Chapter Text
Two days later, just as the sun was rising and I was heading down to the kitchen for breakfast, Errol — our half-dead family owl — smacked straight into the window, a bundle of letters clutched in his beak. Dad gently lifted him from the sill and set him down on one of the empty chairs.
"Letters for everyone," he announced, handing one envelope to me and one to my sister. Ginny and I exchanged an eager glance before ripping open the tops at the exact same moment.
This was a big moment for us — unlike our other siblings, who hadn't even dragged themselves out of bed yet. These were our acceptance letters to Hogwarts. Our first year at the greatest school of witchcraft and wizardry awaited us. Mum watched us with a bright smile as we eagerly pored over the three sheets Professor McGonagall had sent.
My eyes drifted to the book list, and I frowned. There were seven titles by Gilderoy Lockhart — supposedly a very charming and clever wizard, according to Mum — but that didn't change the fact that his works were expensive. Buying them twice over, maybe more depending on the others' letters, was going to be a stretch.
"Maybe you should take a look at our book list," I ventured carefully, glancing at my parents with a hint of worry. Ginny mirrored my expression.
Dad took the parchment from me, and Mum peered over his shoulder. They exchanged a silent look, their faces shadowed with concern, before Mum returned to making breakfast.
"It'll be a bit pricier this year, but we'll manage," Dad reassured us, putting on a brave smile. Within minutes, the kitchen was full of brothers — and Harry. Mum handed them all their letters, and for a while the only sound was parchment tearing.
Just like me, George couldn't keep his mouth shut about the cost of Lockhart's books, and Mum's expression grew even more troubled. Still, she insisted we'd work it out. Eventually, she announced that Ginny and I would need to get most of our things second-hand this year.
I kept my face neutral, but inside my thoughts darkened. I understood our family's situation, yet the idea of turning up in worn, hand-me-down school robes stung. Ginny, however, seemed more preoccupied by the fact that Potter had spoken to her during breakfast — and was already acting flustered in that familiar way of hers.
When Percy appeared in the kitchen, I slipped away without a word, taking a slice of bread and butter from the counter along with my letter.
Back in my room, I ate while scanning the shelves above my bed for old books. To my relief, I already owned most of the required titles, passed down from Bill and Charlie. I even had two copies of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration , so I left one on Ginny's bed. Second-hand books never bothered me — if anything, I liked them better. They were full of useful notes and scribbles from my brothers... and from me.
Under the bed, I unearthed a dusty box full of glass potion bottles, most of them unused, and an old telescope for Astronomy. It had seen better days, but it still worked, and that was what mattered.
The thought cheered me — all of this meant extra money we could put toward getting better-quality wands.
I dragged out Dad's old Hogwarts trunk, which he'd given me for my first year. Like most wizarding luggage, it had an Undetectable Extension Charm, so I wasn't worried about running out of space. I packed the books, a few of my favourite oversized jumpers, the bottles, and the telescope. My hand paused over a light purple dress Charlie had sent me from Romania for my ninth birthday.
It had been far too big back then, but this summer's warm weather had persuaded me to try it on again, and I'd discovered it now fit perfectly. It had quickly become one of my favourite pieces. I let the airy fabric run through my fingers, smiling faintly — and then Ginny burst in, practically glowing.
"The boys are going to try out Harry's broom — want to come watch with me?" she asked, her hazel eyes sparkling with excitement.
I gave her a look of pure despair and folded the dress neatly into the empty section of my trunk.
"Oh, come on, he's not that bad. You should give him a chance," she argued, pulling on her outdoor clothes.
"I'll give him a chance after I've gone at least a year without hearing his name once," I replied dramatically. "Until then, my ears will continue to bleed and my brain will keep misfiring every time I hear it." I widened my eyes in mock madness for emphasis.
Ginny laughed, but then her expression turned unusually serious. She stepped closer and rested her hands on my shoulders. "Something's bothering you, isn't it, sis?"
Her question caught me off guard, though I didn't show it. I shook my head, letting a slow smile spread across my face, before attacking her hair with both hands.
She squealed and tried to escape my grasp, our wrestling match loud enough to trigger Mum's sudden, wand-in-hand arrival. She clearly thought we were under attack. Upon finding Ginny crouched on the floor and me standing over her, fingers tangled in her red hair and grinning like a maniac, Mum pressed a weary hand to her forehead and left without a word.
That was it for me — I collapsed to the floor, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Ginny eventually joined in, and when we finally caught our breath, she left with a smile that told me our earlier conversation was already forgotten.
When I found out that, for our birthday, the whole family would be going to Diagon Alley to get our school things, I could hardly contain myself. Ginny and I stayed up until midnight, wishing each other happy birthday as we did every year.
We were both up at the crack of dawn, far too excited to sleep any longer. From our room, we could hear Mum bustling about, waking everyone and shooing them out of bed for breakfast. That morning's bacon tasted better than ever — though it was probably just the joy rushing through my veins. None of our brothers had the same bright, impatient look on their faces that Ginny and I wore. It wasn't our first time visiting Diagon Alley, but this time we were finally buying things for ourselves.
We were the first to the fireplace, waiting with our Floo powder ready, while Mum just shook her head, amused.
While everyone else fretted about where Harry had ended up after vanishing in the green flames, I stood to the side, my mind fixed on one thought — what it would feel like to finally own a wand. I'd be able to show everyone what I was capable of. For years, I'd doubted myself, convinced I'd never live up to the potential our relatives always saw in my sister. I was the quiet, solitary twin with her nose buried in books.
When Charlie still lived at home during his Hogwarts years, he'd often tell me I'd make a great witch someday. I'd never believed him — until now. For the first time, I stood on the threshold of truly succeeding in the magical world. For the first time, I had a goal... and the determination to reach it. I felt a strength inside me I'd never known before.
By the time it was my turn to use the Floo and join the others in the Leaky Cauldron, only Mum and I were left in the sitting room. I looked into her eyes and finally saw the worry she'd been hiding all morning. She knew today would drain a large part of our savings — and that, once we left for Hogwarts, she'd be home alone for the first time in years. I stepped closer.
"It's going to be alright, Mum," I said softly.
She let out a small, tearful laugh. "How can you understand so much? You're supposed to still be a child."
"I'm a clever child," I replied, deadpan.
That made her laugh for real. She pulled me into her arms and held me close. I knew I had to tell her something before we left for Diagon Alley, so I stepped back and took a breath.
"If it makes you feel any better, you don't need to buy me any textbooks except Lockhart's — and we can even skip those. I can borrow from Ginny or someone I sit next to in class."
She tilted her head, frowning. "What do you mean I don't have to buy you the other books?"
"I found them all in my room — passed down from Charlie and Bill. I even had one twice, so I gave the extra to Ginny. And I've got plenty of potion bottles and a telescope."
Her eyes softened. She gave me a gentle push toward the fireplace, and I finally Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron.
Everyone was already there, and they all seemed relieved to see me. Dad hurried over. "We were worried you two had gone missing as well. Harry's not here."
"Really?" I said, unable to keep the spark of excitement from my voice. Ginny swatted my arm, and at that moment Mum stepped out of the green flames behind me.
My Potter-free moment didn't last long. As soon as we headed toward Gringotts, there he was — standing at the top of the steps with a bushy-haired girl and a very large, broad-shouldered man whose hair and beard seemed to grow absolutely everywhere. That must be Hagrid, the gamekeeper Ron had told me about, I thought reluctantly, dragging myself up to join the group.
The quiet understanding Mum and I had shared back at the Burrow dissolved the instant Harry was nearby, and my mood plummeted. It didn't help that, when we reached our vault, I saw that after today's withdrawal, there wouldn't be a single coin left inside.
When Harry opened his vault, my parents and siblings all suddenly found something else to look at — the walls, the ceiling, anywhere but inside. Harry tried to block the view, but with his small frame he couldn't hide much. I saw the piles of gold galleons and nearly gasped. The sight left a bitter taste I couldn't shake whenever I looked at him. Why was he wasting his time with us? Was he proving something to himself, hanging around with people so poor? I didn't know. Either way, my dislike deepened, joined by a sharp, unfamiliar stab of envy.
Our group split up, and while everyone else headed for Flourish and Blotts, Ginny and I went with Mum to buy the rest of our things.
The second-hand robe shop was depressing. Every fabric I touched seemed to itch in my mind, as if my skin already knew how much I hated the idea of wearing it. I kept my face neutral, but inside I wanted to run. On the way out, I couldn't help glancing across the street into Madam Malkin's display, where a gorgeous winter coat stood proudly on a mannequin, while in my bag sat something plain and worn.
Brass scales were easy enough to find at a decent price. Cauldrons were trickier — we needed ones sturdy enough to make potion-brewing safe — but eventually we managed. Finally, we stood outside Ollivanders.
"Franny, wait here with the shopping so we're not dragging it all inside. Ginny and I will go choose her wand, and I'll leave enough money for you to come in after and take your time picking one for yourself, alright?" Mum said. Without waiting for my reply, she went in with my sister.
Through the window, I watched Ginny's smile and the pride in Mum's eyes as they found the wand that chose her.
While I lingered gloomily on the street, my eyes caught a shock of blond hair weaving through the crowd in the distance. Ron had told me about a boy from a pure-blood family who had made their lives miserable last year. I wondered if that was him — but I didn't have time to dwell on it, because Ginny tapped me on the shoulder, pulling me out of my thoughts to show me the wand she'd chosen.
It was made of black wood, the handle ornately carved, and it looked expensive. My heart sank a little as I realized I probably wouldn't be able to spend as much on mine. I forced the thought aside, smoothed my expression, and stepped carefully into the dim, dusty shop. Mum and Ginny were already on their way to the bookshop, trusting I'd get there safely on my own.
Behind the counter stood an elderly man with silver hair. When his gaze met mine, I felt as if I were looking into all the wisdom of the world, gathered over decades. I'd always been fascinated by people with great knowledge — professors, writers, inventors... and, of course, wandmakers. In one of my books, I'd once read a great deal about the science behind choosing woods and cores. And I knew well the meaning of the phrase The wand chooses the wizard. I couldn't wait to find out which wand would choose me.
"The other Miss Weasley," Ollivander said knowingly, stepping closer. "I see different things in you than in your sister. Quite... interesting things." He held my gaze, and for a moment I had the strange feeling he could see exactly what was on my mind.
"We're... rather different," I replied nervously. He only nodded and disappeared among the towering shelves.
I wandered toward the counter, glancing around. Some boxes looked far more expensive than others, adorned with fine lines of gold and other metals. They were also less dusty — and much more neatly arranged — than the rest of the shop, where the more ordinary boxes were piled in a haphazard jumble.
"Your mother didn't leave me a very large sum," Ollivander said as he returned with two boxes. "But if I find the one that truly likes you... well, perhaps it won't matter quite so much. We'll see."
From a dark blue box, he drew a short wand, a rich shade of dark brown with a handle etched in unusual symbols. "Dragon heartstring is one of the most powerful cores, though it does sometimes find its way into wands that turn to the Dark Arts. That won't be the case with you, I'm sure — which is why I think this pairing of wood and core might suit you nicely."
He placed it in my hand. Almost instantly, a faint, unpleasant vibration tingled at my fingertips. I frowned and looked up at him. He merely nodded and took it back.
"May I ask what wood that was?"
"Cedar. You know wandlore?" he asked, curiosity sharpening his gaze.
I recognized that look — the surprise people showed whenever I knew something a girl my age wasn't expected to know. The questions usually came after: Why do you read so much? I could never quite answer. Was it a thirst for knowledge? Not exactly. It was wanting to be ready for the world — to know all its secrets, to discover what others hadn't. A desire to be better? That seemed more likely.
"I've read a little," I said. "I know a lot of ambitious people want cedar wands, because they command a certain respect. And they're fiercely loyal." I hesitated. "Do you see ambition in me?"
"Yes. I can't say for certain you'll achieve great things — but I'm almost sure you want them more than anything. Am I wrong?" He didn't wait for my answer, simply produced the next wand. "Maple, unicorn hair. Very pliable. Twelve and a half inches."
This one was pale, the handle wrapped with a darker spiral. It felt nice in my hand, but there was no spark, no connection. I sighed, disappointed.
"Don't lose heart, Miss Weasley," Ollivander said kindly. "The right one is here." He retreated into the rows again. "While I look, tell me about maple wood." It sounded like a test — but I liked tests.
"If I remember right, it's probably beyond my budget. Maple is a very high-quality wood with great potential. It's for witches and wizards with ambition, who want to explore the world and try new things."
I'd always dreamed of a maple wand, but they were expensive.
Ollivander returned with just one box this time — dark green under a layer of dust, with faint striping.
"You're clever," he said. "But I'm beginning to think ambition isn't your defining trait. Tell me — what's your strongest quality? What defines you?"
I blinked, caught off guard. I had no idea how to answer. After a pause, I said, "I'm... usually on my own. Not much of a social type."
He nodded slowly. "It shows. And to reach your goals, I'm afraid you'll walk your path alone."
As he opened the box, I asked, "Why is it so dusty?" My gaze flicked nervously to the small stack of coins on the counter.
"It's not expensive, don't worry. You don't quite have enough for it, but if this wand chooses you, there's nothing to be done — it will be yours."
Inside was a wand of pale, almost white wood, unadorned except for a thin ring of darker wood separating the handle from the shaft. It was simple, but elegant.
"Go on," he said softly. "Light wands aren't popular — hence the dust — but I believe its originality will suit you perfectly."
The moment my fingertips brushed it, a surge of magic shivered through me, humming in every vein. Ollivander noticed, too; he clapped his gnarled hands together and moved back behind the counter.
Once I'd recovered from the thrill of the connection, I stepped forward.
"Miss Weasley, you may be different. You may be independent. But one thing is certain — you will have a long life. A successful one, if I may be so bold."
"Thank you," I said, my voice almost shy. "Are you sure I should buy it, even if I don't have the full price? I wouldn't want to... disrupt your business."
"It's only short by a few sickles. They won't be missed." He took the wand back to wrap it, then looked at me with a spark in his eye. "Care to guess what it is?"
"Well... the core definitely isn't dragon heartstring," I began. He nodded. "The wood isn't expensive. And you said I'd have a long life..." I searched my memory for which woods were said to choose those destined for old age, but came up blank. I shook my head.
"Pine," he said. "It has wonderful qualities — you'll pick up new spells easily, and the wand will always obey you. Paired with unicorn hair, it will be loyal. It may not be the most powerful, but it will serve you well. Twelve and a half inches, quite pliable — though do take care, as it could break."
I nodded firmly. I would guard it with my life.
"Thank you. I'll read more about wandlore once I'm in the Hogwarts library," I said, beaming as I took the now-clean box from him.
I bade Ollivander goodbye and hurried back out into Diagon Alley, grinning all the way to Flourish and Blotts — only for the smile to vanish the instant I opened the door. The shop was packed, and in the center of the chaos a fight was breaking out — not a magical duel, but a physical brawl. And when I saw who one of the participants was, my stomach dropped.
"Dad!" I shouted — but in the racket, no one could hear me. Books of every shape and size were strewn across the floor, and the shopkeeper looked ready to faint from sheer fury. The man my father was grappling with had the bearing of someone important; in one hand he gripped a silver-and-diamond-topped walking stick shaped like a snake's head. His hair was oddly familiar — the same pale blond I'd spotted weaving through the crowd on the street before I'd gone to Ollivander's.
Far too late, I realized that person's son was standing right beside me, watching the fight with open interest. Before I could tear my eyes away from the boy's fair-haired profile, Hagrid barrelled into the shop and broke up the scuffle as easily as if he were separating squabbling children.
"Here's your little book, girl — the best your father can give you..." I heard the tall man sneer at my sister. One of his eyes was clearly bruised from the fight. He tossed something toward Ginny and turned to leave. I didn't realize I was blocking the way until both he and his son were standing directly in front of me, their stares cold and unblinking.
Startled, I jumped aside to let them pass. The boy's gaze caught mine and held it for a moment before he stepped out into the street. I wasn't sure what I'd seen in his eyes — but it wasn't contempt. Curiosity, perhaps. I didn't have time to dwell on it; everyone was already crowding around Dad, who was sporting a split lip.
In the murmur of voices, I caught the name of the family who'd just left: Malfoy. Suddenly, the pieces clicked together. They were old enemies of the Weasleys.
I'd never paid much attention to the stories about them, but I'd read plenty in books — they were an ancient, powerful family. And I remembered Ron's tales about Draco Malfoy, the boy in his year who belonged to Slytherin House — the so-called den of bullies and self-appointed rulers of the school. Slytherin was where the "purest of the pure" liked to think they belonged; hardly anyone with so much as a trace of Muggle blood was Sorted there. Many of history's darkest witches and wizards had worn green and silver.
Most people believed that any Slytherin, given time, would end up walking a dark path.
I didn't share that belief. I'd read Hogwarts: A History enough times to know that Slytherins had achieved remarkable things and earned respect from the wizarding world — even if that respect was often tinged with fear.
On the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, I didn't have the chance to tell anyone about my new wand; the conversation was dominated by the Malfoys and the fight in the bookshop. Mum kept muttering about how childish Dad had been to get into such a public brawl, while the twins thought it was hilarious.
When we finally arrived home via Floo, Ginny and I headed straight up to our room and compared our wands. Hers certainly looked grand — but I didn't envy her. My pine wand was beautiful, and I was glad it had chosen me.
The summer slipped away quickly, and by the end of August the air had turned chill and the rain came more often — unusual for that time of year. But the weather wasn't the only strange change.
Ginny still spent every waking moment with our brothers and Harry, but in the evenings she would lie in bed, practically glued to a small diary. I never managed to find out what she wrote in it. She answered all my questions vaguely and grew defensive the moment I so much as leaned closer to see what book she'd brought back from Diagon Alley.
It was strange — until now we had shared nearly everything, but over that diary she was almost unhealthily possessive. I couldn't really blame her; I had my own thoughts I was keeping to myself about the looming start of term.
On our last night at the Burrow, despite protests from both Percy and me, we all stayed together for a farewell feast Mum had prepared. Fred and George set off fireworks in the kitchen, scattering bursts of colour and light over the table. Much as I hated to admit it, I'd had a wonderful evening. I went to bed with a light heart and a smile.
Still, I couldn't sleep for hours. My mind kept replaying the conversation I'd had with Dad earlier that night.
During the feast I'd told him I wanted to talk about something privately, and he'd cleverly found an excuse to pull me away from the others by claiming he needed a book from the living room shelf. No one questioned it — they all knew I was the one most likely to help find anything in that mess.
"So... what did you want to talk about, Frankie?" he asked as soon as we were alone, sinking into the worn sofa. I sat down cross-legged on the rug, leaning back against the bookcase. For a while I could only stare at my own hands. It wasn't an easy thing to bring up, but I knew if I kept it to myself, the worry would only grow heavier.
"Dad, I'm a bit worried about tomorrow," I said at last, lifting my head to meet his eyes.
"What exactly?" he asked. "Of course you're nervous — you're starting your first year, after all. I'd think you were mad if you weren't." He chuckled, but the moment he saw I wasn't laughing, his expression sobered. "Go on."
"What if I'm not sorted into Gryffindor?" Saying the fear out loud didn't make me feel any lighter. In fact, the sympathy in Dad's eyes made the knot in my stomach worse. "You know it, everyone knows it — I'm not like the rest of you. The Weasleys have been in Gryffindor for generations, but I'm not sure I belong there."
Dad let out a long sigh and leaned toward me. "To be honest, I think you might end up in Ravenclaw, because you're so clever. But there's nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart. No one will be angry if you're not in the same House as the rest of us. It's no crime, all right?"
His voice was warm, his smile steady. Then he stood and pulled me up with him. "Now, let's go enjoy ourselves. It's our last night before you all disappear for a year."
He laughed, and together we went back to the kitchen.
It was a long while before I finally drifted off to sleep. My last waking thought was of the moment to come — when I would place the Sorting Hat on my head, and it would shout...