Ascendio - Book 1

Chapter 1 - Crescentia

Most mornings, I lay in bed and groan a lot about getting up. I wrap the blankets tighter around myself and try to ignore the angry drivers and loud trains that are fairly common in London. But this morning wasn't most mornings.

Today was the day I boarded the Hogwarts Express.

I hopped out of bed, pulling on some black-and-white tights under a simple, cream pleated shirt. I completed my pattern-simple-pattern-simple vibe with a multi-color weave, 'half' sweater--y'know, those sweaters that go down to your belly button?--placed over a striped tank top. I pulled on a pair of worn, dark brown combat boots and grabbed my pack, already packed from the night before.

Of course, I still had some shopping to do. I needed a companion, a few more schoolbooks, and some potion supplies. Of course, my brother needed much more since he had decided to put off buying supplies until the last minute, but he went out last night to get his stuff. Dad went and got my things while he was there, so they are probably laying downstairs.

A thrill shot through me. There was one thing Dad promised he wouldn't get so I could go myself--a wand. A real wand, from Ollivander's shop. Ollivander himself had gotten really old and tired after the war... the war where Harry Potter, wizard extraordinaire, had defeated the nasty wizard Voldemort! I leaped upon my bed, striking a dramatic pose, puffed out my chest, and pretended to be one of the mighty wizards that had helped protect the school.

I play pretend all the time. Sometime I reenact the Wizarding War, taking roles of Luna, Hermione, and all those other wizards--but never Harry Potter. He... I don't think I could play his part well. That kind of selfless, wonderful person could never be portrayed by another. My brother says that I put too much faith in him, that it'll fall through because he's not the person I think he is, but my brother is cynical about everything.

I practically jumped down the stairs. Smells of warm chocolate chip scones, eggs with cheese, and sausages wafted up to me. Licking my lips, I turned down the hallway, coming to a stop in a warm colored kitchen. My brother sat at the worn wooden table, which had the paint flaking off of it in loads. A plate stacked high with food sat at my place in preparation for me, and I sat down. I must've started eating really fast, because my brother laughed.

"You look like a pig," he chuckled, "stuffing your face like that."

I made an indignant sound and swallowed most of the food in my mouth. "Your such a bother."

"No, I'm your brother."

"Fine, then you can be called Candlestick, like your name was before."

"That's not my name!"

I swallowed the rest of the food in my mouth, instantly shoveling more in its place. My brother was named Chandler, and I used to joke that his name was Candlestick, even though Chandelier would make more sense--I guess it just didn't sound funny enough.

After a few more swallows, my plate was mostly clear. I drained a whole glass of water and turned to thank Dad for the meal--he stood at the stove, absentmindedly flipping some eggs--and spun around, racing out the doorway to find Mum. I found her in the main parlor, checking over the packing in my trunk. Chandler's sat over by the door, with his dirty old broom. He entertains ideas of being the best Quidditch player ever--even though I don't think anyone could trump Harry Potter at flying a broom. Chandler would say I'm fangirling too much, but it's true!

I grabbed a crimson scarf from the pile, wrapping it around my neck and scampering back a couple steps as Mum indignantly tried to snatch it back. She laughed, which made me laugh, and soon we were sitting on top of the fully checked-and-packed trunk--though I still retained the scarf.