"Do not worry, Mr. Hagrid. Trust me, I would not ever jeopardize Miss Potter's magic."
Well, that was an awfully morbid statement. Amelia gave the liquids a look of wariness before letting her Colors take the first step. Her hand hovered over the third section, her Colors blooming from her palm like a massive flower, reaching out to simultaneously push into several bottles. There was nothing subtle about these liquids.
One bottle of black sent a massive chill down her bones. Another pinch of yellow caused her to jump. Citrus made her eyes burn. Twisty bottle of blue had Amelia giggling madly. Pink made her a bit lightheaded.
Finally, her magical retreated and reformed into a single, tightly wound thread. It reached out, with her hand, to touch a beautiful soft lilac. This time, the reaction was a bling, then gentle ringing in her ears that echoed down to her toes.
She plucked the vial gently and lifted it to her eyes. Lilac basing, but there, deeply inside the waters, shimmers of plum.
Amelia sighed happily. "I love the color purple."
Bob, who had gone to sleep for most of this 'wisshy-wassshy wizard nonssense', as he called it, perked up his head. "Good choiceee," he murmured.
Ollivander looked relieved and Hagrid, too. "Albino Naga venom, female. You are a most peculair witch, Miss Potter. That is potentially the rarest sample I have ever procured."
"Naga are a magical breed o' snake from northeast India, Amelia," Hagrid explained. "There used to be a lo' more but they're worshipped as gods by some folk, so many were killed a few hundred years ago by Muggles tryna shut down the religion." Hagrid shook his head in sadness. "Bloody horrible loss. Their venom is dead useful."
Ollivander nodded along. "Naga are strongly associated with water. The female Naga are called…Nagini. But the albino female Naga…she is a Kadru."
Bob was hissing contentedly. "Thisss is true. That her venom chossse you iss mossst wonderousss. I choossse you well, my human."
Amelia rolled her eyes. "Of course you would take all the credit, Bob."
Hagrid yelped from behind her. Ollivander almost dropped the venom.
"Yer a parseltongue?"
"Yes…that would about explain it…"
Amelia didn't know what to say. She'd been able to speak to snakes since she was young. She remembered once having a great conversation with a bored boa constrictor at the zoo.
Hagrid explained this was a very, very uncommon ability. "It would be fer the best if ye kept it under wraps…rather infamous ability…not that it makes you any kind of wrong!" he backtracked quickly from the look on Amelia's face.
Ollivander nodded his head. "It is not a bad thing, Miss Potter. Worry not. Just…surprising. Still better a parseltongue and have some Kadru venom than that Dementor's blood. Now shall we move on to our final stage?"
Amelia turned to the final step.
"This is perhaps the trickiest stage in wandmaking, Miss Potter. Finding a wand core that binds the materials, that opens up the sum of its parts to give the wand its birth…it is most, most difficult. But, with your sight, I feel we might be able to…speed up the process."
Ollivander clicked a button and the fourth quadrant rose up from the chest, and click-click-click opened up to reveal three additional compartments filled with multiples of three main cores.
"The wand your scar reacted so intensely to…well that is a long story. Safe to say, that would be the only phoenix feather I think would have been able to work for you. Take a look at the unicorn hair…it could be a good match."
Amelia peered into the middle compartment. Silvery, glowing and a slight taste of sugar. Unicorn hair…felt nice. But not right.
The red and orange strings from the right-hand box mostly made her feel mildly sick though. She looked away. Heartstrings. Dead dragons. Chests cut open, hearts unbound from flesh and scale. It just wasn't—
Something caught her attention.
Something from one of the other compartments, completely away from what Ollivander was offering. Off to the right, a drawer one up from the bottom. A tugging. A pull—
She had moved unconsciously. "T-there's," she cleared her throat. "There's something in this drawer."
Ollivander looked on curiously but allowed it. He pulled open the black drawer and there, in a corner in a stoppered vial, was her core.
Mr. Ollivander laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
Hagrid looked concerned.
Yellow Eyes took a deep breath and shook his head. "I should've known, you see. You, Miss Potter, are bound to a life…quite unlike all others. Quite unlike."
He lifted the glass vial with the blood red string. This string didn't make Amelia feel sick for some reason. Just warm, a hot, wet heat, powerful and raging—
"This is a dragon heartstring of a dragon that is still alive."
"Wha'?" Hagrid looked like someone had just slapped him.
"A young dragon, on the verge of death, required a quite simple but rather strange procedure. One of the chambers of her heart had been infected. The dragon tamers of that colony actually had to recruit a Healer to perform the surgery. She performed a kind of bypass surgery and as she was doing it, the infected heartstring fell away. She gently cleaned out the chamber and the heartstring. Still imbued with magic, the string healed away its own infection. It actually began growing a bit out of control, as it was still quite alive. Once the dragon grew another, it calmed a bit. This is that same dragon heartstring and it has been sitting in this drawer for the last ten years. It grew quieter, as the dragon aged I assume, but it still more alive than all my other heartstrings combined. I never considered actually using it, as it is rather...extreme.
"But you, Miss Potter…your wand would do well with a live dragon heartstring. Your wand would bond with it quietly cleanly."
Amelia looked on excitedly. "Will I be able to watch as you make it?"
Hagrid answered this for her. "Nah, Amelia, we'd best get goin' now. Wand forging is an even longer process. Could you deliver it te Professor Dumbledore, sir? He'll have it te her at Hogwarts?"
Ollivander nodded sagely. "For this wand, Miss Potter…it could cost you around 27 galleons. But instead if you promise me to come visit me every year, to report you experience and keep me updated on its on-goings, I would give it to you free of charge."
The taste of lemon. A hint of smoke.
Why was Yellow Eyes lying?
Amelia knew better than to believe anything in life was free. She had learned that well from the Dursleys.
"Er…" Hagrid thankfully took up this conversation for her. "I think we'll jus' pay yer price, Mr. Ollivander."
Amelia nodded her head. Ollivander laughed.
"Alas. Do visit, anyway…I shall promise in return to answer any and all question on wandlore. You, Miss Potter…you are on quite the path."
Amelia grinned sheepishly at Hagrid, knowing he'd know she'd never be able to resist that and he sighed. "We'll take it."
The longest day of her life was finally over.
In front of Number Four Privet Drive at about eight in the evening, Hagrid was making her promise several things.
"Now, be sure to keep everything packed up in yer trunk. An' no dilly dallying on September 1st or ye'll miss the train—"
"—Platform is right between 9 an' 10. Don' worry about yer wand, it'll be ready in time for classes. Keep it under wraps tha' you had to have one made—"
"—An' keep bloody Bob the Blue Snake there under wraps too. I'll be waitin' at the platform at Hogwarts too, make sure ye buy her sunny glass from Muggles, if they Dursleys give you any trouble I'll—"
"Oh." He grinned kindly. "Gotta bit away wi' myself there. Okay, I'll stop ramblin'." He gave her a huge hug and said, "Anythin' ye need, ye just ask, okay?"
She nodded happily. His Colors were warming to a chocolate brown and Amelia felt her own reacting in kind. This…was this friendship?
"Thank you, Hagrid. Thank you for everything."
He ruffled her hair. "Nothing te thank me fer, Amelia. See ye in a month!"
And so, Hagrid the Huge revved the engine of his flying motorcycle and flew off into the Surrey sunset.
Hello! Welcome to Amelia Potter's world. Cheers to a 7000 word first chapter!