**Alex’s POV**
“Move, Alex!”
I tumble to the floor as my older, James, shoves me out of the way. I run after him outside to the field behind our house where all my brothers are getting into two teams to play soccer.
“Can I play?” I call, pulling my soccer boots on.
“No Alex!”
“You’re too little!”
“Tyler, please?” I appeal to my oldest brother. He glances at his twin, Michael.
“Al, you’re too small,” he says, squatting down in front of me.
“No I’m not!” I protest, “Noah and Nick are only one year older than me! And I’ve had a growth spurt, Mum said so!”
“Al, go back to the house!” Jacob says, shoving me back into the mud. I jump to my feet, trying to hold my tears back.
“I can play just as well as you!” I yell angrily.
“Alex, not today,” Michael says gently, “after this game Ty and I will play with you, okay? We’ll train you up real good.”
“But I want to play now!”
“You’re a baby!” James says. He kicks the ball at me as hard as he can. It hits me in the stomach and knocks me into the mud again. Tyler grabs him by the scruff of the neck while Michael helps me up. I pull away from him and run back to the house.
“Sweetie?” Mum calls from the kitchen. I ignore her and sprint upstairs to the bathroom. I’m covered in mud. My bright green eyes are standing out in the mud and my medium brown hair is covered up by my cap. I have brown freckles scattered over my nose. I’m just a kid.
“Alex, sweetie! Can you come down here please?” Mum calls. With a sigh I stomp downstairs. Mum and Dad are standing with a woman with dark hair pulled into a tight bun. She’s wearing a plain, dark green dress and is observing me over her glasses. Mum puts her hands on my shoulders.
“Al, this is Professor McGonagall,” she says, “she’s here to talk to us about a special school.”
Professor McGonagall smiles, but looks up at Mum.
“I’m here to see your daughter,” she says quietly.
“Oh... Uh... Umm...” Mum glances at Dad who smiles slightly and pulls my cap off, letting my hair fall down to my waist.
“Ah...” Professor McGonagall says, blushing, “my apologies.”
“No problem, I get it all the time,” I reply with a sigh.
“Well, let’s sit down, shall we?” Mum asks quickly, “would you like a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you,” McGonagall says. She looks expectantly at Dad.
“Alex, Professor McGonagall has come to tell us about a school,” he says slowly, “it’s called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
“What?”
“It’s a school of magic,” McGonagall puts in, “you’re a witch.”
“Magic doesn’t exist.”
She raises her eyebrows and pulls a stick out from the inside of her dress. She waves it and a shower of petals shoots from the room. As they float to the floor they turn into bubbles and pop.
“Wow...”
McGonagall gives a small smile and tucks the stick – her wand, I guess- back in her dress.
“I have already explained to your parents that you will be trained in the magical arts at Hogwarts,” McGonagall says, “it’s up to them and you to decide if you wish to attend or not.”
“You don’t have to, Al,” Mum says comfortingly, “it’s a boarding school, so you’ll be away from us all, from all the boys, for a lot of the time.”
I think of my brothers. How most of them push me around and don’t let me play soccer because I’m a girl.
“I want to go,” I say firmly. Mum and Dad exchange a glance over my head.
“Are you sure?” Dad asks, “you know you’re quite shy and get homesick easily.”
“I have to learn to be independent,” I say bravely, “and I can’t do that with fourteen brothers!”
“Fourteen?” McGonagall asks, raising her eyebrows in surprise, “and you’re the youngest?”
“Youngest and only girl,” Mum sighs, “it’s hard.”
“Mum,” I groan, blushing. She gives me the “Well? It is!” look and I roll my eyes.
“Well, if that’s your decision,” McGonagall hands me a letter. I open it and find a list of equipment I need and a train ticket.
“Platform nine and three quarters?” I ask.
“Someone will be there to escort you onto the platform,” McGonagall says.
“Where can we get all this stuff?” I ask, “I don’t know anywhere that sells potions or wands.”
“I will take you to Diagon Alley,” McGonagall says, “you will find everything you need there.”
I look up at Mum and Dad.
“I definitely want to go,” I tell them. Mum nods, looking tearful.
“Well, term starts in two days,” McGonagall says, “we should go to Diagon Alley now. I have to see some other families.”
“Alright, one second,” Mum says, walking over to the back door, “TY!”
Tyler comes jogging up, covered in mud.
“Yeah?” he pants.
“We’re going out for a while,” Mum says, “half an hour more, then bring everyone back inside and make sure they all shower. And don’t you dare get mud on the carpet!”
“Righto,” Tyler says, jogging off again.
“Do you have a car?” McGonagall asks Dad.
“Of course,” he says, looking as if she’s insane.
“I’ve never bothered,” she says, “lots of wizarding families do, they find it easier to blend in, but I just apparate.”
“What?” I ask. She ignores me as Dad leads the way to the van. I climb in and sit right at the back. There’re four rows, each with three seats, so when the whole family is in here we don’t all get a seatbelt and it’s very squishy.
“Where exactly are we going?” Dad asks, sounding slightly nervous. McGonagall is looking as if she doesn’t trust the car at all.
“East London,” she says, gripping the arm rest tightly. I sit back in my seat and look down the list of things I need.
“What are broomsticks used for?” I ask, “and why can’t first years have them?”
“They’re used for flying,” McGonagall answers, “mainly Quidditch. And first years can’t have them because most of them can’t fly.”
“What’s Quidditch?”
“A wizarding sport.”
“And we can bring a pet?”
“Yes. An owl, a cat or a toad. Most children bring an owl, because they deliver the post. Rarely does anyone bring a toad.”
I lapse into silence. I’d like an owl. A tiny, brown owl with amber eyes.
“Right here,” McGonagall says. I climb out of the car and look around.
“There,” she says, pointing to a small, dingy looking pub.
“What?” Mum asks, looking confused.
“They can’t see it,” McGonagall explains, “because they’re muggles.”
She holds the door open for us and I step inside.
The interior is dimly lit. Witches and wizards of all different ages are scattered around, drinking and talking. In one corner a witch is smoking a pipe from which light purple smoke is rising.
“This way,” McGonagall says. I reach for Mum’s hand. She and Dad are looking around in astonishment.
We follow McGonagall out another door and find ourselves in a small alcove. McGonagall taps her wand against a brick and the wall melts away, revealing a bustling street. Everyone here is wearing long, brightly coloured robes and lots are wearing tall, pointed hats. I can see a range of children carrying spell books, cauldrons, parchment and ink around and wonder how many of them will be my classmates. Most of them look a lot older than me. I shy into Mum, holding her hand tightly, as McGonagall leads us along the road.
“We’ll go to Gringotts first,” she calls over her shoulder, “where you can exchange muggle money for wizard money.”
“Isn’t this fascinating?” Dad asks, staring into the shop windows as we pass, “all this time I thought magic didn’t exist.”
We walk up the steps of a huge, white marble building. There’s something written on the door, but I don’t stop to read it as McGonagall shoots right through.
“This way!” She calls. I look around and gasp.
Goblins. Everywhere.
“Mummy?” I squeak. She too is looking shocked.
“You can exchange your money here,” McGonagall says, gesturing to a counter behind which a stern looking goblin is seated, “then you can find everything you need in the alley. You can leave through the Leaky Cauldron.”
“You’re going now?” I exclaim.
“I have other families to see,” she replies, “we had a late start this year. I will see you at Hogwarts on the first of September.”
I watch open mouthed as she walks back through the bank. As she reaches the doors a large family of red heads come bustling in. Mum and Dad are talking to the goblin, so I watch the family. I don’t think they’re a muggle family, since they’re all wearing robes. I count four boys and a girl.
“Now, you lot stay here with your father,” their mother instructs, walking over to a goblin.
“Look Daddy! Muggles!” the young girl cries, tugging at her father’s robes. He looks over at us and I feel my cheeks heat up.
“Goodness!” the man exclaims, “she must be a muggle-born! I wonder if I have time to ask-”
“Better not, Dad,” one of the boys says, “Mum won’t be happy if you get into another long conversation about chew toys.”
“Fred is right, Father,” another boy, the oldest by the looks, “besides, we’re running short of time. Fred and George both need wands and they’re sure to take an age to get.”
“Yes, well, we’ll get those last,” the father says, looking at two of the boys who I realise are twins, “I don’t want you two making trouble.”
The boys exchange a grin and I give a little shiver. They remind me of James and Jason, two of my older brothers.
“Come on, Alex,” Mum says, tugging on my hand, “let’s see what we can find. Have you got your list?”
I hold it out to her.
“How about we get parchment, quills and ink then your wand,” she suggests, “less to carry that way.”
“Ok,” I say, glancing again at the family. The twins are talking together, their heads leaning close. The little girl is arguing with the youngest of the boys and the eldest boy is smoothing his robes down.
“Right,” Mum stands on the top of the steps, staring down the alley, “right.”
I stare down the street and sigh. It’ll take us forever to find everything.
“It’s alright, dear,” Mum says, “we’ll figure it out.”
“We’re lost,” Dad comments.
I look around at the shops around me and spot a cauldron.
“Look!” I cry, pointing at it. Mum and Dad sigh with relief and we stumble into the shop.
“First year?” the attendant asks, bustling over. I nod, gazing around me.
“Pewter,” he says, holding out a small cauldron, “four galleons, seven sickles.”
“Umm,” Mum looks into the money bag, frowning.
“Muggles, eh?” the man asks with a laugh, “four of the gold ones and seven silver.”
Mum counts out the proper amount and hands it over.
“Thanks,” the man says.
“Umm, do you know…” I trail off, blushing. The man raises his eyebrows and I try again.
“Do you know where to get the potion ingredients?” I ask.
“Right next door,” the man replies, “shop on the right.”
“Thank you so much,” Mum sighs, taking my hand. I carry the cauldron and follow Mum and Dad into the next shop. I crinkle my nose as we step inside. It stinks! While Mum and Dad find the ingredients, I look through the other barrels. I’m gazing at a barrel of eel eyes near the window when something catches my eye. I look up and see the twins from before waving at me. I blush and give a little wave back before retreating to my parents.
“Right,” Mum looks down at my list as we come out of the parchment shop, “we just need your wand.”
“Mummy, can I get an owl?” I ask, “please? Can I?”
Mum exchanges a look with Dad who shrugs.
“I suppose so,” Mum smiles, “as a congratulations present.”
“Thank you!” I squeal, throwing my arms around her.
“I want a tiny, little owl,” I say as we walk down to the pet shop and push open the door. Inside is dark and smells warm and alive. I look through the owls, searching for a brown owl with amber eyes. I jump as an owl hoots at me. I stare at it and it stares back.
It’s huge. It’s about the size of my abdomen.
“That’s a great grey owl,” the shop assistant tells me, “the biggest species of owl in the world. He’s still growing.”
“I want this one,” I tell Mum, reaching out to stroke him. He gives my finger a soft nip and hoots in a low tone.
“Are you sure?” Mum asks apprehensively, “he’s already pretty big and he’s going to grow more. Are you sure you don’t want a smaller owl?”
“Positive,” I say, “I definitely want him. I’m going to call him Archibald.”
Mum and Dad exchange a smile.
“We don’t have any cages big enough for that guy,” the assistant says, “but he’ll be fine on your arm. Just leave the window open at night and he’ll go out hunting.”
“He won’t get lost, will he?” I ask anxiously. The assistant laughs.
“You could let him go now and when you got home he’d be waiting for you,” he replies, “they have an amazing sense of direction. One of the reasons that they’re so popular with the Hogwarts kids.”
“Thank you so much,” I say as we leave after the shop assistant gave me a run down on how to care for Archibald properly.
“If you have any problems send me an owl!” he chuckles, waving us off.
“Right, now for your wand,” Mum says, eyeing Archibald. I sigh. He’s heavy on my arm.
“Hey!” I gasp as he takes off, “come back!”
“Don’t worry,” a young witch says, “he’ll find his way home.”
“He’s never been there!” I cry, staring at the sky.
“It’s okay,” the witch smiles, “really. He won’t get lost. He’s well trained.”
I look at her doubtfully and she laughs.
“Trust me,” she says soothingly, “he’ll be fine.”
I watch her walk away and sigh.
“I hope you’re right,” I murmur.
“Where do we get a wand?” Dad asks, looking around.
“Come on boys, off to Ollivanders!”
It’s the red-haired family from Gringotts.
“Finally!” one of the twins exclaims, “we can get our wands!”
“Excellent!” his brother agrees.
“Let’s follow them,” I suggest to Mum and Dad.
We walk along the slightly less crowded street, keeping the family in sight. This isn’t a difficult task, as their hair is like a marker. They turn onto a little alley way and I see a huge sign saying OLLIVANDER’S.
“Percy, mind Ron and Ginny outside,” the parents say, “come on you two.”
“Come on,” Mum says, giving my hand a squeeze.
Dad pushes open the shop door and the little family look around and their faces break into smiles.
“New to Hogwarts too, dear?” their mother asks me. I nod shyly.
“I’m Molly Weasley,” she introduces herself to my parents, “and this is my husband, Arthur, and two of my boys, Fred and George.”
“Pleasure,” Dad says, “I’m Joshua Cohen and this is my wife, Alice, and our little Alex.”
“Good afternoon.”
I leap out of my skin as a man with long, white hair and huge, silver eyes appears from the dark interior of the shop.
“I am Mr Ollivander,” he says, his voice soft and calming, “ah, two more Weasleys. And a muggle-born! Excellent, excellent. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
I watch him collect a pile of long, thin boxes and place them on the counter.
“Line up,” he instructs us.
I adjust my cap slightly and take my spot next to the two boys. Mr Ollivander hands us each a wand. The two boys waves theirs and I copy.
“No,” Mr Ollivander cries, snatching them back, “try these.”
I take the wand. It’s short, only about nine inches long. It feels uncomfortable in my hand and I’m relieved as Mr Ollivander takes it back. The next one he hands me is very thin and feels like, if I gripped it too tightly, it would snap in two.
“No, no, no!”
Mr Ollivander replaces it with a thick, black wand, which is quickly replaced by a pale, slender one.
“Oh!” one of the twins cries as bright purple stars shoots from his wand.
“Perfect!” Mr Ollivander crows, “let’s find one for these two!”
He pushes wand after wand into my hand. The pile of boxes is growing and I’m beginning to feel doubtful that I’ll ever find a wand. Maybe I’m not really a witch. Maybe it was all a mistake.
“Wow!” the other twin’s wand fires gold leaves into the air. I watch jealously as Mr Ollivander carefully wraps the wand and hands it to him in a box.
“I suppose we’ll see you in a couple of days,” Mrs Weasley says, smiling.
“See you!” the twins chorus, each clutching his new wand close to his chest.
“Bye,” I smile.
I sigh and turn back to Mr Ollivander.
Please let me find one soon!
“Maple with dragon heartstring core,11 ½ inches, surprisingly swishy,” Mr Ollivander says, handing me a wand. I take it and feel heat shoot up my arm. A flock of birds fly out the end and swoop out the window. I sigh with relief as Mr Ollivander’s face breaks into a smile.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur as I’m sitting in the car on the way home. I have my wand out, lying across my lap, staring at the pale, creamy brown of the wood, running my fingers over it.
“Now, no cursing your brothers,” Mum smiles. I smile back at her.
“No promises,” I laugh.
When we walk into the house Noah and Nick come flying down the stairs.
“Mum! Dad!” they yell, “there’s a bird in our room! It’s huge!”
“Archibald?” I exclaim, sprinting upstairs. I fling the door of the room that Lucas, Oliver, Samuel, Noah, Nick and I share. Archibald is sitting on the window sill grooming his feathers. I run over to him and stroke his stomach. He closes his eyes lazily.
“He’s yours?” Noah asks nervously from the door. He and Nick are peeping inside, looking shocked.
“His name is Archibald,” I tell them, “and he’s my owl.”
They stare at me as if I’ve gone insane.
“Downstairs you lot,” Tyler says, catching Noah around the shoulders, “Mum and Dad want to have a talk.”
I put Archibald on my shoulder and carry him downstairs. I sit in between Nick and Tyler and look around at my family. Out of habit we’re sitting in age order from Tyler through to me. Mum and Dad are sitting opposite me.
“Today,” Mum says, “something unbelievable has happened.”
I feel tears fill my eyes as she explains what I am. Archibald gives me a little nip on the ear.
“She’s a witch?” James’ voice cuts through the silence after Mum finishes, “a witch?”
“Cool,” Tyler grins, “better not get her angry, James, she might turn you into a frog.”
James smirks at me as if to say “in her dreams”. I glare at him, but don’t say anything.
“So, she’s leaving,” Jason says, “for good?”
“Just for school time,” Mum says, “she’ll be home for holidays.”
“Damn,” James sneers.
I bite down hard, wishing I could turn him into a frog. Mum sighs.
“Right, bed time,” she says, “it’s been a long day.”
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So, what do you think so far? Thanks for reading!