CHAPTER ONE
Rapture
by Jasmine Brown
HPFreak7: –How are Muggle parents convinced to let their kids go to Hogwarts, a strange place they never heard of before; and wouldn’t they think it was a practical joke?â€
J. K. Rowling: –In the case of Muggle parents, special messengers are sent to explain everything to them. But don’t forget that they will have noticed that there’s something strange about their child for the previous ten years, so it won’t come as a complete bolt from the blue.â€
J. K. Rowling’s World Book Day Chat, 4 March 2004.
–I really want to dance Swanhilda,†I said, –but I don’t want to wear autumn colours. Lavender, could you design me a pink Swanhilda-dress?â€
–Jasmine, you’re more likely to be cast as a toy rabbit,†said Lavender with a giggle. –Open the rubbish bag wider...†She swept all the muck from the guinea pigs’ hutch into the plastic bag and laid a fresh sheaf of newspapers down on the hutch floor. I turned away from the revolting smell, noting a grass-stain on my fuchsia T-shirt, while Lavender refilled the food dish.
–Do you think they’ll produce Coppelia again when I’m old enough to dance her?†I persisted. –Lavender, don’t you want to be Swanhilda?â€
–No, I’d rather design the costumes.†She closed and padlocked the hutch door. –All done.†I lifted the barrier between the hutch entry and the outdoor run while Lavender poked parsley, spinach and carrot tops through the wire netting, asking, –Do you think it’s true that guinea pigs can eat strawberries?â€
We carried the disgusting bag through the house and out to the front drive. As Lavender stowed it in the dustbin, a stranger wearing a long red dress and a Wizard-of-Oz hat walked up from the beach-front.
–Look, the Good Witch of the North!†I whispered. –Do you think she’s from the Punch and Judy show?â€
Lavender giggled. –Her ankle-boots are cute… She’s stopping here! She must be collecting money for something.â€
The stranger walked into our drive and said, –Good morning. I’m Charity Burbage.â€
–We haven’t any money,†I said quickly.
–You won’t need much; the basic costs are all Ministry-funded,†she said. She was looking at Lavender, rather hesitantly, as if to check she had the right person. –You are Miss Brown, aren’t you?â€
–We both are,†said Lavender. –And I love your ankle-boots! Aren’t your feet hot wearing them on the beach?â€
–Thank you,†said Charity Burbage. –I did wonder whether I should have chosen a larger buckle.â€
–No, no!†exclaimed Lavender in horror. –There should be no buckles at all! Just plain black leather if you’re going for that elves-and-the-shoemaker look!â€
–Oh... right,†said Charity Burbage. She clicked her fingers, and suddenly the little brassy buckles on her black leather boots just vanished!
–And the skirt,†said Lavender briskly. –It’s too full for its length. The length is wonderful - exactly right to show off your boots - but the pleats make it too cumbersome. It tells the audience that you have really fat legs. If you don’t, your whole line should be slimmer.â€
–That is right!†exclaimed the visitor happily. –Like this, of course - †The bright red skirt rippled, and suddenly it had reduced to a perfect A-line cut.
–I love the cuffs,†said Lavender. –But you should play them up for the stage - they need stars, I think.†Lavender nodded at the stranger’s cuffs, and they suddenly danced with live, star-shaped sequins.
–For the stage, yes, but I’m not on-stage - I’m at work,†agreed the stranger gravely.
–So that’s why you keep the neckline so... severe,†said Lavender. –For business. It’s almost not a neck. In such warm weather, it’s a pity you can’t cut it a little.â€
Lavender giggled, and Charity Burbage’s neckline dived a little, exposing her throat, but suddenly the dive stopped short and a button appeared. –You have style, Miss Brown,†she said, –but you have to remember that I am at work. I can’t cut my neckline like that!â€
Lavender thought for a minute, then said, –If you can’t cut down, at least cut up. Like this.†Suddenly the red fabric grew up the stranger’s neck all the way to her chin, and a huge bow adorned one side.
–Should I have more stars in my hair - to match the cuffs?†she asked.
–Oh, yes!†we both replied.
And then there were stars in her glossy curls, winking silver and pink and green under the strong sunlight.
–But what about the hat?†asked Lavender. –Why do you have to wear that for work?â€
–It’s uniform - and we can’t change anything about the hat,†Charity Burbage told us. –It would be unwise to try. Miss Brown, do you often make this kind of dress alteration?â€
–Everyone should take a little care with her clothes,†said Lavender, quickly brushing the last of the sawdust from her mauve capris.
–Of course,†agreed the visitor. –But not everyone makes changes as easily as you do. Have dress alterations always been this easy for you, Miss Brown?â€
–Yes, always,†I interrupted. –It does scare people sometimes. A lady at the shops nearly died when Lavender changed her skirt.†I tried not to laugh at the memory. –Since that time, we’ve been careful only to do it in private. It doesn’t scare me, though. Lavender organises my clothes whenever we have to go out anywhere.â€
The stranger was starting to bother me. She was listening to me, including me in the conversation, but she was obviously more interested in Lavender. Yet Lavender had never met this person before and she hadn’t expected a visitor. What was going on?
–Is that why you’ve come here?†I blurted out. –Because you and Lavender can both alter clothes in ways that other people can’t?â€
Her smile was dazzling. –Yes! You could say that’s why I’ve come. Young lady, could you run and tell your parents that I’m here?â€
I tried to explain that Dad was at work, but two things happened before I could speak. First, Charity Burbage turned straight back to Lavender and asked, –Miss Brown, did your letter arrive?†Second, there was a heavy footfall on our driveway, and in walked Dad with a splash of oil on his overalls.
–Hello, girls, I’m off early for the day,†he said. –Custom was light at the garage, and it seemed like a good day to spend at home. I see you have a visitor. Who’s your friend?â€
I pirouetted gracefully towards the doorstep, deliberately delaying the moment when I would be out of range of the mysterious stranger’s voice. Lavender was telling her: –Miss Burbage, this is my father. His name’s Geoffrey Brown, and he’s a mechanic. Dad, this is Charity Burbage. She’s a fashion designer, I think. No, Miss Burbage, I don’t have my ballet results yet; I’m still waiting for my letter.â€
–I don’t know about ballet exams,†said the stranger. –I meant a different letter, which we mailed out on Monday. Did you receive any letters last week?â€
–Oh, yes!†said Lavender eagerly. –I had two party invitations, my school report, the Cavy Quarterly, a catalogue from my ballet supplies shop, some dress designs from my auntie...â€
I had landed inside our front hall, so I cantered to the kitchen, knowing I was missing out on the important news. Mum was putting a large crock of chicken Maryland into the oven. She runs a small bed-and-breakfast out of the three bedrooms on our top storey, and of course the busy season was in full swing, so she was reluctant to leave her cooking just to meet some eccentric saleswoman. By the time I persuaded her to take off her flowered apron and loosen her pony-tail so I could pull her into the guests’ lounge, Dad was already showing the strange lady to the sofa. They were talking about owls. Yes, really! Owls!
The visitor held her spangly red cuff out towards Mum. –Good morning, Mrs Brown. I’m Professor Charity Burbage. I’m pleased to tell you all that Miss Brown’s unique talents have won her an invitation to study at Hogwarts.â€
–Is that a ballet school? It sounds lovely, but I’m afraid we can’t afford it.â€
–Tuition is free,†said the stranger. –But, no, it isn’t a ballet school. It’s a place where young people like Miss Brown, who can cut and sew without ever going near scissors and thread, develop their abilities in magic.â€
At the word –magic,†like an electric shock, the room fell deathly silent. Dad’s jaw dropped; Mum froze like a statue; Lavender’s pink cheeks drained to the colour of snow; and every last giggle died in my throat. For a long half-minute, the birds did not sing, the clock did not tick, and the only event in the whole house was the slow cooking of the chicken Maryland. When I remembered to breathe, I looked around cautiously at my family, and saw that they were all staring at Charity Burbage, waiting for her to explain the joke. She looked kindly back at us, waiting for one of us to speak first.
Nervously, not sounding at all like myself, I asked, –Is... Is this some kind of games club? Like Dungeons and Dragons?†Lavender had never shown any interest in boyish games of that sort.
Then Mum found her voice and asked, –Do you mean that you teach conjuring tricks? My girls already go to the dance studio three times a week, but they’re more interested in ballet.â€
Dad’s guess was different again. –Are you from some kind of neo-pagan wiccan circle? I don’t agree with children joining religious groups; we’ve told Lavender to stay away from all of them until she’s an adult.â€
Lavender shook her head and tried to smile. –I’ve always said that being well-dressed is the beginning of magic. Is this a dressmaking school?â€
–No,†said Charity Burbage. –This is not a joke or a metaphor or a game. Nor is it a stage-art or a religion. It’s literally magic, of the kind you’ve read about in fairy-tales. Did you ever read the story in which a pumpkin was transfigured into a coach?†At these words, she waved a slim stick, and a peach from the fruit bowl jumped up into the air and bounced onto the coffee table. By the time it landed, it wasn’t a peach any more: it had transformed into a tiny, golden model of an old-fashioned carriage.
As we stared at the toy carriage, Miss Burbage continued, –Do you know the story about the talking mirror? Dice vera!†When she pointed her stick at the mirror above the mantelpiece, Lavender and I both jumped up instinctively to look at the trick. All we saw was our own faces, but as we grinned at each other, a voice spoke out of the mirror.
–You’re both pretty girls, to be sure, but you need to wash off the smell of the guinea-pigs and run combs through your hair. The older one is losing a hair-ribbon, and the little one should have chosen a more pastel shade of pink.â€
–That’s not fair!†Lavender protested with a giggle. –We’ve only just finished mucking out the cage. We didn’t know we would have a visitor!â€
The reflection-Lavender didn’t talk along with her. It just kept its mouth closed until the real Lavender re-tied her ribbon, whereupon her reflection winked at her.
–What’s going on?†asked Dad.
–Magic is going on,†said Charity Burbage calmly. –I know you’re surprised, Mr Brown. But this isn’t a conjuring trick, and you must have noticed that Miss Brown is no ordinary girl. Mr and Mrs Brown, have you ever seen your daughter do anything unusual - something that ordinary conjuring tricks or science couldn’t possibly explain?â€
–I have!†I suddenly interrupted. I whirled around from the mirror. –Mum, don’t you remember that lady in the shop whose skirt was too long, when I was about five?†I couldn’t suppress my laughter and I was gurgling through my words. –Lavender sort of waved at her, and suddenly half her skirt vanished and it had turned into a mini. Everyone was staring, and the lady nearly fainted. Once her skirt was short, we saw she had great, big holes in her tights. Don’t you remember?â€
–I remember, all right!†said Mum. –It was the most extraordinary thing I ever saw! But Lavender didn’t do it. She never touched that poor lady.â€
–Oh, yes, Lavender did do it!†My eyes were watering, but I tried to speak clearly. –I saw her, Mum. She knew she’d done it. After that, she said she would only ever do it for family members because doing it in public caused too much trouble. That’s right, isn’t it, Miss... Professor Burbage? Lavender does magic on clothes.â€
–And Hogwarts can train her to do other kinds of magic too,†said Professor Burbage.
It was only then that it hit me. I had never really asked myself why Lavender had this knack with clothes; I told people that she had –clever fingers,†but I had never thought of them as magical fingers. Yet I had lived with magic - real magic of the fairy-tale kind - for the whole of my life. My own sister was a witch!
–I want to go to magic school!†I said. –Am I a witch too?â€
Now the stranger looked at me, really looked at me, and ran her eyes up and down me as if measuring my height. –You’re not eleven yet, are you? If you have magical talent, Miss Jasmine, you’ll be invited to Hogwarts when you’re eleven. Can you alter clothes the way Miss Brown does?â€
–No,†I replied regretfully. –It never works for me. Only Lavender can do that kind of magic. It always seemed ordinary when she did it. Miss Burbage, can you do Sleeping Beauty - a magic sleep - or - or Rumpelstiltskin - spinning straw into gold? What about Coppelia? Can you bring toys to life?â€
She smiled gravely. –Brewing the magical sleep is a standard part of the syllabus, but spinning straw into gold would be extremely difficult. I believe the headmaster can do something along that line. But as for toys - †She pointed her stick at a plush rag doll sitting decoratively on the window sill.
The doll immediately sprang to its feet, pirouetted across the carpet more gracefully than any marionette and landed on the coffee table in an arabesque. It perched on the tiny peach-carriage, which immediately neighed and wheeled away. It flew into the air and landed on the sideboard next to the fruit dish, where the doll waved at us.
Mum looked a little disconcerted until Professor Burbage reassured her: –The doll isn’t alive, Mrs Brown. It stops moving as soon as I stop the spell.â€
Mum and Dad stared at one another helplessly. None of us had ever bargained for magic being real.
My parents must have spent a long time discussing the situation, but I don’t remember much about it. They gave Lavender five pounds and told her to take me for an ice cream on the pier.
–This is going to be such fun!†I said. –What do you think the uniform will be like, Lav? Do you think you’ll learn to tell the future? Will you brew love-potions? Will you fly a broomstick?â€
–Do you think Mum and Dad will even let me go?†asked Lavender. But her blue eyes were shining; she wasn’t really worried about that. –I wonder if there are invisibility spells? Will I need to buy a cat - or could I use a guinea-pig instead? How shall we tell people that I’m a witch?â€
A boy on the way to the amusement arcade gave us an odd look. I waved at him and tried to look cool. Then I tried to imagine Lavender in a black cloak and witch’s hat, waving a magic wand and dropping newts into a cauldron, and I burst out laughing again.
Lavender was giggling too. –Jazz, you should see the look on your face!â€
–Do you think he heard you saying you’re a witch? What would he think?â€
–He probably assumed that I was joking, or we were rehearsing a puppet show, or that he was going deaf...â€
–Or that you role-play, or you have a strange religion, or you’ve gone mad... Oh, dear...!†I wiped my eyes. –Do you want to go to this magic school, Lav? Do you honestly think it’s a real place?â€
–It must be, because Professor Burbage is a real person. But will it mean giving up on doing ordinary things? Can I still be a vet - or a dancer - or a fashion designer - if I go to this magic place?â€
Suddenly I remembered everything I had ever heard about professional dancing, how it was a life of endless dedication and discipline, how you had to practise every day and plan your whole life around your dance routine. Then it wasn’t funny any more. Some magic school that taught you to fix costumes would definitely interfere with that.
–I wouldn’t go,†I said. –You couldn’t go to magic school and to a proper dancing academy. If you choose the magic school, you probably can’t ever become a ballerina.†A splodge of ice cream fell from my cone.
–But I don’t want to be a ballerina,†said Lavender.
–What? Would you really give up your chance of dancing just to learn conjuring tricks? But we’ve always wanted to dance!â€
–No, Jazz, you’ve always wanted to dance. But I really only want to be a hobby dancer. I’d rather become a fashion designer, and it sounds as if this magic school could help me along.â€
I stared and stared at Lavender. Everyone said we looked so much alike, and we had always done everything together. But we weren’t alike after all; Lavender wanted something entirely different. From now on we were going to have separate lives. I would never be invited to that magic school; and Lavender was somehow completely happy with a life that couldn’t include ballet!
This time neither of us noticed that I dropped my ice-cream cone altogether. For a moment, I seemed to be quite alone on the crowded pier.
Our ballet exam results arrived, and I had passed Grade Four with distinction. Then the cat next door tortured one of our guinea pigs to death, and we were both broken-hearted. Then Lavender designed a new sun-dress, and we had to persuade Mum to buy the cottons and help us make them. Somewhere in the middle of all this activity, Mum and Dad had agreed that Lavender would go to Hogwarts.
Lavender received a couple of those owl-delivery letters from Professor Burbage. Yes, wizards really used owls to write to each other - just like pigeon post.
Dear Miss Brown,
I truly appreciate your trouble in correcting my outfit, which is now ideal for my liaisons between Hogwarts School and Muggle families.
However, I have been advised that the new design still does not look correct in the street. People in London have been laughing at me and asking what sales gimmick my –singular outfit†represents. This is very bad, as I need to look as ordinary as possible in London. My goal is to be completely ignored because I look like any other Muggle.
Have you any suggestions?
Regards,
Charity Burbage
Lavender’s reply was mainly in pictures, but her notes between the drawings read:
Dear Professor Burbage,
Oh, did you want to look ordinary? I never realised. Fancy wanting to look ordinary when you look so fabulous in costume!
People who go shopping in town in summer usually look like this [PICTURE]. But for winter it’s more like this [PICTURE]. Businesswomen in offices try to look like this [PICTURE]. But teachers in schools are more like this [PICTURE]. My Mum looks like this [PICTURE] or this [PICTURE] because she works from home. Women who slop around at home at weekends look like this [PICTURE] but when they go out to parties, the dress is something like this [PICTURE].
I don’t know why I drew all those pictures because I can’t draw very well. I’ve enclosed a Marks & Spencer’s catalogue. That’s where ordinary women buy their clothes.
Lots of love,
Lavender Brown
Professor Burbage sent us a picture of herself in a Marks and Spencer’s summer dress. It was a magical photograph: the picture-Professor waved at us and preened the dress, which was an unnaturally ordinary shade of blue. The note around the photograph said:
Dear Miss Brown,
I cannot thank you enough for your efforts! I visited Marks & Spencer’s, where they were not entirely polite, for they laughed at my request to meet with Madam Mark or Madam Spencer. However, I bought three robes and I looked ordinary by the time I left the shop. I think it is all in order now.
Tell me when you intend to buy your school supplies, and I will meet you at the doorway of the Leaky Cauldron in Charing Cross Road.
Regards,
Charity Burbage
–We’re going to London!†we shrieked.
–I don’t know about that,†said Mum. –Lavender’s too young to go by herself, and I can’t close the B&B on any day in the school holidays.â€
–But, Mum! This is our chance to see Sadler’s Wells!â€
–And I can’t go to magic school without magic supplies!â€
–And it would be rude not to meet Professor Burbage!â€
In the end, Dad managed to take a day off from the garage. We made him change into a respectable red polo shirt, and we made our first-ever train journey from Eastbourne to Charing Cross. We were wearing our new sun-dresses: Lavender’s was pale blue patterned with white doves, and mine was white with a print of pink butterflies. When we arrived in London, the train became a tube, which I’d always imagined as a kind of long escalator-tunnel that would squeeze us around London; but it turned out to be nothing but an underground train. When we climbed up to the surface, we were still in London, because London has more than one railway station.
Dad held each of us firmly by the hand as we marched along Charing Cross Road, but before I could properly notice where we were going, someone called out to Lavender, and Professor Burbage was standing in front of us. This time she was wearing a maxi-length grey robe and pointed hat, so she looked even more like a story-book witch, but she still had Lavender’s spangles in her hair.
She seemed to be standing in front of a drain-pipe between a book shop and a record shop. Lavender ran up and then seemed to disappear into the drain-pipe, so Dad and I followed, and we saw that it wasn’t quite a drain-pipe after all, but actually a doorway. Once we were through the door, we found we were inside some kind of café, but we couldn’t explore because Professor Burbage was leading us to its back door and out to a plain brick wall. She could do more magic than just dress-alterations because when she knocked on the wall with a stick, a door opened from nowhere, and suddenly we were able to walk into a whole street!
I stared at Dad, who was more bewildered than I was, then at Lavender, whose eyes were sparkling. The magical street was cobbled, some of its buildings half-timbered, others bay-windowed in pale stone. The first shop was full of potions and powders. The second sold cauldrons and kettles. In the third, we could see a wizard channelling molten glass out of a cauldron full of sand. The fourth building was a lawyer’s office.
–I suppose magic has to have its own places - places you can only reach with magic,†I hazarded.
–Of course,†said Lavender. –Where do I go to buy my school clothes, Professor Burbage?â€
–Madam Malkin’s is this way,†she said.
I glanced at Lavender, and we both giggled over the dressmaker’s name. What kinds of people call themselves –Madam�
Apparently working witches do. Madam Malkin was plump and jolly and swathed in swishy mauve robes dripping with lace. She was already measuring up one customer, a bored Indian teenager in a custard-yellow dhoti who was trying to keep his feet still on a small podium. His mother and sister were guarding a pile of parcels by the window. While I stared at the mother’s rainbow-striped sari, Lavender ran straight up to the boy’s sister.
–I love your shalwar kameez!†said Lavender.
–I love your sun-dress!†said the Indian girl.
–Where did you buy it?†they both asked together.
After that, they ignored all their family members. Even while the dressmaker was fitting them, they kept calling across to each other about clothes and gesturing about hairstyles. The Indian mother was a jeweller, and Lavender wanted to know all about how wizards made jewellery. She was so absorbed in her new friend that it was surprising she had any attention for the magical dressmaker. But through all the gossip and giggling, none of us could tear our eyes away from Madam Malkin. She wrapped magical measuring tapes around her customers without touching them, then draped them with black fabrics, which she could cut without scissors and sew without thread. She was like ten Lavenders. The new robes hung perfectly long before they were finished.
Dad wanted to finish the shopping quickly, but I wanted to explore all the wonderful shops in the magical street, and Lavender just wanted to follow her new friend. None of us had a choice, since we needed to follow Professor Burbage’s directions. She was too fast for me and too slow for Dad, and she didn’t care whether the Indian family came with us or not. The magical shops didn’t accept normal money at all, so we also needed Professor Burbage to supply those heavy gold and silver coins; she managed the money exchange by tapping on Dad’s credit card with her wand. She led us firmly from the wand shop to the astronomer’s to the pharmacy, then back to the bookshop and cauldron supplier’s (–best to buy the heavy stuff lastâ€), so briskly that I could hardly remember what I had seen.
I remember that Lavender produced wonderful pink and mauve swirly clouds with her new wand, but the Indian girl made scarlet stars with hers.
I remember that the big telescope in the ceiling of the astronomer’s shop could actually show us the surface of Mars, even though it was midday in summer, because the wizard knew how to charm his observatory into perpetual darkness.
I remember a toyshop full of wooden animals that moved around like mechanical toys, self-propelling frisbees and see-through babies’ blocks with moving pictures in their centres... But we had to hurry past after only a glance, and there wasn’t time to look at what other toys wizards made for their children. I realised that all this was ordinary for Professor Burbage. She saw it every day; she had no reason to stop and explore.
I remember that Lavender nearly cried when the Indian family said they had now finished their shopping so they had to say goodbye to us.
I remember that the pharmacy smelled horrible, and the Winchester jars were full of squidgy things that we didn’t want to touch. –You’ll have to touch them at school, dearie,†said the apothecary, and Lavender was nearly sick on the spot.
I remember a gadget shop full of boxes and buzzers and flashing lights, but there was no time to ask what the push-buttons did before we were whisked away down the street. We did pass a jeweller’s, which at a glance looked just like an ordinary, non-magical jeweller’s, but was it the same shop where the Indian mother worked?
The bookshop was full of musty old leather-bounds with no pictures. I don’t like reading, so while Lavender searched through her school booklist, I pressed my face to the window, staring at the pet shop across the road. The furry animals in the large cages were neither cats nor dogs, but they were too large to be mice, so what kinds of pets did wizards own?
–Muggles shouldn’t visit the menagerie alone,†said Professor Burbage. –Some of those animals are dangerous. Mr Brown, there isn’t very much for Miss Jasmine to do in a bookshop. Shall we take her to the confectioner’s?â€
Choosing through the mountains of fudge, jelly slugs, mint humbugs and sherbets made me wish I could to go to the magic school after all. But Dad was bored even with the sweet shop, so he hurried us away long before I had finished counting the lollipop flavours.
In the cauldron shop, Professor Burbage took forever to decide that the third cauldron met school regulations and the fifth scale-set wasn’t faulty. Lavender and I saw shelf after shelf of cauldrons - large ones, small ones, iron ones, brass ones, safe ones, dangerous ones... Whatever would make a cauldron dangerous?
–The label says it’s an exploding cauldron,†said Lavender. –But why would you want your cauldron to explode? This one’s self-stirring, and that one’s self-cleaning. Professor Burbage, do you think I should buy a self-cleaning cauldron? That would save me a job.â€
–Not regulation, I’m afraid, Miss Brown, because you’ll need to learn to use your new scouring brush. We’ll buy you a bottle of Potscrub - not that nasty bleach, Mr Hubble. Give Miss Brown a quart of Best Bundyseek.â€
By the time Professor Burbage had helped us lug the cauldron full of books onto the train and then mysteriously vanished into the underground crowds, we still hadn’t had time to explore the candle shop or the cordwainer’s. Diagon Alley was the most amazing shopping centre in the world, and we had exhausted ourselves just buying useful things! I wriggled my toes, wondering when we would have a chance to do real shopping at the bag boutique or Madam Primpernelle’s.
The train had already pulled out of Charing Cross before I remembered that we had actually come all the way to London, something we had talked about doing all our lives, and we hadn’t visited Sadler’s Wells! I had so much wanted to look at the famous theatre, even if we couldn’t afford to watch a performance there.
–Never mind,†said Lavender. –They say it’s quite an ordinary-looking building. Dad, can I go to Parvati’s house next week? She says I can try on her saris.â€
–If you know how to fly there,†said Dad. –I hope you realise that she lives in Birmingham.â€
–Dad, can we come back to Diagon Alley?†I asked. –I want to explore it properly. Today we didn’t have time just to look at things.â€
–If you know how to open up that hole in the wall,†said Dad. –Do you think it’s the kind of place we Muggles can enter if we don’t have a wizard with us?â€
–Dad,†I said suddenly, –what are we going to tell people when they ask why Lavender isn’t going to The Cavendish School next term?â€
We all stared at each other, trying to imagine how Grandma and Grandpa would react if we told them, –Lavender’s gone to learn witchcraft at a school where they fly broomsticks and transform toads into toffee-apples.†We kept staring, with none of us speaking, because it was a question that didn’t have an answer, until in the end Lavender and I both started laughing again.
On the first of September, we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s for the Sunday roast. Grandma was wearing a camel turtleneck and a smartly-tailored camel skirt, and her honey-blond bob looked so natural that you wouldn’t know she dyes over her grey. I hope I look that good when I’m old.
–Grandma!†I shouted. –Grandma, you’ll never guess what! Our concert is going to be Coppelia, and I have a solo!â€
–What! Are you dancing Swanhilda herself?â€
–No-o, but I am going to be one of the dolls. Grandma, it’s the first time they’ve ever given a solo to a Grade Five student!â€
I moved out of her arms to hug Grandpa. The pinks and greens on his argyle jumper didn’t quite work; I must tell Grandma to take his wardrobe in hand. –Grandpa, that strawberry plant you gave us is growing, and I’ve found out that guinea-pigs do eat strawberries.â€
It was ten minutes before I had calmed down enough for Grandma to bring the Yorkshire puddings out of the oven and for Grandpa to ask, –But where is Lavender today?â€
I giggled and tried to give a calm, ordinary answer. –She’s been spending a few days with her friend in Birmingham.â€
–That’s quite a distance! Will she be home in time for school tomorrow?â€
There was a fraction of silence before Mum replied, –Oh, didn’t we tell you? Lavender isn’t going to Cavendish after all. She won a scholarship to a boarding school in Scotland.â€
–Imagine that!†said Grandpa. –I didn’t know our Lavender was so clever! When does she start out there?â€
–Actually today. The family in Birmingham has three children at that school, so they’ve kindly offered to drop Lavender off too. It all seems to be working out really well.â€
–Imagine that!†repeated Grandpa. –But it must be hard for you, Jasmine, to watch your older sister have all the new clothes and adventures while you’re left at home to feed the guinea-pigs.â€
Hard for me? It wasn’t like that at all! However would I explain to my grandparents how this extraordinary, fantastic magical world seemed so ordinary and natural for people like Lavender?
–Lavender seems very excited about it,†I said, remembering her happy farewell hugs and the elegant black sweep of her school uniform. –The problem is, she’s had to give up ballet. I hope she’ll still feel right about that in a year or two. I wouldn’t give up ballet for anything.†No, not even for the amazing sweet shop and observatory in Diagon Alley; not even for the fascinating toy shop, pet shop and jeweller’s that we hadn’t quite had time to visit. Lavender would probably take me there next summer; and one visit each year should give me enough time to explore everything...
Grandma set the gravy boat on the table. –Dinner’s ready. Will you carve, love? Jasmine, did you ever want to visit London? I was thinking I might take you down to Sadler’s Wells at half-term to see Swan Lake.â€