Rebekah: Chapter 1
Story: Rebekah
Chapter: Magic
Rating: General
Setting: Post-HBP
Words: 4,571
Summary:
From its claws, she gently took a heavy envelope hand-addressed in emerald green ink.
This was the dawn of a new era; the dawn of a new generation, free from fear.
Rebekah is discovering her new world. It is tattered, bruised and bleeding from a terrible war. She must watch - and help - it heal while discovering her past, present and future.
The prelude to this story can be found here.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
____________________________________________________________
“I know very little, Rebekah,” Jaqueline said. “Mother married a Muggle. She couldn’t bear to live with magic, poor thing.
“A Muggle is a person with no magic, like most of your family. Magic is a strong gene: you can get Muggle-borns, a magical child with no previous magical blood; and if a witch or wizard marries a Muggle, their children are very rarely non-magical.”
“So if magic is usually passed on, how did you and Grandma come to have none? Is it a magical disease or something?” Rebekah queried.
“It’s no disease - but it’s a shocking thing when a child of an all-magic family is born with none. Such a person is called a Squib, and to discover that they will never perform the magic they once took for granted is a difficult thing to accept. They go to high school, get Muggle jobs, lead Muggle lives. Some resent their families; others just can’t bear to see them too much. There are some who keep strong ties with their roots of course, but not always. Your Grandma was the sort to not spend time with her family - except for her sister Adie, she was a witch and they spent a lot of time together.”
“What?” Rebekah spluttered. “Great-Auntie Adie? And I… I…”
“Yes, dear. You’re a witch too.”
***
According to her letter, a “representative” would be coming to the house that afternoon to explain everything. It seemed that they thought Rebekah was Muggle-born - which, technically, she was - as they did not keep records of Squibs’ children, and certainly not Squibs’ grandchildren.
As Rebekah’s mother told her of all her encounters with magic, they were also trying to decide what to say to Rebekah’s father. He had been phoned and asked to come home at the appointed time. It was about Rebekah’s new high school, he knew, but they didn’t know what else they could say. It was lucky, they decided, that this “representative” would be coming, because he or she would no doubt be trained in breaking such difficult news to the parents of Muggle-borns. They would need all the help they could get to convince her father.
The letter said three o’clock. Rebekah’s father was late, of course; he was late for everything. At seventeen minutes past three, there was a knock at the door. Jacqueline and her daughter raced to answer it. Standing there was a sandy-haired young man in a Muggle suit and tie despite the summer heat. He stuck his chest and carefully-manicured hand out.
“You’re the Millers? Excellent. I’m Charles Andrews, dreadfully sorry I’m late, terrible hold up at the office. I trust you were expecting me? Good. Ah, thank you. No, I’ve an inbuilt Cooling Charm - but of course you won’t know what that is, will you? Hmm? Oh!”
For what seemed like the first time, the blustering man paused for breath.
“You - you know? I was, erm, under the impression that Rebekah was Muggle-born…”
“Oh, she is, she is,” her mother said breezily. She didn’t like this self-assured man. “I’m a Muggle. Her father’s a Muggle. Her grandparents are Muggles. Would you like tea?”
“I - I suppose so -”
“Milk? Sugar?”
I had to hand it to Jaqueline, she could talk the hind legs of a donkey if she wanted to, and she certainly had a donkey in front of her.
“Erm -”
The front door slammed. “I’m home! What’s this about, then Jackie?”
And that’s when things dissolved into chaos.
***
“Anneline, hello!” called Jackie. Following her directions, she and Rebekah had stood opposite the old record store and held hands so she could see the Leaky Cauldron. Now they were inside it, heading towards a woman who looked remarkably like her except for the shock of curly black hair and a dress sense nothing like Rebekah had ever seen before. Clearly it was normal, however; everyone else was wearing the same long, baggy dresses that had to be what her school supply list called robes.
A little girl darted up to her. She had a very serious expression on her face and bright pink hair. She drew herself up to her full height (which was around the bottom of Rebekah’s ribcage) to say something that Rebekah expected to be very important.
“Are you Bekah?” the little girl asked.
Rebekah grinned. “Yeah, I’m Bekah. What’s your name?”
“Kimberly Anna Carrie Cauldwell,” she said, punctuating each word with a bounce. “But you can call me Kim.” She grabbed Rebekah’s hand and dragged her through the tables to the others.
Anneline released Jackie from a hug and turned to Rebekah. “You must be Rebekah! I’m your - erm - first cousin once removed? Yes, I think that’s right. I haven’t seen you since you were christened. Well, come over here, sit down! Call me Annie. You’ve met Kim, she’s seven - this is Michael, he’s about to start his second year at Hogwarts, he’s twelve -”
“Thirteen next month,” he interrupted.
“ - yes, dear, and this is Owen. He’s fifteen, starting his fifth year -”
“That’s Year 11, Bekah,” Jackie put in.
“And he’s a prefect!” Kim announced proudly. “Which means he’s really nice and he’ll help you find your lessons and he won’t turn your hair pink!”
“Well it’s your favourite colour!” Michael protested, “and you’re always moaning about your hair -”
“It is not my favourite colour!” she shrieked, diving for him.
“That’s enough!” snapped their mother.
Michael and Kim sat down rapidly, looking contrite.
“Michael, don’t you ever feed your sister a Weasley sweet again. Kimberly, you are not to scream like that, we’re in a respectable place! What must Jaqueline and Rebekah think of you, fighting away? This Rebekah’s first experience of the Wizarding world and you must not spoil it. Do you understand?”
They mumbled their apologies, but Rebekah was brimming with excitement as she watched Annie draw out her wand - a real magic wand! - and tap Kim’s head. The mass of neon pink vanished and in its place appeared a long head of hair, curled as tightly as Annie’s but in Rebekah’s own shade of dark brown.
She decided she liked this new world.
Her world.
***
After a lunch of a curious stew and a strange but surprisingly tasty drink called pumpkin juice, Bekah stood with her new family by a dustbin behind the Leaky Cauldron.
Annie rested her hand on her youngest son’s shoulder. “You have your wand now, Michael. You do it.”
From the way Annie and Owen smiled as Michael walked towards the bin, Bekah could tell that Michael was being admitted into some sort of family tradition. What the rubbish had to do with anything, she had no idea, but she didn’t care.
Her cousin drew his wand. “Three up, two across,” he said, counting the bricks on the wall above the bin. He tapped it three times with the tip of his slender length of wood, and Rebekah’s jaw dropped as the brick trembled slightly. A small hold appeared - it grew - it grew - and they were standing in front of a large archway.
“Welcome to Diagon Alley,” Michael said, stepping through into the busy street beyond.
The group followed him into the street. Bekah instantly wondered if she would be able to learn to become an animal. She wanted the spider’s eight eyes.
The closest shop sold cauldrons. The sign outside told her that she’s be coming here for her pewter, standard size 2 cauldron. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be allowed a self-stirring one, but what about collapsible? Was that physically collapsible, or magically?
Beyond this, a shop claimed to sell Fabric ~ All Materials ~ All Colours ~ From 30 Knuts Per Yard. Reams upon reams of cloth hung, lay or floated outside. Some were plain, block colour, some were silk, and some had moving pictures on them.
The street was busy with all manner of people doing their shopping. A young woman was muttering to herself as she headed towards an apothecary. “Frog brains, two ounces - salamander blood, three litres - nine shrivelfigs…”
Beyond this, a group of boys were yelling and jumping around outside a shop selling brooms. Owen detached himself from the group and ran towards them, promising to meet up with his family after they’d been to Gringotts. Before Bekah could wonder what this was, the boys had dived on her cousin, yelling, “Quidditch is back on! Andrew’s Hufflepuff captain!”
Did they say Quidditch? What on earth was that? And what about this Hufflepuff thing? Had she heard them correctly?
She jogged to catch up with Michael, intent on asking him what was going on. They had stopped outside a large, white marble building.
“Gringotts,” Michael said. “The one, the only Wizarding bank. Just wait ‘til you see who runs it.”
They made their way up the bronze doors. Beside the entrance was a little creature in a uniform of red and gold.
“A goblin!” Michael said in delight, watching as her face cycled through curiosity, understanding and disgust to finally rest somewhere between fear and composure. “Everyone says that goblins are evil,” he continued as they entered the building, “but they’re just ruthless. Best people to guard your money, they are. You should try and steal something, you know. You’d only be up against - oh - dragons and a sphinx or two.”
“Dragons?” she hissed. “Sphinxes? They - they actually exist?”
He burst out laughing, following the others through engraved silver doors. “Of course! Don’t tell me you didn’t - oh, but you really didn’t, did you? Muggle-born, I keep forgetting…”
Their conversation ended abruptly as they stopped behind their mothers at a long counter that stretched the length of the biggest hall Bekah had ever seen, made entirely of marble. At least a hundred goblins were perched on high stools behind it, working away. Some were weighing coins on polished brass scales; others were writing in gigantic ledgers; yet more were studying jewels through eyeglasses, noting down flaws and sizes. Along the opposite wall were doors, doors and more doors. Goblins were leading people in and out of these.
“Could we exchange some Muggle money, please?” Annie asked the goblin they were in front of. “And then we’d like to go down to the Cauldwell safe, number one hundred and twenty-two.” She handed over a tiny gold key, engraved with Cauldwell ~ 122.
“Of course, madam,” the goblin said. “How much would you like to exchange?”
Five minutes later, Jackie was holding the bag of Wizarding money. “I haven’t seen these for ages,” she said. “Let’s see if I remember… the tiny ones here are knots, yes?”
“Knuts,” corrected Kim. “Twenty-nine to every silver one.”
“And the silver ones are Sickles. Seventeen to a gold Galleon?”
“Yep!” Kim beamed up at the goblin that their own had summoned. If goblins could raise their eyebrows - and Bekah wasn’t even sure they had any - this one would be. She could tell it wasn’t used to being smiled at like that.
They made their way to one of the doors. Instead of a spacious marble room, they found themselves in a dark stone tunnel. Flaming torches lined the walls, flickering ominously.
The goblin whistled twice and two small carts hurtled down from behind them on a track she hadn’t noticed. She leapt out of the way and followed Michael and Kim into one cart while Jackie and Annie climbed into the one in front.
“I should warn you two,” Annie said, “these things go incredibly fast.”
Without warning, the carts set off. Incredibly fast, Bekah decided, wasn’t quite good enough. She had never been on a rollercoaster, but it had to be slower than this.
The passageway sloped steeply. Left, right, middle fork, left - the cart had to have a mind of its own, because the goblin couldn’t be steering it, not at this pace. The air grew colder. They stopped just before an underground ravine and they followed the goblin out of the cart, through a small passageway. This, at least, wasn’t so damp. They were faced with a row of small doors with gold keyholes.
“These are some of the original safes,” Annie said. “The Cauldwells are a very old family; almost as old as the Neckworths.”
The Neckworths, Rebekah knew, were the family that they were related through. Jaqueline and Anneline were the granddaughters of Adair and Annaliesa Neckworth. When they were younger, they would spend a month every summer at their grandparents’ house. This went on until Jaqueline was 11, and clearly not a witch. The Neckworths would have been happy to continue having her, but Susan, Jackie’s mother, was sure that it would break her daughter’s heart, seeing her cousins learning magic and never being able to perform it herself.
When Bekah received her letter, Jackie wrote at once to her cousin to ask if she would take them to Diagon Alley. She had flatly turned down the representative’s offer.
Bekah grinned, remembering it.
“No thank you,” Jackie had said. “We don’t need help from someone who treats us like we’re stupid just because we’re Muggles.”
“But how on earth will you buy her school equipment?” the representative had asked.
“We’ll ask the Neckworths, of course.”
“The - the Neckworths? The Wizarding family?”
“Of course, you didn’t think we’d ask Muggles, did you? Anneline would be perfectly happy to help us in Diagon Alley, I’m sure. And don’t look so surprised I know about your little magical street, it’s not like I haven’t been there! Is Fortescue’s still open, the ice cream parlour? No? Really? Why would Death Eaters capture poor little Florean? Yes, I know Florean! Really, you act like I know nothing because I’m a Muggle despite the fact that you haven’t been taking in a word I’m saying.”
All in all, Rebekah had thought that it was a treat to hear her mother being so rude; she’d never, ever spoken like that to anyone in Bekah’s hearing before and certainly would have stopped Bekah from doing it herself.
They piled back in the carts, Annie’s moneybag now bulging with the money needed for her sons’ supplies. The cart ride was no less hasty despite the upward slope, and Bekah was sure they would crash into a cart coming the other way. But, although they saw one pelting across an icy lake, they arrived at the top without having any dangerous encounters with another cart.
When Jackie had explained her relationship with the Neckworths, she had given Bekah a brief history of the Wizarding world in the past thirty years. Bekah had listened in amazement as the tales of the two Wizarding wars unfolded.
After the death of Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the school had closed for a year. The Ministry had sent out booklists and details of what they needed to learn that year, and students had been home schooled, either learning from books themselves or being taught by their parents. The first to fifth years had each been given a day of the week to attend the Education Office at the Ministry of Magic to practice the magic they weren’t allowed to do at home. Sixth years who weren’t yet seventeen were now considered of age so they could cast spells at home. Muggle-borns’ homes had been connected to the Floo Network so they could get to the Ministry. End-of-year exams, including OWLs and NEWTs, took place there too.
All in all, it was a rather chaotic year. Beside all this, people were dying around them, and few Death Eaters were captured. Then, in June, Harry Potter and his friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had killed Lord Voldemort with a secret weapon that they had been hunting for the last year. Headlines everywhere had carried the news the next day.
VOLDEMORT VANQUISHED
In the early hours of this morning, the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, called a press conference in the Atrium of the Ministry. Expecting shocking war news, your reporter Rita Skeeter arrived instantly to bring you the latest. The message?
“You-Know-Who was tracked down to a currently undiscloseable location at around 11pm last night,” the Minister announced, appearing exhausted but triumphant. “Harry Potter, the “Chosen One” has indeed defeated You-Know-Who. He has been working with us for the past year, and we have aided him in his hunt.
“We urge the Wizarding world to celebrate: we may now call him Voldemort without fear!”
The article continued in that vein on page two. A copy of the Daily Prophet from the next day had carried yet more statements from Rufus Scrimgeour himself, along with news that he and Hermione Granger were residing with Ron Weasley at his family home in Ottery, St. Catchpole and that the two young people had been with him when he defeated Voldemort. Despite the fact that reporters claimed that they and the Weasleys were “unavailable for comment, no doubt resting after their heroic efforts”. But the location could never have been kept a secret from the reporters, and they discovered a concealed task force of Aurors, Obliviators, Unspeakables and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee members swarming over a cliff in the south-west of England. The newspaper also carried colourful life stories of all three young people and their troubles, handily glossing over Daily Prophet-induced miseries and rumours.
“Right!” announced Annie, turning left outside Gringotts after they had met up with Owen outside the bronze doors.. “Madam Malkin’s, I think.”
Because the school had been closed for the last year, Michael had never been to Hogwarts. Both he and Bekah needed their first set of robes.
They entered a shop every bit as colourful as the fabric seller’s. There seemed to be a sale going on for robes with moving patterns; Bekah caught a glimpse of broomsticks - there had to be more to those than cleaning; maybe they rode them, like in stories? - little gold balls with wings, feathers and lightening bolts.
A kindly witch whom Annie greeted as Madam Malkin beckoned them towards two stools. Slipping long robes over their heads, she began to pin, first Michael, then Rebekah. She tried not to squirm, but it was so difficult when there was such a lot to see!
Eventually she and Michael were each laden with three sets of plain work robes (black), one plain pointed hat (black) for day wear and one winter cloak (black, silver fastenings).
Rebekah was convinced that the next shop they went into would be the best one of all. Flourish and Blotts - a wizarding bookshop!
Her jaw dropped as they entered. Black books, silver books, plain books, sparkly books, leather covers, silk covers, spell books, fictional books, huge books, books as small as a postage stamp.
She stroked the spines of an entire row of Gilderoy Lockheart books. He must be remarkable, she thought, to have written so many books. Break with a Banshee. Gadding with Ghouls. Hags, trolls, vampires, werewolves, yetis, all creatures that were supposed to be myths - and yet here they were, in the section marked Defence Against the Dark Arts. Non-fiction. All true.
She tugged her school list out of her pocket and skimmed down the page.
Set Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Bests and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
The manager hurried towards them.
“Hello,” he said brightly. “Hogwarts already? Excellent, excellent! Oh, may I congratulate you on being my first customers for Hogwarts for two years? We sold students books last year, but they weren’t off to Hogwarts, it just wasn’t the same… This way, this way! Years?”
“I’m fifth; my brother’s second; our cousin’s first,” Owen answered promptly.
“Excellent, excellent, what a wonderful range of years!” he cried, scurrying along a row of books, plucking two from the left and one a little further right. He plopped their copies of The Standard Book of Spells into their waiting hands and clasped his own together. “Next?”
They made their way through Rebekah’s booklist and found Owen a new Rune dictionary, whatever that was. All too soon, it was time to leave. They paid for the books and returned to the hustle and bustle outside.
Soon, Rebekah was loaded with a pewter cauldron, brass scales, a telescope, a full set of glass phials and a pair of protective dragon hide gloves. She hadn’t been to keen on the idea at first - she would wear leather, but that was because she ate the animal anyway; it wasn’t just killed for its skin - but her cousins reassured her that all the dragon hide was taken from those who had died from perfectly natural causes.
There was only one thing left.
The shop took her breath away. It was narrow and shabby with peeling gold letters over the door. A purple cushion lay in the window, showing off a single item. A large wooden sign was propped up against the wall, declaring that it was now reopen for business.
She stepped through the door of Ollivanders. A tinkling bell rang in the distance. The six of them crowded into the small room, lowering their purchases to the floor by a small, rickety old chair. Thousands upon thousands of little boxes lines three and three quarters of the four walls.
“Welcome,” said a voice from the doorway at the back. It belonged to an old man with pale eyes and a deeply lined face. He was clutching a small stack of the little boxes. He slipped them into a space on the empty shelves, carefully patting them into a straight, tall line, before turning back to them.
“Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander,” said Annie. “It’s so good to see you again. How have you been?”
“Oh, not bad, not bad, my dear,” he murmured. “I finally finished moving all the wands here from the cave - had to do it by hand, didn’t want to risk any more damage - and then there was sorting out the broken stock, boxing them all up again… And, as you can see, my dear, I haven’t even finished organising them onto my shelves. I wanted to do it myself rather than use magic, you see.”
And then, quite without warning, he widened his eyes.
“Acacia, eleven inches, unicorn tail hair, supple. Unusual wood, surpassed itself for charms, did it not?” He shifted his gaze to Owen. “Fig wood, ten and a half inches, very bendy, also a unicorn hair.”
He turned his scrutiny onto Jackie. “I don’t believe I’ve sold you a wand…”
“I’m a Muggle,” she answered apologetically.
“Oh, but you must be a Squib - the resemblance between yourself and Miss Neckworth here is most prominent. The nose, the eye shape…”
“My mother was,” Jackie answered, looking rather intimidated. “I’m Anneline’s cousin. But my daughter here is a witch, looking to buy her wand.”
He spun to face Bekah and gave a little gasp. “Name?” he demanded.
“R-Rebekah,” she stuttered. “Rebekah Miller.”
“And surely you are related to Adalia Neckworth?”
Rebekah blinked. “Yes. She was my great-aunt.”
“Ahhhh, yes… I have always thought the Neckworth genes to be exceedingly strong, you know. I went to school with Adalia… it is uncanny how much you look like her.”
“Um, thank you.”
He turned almost reluctantly to Michael who shifted uncomfortably.
“And you are?”
“Michael Cauldwell,” he muttered, hoping he would be passed by. He had no such luck.
“Ah, indeed. You are a first year also?”
Michael drew himself up to his full height, barely taller than Rebekah. “No. Second,” he informed Ollivander, rather bravely, in Bekah’s opinion.
“I did not sell you your wand,” Ollivander whispered accusingly. “So many second years without good quality wands… I must remember to visit the school. Highly unorthodox, but fully necessary. Not a single year of students must be allowed to proceed with substandard wands. It simply will not do. I shall start with yours. Take it out.”
Ollivander grasped the slender length of wood. “Hornbeam… 14 inches… utterly inflexible… and dragon heartstring. I’d recognise Machiavelli’s work anywhere. A fine lad, but so much to learn… He’s done well here. I’d have thought you’d favour a slightly shorter wand, but I can see that you two work exceedingly well together, it’s no wonder it chose you. No need for a new one, boy, you’ve a fine friend in that wand.”
He surrendered it to its owner and peered past him into the gloom. “And you… you were only three years old, I believe, when you were last in here. You are most definitely a Cauldwell, child, although I confess that you and your brothers are the only ones to have passed through my doors with that most distinctive shade of brown hair…”
He turned back to Rebekah. “But time passes, my dear girl. We must find you a wand!”
From his pocket, he drew a long, black tape measure with silver markings. “Wand arm?”
“I - erm - I’m not sure if I have a wand arm, sir.”
His eyebrows rose gracefully into his hair. “They both appear to be attached, girl. Which one do you use?”
“Well, I suppose I write with my right hand…”
“Hold out your arm.” He proceeded to measure her in all manner of ways: from elbow to fingertip, armpit to knee, around the head. By the time Bekah noticed that the tape measure, measuring her eyelashes, was flitting about all by itself, Ollivander was darting from shelf to shelf.
“Stop that nonsense,” he said sharply. Rebekah jumped, before realising that he had been talking to the tape measure, which zoomed back to his pocket. “Here, Miss Miller. Beechwood and unicorn hair. Ten inches. Rigid. Wave it around for me, dear.”
She took the wand and, feeling rather silly, gave it a little wave. Mr Ollivander whisked it from her hand and tossed it onto the little chair.
She must have tried fifty wands. Each time, Ollivander banished it to the chair. She was feeling incredibly stupid. She was sure there was some kind of mistake - what if she wasn’t a witch after all? Or was she simply waving it wrong? Would she get to Hogwarts and find herself the class dunce?
“Don’t worry, dear girl, don’t worry… we’ve had longer sessions before! Mr Potter tried two hundred and sixty-seven wands before we found the right one, you know!”
He scuttled away into the back and came out with four more boxes.
“All acacia. Very rare wood for wands. I’ve sold seven in the past sixty years. These all contain a single phoenix feather.”
He opened the boxes and handed the first to her. And the second. And the third. Nothing happened.
And then she took the fourth. A feeling like cool rain washed over her. She felt calm and in control. Her worries melted away. A small, contented smile crept onto her face.
“It’s the one, isn’t it?” asked Annie.
Bekah turned to her and beamed.
“Well, give it a wave!”
She traced a wide, sweeping curve in the air. A sheet of water drifted from her wand tip, sparkling like a waterfall and fading. She gazed at it, entranced.
Magic.
____________________________________________________________
Rebekah is, as always, dedicated to Rebekah. I have used many names here from many wonderful people.
This is completely un-beta'd.
Chapter: Magic
Rating: General
Setting: Post-HBP
Words: 4,571
Summary:
From its claws, she gently took a heavy envelope hand-addressed in emerald green ink.
This was the dawn of a new era; the dawn of a new generation, free from fear.
Rebekah is discovering her new world. It is tattered, bruised and bleeding from a terrible war. She must watch - and help - it heal while discovering her past, present and future.
The prelude to this story can be found here.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
____________________________________________________________
“I know very little, Rebekah,” Jaqueline said. “Mother married a Muggle. She couldn’t bear to live with magic, poor thing.
“A Muggle is a person with no magic, like most of your family. Magic is a strong gene: you can get Muggle-borns, a magical child with no previous magical blood; and if a witch or wizard marries a Muggle, their children are very rarely non-magical.”
“So if magic is usually passed on, how did you and Grandma come to have none? Is it a magical disease or something?” Rebekah queried.
“It’s no disease - but it’s a shocking thing when a child of an all-magic family is born with none. Such a person is called a Squib, and to discover that they will never perform the magic they once took for granted is a difficult thing to accept. They go to high school, get Muggle jobs, lead Muggle lives. Some resent their families; others just can’t bear to see them too much. There are some who keep strong ties with their roots of course, but not always. Your Grandma was the sort to not spend time with her family - except for her sister Adie, she was a witch and they spent a lot of time together.”
“What?” Rebekah spluttered. “Great-Auntie Adie? And I… I…”
“Yes, dear. You’re a witch too.”
***
According to her letter, a “representative” would be coming to the house that afternoon to explain everything. It seemed that they thought Rebekah was Muggle-born - which, technically, she was - as they did not keep records of Squibs’ children, and certainly not Squibs’ grandchildren.
As Rebekah’s mother told her of all her encounters with magic, they were also trying to decide what to say to Rebekah’s father. He had been phoned and asked to come home at the appointed time. It was about Rebekah’s new high school, he knew, but they didn’t know what else they could say. It was lucky, they decided, that this “representative” would be coming, because he or she would no doubt be trained in breaking such difficult news to the parents of Muggle-borns. They would need all the help they could get to convince her father.
The letter said three o’clock. Rebekah’s father was late, of course; he was late for everything. At seventeen minutes past three, there was a knock at the door. Jacqueline and her daughter raced to answer it. Standing there was a sandy-haired young man in a Muggle suit and tie despite the summer heat. He stuck his chest and carefully-manicured hand out.
“You’re the Millers? Excellent. I’m Charles Andrews, dreadfully sorry I’m late, terrible hold up at the office. I trust you were expecting me? Good. Ah, thank you. No, I’ve an inbuilt Cooling Charm - but of course you won’t know what that is, will you? Hmm? Oh!”
For what seemed like the first time, the blustering man paused for breath.
“You - you know? I was, erm, under the impression that Rebekah was Muggle-born…”
“Oh, she is, she is,” her mother said breezily. She didn’t like this self-assured man. “I’m a Muggle. Her father’s a Muggle. Her grandparents are Muggles. Would you like tea?”
“I - I suppose so -”
“Milk? Sugar?”
I had to hand it to Jaqueline, she could talk the hind legs of a donkey if she wanted to, and she certainly had a donkey in front of her.
“Erm -”
The front door slammed. “I’m home! What’s this about, then Jackie?”
And that’s when things dissolved into chaos.
***
“Anneline, hello!” called Jackie. Following her directions, she and Rebekah had stood opposite the old record store and held hands so she could see the Leaky Cauldron. Now they were inside it, heading towards a woman who looked remarkably like her except for the shock of curly black hair and a dress sense nothing like Rebekah had ever seen before. Clearly it was normal, however; everyone else was wearing the same long, baggy dresses that had to be what her school supply list called robes.
A little girl darted up to her. She had a very serious expression on her face and bright pink hair. She drew herself up to her full height (which was around the bottom of Rebekah’s ribcage) to say something that Rebekah expected to be very important.
“Are you Bekah?” the little girl asked.
Rebekah grinned. “Yeah, I’m Bekah. What’s your name?”
“Kimberly Anna Carrie Cauldwell,” she said, punctuating each word with a bounce. “But you can call me Kim.” She grabbed Rebekah’s hand and dragged her through the tables to the others.
Anneline released Jackie from a hug and turned to Rebekah. “You must be Rebekah! I’m your - erm - first cousin once removed? Yes, I think that’s right. I haven’t seen you since you were christened. Well, come over here, sit down! Call me Annie. You’ve met Kim, she’s seven - this is Michael, he’s about to start his second year at Hogwarts, he’s twelve -”
“Thirteen next month,” he interrupted.
“ - yes, dear, and this is Owen. He’s fifteen, starting his fifth year -”
“That’s Year 11, Bekah,” Jackie put in.
“And he’s a prefect!” Kim announced proudly. “Which means he’s really nice and he’ll help you find your lessons and he won’t turn your hair pink!”
“Well it’s your favourite colour!” Michael protested, “and you’re always moaning about your hair -”
“It is not my favourite colour!” she shrieked, diving for him.
“That’s enough!” snapped their mother.
Michael and Kim sat down rapidly, looking contrite.
“Michael, don’t you ever feed your sister a Weasley sweet again. Kimberly, you are not to scream like that, we’re in a respectable place! What must Jaqueline and Rebekah think of you, fighting away? This Rebekah’s first experience of the Wizarding world and you must not spoil it. Do you understand?”
They mumbled their apologies, but Rebekah was brimming with excitement as she watched Annie draw out her wand - a real magic wand! - and tap Kim’s head. The mass of neon pink vanished and in its place appeared a long head of hair, curled as tightly as Annie’s but in Rebekah’s own shade of dark brown.
She decided she liked this new world.
Her world.
***
After a lunch of a curious stew and a strange but surprisingly tasty drink called pumpkin juice, Bekah stood with her new family by a dustbin behind the Leaky Cauldron.
Annie rested her hand on her youngest son’s shoulder. “You have your wand now, Michael. You do it.”
From the way Annie and Owen smiled as Michael walked towards the bin, Bekah could tell that Michael was being admitted into some sort of family tradition. What the rubbish had to do with anything, she had no idea, but she didn’t care.
Her cousin drew his wand. “Three up, two across,” he said, counting the bricks on the wall above the bin. He tapped it three times with the tip of his slender length of wood, and Rebekah’s jaw dropped as the brick trembled slightly. A small hold appeared - it grew - it grew - and they were standing in front of a large archway.
“Welcome to Diagon Alley,” Michael said, stepping through into the busy street beyond.
The group followed him into the street. Bekah instantly wondered if she would be able to learn to become an animal. She wanted the spider’s eight eyes.
The closest shop sold cauldrons. The sign outside told her that she’s be coming here for her pewter, standard size 2 cauldron. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be allowed a self-stirring one, but what about collapsible? Was that physically collapsible, or magically?
Beyond this, a shop claimed to sell Fabric ~ All Materials ~ All Colours ~ From 30 Knuts Per Yard. Reams upon reams of cloth hung, lay or floated outside. Some were plain, block colour, some were silk, and some had moving pictures on them.
The street was busy with all manner of people doing their shopping. A young woman was muttering to herself as she headed towards an apothecary. “Frog brains, two ounces - salamander blood, three litres - nine shrivelfigs…”
Beyond this, a group of boys were yelling and jumping around outside a shop selling brooms. Owen detached himself from the group and ran towards them, promising to meet up with his family after they’d been to Gringotts. Before Bekah could wonder what this was, the boys had dived on her cousin, yelling, “Quidditch is back on! Andrew’s Hufflepuff captain!”
Did they say Quidditch? What on earth was that? And what about this Hufflepuff thing? Had she heard them correctly?
She jogged to catch up with Michael, intent on asking him what was going on. They had stopped outside a large, white marble building.
“Gringotts,” Michael said. “The one, the only Wizarding bank. Just wait ‘til you see who runs it.”
They made their way up the bronze doors. Beside the entrance was a little creature in a uniform of red and gold.
“A goblin!” Michael said in delight, watching as her face cycled through curiosity, understanding and disgust to finally rest somewhere between fear and composure. “Everyone says that goblins are evil,” he continued as they entered the building, “but they’re just ruthless. Best people to guard your money, they are. You should try and steal something, you know. You’d only be up against - oh - dragons and a sphinx or two.”
“Dragons?” she hissed. “Sphinxes? They - they actually exist?”
He burst out laughing, following the others through engraved silver doors. “Of course! Don’t tell me you didn’t - oh, but you really didn’t, did you? Muggle-born, I keep forgetting…”
Their conversation ended abruptly as they stopped behind their mothers at a long counter that stretched the length of the biggest hall Bekah had ever seen, made entirely of marble. At least a hundred goblins were perched on high stools behind it, working away. Some were weighing coins on polished brass scales; others were writing in gigantic ledgers; yet more were studying jewels through eyeglasses, noting down flaws and sizes. Along the opposite wall were doors, doors and more doors. Goblins were leading people in and out of these.
“Could we exchange some Muggle money, please?” Annie asked the goblin they were in front of. “And then we’d like to go down to the Cauldwell safe, number one hundred and twenty-two.” She handed over a tiny gold key, engraved with Cauldwell ~ 122.
“Of course, madam,” the goblin said. “How much would you like to exchange?”
Five minutes later, Jackie was holding the bag of Wizarding money. “I haven’t seen these for ages,” she said. “Let’s see if I remember… the tiny ones here are knots, yes?”
“Knuts,” corrected Kim. “Twenty-nine to every silver one.”
“And the silver ones are Sickles. Seventeen to a gold Galleon?”
“Yep!” Kim beamed up at the goblin that their own had summoned. If goblins could raise their eyebrows - and Bekah wasn’t even sure they had any - this one would be. She could tell it wasn’t used to being smiled at like that.
They made their way to one of the doors. Instead of a spacious marble room, they found themselves in a dark stone tunnel. Flaming torches lined the walls, flickering ominously.
The goblin whistled twice and two small carts hurtled down from behind them on a track she hadn’t noticed. She leapt out of the way and followed Michael and Kim into one cart while Jackie and Annie climbed into the one in front.
“I should warn you two,” Annie said, “these things go incredibly fast.”
Without warning, the carts set off. Incredibly fast, Bekah decided, wasn’t quite good enough. She had never been on a rollercoaster, but it had to be slower than this.
The passageway sloped steeply. Left, right, middle fork, left - the cart had to have a mind of its own, because the goblin couldn’t be steering it, not at this pace. The air grew colder. They stopped just before an underground ravine and they followed the goblin out of the cart, through a small passageway. This, at least, wasn’t so damp. They were faced with a row of small doors with gold keyholes.
“These are some of the original safes,” Annie said. “The Cauldwells are a very old family; almost as old as the Neckworths.”
The Neckworths, Rebekah knew, were the family that they were related through. Jaqueline and Anneline were the granddaughters of Adair and Annaliesa Neckworth. When they were younger, they would spend a month every summer at their grandparents’ house. This went on until Jaqueline was 11, and clearly not a witch. The Neckworths would have been happy to continue having her, but Susan, Jackie’s mother, was sure that it would break her daughter’s heart, seeing her cousins learning magic and never being able to perform it herself.
When Bekah received her letter, Jackie wrote at once to her cousin to ask if she would take them to Diagon Alley. She had flatly turned down the representative’s offer.
Bekah grinned, remembering it.
“No thank you,” Jackie had said. “We don’t need help from someone who treats us like we’re stupid just because we’re Muggles.”
“But how on earth will you buy her school equipment?” the representative had asked.
“We’ll ask the Neckworths, of course.”
“The - the Neckworths? The Wizarding family?”
“Of course, you didn’t think we’d ask Muggles, did you? Anneline would be perfectly happy to help us in Diagon Alley, I’m sure. And don’t look so surprised I know about your little magical street, it’s not like I haven’t been there! Is Fortescue’s still open, the ice cream parlour? No? Really? Why would Death Eaters capture poor little Florean? Yes, I know Florean! Really, you act like I know nothing because I’m a Muggle despite the fact that you haven’t been taking in a word I’m saying.”
All in all, Rebekah had thought that it was a treat to hear her mother being so rude; she’d never, ever spoken like that to anyone in Bekah’s hearing before and certainly would have stopped Bekah from doing it herself.
They piled back in the carts, Annie’s moneybag now bulging with the money needed for her sons’ supplies. The cart ride was no less hasty despite the upward slope, and Bekah was sure they would crash into a cart coming the other way. But, although they saw one pelting across an icy lake, they arrived at the top without having any dangerous encounters with another cart.
When Jackie had explained her relationship with the Neckworths, she had given Bekah a brief history of the Wizarding world in the past thirty years. Bekah had listened in amazement as the tales of the two Wizarding wars unfolded.
After the death of Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the school had closed for a year. The Ministry had sent out booklists and details of what they needed to learn that year, and students had been home schooled, either learning from books themselves or being taught by their parents. The first to fifth years had each been given a day of the week to attend the Education Office at the Ministry of Magic to practice the magic they weren’t allowed to do at home. Sixth years who weren’t yet seventeen were now considered of age so they could cast spells at home. Muggle-borns’ homes had been connected to the Floo Network so they could get to the Ministry. End-of-year exams, including OWLs and NEWTs, took place there too.
All in all, it was a rather chaotic year. Beside all this, people were dying around them, and few Death Eaters were captured. Then, in June, Harry Potter and his friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had killed Lord Voldemort with a secret weapon that they had been hunting for the last year. Headlines everywhere had carried the news the next day.
VOLDEMORT VANQUISHED
In the early hours of this morning, the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, called a press conference in the Atrium of the Ministry. Expecting shocking war news, your reporter Rita Skeeter arrived instantly to bring you the latest. The message?
“You-Know-Who was tracked down to a currently undiscloseable location at around 11pm last night,” the Minister announced, appearing exhausted but triumphant. “Harry Potter, the “Chosen One” has indeed defeated You-Know-Who. He has been working with us for the past year, and we have aided him in his hunt.
“We urge the Wizarding world to celebrate: we may now call him Voldemort without fear!”
The article continued in that vein on page two. A copy of the Daily Prophet from the next day had carried yet more statements from Rufus Scrimgeour himself, along with news that he and Hermione Granger were residing with Ron Weasley at his family home in Ottery, St. Catchpole and that the two young people had been with him when he defeated Voldemort. Despite the fact that reporters claimed that they and the Weasleys were “unavailable for comment, no doubt resting after their heroic efforts”. But the location could never have been kept a secret from the reporters, and they discovered a concealed task force of Aurors, Obliviators, Unspeakables and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee members swarming over a cliff in the south-west of England. The newspaper also carried colourful life stories of all three young people and their troubles, handily glossing over Daily Prophet-induced miseries and rumours.
“Right!” announced Annie, turning left outside Gringotts after they had met up with Owen outside the bronze doors.. “Madam Malkin’s, I think.”
Because the school had been closed for the last year, Michael had never been to Hogwarts. Both he and Bekah needed their first set of robes.
They entered a shop every bit as colourful as the fabric seller’s. There seemed to be a sale going on for robes with moving patterns; Bekah caught a glimpse of broomsticks - there had to be more to those than cleaning; maybe they rode them, like in stories? - little gold balls with wings, feathers and lightening bolts.
A kindly witch whom Annie greeted as Madam Malkin beckoned them towards two stools. Slipping long robes over their heads, she began to pin, first Michael, then Rebekah. She tried not to squirm, but it was so difficult when there was such a lot to see!
Eventually she and Michael were each laden with three sets of plain work robes (black), one plain pointed hat (black) for day wear and one winter cloak (black, silver fastenings).
Rebekah was convinced that the next shop they went into would be the best one of all. Flourish and Blotts - a wizarding bookshop!
Her jaw dropped as they entered. Black books, silver books, plain books, sparkly books, leather covers, silk covers, spell books, fictional books, huge books, books as small as a postage stamp.
She stroked the spines of an entire row of Gilderoy Lockheart books. He must be remarkable, she thought, to have written so many books. Break with a Banshee. Gadding with Ghouls. Hags, trolls, vampires, werewolves, yetis, all creatures that were supposed to be myths - and yet here they were, in the section marked Defence Against the Dark Arts. Non-fiction. All true.
She tugged her school list out of her pocket and skimmed down the page.
Set Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Bests and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
The manager hurried towards them.
“Hello,” he said brightly. “Hogwarts already? Excellent, excellent! Oh, may I congratulate you on being my first customers for Hogwarts for two years? We sold students books last year, but they weren’t off to Hogwarts, it just wasn’t the same… This way, this way! Years?”
“I’m fifth; my brother’s second; our cousin’s first,” Owen answered promptly.
“Excellent, excellent, what a wonderful range of years!” he cried, scurrying along a row of books, plucking two from the left and one a little further right. He plopped their copies of The Standard Book of Spells into their waiting hands and clasped his own together. “Next?”
They made their way through Rebekah’s booklist and found Owen a new Rune dictionary, whatever that was. All too soon, it was time to leave. They paid for the books and returned to the hustle and bustle outside.
Soon, Rebekah was loaded with a pewter cauldron, brass scales, a telescope, a full set of glass phials and a pair of protective dragon hide gloves. She hadn’t been to keen on the idea at first - she would wear leather, but that was because she ate the animal anyway; it wasn’t just killed for its skin - but her cousins reassured her that all the dragon hide was taken from those who had died from perfectly natural causes.
There was only one thing left.
The shop took her breath away. It was narrow and shabby with peeling gold letters over the door. A purple cushion lay in the window, showing off a single item. A large wooden sign was propped up against the wall, declaring that it was now reopen for business.
She stepped through the door of Ollivanders. A tinkling bell rang in the distance. The six of them crowded into the small room, lowering their purchases to the floor by a small, rickety old chair. Thousands upon thousands of little boxes lines three and three quarters of the four walls.
“Welcome,” said a voice from the doorway at the back. It belonged to an old man with pale eyes and a deeply lined face. He was clutching a small stack of the little boxes. He slipped them into a space on the empty shelves, carefully patting them into a straight, tall line, before turning back to them.
“Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander,” said Annie. “It’s so good to see you again. How have you been?”
“Oh, not bad, not bad, my dear,” he murmured. “I finally finished moving all the wands here from the cave - had to do it by hand, didn’t want to risk any more damage - and then there was sorting out the broken stock, boxing them all up again… And, as you can see, my dear, I haven’t even finished organising them onto my shelves. I wanted to do it myself rather than use magic, you see.”
And then, quite without warning, he widened his eyes.
“Acacia, eleven inches, unicorn tail hair, supple. Unusual wood, surpassed itself for charms, did it not?” He shifted his gaze to Owen. “Fig wood, ten and a half inches, very bendy, also a unicorn hair.”
He turned his scrutiny onto Jackie. “I don’t believe I’ve sold you a wand…”
“I’m a Muggle,” she answered apologetically.
“Oh, but you must be a Squib - the resemblance between yourself and Miss Neckworth here is most prominent. The nose, the eye shape…”
“My mother was,” Jackie answered, looking rather intimidated. “I’m Anneline’s cousin. But my daughter here is a witch, looking to buy her wand.”
He spun to face Bekah and gave a little gasp. “Name?” he demanded.
“R-Rebekah,” she stuttered. “Rebekah Miller.”
“And surely you are related to Adalia Neckworth?”
Rebekah blinked. “Yes. She was my great-aunt.”
“Ahhhh, yes… I have always thought the Neckworth genes to be exceedingly strong, you know. I went to school with Adalia… it is uncanny how much you look like her.”
“Um, thank you.”
He turned almost reluctantly to Michael who shifted uncomfortably.
“And you are?”
“Michael Cauldwell,” he muttered, hoping he would be passed by. He had no such luck.
“Ah, indeed. You are a first year also?”
Michael drew himself up to his full height, barely taller than Rebekah. “No. Second,” he informed Ollivander, rather bravely, in Bekah’s opinion.
“I did not sell you your wand,” Ollivander whispered accusingly. “So many second years without good quality wands… I must remember to visit the school. Highly unorthodox, but fully necessary. Not a single year of students must be allowed to proceed with substandard wands. It simply will not do. I shall start with yours. Take it out.”
Ollivander grasped the slender length of wood. “Hornbeam… 14 inches… utterly inflexible… and dragon heartstring. I’d recognise Machiavelli’s work anywhere. A fine lad, but so much to learn… He’s done well here. I’d have thought you’d favour a slightly shorter wand, but I can see that you two work exceedingly well together, it’s no wonder it chose you. No need for a new one, boy, you’ve a fine friend in that wand.”
He surrendered it to its owner and peered past him into the gloom. “And you… you were only three years old, I believe, when you were last in here. You are most definitely a Cauldwell, child, although I confess that you and your brothers are the only ones to have passed through my doors with that most distinctive shade of brown hair…”
He turned back to Rebekah. “But time passes, my dear girl. We must find you a wand!”
From his pocket, he drew a long, black tape measure with silver markings. “Wand arm?”
“I - erm - I’m not sure if I have a wand arm, sir.”
His eyebrows rose gracefully into his hair. “They both appear to be attached, girl. Which one do you use?”
“Well, I suppose I write with my right hand…”
“Hold out your arm.” He proceeded to measure her in all manner of ways: from elbow to fingertip, armpit to knee, around the head. By the time Bekah noticed that the tape measure, measuring her eyelashes, was flitting about all by itself, Ollivander was darting from shelf to shelf.
“Stop that nonsense,” he said sharply. Rebekah jumped, before realising that he had been talking to the tape measure, which zoomed back to his pocket. “Here, Miss Miller. Beechwood and unicorn hair. Ten inches. Rigid. Wave it around for me, dear.”
She took the wand and, feeling rather silly, gave it a little wave. Mr Ollivander whisked it from her hand and tossed it onto the little chair.
She must have tried fifty wands. Each time, Ollivander banished it to the chair. She was feeling incredibly stupid. She was sure there was some kind of mistake - what if she wasn’t a witch after all? Or was she simply waving it wrong? Would she get to Hogwarts and find herself the class dunce?
“Don’t worry, dear girl, don’t worry… we’ve had longer sessions before! Mr Potter tried two hundred and sixty-seven wands before we found the right one, you know!”
He scuttled away into the back and came out with four more boxes.
“All acacia. Very rare wood for wands. I’ve sold seven in the past sixty years. These all contain a single phoenix feather.”
He opened the boxes and handed the first to her. And the second. And the third. Nothing happened.
And then she took the fourth. A feeling like cool rain washed over her. She felt calm and in control. Her worries melted away. A small, contented smile crept onto her face.
“It’s the one, isn’t it?” asked Annie.
Bekah turned to her and beamed.
“Well, give it a wave!”
She traced a wide, sweeping curve in the air. A sheet of water drifted from her wand tip, sparkling like a waterfall and fading. She gazed at it, entranced.
Magic.
____________________________________________________________
Rebekah is, as always, dedicated to Rebekah. I have used many names here from many wonderful people.
This is completely un-beta'd.