The rain pounded the bus window, driving away the summer sun. Hera tried not to breathe in the musty smell of the old man sitting next to her while she gazed out the window at passing cars. She was thinking about what she always thought about on the bus to Greta’s. Her mother. Greta and Larissa had been sisters.
Whenever Hera came across one of Miranda’s friends, they would give her pitying, sympathetic glances. “Not a motherly influence in her life before Miranda came along. Poor dear,” they would whisper. But Miranda was nothing like a mother to her, and nothing at all like she thought a mother should be. And what Miranda’s friends didn’t know was that she had managed to stumble upon a motherly influence.
It had taken her quite a while to figure out Greta even existed. After Edward forbade her to go to Hogwarts, he watched her closely for almost a year. When he was satisfied in his assumption that she had gotten over it, he stopped and she began researching, snooping around, to find anything about her mother’s side of the family. One day when she was about fourteen and she was home alone, she picked the lock and went into her father’s room.
After scouring the room for any trace, she was about to leave, when her foot came down onto a loose floorboard. Since Edward was quite the perfectionist, there had to be a specific reason for the loose board. Maybe a secret hiding place? Under the floorboard there were dozens of letters, most of which were sent by people with the last names Greengrass (her mother’s maiden name) and Cauldwell. She had managed to contact Greta Cauldwell, and had been in correspondence with her ever since.
The bus rolled to a stop and Hera hurriedly got off, eager to get away from the smelly old man. Grateful that she had thought to bring an umbrella, she opened it and set off down the road. Cars sped past, driving through puddles and splashing her mercilessly. Soon she was thoroughly soaked from the waist down, her trainers squelching when she walked. Hera continued along the road for several minutes, before turning off onto a beaten down path on the edge of a large field.
The walk along the path to Greta’s took about twenty minutes. It mostly passed through fields, but occasionally there was a bit of forest or some rocks. But finally, a house appeared in the distance and she broke into a jog, careful not to slip on the wet grass.
The house looked like it had once been comfortable and homely, but now it looked terribly forlorn. It needed a new coat of paint, and the back garden was overgrown. How beautiful it would be if the Wizarding World wasn’t at war...
The front door of the house flew open and a woman appeared on the front step. “Hurry on, love! You’ll catch a cold! And I shouldn’t like to keep this door open too long!” she called.
Hera closed her umbrella and stepped into the warm porch. “Lo, Greta,” she grunted, hauling off her trainers. Her socks began making small puddles on the floor.
The first time she had met Greta, she had received a lecture on using the term ‘aunt’. Greta insisted there were no formalities for family.
“Evening, love. Had a safe trip?” Greta asked, as she always did.
“I took a bus, Greta. Do you think You-Know-Who’s going to blast a bus right off the street?”
“It’s been done before,” she replied sternly. “Now, into the house with you!”
She pulled off her socks and Greta dried her wet jeans with a flick of her wand. Then, she was wrapped tightly in a blanket and sat at the kitchen table. She watched as Greta proceeded to make tea.
Greta seemed older every time Hera saw her. Her once full head of brown hair was streaked with grey. Deep lines of stress were carved into her face and her eyes had lost their lively spark. She was short and crumpled-looking, but she had once been the beauty of the Greengrass family.
“Now, let’s hear the reason you came over,” Greta said with a small smile, placing two mugs of tea on the table.
Hera took a mouthful of her scalding tea and began. “Well, father was having another one of his garden parties. I had to wear a stupid dress, so I sat behind a bush. Anyway, I ended up running over to the Old Wood-”
Greta cut her off. “You what? You went out in the woods -alone? You could have been killed!”
Hera wiggled in her blanket uncomfortably. She knew Greta would not be pleased. “Yes, Greta. It was a stupid thing to do. I know, I’m an idiot,” she said wearily, getting ready for the next outburst that was sure to come. “Anyway, I was just walking around,” she left out the part about how she was headed for the clearing that she visited almost daily, “and I heard voices up in the clearing ahead.
“So, I went to check it out. There were two men, I think. All I can remember is them saying something about an eye and somebody’s bottom... Oh! And one said ‘Keep your wand at the ready!’ or something like that, before he left the other one alone.” She paused and picked at the colorful quilt. “He said wand, Greta! I just had to go and check it out!”
Greta rubbed her eyes. “Oh, Hera. You didn’t!”
“The only reason I got caught was those stupid shoes! A stick broke and the man shot a spell - I think he tried to stun me - but I dodged it. I got up and ran. I didn’t hear them follow.”
“Did you hear any pops or cracks?” Greta asked quickly.
“I didn’t hear any Apparition sounds,” Hera said, almost smiling at the extent of her magical knowledge.
“Your curiosity will be the death of you!” Greta scolded. “They could have been Dark Wizards! They probably were!”
“You know that I can’t help myself,” Hera muttered, a small smile pulling at her lips.
“I just wish you wouldn’t be so careless. People are dying, Hera.” Greta was about to launch into one of her lectures.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I need to think before I act and stop being so reckless,” she interjected quickly, before gulping down her tea. It was what Greta always told her.
Greta smiled and patted her hand again. “As foolish as you’ve been, and you have been incredibly foolish, I have a surprise for you.”
Excitement began to boil in the pit of her stomach at the look on Greta’s face. “Greta...?”
“I’ve booked us a meeting with someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This may be your chance, love.”
“Greta...” Hera began awkwardly.
Greta gave her hand a squeeze. “I know, love. I know.”
Hera watched Mr. Mump, vice-head of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, waggle his bushy eyebrows importantly.
“She will need an appropriate tutor,” he said, and his eyebrows moved up and down.
“I will teach her some simple spells until she finds a tutor,” Greta assured him.
“And she will have to keep her magic in check, as is appropriate for all children under seventeen and over fourteen. With the new Underage Wizardry law, she can do magic, but she must keep it in check.”
Waggle, waggle.
“Of course.”
“Then I see no problem in it,” Mr Mump stamped a paper. “Hera Ellis, you are now a fully certified witch.”
Hera’s stomach gave an excited jolt.
“Thank you, sir,” Greta said in a very business-like tone, taking the paper.
“I would go to Ollivander’s for her wand. The boy’s not as good as his uncle, but he’s better then the others.” Mr Mump waggled his brows once more.
“Thank you, Mr Mump,” Hera mumbled.
Hera and Greta were silent until they got into the lift.
“When can I get my wand?” she asked once the doors shut, not able to conceal her excitement as she watched the ministry paper airplanes whiz around overhead.
“Right now, if you like.” Greta smiled at her warmly.
“Right now?”
Greta nodded.
Hera tucked her hair behind her ears, awkwardly. “Thanks, Greta…”
“Not a problem, love.” Greta’s face looked old and worn, more so then usual. “Not a problem.”
Hera took a deep breath of air. She didn’t like side-along Apparition at all. Behind her was a cracked brick wall, before her a long, cobblestone street. Greta had explained that since the Dark Lord had returned, Diagon Alley had turned into a rather shady place, and it was best to just buy your things and get out of there.
“A while ago,” Hera said, sadly observing the boarded up windows, “you said something about a place called The Leaky Cauldron. Where is it?”
Greta sighed and drew her cloak closer around her. “It was behind you. About a year ago, Tom, the owner, was tried and convicted for killing some Muggles, though he said he was under the Imperious Curse, and was sent to Azkaban.” They both glanced at the cracked wall behind them. “But come. We mustn’t dawdle.”
They began walking quickly down the road and Hera firmly wrapped the cloak Greta had given her around her body. She felt oddly signaled out in her blue jeans and t-shirt, when everyone around her was wearing robes. As they passed another alleyway, an old, toothless wizard shook a clove of garlic at her.
“Watch out for the Vampires, my sweet,” he snarled. “You never know when they might pop up!”
Hera started and gaped at the man. Greta quickly steered her by the elbow up the road. They stopped outside a shabby building. “Quickly, now. Inside,” Greta said, pushing her through the door.
Once inside, Hera’s heart nearly leapt up her throat. The walls were stacked with boxes and boxes of wands, there was a spindly stool in the corner and a small counter in the back.
“Who’s there?” a sharp voice demanded.
“Mr Ollivander!” Greta called. “We are here to purchase a wand!”
“State your name.”
“Cauldwell.”
A man emerged from behind a stack of large boxes. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. His hay-like hair was pulled back into a ponytail and eyes of scrutiny peered out sharply from behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“Greta Cauldwell? Yes, my father knew your husband.” He sat upon the counter. “And who is this?”
“This is my niece, Hera.” Greta laid a hand on Hera’s shoulder.
“Has she broken her wand?” he asked.
“This is her first wand.” She handed the paper him the paper stamped by Mr Mump.
Ollivander wrapped his finger around the end of his ponytail as he read. “I see... interesting. Well, let’s find her a wand! I use the same materials as my uncle did; phoenix feather, dragon heartstring, and unicorn hair.”
While looking at boxes, he kept shooting her suspicious looks. Hera stared back defiantly, as if daring him to ask her why a seventeen year old was only now getting a wand. He selected a thin box from the pile he had been hiding behind. “Phoenix feather, 8 inches, ivy. Just give it a little flick.”
Hera held the wand for a moment, it felt like her stomach was about to burst, she was so excited. She flicked it. Nothing happened. Her stomach twisted into a tighter knot. Why hadn’t anything happened?
“Don’t worry. I’ve never been able to get it right on the first try. The wand chooses the wizard, or witch, in your case, you know.” He handed her another.
After three more failed wands, he handed her another. “Blackthorn, only started using this wood about a month ago, 12 inches. Dragon heartstring.”
When she waved it, a faint tingling began in her finger tips and made its way up her arm. Large, purple bubbles began issuing from the top of it and proceeded to float around the room.
“Ah, there you have it then! Looks like a good Charms wand.” Ollivander put her new wand back into the box and passed it to her. “That will be seven Galleons, Mrs Cauldwell.”
While Greta paid, Hera tried to pop one of the bubbles with her finger, but it just bounced off and continued to float. “Thank you,” she said, a magical glint in her eyes.
“You’re welcome. And I wish you the best of luck with that.”
Once back on the depressing street, Hera couldn’t conceal her smile any longer. Finally, she belonged. She finally had a wand, and she couldn’t wait to use it.