Finding the Magic (a Clexa hogwarts au)

Diagon Alley

The next morning, Clarke woke up in a completely different fashion than the day before. She bolted upright, grasping frantically for the letter on her nightstand, just to make sure it wasn't a dream. She felt the thick parchment between her fingers, rubbing her thumb over the broken wax seal which once showed the proud crest of her new school. Smiling slightly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching. Luckily today was her mother's day off, and Abby would be taking Clarke to the magical Diagon Alley in order to purchase her school supplies. Clarke wanted to get going right away, but she knew Abby was miffed about the events of yesterday afternoon...

The sunlight streamed into Clarke's room. She absentmindedly paced around, tracing the bright green ink on the paper, still convincing herself it was real. It was only a few minutes later when Clarke heard movement in the room next door. She's awake, Clarke thought giddily. Mom must be excited, too. She never wakes up this early on her day off. Clarke bounded down the steps to start making breakfast for herself and her mother.

The smell of pancakes with a dash of cinnamon filled the kitchen by the time Abby plodded down the steps and into the room. She smiled tiredly, closing her eyes and taking a deep whiff.

Clarke returned the smile and focused her attention back onto the griddle. She scooped off the remaining pancakes and set the plate onto the table, where two placemats were already waiting. The two dug into the pancakes, too enveloped in the taste to talk much. After what seemed like forever to Clarke, both plates were empty and it was nearly time to leave. Clarke rushed around the kitchen, cleaning up. She sprinted upstairs and grabbed envelope and all of its contents.

Riding in the passenger seat of her mom's car, Clarke stared wistfully out the window, asking herself unanswerable questions in rapid-fire succession. What kinds of people will I meet? Will they like me? Will they be like me? Will I find out answers about my dad? Will I do well in my classes? Will I make friends? The questions continued until the car reached downtown London and the two piled out of the car. They were in an old, somewhat sketchy part of the city. Many of the shops were closed. Clarke followed her mother across the street to one such shop. Then, right before her eyes, a name shimmered onto the sign.

The Leaky Cauldron was spelled out in shaky gold lettering on top of peeling black paint. You've got to be kidding me, Clarke groaned inwardly. Some sketchy-ass shop in some sketchy-ass part of town is supposed to be the gate to the world of magic?

Abby patted Clarke's shoulder reassuringly, guessing what Clarke was thinking. She pulled ahead and led Clarke into the dingy tavern. A faint voice at the back of Clarke's mind told her that this wasn't her mother's first time doing this. Although she was a muggle (Abby had taught her that word the night before), Abby clearly had experienced many things because of her husband.

As Clarke stepped into the room, her face relaxed and her mouth dropped open. The sign had not been misleading; the tavern was smoky and dirty, the tables layered in the grime of what was most likely hundreds of years of magical folk sitting at them, sharing tales of their adventures or average lives. There wasn't anything special about the place, and that is what made it special.

Abby entered after her, and walked confidently up to the bartender. Her body language told Clarke that her mother knew the man. Although they were whispering, Clarke could make out a few words. "No wand... ...Entrance... ... First year... ... Jake... ... Gringotts..." Clarke understood all of the words except for one: Gringotts. Clarke decided she would ask her mother about it later.

After a few minutes of their hushed conversation, the man led the Griffins out back. There, a tall wall towered over the three of them. He took out his wand. Clarke's eyes gazed hungrily at its soft curves and the hint of something glowing poking out at the tip. The wand was clearly quite old. It had scuff marks and scratches. The dark wood had been worn down so much that Clarke could barely tell where the shaft ended and the handle began. The bartender tapped the wand onto specific stones, a peculiar gesture.