That same letter-delivering owl was back, looking utterly exhausted.
"Dear Miss Quinlan, please do not worry about the tuition fees. The school will provide a certain subsidy, and the teacher accompanying you to school will properly handle all matters pertaining to your enrollment.
Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore."
Vespera read the letter twice, then handed it to Aisha. "My refusal has been politely rejected. I'm ready for Hogwarts again."
"Madam Director, do you know about Hogwarts? What kind of school is it?"
"Not sure. Let's just hope it offers room and board like we do."
At the desk, Aisha turned the letter over and over, reading it countless times. Vespera chased her out to look at the moon, along with the letter-delivering owl.
-
When Albus Dumbledore arrived at Wool's Orphanage, Vespera was not in, so Director Aisha received him.
The two of them chatted in the office for a long time. A pot of hot tea grew cold, was warmed up again, and grew cold once more. After many years, the old man had returned to this land.
Time and people had changed everything here.
Stepping out of the office door, a group of knee-high children surrounded the white-bearded old man, chattering endlessly.
Dumbledore learned of Vespera's whereabouts from them and handed out the candies he loved to the children.
Vespera was busy making money.
Ghostwriting letters for people was a decent gig. The letters she wrote were mostly love letters.
"Quinlan, do you know Borges? I want to include this line in my love letter:
'I give you impoverished streets, desperate sunsets, the moon of the ragged suburbs. I give you the grief of a person who has looked long and long at the solitary moon.'
What do you think, Quinlan? Or have you heard of Mr. Pushkin, that line..."
Classic love poetry certainly touched the heart and stirred deep resonance.
The carriage driver openly and plainly loved the baker's wife. The moon hung above the roof of the carriage, the street in front of the bakery was forever crowded, and London had no lingering glow of sunset.
Vespera was a sought-after ghostwriter. Sometimes people found it hard to imagine how an orphan could write such touching letters.
Holding the fountain pen given to her by the director's wife, she left graceful, flowing cursive script in black ink on kraft paper.
"Dear Fanny, Borges says that loving someone means giving her..."
"As the carriage passed the ragged suburbs, carried by the moonlight, I nervously knocked on your door. I missed the wheat fragrance of bread immensely, so I return to you a spray of wild roses from the twilight countryside.
Tomorrow, the milk will still be placed by your window on time.
Good morning, Fanny."
Mrs. Fanny's blushing cheeks left her at a loss; she pressed her hand to her face, leaving grayish-yellow flour fingerprints.
The pink roses were well preserved by their owner, still damp with the morning mist, delivered to his lover via Quinlan.
"Pela, you read it so wonderfully. Dutch is just too... Would you like a piece of bread..."
"Beautiful lady, could I have a freshly baked piece of bread?"
Dumbledore appeared in the bakery, seamlessly observing Vespera by his side.
"Yes, of course, please wait a moment, sir."
Vespera met his gaze, raising a faint, polite smile.
The old man wore a pointy hat and rustic robes that trailed on the ground, with white hair and a beard like Santa Claus.
The old man and the young girl each held their own bread, walking down the same street. Quinlan guessed and asked, "Are you a teacher from Hogwarts?"
"I am the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore."
"Good afternoon, Headmaster."
Mrs. Fanny's bread was delicious; Dumbledore was a bit amazed at the first bite.
Butter, wheat, honey.
-
In the narrow Leaky Cauldron, Dumbledore led Quinlan through the crowd.
Butterbeer was placed on the bar or tables, almost every hand holding a cup.
Vespera felt fine; although the environment was still dingy and messy, she had spent a few years surviving on the streets of London.
She was used to it.
She had already drafted her first letter of complaint for this magical world.
While in London, Vespera had also written dozens of letters, though they were mostly useless.
"Miss Quinlan, would you like a glass of Butterbeer?" Dumbledore noticed her attention on the drink.
"No, thank you."
"Oh, very well." Dumbledore led her past the bar into a small courtyard enclosed by four brick walls.
"This is the entrance to Diagon Alley. Three blocks up, then two blocks across. Did you remember?"
Dumbledore tapped the wall three times with his wand. "Welcome to Diagon Alley, Miss Quinlan. Let's go exchange currency first."
There were many Pixies in Diagon Alley, working their entire lives for meager pay. Vespera thought they must be the favorite laborers of London's capitalists.
The bank teller at Gringotts was a sharply dressed, aged, and short goblin.
Six years of savings: 57 Galleons.
Aside from the wand and school robes, Vespera felt everything else could be bought second-hand.
Of course, pets couldn't be second-hand. So Vespera spent 10 Galleons to get a tawny owl—Perrin.
Vespera took the wand from Ollivander and gave it a gentle wave. A hazy mist instantly rose in the shop, refreshing and breathtakingly misty.
"Yes, yes, that's the one... Beechwood, dragon heartstring, thirteen and three-quarters inches long."
Seven Galleons; she paid cheerfully.
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was very popular. Vespera hadn't stood there long before several groups of people walked in and out.
Seeing Vespera, Madam Malkin was pleasantly surprised, warmly greeting her to step up for measurements. "My dear, your purple eyes are so charming."
Quinlan felt a bit surprised inside, but on the surface, she still calmly gave a faint smile and said, "Thank you."
After her robes were fitted, Vespera stood at the door holding her newly bought tawny owl Perrin, and Dumbledore joined her with her newly purchased books and cauldron.
"Headmaster, what color do you think my eyes are?" Walking back to the orphanage, Vespera asked.
Dumbledore's gaze flickered behind his glasses. "Miss Quinlan, what I see is purple." After a slight pause, he continued, "Ordinary people should see black. Miss Quinlan, your eyes have been enchanted."
"It would appear so."
"One of your parents knew magic."
"Perhaps."
-
The weather in London this August was quite nice, and Vespera saw the moon almost every night.
She read her first-year textbooks four or five times over.
She was still ghostwriting love letters for people. Fanny and Dutch got married, and their final love letter was read aloud by the Godfather at the wedding.
Consequently, more people came to her for ghostwriting, and her fees went up.
She hadn't given up street sweeping either; she never hated having too much money. Her school robes had cost her many Galleons, and now she was dirt poor.
So broke it echoed.
To the outside world, however, Vespera's phrasing was: cleanliness is a hallmark of urban civilization and progress.
Though the London municipal government didn't understand.
When the last moon of August rose, Vespera had already packed her luggage.
Director Aisha had managed to pull together tuition sponsorship.
Although Hogwarts was an unknown school to them, those people still sponsored 100 pounds out of friendship for Vespera's talent.
On the September morning for new student registration, amidst a cool dawn, Vespera hurried to King's Cross Station with her luggage and her owl Perrin.
Perrin had grown heavier; the neighborhood kids took him out every day to hunt rats in the alleys.
The neighborhood administrator even awarded him a "Master Rat Catcher" honorary badge, which now hung on Wool's Orphanage's honor wall.
"Excuse me, sorry to bother you. Are you also going to Hogwarts?"
Her exact setup: luggage, owl, alone.
It was a boy.
"Yes. Is there something you need?" Vespera shifted her gaze from his green eyes to the white owl he carried.
Snowy owl, pretty.
Her tawny owl was way cooler.
"I can't find the departure platform. Can you help me? My name is Harry, Harry Potter."
In fact, Harry had been looking around here for a while, and had even asked the station staff, but to no avail.
"Of course. Vespera Quinlan. Hello, Mr. Potter."
"That's great, thank you. You can call me Harry."
Vespera knew where the platform was; Headmaster Dumbledore was a responsible enrollment guide.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters lay between platforms nine and ten, evenly partitioned by four pillars.
A large family appeared at the destination, their auburn hair catching the eye. Twin brothers pushed their luggage carts straight into the third pillar.
"Let's go, Harry. The platform is right there."
Whoosh—
A whistle like an elephant's roar sounded, and a red-and-black steam locomotive puffing white smoke appeared before the two children's eyes.
A red sign beneath the archway bore the number "9¾" in black lettering.