❝ I hope you will go out and let stories, that is life, happen to you, and that you will work with these stories from your life-not someone else's life-water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom. That is the work. The only work. ❞ -Clarissa Pinkola Estes

"We're leaving," Mike announced when I walked in.

I gave him a nod of acknowledgment. Sibi had packed her belongings, holding in one hand the handle of her trunk and in the other an owl's cage. Sitting inside the cage was a cuddly tawny owl, with big glistening eyes that darted from one corner of the room to another.

"I like your owl," I pointed out.

Sibi looked at me curiously, her lips crinkling up in a warm smile. "Thank you. His name's Tirol."

"When we get to Diagon Alley, I'm gonna get myself an owl too," I said, mostly to myself than to her.

Before any of us could say more, Oswald June appeared behind us, clad in tailored trousers and a plain grey shirt that appeared a decade old.

"Is everybody ready?" he asked sprightly.

We all nodded and he led us to the living room, where we gathered in front of the big fireplace. A rush of excitement ran through my body at the idea of using Floo Transportation for the first time. But though I was looking forward to it, I couldn't help the tinge of anxiety that stirred inside my stomach. What if something went wrong and I got stuck in the wrong place? What if I ended up in another fireplace like Harry did in his second year? What if-

"I'll go first," Sibi declared, snapping me back to reality.

I looked at her in anticipation as she took a handful of the greenish-beige Powder and stepped into the fireplace. She cleared her throat and loudly pronounced, "Diagon Alley" before being engulfed in mint green flames.

"Mike, you can go next," suggested Mr June after Sibi disappeared.

Mike did the exact same thing, and after a few seconds he was gone too, leaving me alone with his father. Surely sensing my unease, Oswald June turned to me with an encouraging smile.

"There's nothing to be worried about. The flames are totally harmless. We've travelled with Floo plenty of times before and nothing has gone wrong. You'll be tine."

Breathing out a sigh, I finally plucked up the courage to step forward and grab a handful of the sandlike powder. Afterwards, I pulled my trunk into the fireplace with me. When I had fully stepped into it, I cleared my throat and spoke in a sure tone, "Diagon Alley."

I dropped the Floo Powder and squeezed my eyes shut to prevent any dust from get into them. Surprisingly, I didn't feel any subtle burning sensation against my skin-I knew the magical green fire was harmless, as Mr June said, but I still thought I'd feel at least a spark against my flesh. After a few moments of feeling like I was drifting into space without a particular destination, heart racing like I was running a marathon, my feet finally touched solid ground again.

I opened my eyes. Sibi and Mike stood opposite me, smiles plastered on their faces. The fireplace we had transported into appeared to be inside a clothing store, almost deserted save for two other people and the shopkeeper, an elderly woman in long black robes.

"So?" asked Mike. "How did it feel?"

"Weird," I said sincerely, swiping some dust away from my clothes. "But I've got to say, it was so cool."

A few seconds after I stepped out of the fireplace, Mike's dad appeared into it.

"Right then." He straightened up and brushed off some Floo Powder from his shoulders. "Let's head out. Good to see you, Roberta!"

He raised a hand to wave at the elderly shopkeeper as he led us out of the shop, but either she wasn't paying attention or completely ignored him. The warm sunlight poured over us when we stepped outside.

Here it was. Diagon Alley.

The magical village thronged with people. It looked both so familiar, yet so utterly foreign at the same time. Like visiting a place I'd known of only in theory, but that had always felt out of reach. Diagon Alley was a location I'd read about countless times, always in fictional terms. Yet here I stood now; here it lay in front of my eyes, real as ever.

There were wizards' shops on both sides of the cobbled street; witches and wizards of different ages roamed about, dressed in long black robes with pointed hats on, chatting lively with one another, entering and existing stores. Even the atmosphere carried a different feel to it than a muggle shopping center. Maybe it was the traces of magic that floated in the air; maybe it was the mere idea of visiting a wizarding location for the first time in my life. Out here, it was a whole new reality.

A smile tugged at my lips. My dream had finally come true. I was in the wizarding world, among people similar to myself. This was the place where I belonged.

"Let's enter Gringott's," Mr June suggested. "We need to draw money. Sibi, I suppose you do too?"

"Yes, actually," she said. "But what about Polly?"

Heat crept up my face. I didn't have a vault at Gringott's, and I obviously couldn't borrow money from any of them. I would never be able to repay them, anyway. I had some muggle money I could convert into wizard currency, but would it suffice for everything I needed to buy?

Just when I opened my mouth to speak-not knowing what I was even going to say-my eyes caught sight of a familiar face. A woman in a dress that matched her sapphire blue curls with turquoise highlights, a black leather overcoat two sizes too big for her, and a gothic necklace circling her neck.

Breeze McBon.

My face lit up. "Ms. McBon!" I yelled, waving my hands enthusiastically to get her attention. "Breeze!"

At the sound of my voice, Breeze McBon's head snapped up in our direction. When she met my eye, a trace of a smile formed on her lips and she lifted her hand to wave back.

"How do you know professor McBon?" Sibi asked, as the deputy headmistress started making her way towards us.

"She paid me a visit the day I received my letter, then again a couple days later to talk to my mom."

"Oh, right," said Sibi in realization. "You're a muggleborn."

"Hello, Polly," came Breeze's voice. I turned around, an automatic smile rising to my lips. Hadn't it been for the glimmer on her greenish-brown eyes, it'd be impossible to tell from her tone of voice and countenance that the woman was pleased to see me. Her whole demeanor was always so robotic. "How are you?"

I opened my arms and ran straight into her arms, squeezing her in a hug. Why did seeing her again make me so happy? Maybe it was just that I felt grateful she'd shown up when I was most in need of some miracle to happen, and had been the one to pull me from that dreary life and introduce me to the world of magic.

I could feel Breeze's puzzlement in how rigid her muscles felt beneath my embrace-her arms remaining limply by her sides, not hugging me back. Sensing the awkwardness, I stepped back sheepishly.

"I'm-I'm doing great. Awesome, actually," I said. "What about you, professor?"

"Breeze, please," she said. "Frankly, I have been busy with work at Hogwarts, so this summer has been a great deal of stress. But generally speaking, I'm quite all right, thank you." She turned to Mike's dad. "Mr June, my apologies if I gave the implication that I was deliberately ignoring you. It's great to see you again."

"No worries, Breeze," Mr June said as he shook her hand. "It's always lovely to see you."

"And how are you two doing? Michael? Isabella?"

"It's Sibi."

Breeze's eyes went round in apology. "Forgive me."

"It's alright," Sibi said warmly. "We're doing fine, professor McBon. It's been a pleasure getting to know Polly and spending this week with her."

I bit my bottom lip to hold back a laugh. Bitch please, my subconscious mocked. But immediately, a wave of regret washed over me. My friendship with Sibi and Mike wasn't as strained as it had been a couple days ago, and it felt unfair to still hold a grudge against her for how pretentious she'd been with me the few first days. After all, she apologized and made genuine efforts to improve her behavior. Besides, I hadn't been the easiest to get along with either.

"That's a fortunate thing to hear," Breeze said. "I just left Gringott's, actually. I withdrew some money from your vault, Polly. Here." She reached into the pocket of her overcoat, took out a small sack of money together with a golden key, and handed them to me. "This is the key of your vault, 265. I think this amount will be sufficient for you to buy everything you need, but if you want to, you can always take more from your vault before leaving for Hogwarts."

I stared at her aghast, my mouth falling open.

"My vault? But I-I don't have a vault."

Breeze squinted her eyes in confusion.

"Of course you do," she said, as if she was stating the obvious. "Every wizarding family does. The Kin vault is actually quite an ancient one. Your great-grandparents passed it on to your grandparents, who passed it on to your father and now that he is . . . well, no longer alive, you are the sole inheritor of all the wealth."

My goggled eyes didn't return back to their normal size; instead they widened even more. I had a vault at Gringott's? What's more, an ancient one that had barely been used by my father, so now I had inherited all his wealth and then some?

"Oh," was all I managed to say, trying not to sound too enthusiastic about it in front of Mike and his dad. "Well, um . . . thank you, Breeze."

"Anytime." She turned to Mr June again. "I am afraid I have to go now. I have got important matters to tend to back at Hogwarts and I believe Headmaster Dashawn is waiting for me. It was a pleasure seeing you, Oswald." She looked at me, Sibi and Mike, "You too, children. Take care."

And with that, Breeze McBon turned on her heel and walked away, quickly disappearing in the sea of people.

"Well," Mr June spoke up. "Since this problem is taken care of, we can go and draw some money from Gringott's too. Polly, would you like to come with us or get a head start on your school shopping?"

"You can go ahead. I'll go buy a wand and we can meet up outside Flourish and Blott's."

"Fine by me. Just please be careful. Make sure not enter Knockturn Alley-nothing good ever comes out of that place."

I nodded in understanding. As soon as they left, I turned around and started walking down the cobbled street. As I passed by Quality Quidditch Supplies, I noticed many people, students and adults alike, staring at a brand new broomstick called The Meteor, noses pressed against the glass of the window, jostling one another to get a nearer view of the fabulous broomstick.

I continued walking until I reached Ollivander's wand shop. Drawing in a breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside the small shop. The scent of pine cleanser greeted me as I walked in, along with the sight of a wizened man sitting behind a low wooden desk. His bright blue eyes looked weary, rough hair falling to his shoulders, face appearing worn out like he'd been working all day.

"Hello," I said in a somewhat loud voice to get Ollivander's attention.

He perked up, his tired-looking face brightening when he saw me.

"Hello, young witch," he said. "C'mon in."

I closed the door, slowly making my way towards the wandmaker. Ollivander stood up, reached into his desk drawer and took out a tape-line.

"Your arm, please."

I lifted my left arm. He measured the length of it, then gestured for me to give him my right arm so he could do the same.

"Good," he muttered once finished, putting the tape-line down and walking over to one of the shelves. He grabbed a wand box, turning back to me. "Try this one."

The wand he handed me was short knobbed. I gave it a swish, only regretting it soon after, when the sound of a flower vase shattering to pieces rang out from one of the shelves.

"Perhaps not," Ollivander murmured.

He trudged over to the shelf and returned with another wand in his hand-a longer and more elegant-looking one. I gave it a swish, but it just ended up making some wand boxes to my left explode. Ollivander sighed and turned around to grab another wand box.

▼

About ten minutes had passed, I'd tried out more than fifteen wands, the shop looked like a real catastrophe because of all the broken, shattered or exploded things that scattered around the floor, and I still hadn't found the right wand.

I was beginning to lose hope when Ollivander handed me another wand with a tired expression. However, when I gave this one a flick, I didn't cause any damage this time. Instead, a warm and almost electrical sensation shot up my right arm. I lifted the wand higher in the air, golden sparks coming out of the tip of it. Ollivander's face lit up. When I gave the wand back to him, a wide smile spread across his face.

"Elm wood, unicorn hair core . . . thirteen and a half inches. Pliant," he murmured as he scrutinized it attentively.

He put it down with shaky fingers, his smile dropping.

"What did you say your name was?" he asked, his voice carrying a seriousness to it.

"Polly. Polly Annabelle Kin."

Ollivander repeated my name multiple times, as if trying to recall something, then took another careful look at my wand.

"Anything wrong, sir?" I asked hesitantly.

His weary blue eyes fixed on mine. I felt uncomfortable under his stare, as though it bore straight into my soul.

"Weird," he said. "Although it's the wand that chooses the wizard, elm wands are highly desired by pure-bloods, for they produce the fewest accidents, the least foolish errors and the most elegant charms and spells. These are sophisticated wands, capable of highly advanced magic in the right hands."

I raised an eyebrow, wondering what was so weird about what he just said. But before I could ask, Ollivander opened his mouth again to speak.

"However," he said thoughtfully. "The core is unicorn hair. Curious."

"What's so curious about it?"

"Ms Kin, unicorn hair cores are the last you'd expect to turn to the Dark Arts and do not create the most powerful wands, although the wand wood may compensate. They are the most loyal of all wands and get strongly attached to their owners. Such wands do not usually choose pure-blooded wizards, but loyal muggle-borns instead. Your wand wood and core differ strikingly from one-another. Therefore, I daresay that your wand is a conflicted contradiction."

When he noticed that my face still remained probably as puzzled as before, if not more, Ollivander continued.

"Ms Kin, you do know that it's the wand that chooses the wizard, right?" I nodded. "A wand tells a lot about a wizard's personality; I suppose you know that too." I nodded again, and realization began to languorously sink in. "Your wand is a conflicted contradiction. You are a conflicted contradiction. Or rather, your life is. There seems to be great contrast between the life you were born into and would have led on your own terms, and the one you have been thrust into, almost as if . . . I'm taking the liberty of assumption here . . . someone else is pulling the strings. An outside force trying to guide you into a path you were not destined for. Mold you to fit a narrative."

He paused for a moment. My brain slowly mulled over his enigmatic words, trying to make sense of anything he just said but my heartbeats had sped up in anxiety and my logic didn't seem to be working.

"I don't know you, young witch-or at least, I believe I don't," he whispered, giving me a strange look as if he himself wasn't convinced that I was an unfamiliar face. My stomach sank. Please don't make the connection to my dad. After a brief silence, he continued, "But I can tell that you . . . you are most certainly not what you seem. And your life . . . it's built on lies and fabrications. There's so much more underneath the surface, if you so choose to dig deeper. And with a wand like this-"

He placed my wand in its box before giving it to me. "You have the capability to do great, great things. But you might stumble around till you find your way through the maze of lies, in search of what your true identity is beneath all those contradictions. Your wand will remain loyal to you throughout, but a magic this powerful can either make you a source of respect and admiration or utter fear and terror. It's up to you which path you choose, which traits you decide to live up to. Only you know your truth, but it's so easy to fall prey to external judgment and manipulation."

Ollivander took a deep breath at the end of his speech. His weary blue eyes snapped back to the present moment, and he turned to me, as if just then noticing I was there. He frowned. It felt that he was just now looking at me-really looking at me. A hint of recognition began to rise up to his face.

"What did you say your name was again? I could've sworn it sounded familiar."

I stumbled backwards, my lips parting but no sound came out. My heart was basically on my throat, thumping like a wild rabbit.

I didn't reply. I simply placed the money on the counter, grabbed my wand box and all but dashed out of the wand shop, wanting nothing more than to get the hell out and not look back. But no matter how far away from the shop I got, how much my step quickened, Ollivander's cryptic words continued to chase after me, like an ominous shadow I couldn't get rid of.