---

"About... Jane?" Willard Tweedy gaped at the red-headed fellow and wondered how his daughter had become so popular all of a sudden.
"She did get her letter?" Arthur Weasley asked. "From the school?"
"Ah! You're to do with that, are you? What's all that about, then, some sort o' joke, Frog's Warts and such...?"
"Hogwarts," Arthur corrected. "Oh, no, sir, not a joke at all. Hogwarts is the finest Wizarding school in Britain, Mr. Tweedy. I'm a graduate, myself. It's a highly respected school."
"I'm sure it is a wizard school, indeed, young fellow," said Mr. Tweedy, not quite grasping his meaning. "But, what this has to do with my daughter..."
"Is she here?" asked Arthur. "I'm supposed to have a visit with her. And you, and her mother, of course. To go over things."
Mr. Tweedy looked the gangly young man up and down. He was dressed oddly enough, that was certain. He had on a pair of crisp, formal black trousers, with white spats buttoned over his worn, brown shoes. With this, he was wearing a rugby shirt striped in red and gold, and a brown tweed shooting jacket with leather patches at the elbows. In his hand was a flat, straw boater hat, such as one of those chappies from Oxford or Cambridge might have worn back in the ‘20s. Lord only knows what the Missus'll make of him, thought Mr. Tweedy, but he nodded and said, "Come on, then," and the two of them went back to the office.

There, Mrs. Tweedy was sorting again through a pile of papers in the tray on her desk, in case she had missed something, and Jane was reading from another piece of parchment.
"Mum, listen to this: ‘Protective gloves, dragon hide or similar.' They can't really mean dragon, can they?"
"Um, luv," Mr. Tweedy coughed.
"Who's that?" demanded Mrs. Tweedy, spotting the oddly-dressed young man lurking behind him in the doorway.
"This is Mr. Weasel, luv."
"Weasley, actually; Arthur Weasley," he came into the office. "You must be Mrs. Tweedy, delighted to meet you. And this must be Jane," he grinned at her. "Pretty exciting, all of this, isn't it, Jane?" he asked in a friendly manner.
Mr. Tweedy answered his daughter's puzzled look. "He's come from that school, sweetheart, that Frog's -- Hogs -- where your letter came from."
"You mean, there really is a school?" Jane's eyes widened.
"This isn't someone's idea of a sick joke, I hope," said Mrs. Tweedy, still casting a critical eye over Arthur Weasley's wardrobe.
"Not at all, madam, Hogwarts is most certainly real, and a very fine school, as well."
"And they want our Jane?" Melisha put a motherly arm around her child's shoulders as a glow of pride began to dawn in her cheeks.
"Absolutely. She's got her letter."
"But, what is this school?" Jane piped up. "And why should they want me, especially, anyway? How do they even know me?"
"You're an excellent pupil, Jane," said her mother, and informed Mr. Weasley, "Jane is an excellent pupil. Perhaps your teacher submitted..."
"Miss Crewe hates me, she wouldn't put my name in for a Hog-slopping school, never mind this."
"If you'll permit me," Arthur Weasley raised his hands in a calming gesture. "This is exactly why I'm here. We realize," he adopted a serious tone and spoke as if he were reciting from memory, "that this has probably come as a surprise to you, and that you may have a few questions."
"A few?" remarked Mr. Tweedy, and caught the shut up glare from his wife.
"The truth is," Arthur forged on, interjecting in his own voice, "this may come as a shock -- but, the truth is, your daughter is a Witch."
All three Tweedys gaped, open-mouthed, for a moment before Mr. Tweedy's brow lowered, and he growled, "Don't you speak of my Janie that way, you cheeky bugger! Why, I ought to--"
"MISTER TWEEDY!" his wife barked.
"But, luv, he--"
"Be quiet!" Regarding Arthur with a conciliatory smile, she queried in a pleasanter tone, "Mr. Weasley, when you say Witch, you mean...?"
"I mean sh -- she's got Wizarding blood," he stammered, keeping a nervous eye on Mr. Tweedy, who still had his big fists clenched. "Sh -- she can do magic."
"Magic?" gasped Jane.
"Magic?" challenged Mrs. Tweedy.
"You mean," Mr. Tweedy struggled with the concept, "she can pull a rabbit out of her hat, that sort o' thing?"
"Mr. Tweedy," his wife rolled her eyes, "that is not what he means. Is it?" she asked Arthur, not entirely certain, herself.
"Well, I... I don't recall ever seeing that one before," Arthur pondered, a bit confused by their words. "She'll learn to turn a rabbit into a hat. Or a hat into a rabbit. That's basic transfiguration, any good fourth year can manage that. No, you see..." he gathered his thoughts again. "Um, could we all sit down? This is going to be rather complicated, I'm afraid."

Mrs. Tweedy sat down behind the desk, and motioned for Arthur to take the chair on the other side. Mr. Tweedy placed a stool for his daughter, and stood with his back against the filing cabinet.
"Now," said Melisha Tweedy, when they were settled, "please explain to my husband what you mean by magic." She had no more idea than the rest of them what Arthur was about to say, but as usual, she took advantage of her husband's ignorance to conceal her own.
"The thing is," Arthur began, "there are Wizards and Witches all up and down the country. All around the world, actually, but let's confine ourselves to Britain for now. We have, I suppose you'd say, our own culture. Our own money, and shops, and schools, our own ministry in the government -- that's where I'm from, you see, I'm here on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, Department of Muggle Relations..."
"I never heard of such nonsense," Mrs. Tweedy frowned.
"Well, no, you wouldn't have," he conceded. "Ordinarily, we're not supposed to let the Muggles know we even exist. It would cause no end of trouble, everyone wanting us to sort everything out with magic: World Peace, Cure for the Common Cold... and we can't, you see. Even Magic has its limits. Believe me," Arthur shook his head with a rueful chuckle, "if we could make money out of thin air, my family would be a lot better off..."
"What's that word you keep using?" Mrs. Tweedy stopped him. "Muggles? What are they?"
"Oh, they're you," said Arthur. "Well, not only you, of course, but any person who's not -- well, not a Wizard. It's meant as a friendly term," he added hastily, as Mrs. Tweedy regarded him with a scowl. "There's no disrespect intended. Personally, I find you fascinating. I was looking at the pictures out front; they're incredible! I still can't imagine how you get them to--"
"Mr. Weasley!" Melisha's voice was effective in silencing more than her husband. "Let me see if I understand this. You are a Wizard."
"Yes."
"And you can do... magic."
"Oh, yes."
"Then," Mrs. Tweedy offered him a dry smile, "would you mind giving a demonstration?"
"Not at all," he grinned, standing up and drawing a slim baton of wood from his coat, "I was rather expecting this. Sit back from the desk a bit, Mrs. Tweedy, please," he suggested, and she complied, watching him closely. Keeping a wary eye on his sleeves, she observed as he pointed the stick -- a Magic Wand, she assumed it was supposed to be -- at the desk, and spouted some gibberish. A few sparkly silver bits of light spurted from the wand, but nothing else seemed to have happened. Arthur Weasley was grinning quite happily, however, and said, "There! Now, go ahead, pick up the desk. That's right," he encouraged, as she stared at him. "Just take hold of the edge and lift."

Uncertainly, Melisha did as she was told -- and the desk flew up from the floor, no heavier than a notepad. She gave a little scream of shock and dropped it, and it landed with just a soft plop. Of course, everything on it was now toppled and scattered, and Arthur said, "Oops, sorry about the mess." With another wave of his wand, he caused the pencils and paper clips to sort themselves out, and explained, "That's a very useful charm, you see. Makes heavy things light as a feather. Handy for rearranging the furniture, eh?" he beamed at Mrs. Tweedy, who was still staring at him in shock. Another tap of the wand and a few more words, and he declared, "There, now, back to normal. Try it."
Carefully, with her fingertips, Mrs. Tweedy tested the weight of the desk, and looked up at the red-headed young man. "And you say Jane can do that?"
"Well, not quite yet; she'll need a wand of her own and a few lessons first, but, yes, if you send her to Hogwarts, she'll learn to do that."

Both Tweedys looked at their daughter as if they'd never laid eyes on her before. Jane, squirming a bit under their stares, protested, "But, why me? Why should I be able to do that? Mum and Dad can't, can they?"
"You're right, Jane," Arthur nodded, "ordinarily, Wizards come from Wizarding families -- I did -- but Muggle-born Wizards aren't that uncommon any more. In fact, most of us have a few Muggles in the family tree. But you are magic, you know. There's a quill that writes in a special book the name of every Wizard child born, and you're in there, that's how you got the letter. Look," said Arthur, helpfully, "I'll bet you've done something magic in your life, already; you just don't know it. Ever have anything unusual happen to you, Jane? Something you couldn't explain? When you were excited, perhaps, or upset about something...?"
Jane's eyes suddenly went round and she exclaimed, "The pie!" Just as quickly, she glanced at her mother and fell silent; Mum wouldn't want to be reminded of that.
Melisha, however, looked as excited as her daughter. "You said you didn't throw that pie!" Turning to Arthur, she explained, "Jane and I quarrelled over a pie, I thought she'd thrown it at the wall. Oh, darling," Mrs. Tweedy pounced on her daughter and hugged her, "I should have believed you, I had no idea..."
"Wait a minute," Mr. Tweedy was getting left behind again, "you mean, that chicken pie..."
"I told you, I didn't touch it, I didn't know how it happened," said Jane, being strangled by her doting mother. "And Susan Carter's coat! I did put mud on it. All those times I thought she was doing things to get me in trouble..." Jane's face fell as she realized, "I guess that really was my fault. Miss Crewe was right about me."
"Miss Crewe is an idiot!" said Melisha. "No one at that pitiful excuse for a school has ever appreciated you, Jane! But, now, we'll just see what they say." "Oh, um," Arthur coughed for attention, "I'm afraid, Mrs. Tweedy, you can't tell people -- well, I mean, Muggles aren't supposed to know, remember?"
"What could we tell them, anyway, luv?" Mr. Tweedy put in. "They'd never believe us."
"But--" Mrs. Tweedy stammered, "we have to tell them something!"
"Ordinarily," Arthur suggested, "I think most Muggle parents simply tell their friends they've sent their child off to some prestigious boarding school or other, like... oh, what's that one, begins with an E, like the cheese... Edam...?"
Mr. Tweedy was looking sadly at his little girl, and now said, "Does she have to go away then?"
"Well, yes," Arthur admitted, "if she wants to attend Hogwarts; I mean, it is a boarding school, you know. Of course, she doesn't have to go, but..."
"Of course she's going," said Melisha, and appealed to her daughter. "After all, darling, we mustn't let our talents go to waste."
"But," Mr. Tweedy put in, "she's so young."
"I'll be all right, Dad," said Jane. "I -- I think I'd like to go. Mum's right, it'll be better than going back to school here."
"But, Janie--" He sighed, unable as usual to deny the wishes of the women in his life. "It's only that -- it's all happened so sudden."
Arthur Weasley's voice was kind as he said, "There's no need to settle everything today. Take some time, talk things over. You've got until the end of July to send your owl."
"What owl?" asked Mrs. Tweedy, reminded of this passage from the letter. "What does that mean, our owl?"
"Oh, owls are -- well, they're the Wizard post. Carry letters, and parcels; most Wizarding families have an owl or two. Don't worry about that, I can take your reply to the Owl Post here in York."
"Here?" quizzed Mrs. Tweedy.
"Yes, well," Arthur lowered his voice and confided, "most cities of any size have a Wizarding district, but nothing the Muggles would notice."
Jane was listening intently and asked, "Is that where I'll have to go to get my dragon hide gloves, and -- and cauldron, and such?"
"Oh, no, you'll go to London for that. I mean, you could get a few things here, but for a lot of it, you'll need to go to Diagon Alley -- that's in the Wizarding district of London. Got to go to Ollivander's for your wand, they're the best. And you'll have to go to Gringott's Bank, to change your Muggle money for Sickles and Galleons."
"Ahhhh." Mrs. Tweedy, who had been increasingly enthusiastic up till now, hit this barrier and stopped. "And exactly how much is this going to cost us?"
"Well, it's -- I've never been good with Muggle money. Let's see, they gave me a list..." he felt in his coat pockets. "It's only the cost of your books and equipment, really; my family's always managed, and we've hardly ever had two Sickles to rub together. Here we are," he pulled out a sheet and, unfolding it, handed it to Mrs. Tweedy. "Exchange rates, average cost per year to attend..."
Mrs. Tweedy took the paper and studied it carefully. Sitting down behind her desk, she ran a few figures on her adding machine. Arthur watched with delight as she punched the numbered buttons and the strip of paper spooled out, covered in figures.
"So that's what that is," he marvelled. "I was wondering. It's an adder-thingy, isn't it? For counting beans, eh? Crushing numbers." Arthur used these accounting terms proudly. "Fascinating!"
"Well, I think we can manage this," Melisha nodded thoughtfully. "After all, that's why we started your bank account in the first place, Jane, for your education."
"Mrs. Tweedy," her husband murmured, "I still think we ought to talk about this. Our little girl, goin' off to who knows where..."
"I'll tell you what," Arthur proposed. "This is sudden for you, I know. Why don't you take a week to think things over. I'll be back then, and if you're ready, we can send your answer to the school, and I can take you to Diagon Alley to get Jane's supplies. How does that sound? Oh, and I can bring someone along from Hogwarts, or the Ministry, if that would make you feel better. Some parents prefer to deal with someone a bit -- older," he admitted.
"I don't think we need to see anyone else, Mr. Weasley," Mrs. Tweedy stood up and smiled at him. "Come back in a week, then, and you'll have our answer."

For the next week, nothing else was discussed in the Tweedy Home but Jane's education. Mr. Tweedy still felt funny about it, and kept trying to get his daughter to do something magical, just to convince him that this was all on the level. Mrs. Tweedy told him to quit badgering Jane, and applied herself to learning the pounds-to-galleons conversion table. She even called around to some ordinary boarding schools, to talk terms, and decided that Hogwarts was fairly reasonable, indeed. The more Jane considered it, the more she liked the idea, and when the week was up, and Arthur Weasley came back, she and her mother were dressed up and ready to go to London.

"She doesn't have to stay if she doesn't like it?" Mr. Tweedy pressed their young visitor.
"Certainly not. But, I think, once she gets there..."
"And she'll be home for holidays, won't she?"
"Oh, yes, and for the whole summer. And you can write back and forth; I'll show you how to use the Owl Post." "Dad, I'll be fine," Jane insisted. "I want to try it."
"It's an excellent school, Mr. Tweedy, she'll make lots of new friends, I'm sure she'll do very well," Arthur assured him.

And so off went Jane and her mother, to London to buy Jane's school supplies. Arthur had debated how to take them there, and had decided that the Muggle train was best. "I brought a bit of Floo Powder," he admitted, "but if you're not used to it, it can be rather unsettling."
"What's that?" asked Jane, and he explained the wonders of Wizard travel to them. Melisha was a bit sorry they hadn't tried the Floo Powder, considering the stares young Mr. Weasley was drawing. He had gotten what he considered to be some "better" Muggle clothes for this trip: Lavender bell-bottom trousers, a cherry-red shirt that managed to clash with both his trousers and his carrotty hair, and a wide necktie patterened in swirls of lemon yellow, lime green, and orange orange. On his head he wore a flat cap fashioned in blocks of black and white vinyl. "The way these young people dress today," a sympathetic old buffer had murmured to Mrs. Tweedy while Arthur and Jane chatted on the platform, and Melisha had realized, aghast, that the old man had mistaken her for the mother of this oddly-dressed youth. Once they were in a compartment on the train, Arthur Weasley detailed all sorts of things about the school, including the four houses into which new students were sorted.
"Which house is best?" Melisha had asked him.
"Oh, none of them is better than the others," Arthur explained. "You see, you're sorted based on your strong points, and where your greatest potential lies. I was in Gryffindor. We're -- well," he chuckled, "courage and chivalry are supposed to be our traits, but some people will tell you we're the resident rule-breakers." Mrs. Tweedy raised a disapproving eyebrow, as if to say she would not want Jane to be a rule-breaker.
"The Slytherins are ambitious; Ravenclaws are the intellectual crowd; Hufflepuffs are your honest, hard-working types..."
"Slytherin sounds good," noted Melisha. "A little ambition in life never hurt anyone."
"Well, yes, but the Slytherins..." Arthur tried to put this tactfully, not knowing that Jane wouldn't end up as one of them, "Well, they're not all bad, but even the better ones tend to be a bit -- morally ambiguous. You know the sort, always looking out for themselves."
Mrs. Tweedy frowned at him and remarked, "And what's wrong with that? Slytherin sounds like a very sensible sort of house to me."
"Well," Arthur conceded the point, "it is true that a lot of very successful Wizards have been Slytherins. Ministry people and such. Lot of the old pure-blood families have children there."
"Pure blood?" Jane wrinkled her nose at the sound of this. "I don't think I want to be in a house with a bunch of snobs."
Arthur chuckled at this, and confided, "It is true, some of the Slytherins can be a bit toffee-nosed. Not all of them, of course, but they have their share. Ravenclaws aren't bad," he considered. "More of the philosophical sorts, you know. I've known one or two who were just this side of loopy," he admitted with a grin, "but they're an interesting lot, no denying that. You'd probably be happier there than in Slytherin."
"As long as she's not a Hufflepuff," said Melisha. "Even the name sounds ridiculous."
"Hufflepuffs are some of the finest people you'll know," said Arthur, a bit defensively. "Not the sort of risk-takers we are, but I never knew one who wouldn't roll up his sleeves and give you a hand when you wanted it. They're a good lot, the Hufflepuffs."

Once in London, Arthur led them onto a bus, then a different bus, then a third bus... he seemed to know where they were going, but Mrs. Tweedy suspected he was taking a rather roundabout way to get there, either because he was trying to keep them guessing, or because he simply liked riding Muggle buses. Finally, when they got off the third bus, he said cheerfully, "Nearly there!" and led them at a brisk hike up a busy street. Melisha was shocked to notice that, compared to the young people coming and going from the record shops and fashion boutiques, Arthur's clothes were not as outrageous as they had first appeared, and no one here took any notice of them.
"Here we are," he pointed at last. "The Leaky Cauldron. Wizard pub," he murmured to Mrs. Tweedy, with a wink. "Very popular."
Melisha saw nothing but a narrow span of blank wall where the two neighboring shops joined, but Jane said, "It doesn't look especially magic, does it?"
"You can see something?" Melisha bent down and whispered to her daughter.
"Of course, Mum," Jane looked up at her, then frowned anxiously. "Can't you?"
"Mrs. Tweedy," Arthur suggested, "you might want to just take Jane's hand there; follow her and you'll be fine."
Well, thought Melisha, if Jane knows where we're going... And she took her child's hand and stepped through what still looked to her like a solid wall... into a small public house that looked as if nothing within it had changed in a century or two, at least. The old man behind the bar glanced at them and hailed young Mr. Weasley. "Hullo, Arthur. Good day, ma'm," he nodded politely to Mrs. Tweedy, and she was reassured to know that the people here could see her. In fact, as she gazed around the room, she caught the eyes of an ancient Witch and Wizard sitting together, who smiled and waved at her in quite a friendly manner. Melisha replied with an uncertain sort of nod, and followed Arthur and Jane through the pub and out a back door. She was just about to ask what Arthur meant by herding them into this little dead-end courtyard, when he tapped his wand against a brick and the wall opened up into an enormous archway.
"Ooohhh," breathed Jane, in her father's voice.
"This is it," Arthur grinned at them, gesturing with outspread arms to the winding, cobblestoned lane that welcomed them. "Diagon Alley. First stop, Gringotts Bank!"
Jane wanted to pause and gaze into every shop window they passed, but Arthur reminded her, "Can't buy anything until you have the proper money."
Gringotts was a huge, gleaming white building, very impressive to Melisha Tweedy's eyes, although she winced a bit at the weird little doorman.
"Goblin," Arthur whispered, noticing her look. "They run the bank. Safest bank in the world, Mrs. Tweedy. Better than any Muggle bank, I can guarantee it." Inside, the goblins were everywhere, bustling about behind a long, long counter, counting and weighing not only coins of gold and silver, but precious stones of all shapes and colors. Melisha Tweedy had never before found herself in the presence of such riches, and she could feel the blood racing through her veins as she gaped and stared. Jane had to take her by the hand again and lead her after Arthur, who was heading for a separate counter in the corner.

Here, perched on a stool behind the marble counter, was a shrewd old goblin in a green coat who looked them over as they approached, and greeted Arthur by name.
"Afternoon, Rakechalk," Arthur nodded at him. "I was hoping we'd catch you here. This lady needs to exchange some Muggle money."
"It will be my pleasure, madam," the goblin answered with a courtesy that surprised Mrs. Tweedy.
"Just remind me, Mr. Weasley," Melisha muttered, opening her handbag. "Is it nineteen Sickles to a Galleon?"
Despite her efforts to suppress her voice, the goblin had heard her, and remarked, with a sly wink, "You've been out among the Muggles too long, Madam. It is seventeen."
"For your information," said Melisha, not quite as sharply as she might have liked to, "I am a Muggle."
The goblin raised his eyebrows and smiled quietly to himself as if he did not believe this.
"What's wrong with him?" she hissed at Arthur, this time fully expecting the goblin to hear her. "Why is he looking at me like that?"
"Because, you will forgive me, madam," said Rakechalk, with a smirk, "you look about as much like a Muggle as my Uncle Hackgravel. However, your secrets are always safe at Gringotts." And, as Melisha glared at him, now thoroughly confounded, he took her bank notes and began to count out a pile of gold, silver, and bronze coins. She looked appealingly at Arthur Weasley, who assured her the money was all in order -- although, for all he knew about Muggle coinage, she wasn't certain she should trust his judgment. It took some effort on her part to concentrate on getting the cash into her handbag, and when Rakechalk grinned at her and said, "Please come again, madam," she barely managed to utter a "Thank you" in reply.

In the street, she asked Arthur, "What did he mean, I don't look like a Muggle?"
"Oh, don't let it bother you. The goblins are funny, they take a bit of getting used to. Just his idea of a joke, I'm sure. Let's see," he rubbed his hands together, surveying the street. "Might as well start with your uniform."

He took them into their first shop, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, and the proprietress, herself, took charge of fitting Jane's robes. But not before she had given Mr. Weasley a critical once-over and asked, with a dry arch of her brows, "Is that what the Muggles are wearing these days, Arthur?"
"As a matter of fact, you'd be surprised at how accurate this is," he replied, with a touch of affronted pride.
Madam Malkin's nose curled. "You look like a flock of fwoopers."
"That's exactly what Molly said when I left the house this morning," Arthur admitted, with a chuckle.
"First year, dear?" she now addressed Jane, taking a mouthful of pins. "Must be very exciting, finally starting at Hogwarts. I suppose you've been anticipating this for quite a long time."
"Not a long time," Jane told her. "I got my letter only last week."
Madam Malkin was about to say something else, but Mrs. Tweedy, who was keeping a sharp eye on the proceedings, put in, "Not too short, please."
"Yes," seconded Jane, "I don't want to be Jane Weedy at Hogwarts, too."
Once she had her robes, it was on to Flourish and Blotts for her schoolbooks, followed by several more stops for the rest of her equipment. She did get a nice pair of silvery-blue Swedish dragon-hide gloves, which her mother could not stop admiring. At the Apothecary, the clerk asked, "Hogwarts? What year?" and pulled out a list of potion supplies Jane would need. All the time he was putting together the package, he kept trying to interest Mrs. Tweedy in such items as pickled toads, jellied slugs, various dried herbs and roots, until he finally gave in with a disappointed sigh and said, "Already stocked up, eh?" She supposed this was his idea of a joke, as well, as she paid for Jane's parcel and they walked out into the lane again.

"And, finally," said Arthur, "the most important thing of all. Your wand! Now, this may take a while," he warned, leading them into Ollivanders. "Wands are tricky things, sometimes you have to go through quite a few to find the right match."
There was one, tiny chair in the middle of the close, silent shop, and Mrs. Tweedy told Jane to sit down. They were both examining the walls of narrow boxes that surrounded them, when Mr. Ollivander came in and wished them good afternoon.
"Lovely to see you," he nodded to Mrs. Tweedy, who felt very odd under the gaze of his wide, luminous eyes. "Let me see, willow and phoenix feather, wasn't it, nine and a -- no," he frowned uncomfortably. "I beg your pardon." He turned his attention to Jane and said, "And now, here you are, ready for your first wand. The most important moment of your young life," he smiled softly at her. "If you'll stand up for me, Miss..."
"Jane Tweedy," she told him, staring back as intently as he was staring at her.
"Jane Tweedy," he repeated, rolling the name in his mouth like a sip of wine, as he took out a tape measure and said, "Now, your wand arm would be...?"
"Right or left handed," Arthur translated when she looked at him.
"Right," said Jane, holding out her arm so he could measure it. As he worked his way around her with the tape, Mr. Ollivander suddenly turned his eyes on Mrs. Tweedy again and blurted, "Hazel and unicorn hair, eight and a half... No, no, that's not it, either," he shook his head, looking rather distraught. The tape measure was now taking the span of Jane's shoulderblades without Mr. Ollivander's help, and he began to take boxes from the shelf. "Let's start with this," he handed her a wand. "Hawthorn and phoenix feather, eight and three quarters inches. Give it a wave, Miss Tweedy, see how it feels. Hmm, hawthorn..." he mused, looking at Melisha again. "Perhaps that was it, hawthorn and unicorn ha—No, no, no," he shook his head again, taking another handful of boxes from the wall. "Nothing, Miss Tweedy? Try another, willow and dragon heartstring, slightly unusual combination, nice and whippy." Jane waved the wands as if she were conducting a band, not quite certain what she was supposed to be looking for. "No? Something longer, perhaps; let's try the holly and unicorn hair, ten inches, a bit more body to this one." Jane went through six more wands, with no success, and twice more Mr. Ollivander addressed Mrs. Tweedy between times, "I'm sure it wasn't ash and unicorn hair... Did I say hazel and phoenix feather?" only to shake his head again in dismay. He was in the process of handing Jane another wand as he made this last remark, and Jane let out a little "ooh!" as she took it.
"Ah!" Ollivander's eyes lit up, "feel a little tingle this time? Give it a swish."
Jane twirled the wand in the air, and a shower of blue sparks came spraying out of the tip. Mrs. Tweedy let out a little squawk of joy and clapped her hands together.
"That's the one!" Mr. Ollivander beamed, taking it back from her and looking it over. "Oh, very nice... Crabapple and phoenix feather! We don't do many of those. Ten and seven-eighths inches," he nodded, "I thought it would be a long one. How did it feel, Miss Tweedy? Has a nice little kick to it, don't you think?"
"Ooh, yes! Mum, did you see?" she looked up at her mother with glowing eyes. "Arthur, did you see that? Did I do that?"
"You certainly did, Jane," he grinned at her. "Now, take good care of that wand; with any luck, you're going to have it for a long, long time."
Mr. Ollivander put the crabapple and phoenix feather wand back in its box, and wrapped it in brown paper. "And now, Madam," he addressed Mrs. Tweedy, "I surrender. You must tell me."
"Tell you what?" she asked.
"The composition of your wand. I pride myself on remembering every wand I've ever sold. But," he confessed, "I must admit, I cannot recall yours. What was it?"
"Arthur," Melisha sighed, firing an annoyed glance at him, "why does everyone here think that I am a Witch!?"
"Aren't you?" asked Mr. Ollivander, looking thoroughly surprised.
"No, sorry," said Arthur Weasley, "Mrs. Tweedy here is as Muggle as Muggle can be. Why, she'd never even heard of Hogwarts until young Jane received her letter."
"That's right," said Mrs. Tweedy.
"But..." Mr. Ollivander drew closer and stared intently at her, "No, Arthur, she's too familiar. She's from a Wizarding family, I'd stake my life on it."
"This is ridiculous!" exclaimed Mrs. Tweedy, backing away from the man. "I can assure you, Mr. Ollivander, there's never been anything Wizardy about my family. Not until Jane."
The old man shook his head, with a wise smile, and said, "There's Wizarding blood somewhere in your ancestry, madam. Jane is proof of it. People speak of Muggle-born wizards, but there's no such thing, not really. There's always a drop of blood somewhere in the family tree. It may be hidden, many generations back, but it's there."
"But," Arthur protested, "I mean, I've heard of most of the old families, and I've never heard the name Tweedy before. Have you?"
"No," said Ollivander, still staring at Jane's mother, "but that's not her real name, not the one she was born with. Is it, Mrs. Tweedy? Or, I'd rather say, Miss...?"
Melisha looked from Mr. Ollivander to Arthur Weasley and back again, and said, "Pryce. Melisha Pryce is the name I was born with."
Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands together and let out a little crow. "That's how I know you! Pryce with a ‘y', isn't it? Why, you're descended from Aurelius Pryce, aren't you! No wonder you've been living as a Muggle."
"I -- I don't think I know an Aurelius--" she stammered.
"Orpheus Pryce, then, surely you know him. Why, he must have been your--"
"Grandfather!" exclaimed Jane. "Mum, that old painting you've got, of your grandfather..."
"Yes," said Melisha, "his name was Orpheus Pryce. But, how would you know...?"
Mr. Ollivander was laughing, a funny, wheezing laugh. "So, the Pryces rise again! Your great grandfather would be very proud of you, young Jane; I'm sure he was convinced all the magic had gone out of his family. Orpheus Pryce, you see," he addressed Mrs. Tweedy, "was a most unfortunate squib."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she challenged, starting to feel thoroughly muddled by all this talk of her family. "A squib," Arthur put in helpfully, "is someone born into a Wizarding family, but without any powers."
"Oh, the Pryces were broken-hearted over young Orpheus," Ollivander remarked. "A very proud old family, the Pryces. Very careful of their blood lines, wouldn't marry into a family that wasn't as pure as they were. Quite a shock, then, when the boy turned out as he did. They tried to smuggle him into Hogwarts anyway, but they should have known better than to think they'd get away with it. Lucretia -- she was Aurelius's sister, you know -- Lucretia tried to..."
"Did you say Lucretia?" Melisha interrupted. "Lucretia Pryce?"
"She tried to get him into a school on the continent; the family had some old connections at Durmstrang, I think, but they wouldn't have him, either."
"Lucretia Pryce was a Witch?" Melisha pressed him.
"Oh, yes, whitebeam and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches," said Mr. Ollivander, with complete confidence, and Melisha wondered exactly how old he was.
"We have a painting of her, too!" Jane put in excitedly. "Dad thinks she's spooky."
"Jane," her mother frowned at her for this remark.
"She did what she could for young Orpheus, but," Ollivander sighed, "in the end, he quarrelled with his family and went out into the Muggle world, to make his own way."
Arthur had been listening intently to this story, as well, and said, "I say, that must have been difficult."
"I have no doubt it was," nodded Mr. Ollivander. "You may have noticed, Mrs. Tweedy, that our Wizarding community is rather different from what you're accustomed to. For Orpheus Pryce, raised as one of us, to then find himself cast out among the Muggles -- it must have come as quite a shock to him."
That must be why no one in my family could ever understand the value of a shilling, thought Melisha, but she did not say this. What she did finally realize, and remark upon, was, "So that's why everyone here kept mistaking me for one of you!"
"You may have noticed," said Mr. Ollivander, "you do bear a strong resemblance to your grandfather. Yes, there is a distinctly ‘Pryce' look to you, Mrs. Tweedy. And to your daughter, as well." He smiled at Jane. "I am pleased to see the old line restored. It has been a long time."

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