Beta: Cloudy

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Rosie, age 10

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. & Miss Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Yep.

That's right.

Hogwarts letters weren't individual for twins. What a ripoff.

The day our Hogwarts letter arrived Sirius slapped it on the fridge and told us to get dressed. Harry hurriedly put on his dark blue pants and gray sweater vest while I slipped on my dark blue dress and black tights. Then we put on our fancy black cloaks and wool hats—green for Harry and blue for me 'cause of our eyes. The hats were pulled over to make sure no one could see our foreheads. Mine was scar-free, however Harry wanted to match.

It was still summer, we couldn't get away with wearing scarves, but we could time our visit to Diagon Alley to be in the middle of the workday and avoid the crowd.

At nine in the morning he scooped us up and off we went via Apparition. Side-along Apparition was always unpleasant, but Harry and I had grown accustomed to it. On good weathered days, Sirius would bring us along on his motorbike. We were both small enough (for now) to fit in his side cart without fuss. On bad days—which happened fairly often in rainy Great Britain—we had to Apparate.

It was... not fun. Imagine stepping off a spinning ride without the rush of adrenaline and joy to counteract the dizziness slapped into your face. Disorienting was a severe understatement. The human eyes weren't meant to witness teleportation, yet even with my eyes squeezed tightly shut I could vividly picture the woozy-inducing scene.

Thankfully we landed with our feet firm on the ground in Diagon Alley, and we didn't lose our breakfast that time. The very second our world stopped spinning Harry gasped in wonder. Had I been mentally younger I would have done the same. Diagon Alley was a marvel to behold for those who had previously lived a life without magic. It didn't matter I had been growing up with magic for a little over a decade by that point—it was still magic. Shops ripped straight off the movie set lined up along cobblestone paths. There were sparkling trinkets, gadgets, animals, and so much more in the windows. There were shops never mentioned in the books or built in the movies—for example there was a shop dedicated to chests, bags, and other expandable storage! Magic filled the air and with every breath I took the world seemed brighter.

To be honest, the sheer volume of magic I felt was a touch overwhelming and I gripped Sirius's hand tightly to keep myself steady. He squeezed my hand in comfort.

The shopping district was busy, but not bustling like it would have been on a weekend. No one paid the small family any mind as they went about their business. They had no reason to suspect that such a "famous" trio would arrive and our disguises were plain.

It was a good thing. None of us wanted to be swarmed by paparazzi or rabid fans.

Sirius and Remus had told Harry and I the truth about our parents when Harry asked long ago. Sirius hated the idea of keeping their death a secret. He almost went along with Dumbledore's suggestion to keep our fame hidden, but Remus thought it would overwhelm us if we went into the Wizarding world so unprepared.

Their solution was to be nonchalant, so it was mentioned in an off-handed manner. They dismissed it, downplayed it, and did their best to trivialize the world's adoration of us. They wanted us to dismiss the public love—per Dumbledore's encouragement from what I guessed—so we wouldn't grow too big of an ego to manage.

Consequently: we knew we were hailed as a hero, but Harry thought it was irritating and I didn't give a flying hoot. Harry resented his forced-upon hero status with a burning passion that was hard to explain.

"I didn't do anything," he would tell me in private, his tone laced with annoyance. "I'm not Frodo. I haven't had my adventure yet."

For Harry, his fame undervalued what he deemed to be heroes. Harry wanted a proper adventure of his own, on his own terms. The way he described it made me feel like he knew he was going to have an epic quest to face down later in life.

...

He wasn't wrong.

Outside the owerly in Diagon Alley I pulled out the item list Sirius had handed me before we left. The three of us moved off to the side as to not disrupt the flow of the crowd.

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 Draughts 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 an owl OR a cat OR a toad*

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Iris, who had hidden under my shirt, poked her head out from my collar and hissed out, "Mommy, can I come?"

"Don't worry, sweetie," I soothed her quietly. "Paddy already got permission from Dumbledore. Familiars are allowed under certain circumstances."

Circumstances like being favored by the Headmaster.

To be honest, I wasn't sure if it was canonically correct that the exception existed in the first place, or if it was a rule made by Dumbledore just for me. Even if I was not the prophesied child, I was his twin sister and I somehow magically got parseltongue while Harry didn't. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that Dumbledore expected something of me and allowing me to keep my familiar at school curried favor to that idea.

Not that I disliked him for that. I was a schemer myself, so how could I resent another scheming comrade? Who knew... maybe I could even out-scheme the great Dumbledore.

Yeah, right.

Iris let out a little trill of pleasure. Her noises ranged from a hissing snake to songbird and everything in between. She had clung onto me like an imprinted baby chick ever since I had first held her. It made me wonder if Kreacher had grabbed her right after she had hatched.

Wouldn't have surprised me. Kreacher was the sort to value what his master/mistress wanted above ethics or laws.

I might have felt bad for her apparent kidnapping, but that was largely dismissed over how much I friggin' adored her. I was at loathe with the very idea of being separated from her. We were always together since that day—our connection was so significant that we had even formed a proper bond. The only other person she allowed to touch her was Harry, and that was only for short periods of time when I needed to be alone.

"Alright kiddos," Sirius said, clapping a hand on both our backs. "Let's get fitted for robes first, books second, cauldron next, stop for lunch, get the rest of the equipment, and lastly wands."

"Can't we do wands first?" Harry eagerly asked.

"Nope. Rosie's already proven to be enough of a threat without a wand. I want to postpone her getting one as long as possible," Sirius said firmly. Harry sadly nodded in understanding.

"Hey. He started it. I just finished it," I defended myself.

Sirius winced, likely recalling the tic bomb I had hidden in his mattress. I was quite proud of that one. Kreacher was absolutely giddy with glee watching Sirius scramble to get the ticks off him. Remus not so much. He had to be the responsible adult and send Sirius off to the hospital while he watched over us and made me dismantle the other bombs I had hidden in Sirius's room during our year-long prank war.

"You deserve Slytherin," he muttered, but there was a touch of pride in his gray-blue eyes. "I almost feel sorry for the professors. Almost."

"I'll be good," I promised. Then at his raised eyebrow, I added, "I won't get caught."

"I wouldn't have believed you if you meant good student. Good terror is more like it."

Harry giggled at my pout.

With a path set we headed off. For the most part we adhered to it, but if Sirius or Harry spotted something shiny or cool they detoured us into that shop to examine it. It resulted in Harry getting several new toys, books, and Hedwig. I was able to grab a very expensive potion set with ingredients priced in such a way they made me wince, but Sirius didn't even bat an eye at the money spent.

It was evening by the time we had reached our most anticipated destination: the wand shop.

The building was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A bell chimed as we entered the store. It was a scene straight out of the movie with walls filled with boxes of wands. There were towers upon towers of boxed wands scattered all around. Ollivander noticed us immediately and the old man with wide, pale eyes greeted us with a soft, "Good evening."

"Hello," Harry and I said together.

"Ah yes," said the wandmaker. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you two soon. Harry and Rosaline Potter. It seems only yesterday your mother was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

He approached Harry first. The boy froze up and instinctively stepped back into Sirius who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course. And hello, Sirius. Good to see you in good health. Your wand—thirteen inches, firm, ebony—has clearly been well cared for."

I nudged Harry forward, and he hesitantly stepped back up to Ollivander, a quiet signal for him to have his wand chosen first.

"Well, now—Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er—well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. 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."

While the tape measure was measuring between Harry's nostrils, Ollivander was flitting around shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once. Ollivander grabbed a different one.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—"

Harry tried—but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Ollivander.

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

Harry tried. And tried. And tried. A solid—not even exaggerating here—forty five minutes passed. The pile of tried wands was comically tall on the spindly chair, but the more wands Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become. "Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand as he glanced over at me with discomfort. The more times he had failed to produce results, the more uncomfortable he clearly became. A considerate boy by nature, he must have hated that Sirius and I were waiting on him.

He raised the wand above his 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 on to the walls. Sirius whooped and clapped while I whistled and Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..."

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "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 that scar."

Harry visibly swallowed, reaching out a hand to grasp my own.

Sirius stepped in there, clearing his throat. "Now I believe it's Rosie's turn."

"Yes! Yes, yes. Twins. I do love pairing twins. Twins always have the same core," Ollivander muttered to himself as he busied among the boxes. "Phoenix, phoenix, phoenix..."

He pulled out a long red box and handed it to me. "This one for sure. Yes, I know this one will do for someone with eyes like yours."

A little concerned about spending another hour in the store, I tentatively picked up the wand and gave it a little flick.

To my elated surprise white sparks popped out of the tip and danced all around me. The wind picked up and gently pulled on my hair. There was a rush of magic from the wand and it eagerly reached out to my own magic to greet me. I couldn't hold back my silly smile as I felt the wand's magic intermingle with me.

Do wizards know their magic basically holds hands with their wands' magic? I wondered. Due to how I learned how to use magic I was acutely sensitive to it. I could not see it, but I could feel it like a second appendage after years of blindly working with it.

"Redwood with a phoenix feather core, nine and a half inches and hard flexibility," Ollivander touted. "This wand is attracted to one who already possesses an admirable ability to fall on their feet and snatch the advantage from a catastrophe. A sly one, aren't you?"

Redwood had been my second guess. I would have thought for sure I'd nab the Beech due to having, you know, died and been reborn. Guess I wasn't considered wise beyond my years.

Unless the wands could sense how old I truly was?

Hello, little one, I thought, channeling a touch of my magic into the wand and feeling it react with warmth. Although it had no voice to respond to me with, I could sense it greeting me with adoration. You and I are going to do a lot of different things. Dark, Light, and everything in between. Are you ready?

If wands could cheer, my baby redwood would be howling.

I'll call you Muse.

"Welp," Sirius said with a clap. "Let's head home kiddos."

(≖‿‿≖)ノ⌒●~*

Bucket List Completed:

13. Get THE Hogwarts Letter!

14. Shop at THE Diagon Alley!

15. GET A WAND!

ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

See you next Thursday for the start of Hogwarts!

Answer: HP/Sherlock. Specifically, war vet asexual!Harry retires to Muggle London and gets swept up by cases and becomes Sherlock's favorite mystery. Also like the Hermione versions, too, but wholesome friendships are my vibes these days.

Question: What wand would choose you? This may help: www DOT wizardingworld DOT com / features / what-does-your-wand-mean

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