Chapter 1:
There are long, narrow valleys on that island far from the mainland, especially in the north of Scotland around Loch Ness. It looks a little like a magnified, very slow-flowing river, its shores running straight into mountains rather than lying on the alluvial plains you see next to other lakes.
"Oh my goodness, they've let that plesiosaur out again." Pomona had just come down the stairs from the second floor when the Daily Prophet was dropped through the window by an owl and Mrs Sprout was reading the front-page news.
"What? Out again?" Her grandson Peter, who had been eating porridge, overheard his grandmother and couldn't help but speak up; milk spurted from his mouth the moment he opened it.
Pomona remembered the creature well, although Muggles liked to call it the Loch Ness Monster. Every year crowds of visitors from around the world made the tedious pilgrimage to that remote, rather unimpressive place just to catch a glimpse.
It loved attention and seemed to enjoy watching Muggles make a fuss, which was why it often wandered into the Muggle world. The Ministry had tried setting traps near the loch, but they clearly did little good; the creature had been seen again.
"Don't they have anything else to print?" Pomona complained as she passed Mrs Sprout; her platinum hair shimmered like threads of silver.
"Oh, my dear!" Mrs Sprout cried the moment she saw what Pomona was wearing. "You can't go out like that!"
"What's wrong with it?" Pomona checked herself. With so many Muggle-born witches and wizards now entering the magical world, fashions had become stranger and stranger.
She was certain she wasn't wearing Muggle nightclothes — only a witch's robe cut in a style that left her calves exposed, which Mrs Sprout, an elderly witch, simply could not accept.
"Your face — you forgot to charm it."
Pomona's cheerful morning mood evaporated.
Wizards had long felt a kind of superiority over other beings. House-elves had been conquered and enslaved in ancient wars and trained from birth to obey; Veela were another kind of being altogether. They were great, powerful creatures rather than the small house-elves, and although they could take human form as beautiful young women, marrying a Veela or having children with one was considered shameful by those proud pure-bloods. Yet Veela beauty left a mark on those who loved them, and the world was full of half-Veela illegitimate children.
"Why should I hide my face?" Pomona did not want a charm on her face. She was eleven, and every girl at that age wanted to look pretty. Besides, she wasn't the one who had done anything shameful — why should she be punished for someone else's sins?
"Miss, please don't make this hard for me," Mrs Sprout begged, the plea plain in her eyes.
"I think you look lovely like that," Peter said, chewing on a banana crisp. "Are you going on a date?"
"No, I'm just going to Diagon Alley. Whether I end up at Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, I need a wand."
Pomona's father had been French, though she had lived in Britain for as long as she could remember and now lived with Mrs Sprout.
By all rights she should be heading to Beauxbatons, but that would put her at the same school as many of her 'relatives', and that would be awkward for all of them.
"Oh, I cannot let you go to Diagon Alley on your own!" Mrs Sprout exclaimed. "The wizarding world is no place for an eleven-year-old to wander about alone."
"Isn't the war over?"
"Just because Grindelwald is in prison doesn't mean everything is peaceful. He was a prophet to some and a liar to others; many people still believe every word he said."
Pomona was weary of it all. She only wanted a simple life; why did people always have to complicate simple things?
"I heard another pure-blood fanatic has turned up," Peter piped in. "At school he was called Tom Riddle, but now his followers call him the Dark Lord."
"You shouldn't speak of a dark wizard like that," Mrs Sprout reproved Peter. "You'll bring trouble on yourself."
"How would he possibly know? I'm in my own home." Peter set down his spoon, tipped his bowl and finished the porridge in three quick mouthfuls. "Come on, I'm going to buy the books for this year. Come with me."
"Am I supposed to put a spell on my face?"
"Why? You don't like it, do you?" When Peter reached Pomona's side he bent and whispered in her ear, "If anyone asks who you are, tell them you're my date."
Pomona couldn't help giggling.
"At least finish your breakfast first!"
When the green flames of Floo Powder rose in the hearth, Pomona could faintly hear Mrs Sprout's admonition, but the excitement of finally getting her own wand made hunger a distant thing. She would at last be a witch in earnest.
More importantly, she could leave the place called home, which in truth had been a prison. The lodgings her father had arranged were large and luxurious, but she had only stayed there a few weeks and it felt empty with just her in it, so Mrs Sprout had taken her in.
During Gellert Grindelwald's rise, it was not only the wizarding world that suffered; the Muggle world had been torn apart too. Peter's father had worked at the Ministry and died in an accident; his mother worked at St Mungo's.
Pomona knew that Peter's ever-cheerful nature might be down to Hufflepuff or simply how he was born. There was never a hint of gloom or sulkiness about him, and he always seemed to carry the faint, warm smell of cheesecake.
Mrs Sprout was skilled in culinary charms; to her, food brought happiness. When the war began and everyone was busy fighting, fields turned to scorched earth and people stopped farming and herding, food became scarce. She repeated the same comforts like a charm in their ears.
After Peter went up to Hogwarts, he only had to endure her nagging at Christmas and the summer holidays, but Pomona had to listen every day. Between being lectured and learning culinary charms, she bravely chose the latter; her talent had been awakened by food.
The Sprouts' Floo exit in Diagon Alley opened opposite the Honey Baron, and the moment she stepped through the fireplace Pomona was met by a strong smell of honey.
Diagon Alley was much the same as ever, though everyone who passed seemed to stare at her face as if they'd seen a ghost.
"Link arms with me, my dear princess." Peter came up beside her, bent his arm and said with a smile, "Today I'm your knight."
"Where's your sword?" Pomona sized him up; boys changed a lot after sixteen, and Peter was already much taller than she was.
"Right here." Peter produced his wand. "Since we're here, want to buy a broomstick?"
"That's your plan, isn't it?" Pomona realised with a shock. Peter had been complaining about his broom being too slow and blamed it for poor Quidditch performances, but the Sprouts didn't have the money for the newest brooms.
"I don't know what you mean," Peter said with a grin. "I'm just a Hufflepuff."
With that he looped his arm through Pomona's and they melted into the bustle of the crowd.