not proof-read!

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chapter two: diagon alley
word count:  6.4K
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maia is pronounced as mai-uh.

ORIGINALLY, IT WAS planned that Castor, too, wouldn't know a word about the wizarding world until he was of age, because of whatever crazy plan it was that Dumbledore had prepared. 

That idea went down the drain when Castor turned out to be an Animagus. 

It was a nice, sunny day ( surprisingly for London ) when seven-year-old Castor was playing outside with Azure, Zade, his father, and his uncle. 

His eyes flickered up to the birds flying, free in the endless blue sky, and he wished to be a bird himself. 

And voila! As soon as he kicked the ball toward his father, he felt lighter, almost as if he was flying. When he looked down, he saw his white body dotted with brown and grey stripes, he couldn't help but panic. 

And that was the day the royal children were introduced to the intriguing world of magic. 

.  .  .

NOW, CASTOR AND ZADE awaited their letters just like every other kid who knew of magic. 

The day the letters came, was probably the worst day for the maids and cooks in the house. The kids raised hell, literal hell, and it was all Maia could do before she fulfilled the urge to tear her son into shreds, no matter how much she loved him. 

As the young princes wandered through the Leaky Cauldron and then into Diagon Alley, Maia couldn't help but feel slightly amused ( and nostalgic, though she'd never admit it ) by the looks on her boys' faces. 

.  .  .

ZADE AND CASTOR can't remember the last time they felt such awe. 

Perhaps, it was when they discovered little Cassie could turn into a bird, or when Uncle Mal made stars out of thin air using a stick. Or maybe, it was one of those times when Aunt Sera made a book float into thin air, without saying anything, or even using a wand. How many ever memories these two might possess of the wonderful phenomenon that was magic, Diagon Alley was sure to take place in them, too.

The cobblestoned path was a gateway to wonder for the young princes. 

Diagon Alley, as the Queen had told him, was a street filled to the brim with magic. To the left and to the right, every store sold something or the other that made him wonder: just how big exactly, is the extent of magic in this world? If Diagon Alley had sparked such curiosity in these boys, Maia wondered what would happen when they saw the platform or Hogwarts. 

There were brooms, actual brooms that witches used to fly on in cartoons. There were owls, toads, and rabbits. There were potions, which he thought were perhaps substitutes for chemicals in their world. 

The huge bank that towered above all buildings was their first stop. Gringotts was its name, clearly engraved upon the white marble in all capitals, covered in gold paint. Statues of goblins stood near the entryway, and real goblins operated inside the bank. 

As Zade and Castor climbed the steps of the bank, neither could deny that the way every goblin looked at them made them feel. . . small. Slightly eerie, even. There was silence in the building, lest for the occasional talk between a goblin and a customer, and the sound of keys jangling against one another. 

That intimidating silence was broken by the next customers in row: a huge, huge man, with an even longer beard, and even longer hair matted together as if they hadn't been brushed for years. A large, bulky coat hung off of his shoulders. Beside him stood a small redhead, looking smaller than she was beside the giant next to her. 

The girl spoke in what she must have assumed was a whisper, or maybe she didn't even try to whisper, because her words were clear as day, "Hagrid, who, exactly, are these creatures?" 

She didn't sound scared. She almost sounded curious. 

"They're goblins, Azzie," 'Hagrid' told the girl, 'Azzie', "Clever as they come goblins but not the most friendly of beasts. Best stick close to me."

Azzie was clearly not close to following advice, because the next moment, she was trying to make friends with a nearby goblin. 

Hagrid expected this because his hand was hooked on the back of her large plaid shirt. 

Zade suppressed a laugh. She was quite like his brother. 

He couldn't pay attention to her antics for long, however, as her mother started talking to a goblin, who then took him to their 'vault'. 

Walking beside his brother, Castor noticed her fidgeting with anything she could find: a loose string on her shirt, her fingers, her hair, anything. She drummed her fingers against the marble, tapped her foot on the floor, and had to be spoken to twice or thrice to gain her attention. 

What a weird thing. 

.  .  .  

CASTOR NOTICED his brother looking towards the giant. Hell, probably everyone was looking towards the giant— or rather his little partner, who was perhaps the only person in the world who would try to befriend nasty goblins. 

Castor was quite in awe of the girl, who looked amused and interested in goblins, rather than feeling tiny, like the boys did. 

"Miss Azalea Potter wishes to make a withdrawal." 

Hagrid, as he had come to learn the name of the giant, was too loud — clearly, it wasn't his intention — and he attracted more attention, from all the goblins. 

Clearing his throat, he looked away, while Azalea looked around, slightly amused with her friend — and the stares. 

Castor was soon engrossed in examining his own goblin, who seemed to be doing the same as his intentions— watching him with those beady little eyes. Castor shrunk back as he said, "Ah, the princes are finally here to cause havoc."

He was led to a cart, a larger one, and soon, he was sat beside a goblin while his mother and brother sat back. Trying his best to maintain distance while not offending the goblin who ranted on about the history of the bank— about the goblin who had found the bank and after whom the bank was named, and the long long time it had been serving wizards and witches in the UK. 

The goblin sounded bored, Castor was bored, and Zade was trying to keep his breakfast down. Maia seemed unfazed because she had clearly been through this about a million times. 

The cart lurched to a stop at the end of the floor, in front of a huge, brown door. 700 was engraved upon the door in neat handwriting, this too, painted in gold. 

"Vault 700." the goblin announced. A key was given to him by Maia, and soon, the door opened to reveal stacks, no, towers, of coins. Gold, silver, and bronze fill the room from top to bottom. 

As interesting as they were, they felt. . . archaic. But then again, so was magic, so Zade deemed it not his place to interrogate. 

"What's this one called, mum?" Castor looked towards his mother, holding up a gold coin. 

"It's a Galleon," she answered, then holding up a silver coin. "This one is a Sickle. 29 of 'em make one Galleon." 

"And what about this?" Zade held up a bronze coin. 

"That's a Knut. 493 of them make one Galleon." she continued explaining. The boys couldn't get enough of learning about this new, fascinating world they were born in but not exploited much to.

The first stop was uniforms. Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was the place to go. As soon as they entered, they saw that peculiar girl from Gringotts perched on a stool, a boy with hair so gelled back it appeared as if he had used an entire tube sitting on the stool beside her. The giant who had been beside her in the bank no longer accompanied her. 

Azalea was unable to identify who these boys were. The Royal Family wasn't visible to the public, — the last time anyone had seen the princes and their Queen was before the night the Potters died. After that, it was only the occasional appearance by the King, whom everyone had grown to adore and respect, considering the fact that he was crowned at 21. 

The gelled hair boy started making conversation with Azalea, who was not interested in talking to him, or anyone, honestly. The scar she loathed so much started to burn slightly, the pain magnifying slowly until it was sheer agony to stay in the small shop. 

Castor was on the same page, his hand clutching his chest where his scar resided. Sucking in air through his teeth, it was all he could do to not let out a scream then and there. 

Both the children rushed out of the store, needing some air. 

Azalea leaned against the wall next to the store, her plaid-sleeved hands coming up to hide her face. Castor leaned beside her, but unlike the girl, he didn't hide his face. He just took deep breaths, and counted to ten, like he was taught to do whenever he had nightmares. 

Maia was beside them in a quick second, placing her hands on her son's shoulders, crouching to meet his eye level, "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah, Mum, I just needed some air."

"And what about you, darling, are you alright?" she directed her next question to the little girl. 

"I-I think so. Just suffer from headaches, from time to time." she shrugged in answer, releasing puffs of air from her mouth. She did have headaches, but never near that little scar, and never so bad that she'd feel that her head might burst. 

"Maia!" her friend's rough voice exclaimed, and soon the kind lady was engulfed in a hug by the lovely Hagrid. 

"I—," Castor began, wide-eyed, never expecting her mother to know him. "You have a. . . lovely friend." 

"He is huge, I know. But then again, he is like a big teddy bear." Azalea replied to the boy, the pain slowly subsiding as a toothache does. 

"My brother and I saw you trying to become friends with a goblin." he continued. "What's your name?" 

"Azalea."

"Like the flower?"

"Quite literally, yeah. What's yours?" 

"Castor." 

"Like the plant or the star?"

"Like the star."

.  .  .

THEIR LITTLE EPISODE WAS brushed off as panic from being in such a crowded shop for the first time, which might have been confirmed, but Maia knew it wasn't. 

Maia knew who Azalea was, hell probably everyone knew who she was. She couldn't believe how much the girl had changed, as silly as that sounded, because her growth was obvious, — the last time Maia had seen the girl was when Azalea was a baby! 

She suggested that she would go down to the bookstore and purchase the textbooks for the boys, to which they agreed. She even offered to complete the task for Azalea, — her excuse being that she knew Hagrid and wondered if he might be running late — but the girl denied it. She wanted to see as much of this world as she could, even if it meant visiting a dusty old bookstore.  

Maybe she could find a book that had curses she'd like to try on Dudley.

For the first time in forever, she was allowed to do something for herself, on her own. Without her aunt breathing down her neck or her cousin annoying her, she could walk through those streets of magic in peace and peep into every store the world had to offer. 

Madam Malkin, the shop's owner, gave the young girl a welcoming smile. The woman was a squat lady wearing warm mauve robes.

"Hogwarts, correct?" she questioned. Before Azzie could reply, the continued, "Got the lot here, — just another young man fitted up just now, in fact." 

In the back of the shop, a pale, pointed-faced boy was standing on a footstool with another witch pinning up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Azalea next to him, Castor ( as she'd come to learn his name ) was next to her. 

Both the children had robes slipped over them, too. The pale-faced boy started talking as Madam Malkin began to pin Azalea's robe to just the right length. 

"Hello," he drawled. "Hogwarts, too?"

All Azalea did was nod. With only two kids around her and not Hagrid— the man was waiting outside for her— she felt socially conscious. She missed having her old friends around. 

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," the boy continued. Castor was talking to the boy he came in with — presumably his brother. The boy continued drawling in his bored voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and smuggle it in somehow." 

He was so much like Dudley in so many aspects, that she almost wished that he hadn't been going to the same school as hers. 

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on. 

"No."

"Play Quidditch at all?" 

"No." she wondered what in the world was Quidditch. 

"I do — father says that it's a crime if I'm not picked for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you'll be in, yet?" 

"No." Azalea wanted to shut herself from the world, feeling more stupid by the minute because of how little she realised she really knew about Hogwarts, or magic, or Quidditch. She started picking at the loose thread poking from her shirt sleeve. 

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? But I do know that I'll be in Slytherin — all our family has been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff!"

"Mmhmm," she hummed, wishing she had more interesting replies. 

"Hello." Castor intervened, and she wasn't sure if he did so because he noticed her discomfort, or if he genuinely wanted to make friends. 

She went with the latter. 

"Hogwarts, too?" the dark-haired boy continued. Azalea almost snorted considering she had been asked the exact same question a few minutes ago. 

Castor and the boy kept up with their conversation as Azalea was, once again, being measured, for what reason she didn't know. She didn't want to ask, though, because Madam Malkin seemed quite intimidating. 

Suddenly, she heard the new boy exclaim, "I say, look at that man!"

He was pointing to the window where Hagrid stood with an excited grin, waving when he noticed Azzie was looking at him. She waved back with a grin of similar enthusiasm. Hagrid pointed at the two ice-creams in his hand, verbally explaining why he had to stay outside. 

"That's Hagrid," Azalea spoke, pleased to know something that Pale-Face didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy. "He's a sort of. . .servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper." Castor, too, explained, having heard of him from his mother shortly after she told him and Zade that she was friends with the giant. 

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's sort of a savage — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting his bed on fire." 

"I think he's brilliant." Azalea was defensive, considering he was possibly her first friend in this weird but fascinating world. 

"Do you?" the boy was suddenly slightly disgusted. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?" 

"She clearly doesn't want to talk," Castor tried to butt in, but it didn't work. 

"They're dead," she spoke monotonously, hopping off of her stool. 

"Oh, sorry," he replied as if saying sorry only out of courtesy since he didn't sound sorry at all. She tuned him out as she walked out of the store with her robes in hand after paying Madam Malkin and thanking her for her hospitality. 

She heard him continue his queries anyway, even as she was near the door, "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

She managed to see Zade and Castor kicking the boy's leg before she turned to Hagrid with her 'happy face'. 

.  .  .

AZZIE WAS UNUSUALLY quiet as she ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought her — chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts. 

It sounded like a weird combination but was quite good. 

Hagrid must've noticed, since he asked, "What's up?"

"Nothing," she replied. They stopped to buy quills and parchment, and Azzie cheered when she saw a bottle of ink that changed colour as you wrote. She felt quite happy and amazed after leaving the shop. 

Then she remembered the conversation she had at Madam Malkin's. She asked Hagrid, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

Hagrid looked down at her in evident surprise, just now remembering that she knew frighteningly little about Hogwarts, "Blimey, Azzie! I keep forgettin' how little yeh know — not knowin' 'bout Quidditch. . ." 

"Don't make me feel worse," Azalea pouted, then told him about the incident at Madam Malkin's. 

"— and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in!"

"Yer not from a Muggle family, Azzie. If he'd known who you were. . .— he's grown up knowing yer name, if his parents are wizard folk. You saw wha' everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, wha' does he know abou' it? Some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles. Look at yer mum — look at wha' she had for a sister!" 

"So. . . what is Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like — like soccer in the Muggle world — everyone follows Quidditch — played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls — sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are. . . Slytherin, and — and Hufflepuff?"

"School Houses. There's four — everyone say tha' Hufflepuff are a lot of duffers, but —"

Azalea felt obliged to point out, "I bet I'm in Hufflepuff, then."

Hagrid's demeanor shifted slightly, "Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol— sorry, You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago." 

.  .  . 

THEY BOUGHT HER school books from Flourish and Blotts, where Azalea did indeed find a book of curses that she would've very much liked to use on Dudley. . .but Hagrid dragged her away. 

The store truly amazed her, stacked with books from the floor to the ceiling, on every subject that she could imagine. Books in every size, books in peculiar shapes, books that were thin as a pamphlet, and books that were thicker than the encyclopedias she'd seen the older kids in her school and in movies use. 

Maybe even Dudley, who hated books, would've liked to get his hands on the one with hexes in it, or Curses and Countercurses ( Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue- Tying and Much, Much More ) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley!" she reasoned when he practically dragged her away from the book with the really long name that had a bucket-load of curses and hexes in it. 

"I'm not sayin' that's a bad idea," said Hagrid, "but yer not allowed to use magic in the Muggle world, 'cept under very special circumstances. 'Sides,  yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

Once the very chaotic duo was done with their shopping list, after numerous arguments with Azalea over what she could and couldn't buy, they stood outside the Apothecary, rechecking her list. 

"Jus' yer wand now, an' I still haven' gotten yeh a birthday present." 

Azalea's face turned red. There was her family with whom she grew up, who never gave two damns about her birthday, and then there was Hagrid, the person whom she'd known for less than 12 hours, but still he cared enough about her to want to give her a memorable birthday. 

"You don't have to. . ." 

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at — an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

So there she was, in the intimidating store with hazelwood lining the walls and shelves, names Ollivanders', while Hagrid went and picked out her present. Dust coated each one of the many long boxes, which she presumed contained wands of different shapes and sizes, the tall cabinets making her feel small. 

"Only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand," Hagrid had explained as he directed her towards the store. 

A magic wand is what she was looking forward to the most. 

Peeling gold letters read over the store's door:  Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C., with one single wand laying on a dusty purple cushion in the display. 

She had no idea how this was the best wand makers' shop. However, maybe she had to learn not to judge the book by its cover while she was here. 

"Hello?" Azalea questioned, her voice echoing through the cramped shop. The very silence — and dust — made the hair on the back of her neck stand. 

"Good afternoon," a smooth voice replied from . . . nowhere? She couldn't see the old person she was sure the voice belonged to. 

She was right about their age, for, within the next few seconds, there was an old man with pale eyes that shone brightly in the dimly lit shop. 

Awkwardly, she shuffled her feet against one another and pulled her hair back, tightening her braid. 

"Ah, yes." the man seemed to have recognized her, but then again, most of the people she met today recognized her. "Yes, yes, I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Azalea Potter." 

It wasn't a question, but rather a statement. He continued, "You look everything like your mother, but have your father's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was here herself, buying her first wand — Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charmwork." 

The man narrated while buzzing through the store, looking for the perfect wand for the girl who listened quite attentively. 

"Then there was your father — quite a piece of work he was, — trying every wand he could and breaking down half of my store. Yes, yes, he too was a peculiar one, but he grew skilled. 11 inches, mahogany, pliable, excellent for Transfiguration. I do believe that was what he was good at." 

She didn't know what Transfiguration was, or how Charms worked, but she was glad that at least someone was telling her more about her parents. 

He'd piled up about five boxes then stopped, and looked at her with an intimidating gaze. She wished he would blink — those silvery eyes were becoming creepy. 

He kept coming closer, gazing at her forehead, — no matter how much she'd tried to hide in under her bangs, the scar still poked out like a sore thumb. 

"And then that night. . .that happened." he pointed to the lightning bolt that had cursed her. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Thirteen-and-a-half inches, yew. Powerful wand, a very powerful wand, but in the wrong hands. . .well if I'd known what that wand was going out in the world to do. . ." 

He shook his head, then noticed someone behind her. "Ah, Maia!" 

"Maia Walker," he continued, walking ahead and shaking the hand she extended. "Acacia wood, dragon heartstring core, 811 inches, and briskly flexible. How's it holding on?"

"Good as new, sir." she had leaned against the wall, her hands in the pockets of her dress, a small smile gracing her lips as she saw the boys look around with the same look they'd etched on their faces since this morning — wonder.

"Wonderful, wonderful," he murmured, then gazed down at the prince. "Castor Walker, Zade Walker. Ah you too, are quite similar to your parents." 

Castor was still looking around with his mouth agape, but Zade frowned slightly and tilted his head, "Thank you?"

"Yes, Zade Walker, I remember your parents. Your father was quite the opposite of your uncle, jumping around and wanting to see everything my creations had to offer. Ash wood, unicorn hair core, 13  inches, and swishy flexible. Yes, I believe it suited him quite well." 

He continued his speech again, as he measured the length of Azzie's arm, first from her elbow to her wrist, then from her shoulder to her elbow, then shoulder to wrist. Then came shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, then around the head. 

Castor almost laughed at Azalea's look of discomfort, but then realized he was probably next. Zade however, looked at the tape in awe, for it was measuring everything on its own — currently, it was measuring the circumference of her nostrils — while Mr. Ollivander looked through the boxes, once again. 

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

All Azalea got out was a hum indicating that she was listening, and Zade nodded enthusiastically, while Castor was called by his mum, who whispered, "I'll be back in a few minutes, stay here till then, both of you. And Azzie is supposed to go with Hagrid, and no one else, stay with her till then." 

"That will do," Ollivander said, oblivious to the various scenes acting out behind him, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Azalea took the wand in her hand. It felt foreign, so to test it out, ( while feeling foolish ) she waved it out a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of her hands at once. 

"Maple and phoenix feather. Quite whippy. Try it —," 

She did as she was told, but it, too, was snatched out of her hands.

"No, no — here, try this out. Ebony and unicorn hair, eight-and-a-half inches springy. Go on, try it on." 

Azzie tried. And tried. She had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh?" he chuckled. Castor and Zade started to feel a little scared of how long they would have to wait, considering they both were here for new wands. "Not to worry. We'll find the perfect match here, somewhere  — I wonder now,  — yes  — why not? — an unusual combination, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." 

He kept mumbling out loud as he handed the wand to her with utmost caution. 

The wand felt warm in her fingers. It felt familiar, as if going to shop for furniture and looking for and trying out different chairs, and then finally finding the one you're comfortable in. Or looking for that one specific pen in the stationery stores because it made you feel more confident writing. Or perhaps, finally finding that one t-shirt in the store and just knowing that you will use it time and again. 

She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light onto the walls. 

Zade looked up with a twinkle in his eye as if he wanted something similar to happen when he chose his wand, or rather when the wand chose him. Castor clapped out of surprise and awe. 

"Oh, bravo!" cried out Mr. Ollivander. "Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well. . . how curious. . . how very curious. . . "

He kept mumbling 'curious' over and over again, under his breath, even when he took the wand from her hands and started packing it up for her in brown paper.

Azalea frowned at looked at the boys, then walked back near them and whispered as lowly as she could, "Is he alright?"

"I mean . . . we could just ask him." Castor shrugged, while Zade nodded in agreement. 

"Ask him about what's curious," she murmured again, "or if he's alright?"

"I vote for both." Zade raised his hand as if giving his vote, and Castor gave him a high-five, even though he knew that was not what Zade had raised his hand for. 

"Me too, if it counts." the boy continued. 

"Dios Mio," she mumbled. "Mr. Ollivander, err. . .if I may, what's — what's curious?"

He looked at her with a sharp gaze, "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you both —," he pointed at Azalea's forehead, then Castor's chest, "— those scars."

The kids in question gulped. 

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember. . . I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Potter. . . After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great."

Azalea felt dots line up her skin. She wasn't sure she liked this man so much, but perhaps it was just his nature to look at children with that pinning gaze and warn them about the terrible but great things He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did. 

She picked out seven galleons from her pocket and gave them to Mr. Ollivander. Then, because Hagrid wasn't back yet, she settled on the stool near the door, sitting beside Zade as Castor was now measured. He too, had to listen to Mr. Ollivander's experience with his parents. 

"Your mother was here with her sister and her mother, with the most amazing and lengthy of stories to tell. They weren't, at all, about her, but the ones she liked making up, — she made that clear to almost everyone before beginning with her narration." Maybe Mr. Ollivander was personally attached to his, Zade's, and Azalea's parents, and therefore made sure to tell the kids the stories of their parents. Or maybe he just wanted to make these children comfortable because they were here alone. "Acacia wood, dragon heartstring core, 811 inches, and briskly flexible. Quite right for her personality." 

He, once again, had the measuring tape up and running — Castor was right-handed, — when he began to tell the story of Castor's father, "Chestnut wood, unicorn hair core, 12 inches and flexible. Very suitable for his curious personality. He used to come here each summer and ask why every wand had different cores, then I would make him sit down on that stool—," he pointed to the stool on which Azalea was sitting, "—and make him stay here the entire day, and tell him what he wanted to know when there were no customers in the store. He was very good at Charms, your father." 

Castor, too, was attentive. His mother might have told him about her childhood and her wild and amazing stories, but his father had been quite reserved in telling him about his family and how he was raised. 

"Now, try this one." 

Once again, there was a pile of wands on the spindly chair. Castor felt his face flush and his soul get a little more frustrated by the second. 

"Maybe he's going to get a different wand too as I did, that's why it's taking so long." the redhead shrugged. 

"He's getting annoyed, though," Zade spoke in a tone that showed amusement rather than concern. 

Soon, however, there were fireworks in the store ( just fake ones, Azalea didn't know how or why they were fake ) and Castor grinned. 

Mr. Ollivander, though, was looking grim, "Willow, Horned serpent horn, 12 inches, slightly flexible — extremely powerful, equally difficult to master."

Soon, it was time for Zade to choose his wand, too. Though he didn't take nearly as long as Castor or Azalea had, he too managed to create a small pile of wands that didn't want to work with him. 

"Hazelwood, phoenix feather core, 11 inches, and not flexible. Capable of creating a range of magic, excellent choice!"

The boys, too, paid for their wands, for they saw Hagrid at the window and their mother not far behind. 

Ollivander stopped Castor before he could leave.

"I need you to give this to your mother." he made it clear that it had to be done. "Only your parents are permitted to read it, Mr. Walker, and if they find it well, they may share it with you."

Curiosity killed the cat, "What's in it?"

"That is for them to tell you." 

Castor was confused. He frowned but accepted the piece of folded paper handed to him along with the packed wand. He was looked at with concern by the wandmaker, his gaze following the prince until he was out of the shop. 

What a weird old man. 

.  .  . 

AZALEA WAS HAPPY. Happy, but confused. She walked alongside Castor and Zade, Maia talking to Hagrid about something. 

She'd seen Castor hand a piece of paper to his mother, and then, he shared the same look she did — happiness but confusion. 

She could bet they didn't share the reasons though. 

She was happy that she discovered something new, something the Dursleys never had, something they can't use to compare her and Dudley. ( Even though they made sure she stayed a grade below Dudley after the school authorities compelled them to send her to school, she couldn't really do anything to beat him now. )

She was confused about what this meant now, however. Would she still have to come back to her family sometime? Couldn't she just hide out at Hogwarts? 

Perhaps she'd have to talk to someone about it. 

Castor was confused about why Ollivander looked at him that way. He looked concerned and terrified, and slightly intimidated, all in one — if that was even possible. 

Soon, they parted ways, for Azzie and Hagrid had used the train, and the boys and their mum had traveled in a car. Maia offered to drop them off, but Azalea wanted to use the train again. It wasn't often that she went somewhere that wasn't with the Dursleys, now that all of her childhood friends had moved away. 

She was so absorbed in thinking about Hogwarts, and how she wouldn't have to be the maid in the house but actually go to school and do homework and play games, like a normal kid; that she didn't even look at the peculiar looks she was given by the rest of the passengers — a homeless giant with an undernourished girl, holding boxes and bags of various shapes and sizes, and a cage with a sleeping snowy owl. 

Oh, yes, the owl! Hagrid had bought her a beautiful, ebony owl with the brightest eyes. She hadn't named her yet, but she was sure she would pick a name that was as unique as her new pet. 

She hadn't stopped muttering her thanks once he handed her the cage, sounding an awful lot like Professor Quirrell. 

Now, they were at Paddington Station, where Hagrid bought her a simple veggie burger once she said that she didn't eat meat. She couldn't stop thinking about how almost everyone she met today deemed her to be someone special when she didn't even know of Hogwarts until just this morning. 

Not that the Dursleys ever thought of giving it to her. All she mostly ate were bread and beans. 

"Yer alright, Azzie? Yeh've been very quiet." 

Of course, Hagrid noticed. 

She didn't know how to explain. But she tried anyway. 

"Everyone thinks I'm special," she said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander. . . but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol—, sorry — I mean, the night my parents died." 

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows, he wore a very kind smile. 

"Don' you worry, Azzie. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts -- I did -- still do, 'smatter of fact." Hagrid helped the girl onto the train that would take him back to the Dursleys, then handed her an envelope. 

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September -- King's Cross-- it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me. . . See yeh soon, Azzie." 

The train pulled out of the station. Azalea wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; she rose in her seat and pressed her nose against the window, but she blinked and Hagrid had gone.

.  .  . 

NISH SPEAKS!
i personally hate this chapter but oh-well 
something is better than nothing

I'll try to be back with regular updates, though! i missed writing sm