Chapter 1
Not Much of a Plan

She shivered in the alley opposite the dingy pub as buckets of rain poured down on her. The people passing by took about as much notice of her as they did the pub she had her eyes fixed on. Everyone was in a hurry to get out of the rain.

Last chance, she thought to herself. No turning back after this.

Then she crossed the road and walked into the Leaky Cauldron.

She didn't know how she'd ended up in that alley. Her memories were all of 5 minutes old, and that was extremely disorienting. She eyed the bar uncertainly. A drink couldn't hurt, after all? And she needed someplace to stay. She needed to get her thoughts in order.

She had a feeling she knew why she was here, but it was maddening not to be sure.

"What can I get ya?" asked the barkeeper as she sat down on one of the grimy stools.

"Uh… Firewhisky, please."

He pushed a glass of the amber liquid in her direction, and turned his attention to other customers. She reached for it with shivering fingers and took inventory of her possessions, such as they were. Sodden coat, 1. Bag of coins in its pocket, 1. Shoes drenched and leaking water, 1 pair. An aching sense of injustice, infinite.

So she wanted to correct an injustice, and she was here. How could she be certain she even belonged here? She supposed that being able to see the pub was a good start. But getting into the alley beyond… well, that was another kettle of fish altogether.

"I'd like a room for the night," she said when the barkeeper happened to move nearer to her end of the bar.

He grunted. "That'll be fifty sickles."

She nodded. "And another Firewhiskey, please." The glass in her hands was already empty.

The morning found her warm, dry, and in much better spirits. She'd spent the early hours of the morning outlining as many things as she could think of. It wasn't a plan, exactly, but it was the beginnings of one. Easy to execute, it would not be. But without a discernible past to provide context for herself, this was all she had going on for her.

She had to ask the barkeeper for help getting into Diagon Alley. To her relief, he didn't think much of it. He must have other kinds of people who needed help getting into the place. Wandless people. Goblins, and hags, and things like that, definitely. And surely squibs and the parents of Muggleborn kids would need help as well. She thought of Hagrid briefly, and shivered. She was almost certain she'd never met the man, but it felt as though she knew enough about him already.

Once in Diagon Alley, her first stop was the post office. The letter was already written, and she was fairly sure she had engineered it so that she was guaranteed a response. If she didn't, then it was on to Plan A Sub Plan B. But for now, her next step was clear - she needed a wand if she was going to survive in this world.

She walked into Ollivander's expecting it to be eerie and silent, and was rather surprised to see that it wasn't. There were at least three customers in the shop already, small kids who chattered away excitedly while their parents smiled on. She settled herself in a corner of the shop and waited quietly, resisting the tug of excitement everything around her was threatening to bring out in her.

If she was going to get rejected her, she'd rather she didn't have an audience for it.

Finally, the last of the kids trailed out, beaming at their big step into the world of adult magic. The old man turned to look at her, the smile on his face getting rather fixed as he, presumably, realized he couldn't place her the way he did his usual customers.

"And how can I help you, Miss…?"

"Arwen," she said, repeating the name that had popped into her head when filling out the guest particulars at the Leaky Cauldron the previous night. "Lisa Arwen. I'm looking for a-"

The measuring tape that did its work by itself cut her off as it leapt to her face, seemingly measuring her nose on a whim.

"A wand," finished Garrick Ollivander. "Wand arm out, please." He was still watching her carefully, as though he expected her to jump up and do something extraordinary, any moment now.

"Uh…" She held up her left hand, and then her right, looking hopelessly from one to the other. Which one had she used to write her letter?

"Ambidextrous, I see? Not that common a quality, that," observed Ollivander. "Have you had a wand before? You look a little too old to be measuring for your first."

"Umm…" she cast about helplessly for a likely excuse. "I, uh, I used to have my mother's old wand. It wasn't great, though, and it, uh…"

"Quite." His polite tone seemed to indicate that he didn't entirely buy what she was selling, but he didn't care either way. Ollivander took down a stack of boxes and placed them in front of her. "Let's get started then, shall we?"

The pointless wand waving seemed to go on forever, and she felt her misery growing by the minute.

"It's no use," she finally said after what felt like the fiftieth box was tossed aside. "I'll just, er, I'll just get going. Sorry to have wasted your time."

"No, no, no, young lady." She noticed that Ollivander had quite the gleam in his eye by now. "I'm sure we have just the thing for you somewhere in here."

"You don't understand. I don't think-"

"What, that you're magic enough?" he finished, seemingly knowing exactly what was bothering her. "You're not the first to worry about that, you know?"

She grimaced, said nothing.

"Here," he said, plopping another stack down in front of her.

It happened halfway down the stack. Without warning, the umpteenth nondescript stick of wood she reached out for came alive under her grasp.

Lisa - she supposed she was Lisa now - froze, looking down at the wand she held.

"There, what'd I tell you," cackled Ollivander. "Alder wood with a dragon heartstring core. Thirteen inches. Surprisingly swishy."

She turned the wand over in her hand, marvelling at it, yet determined to give nothing of her emotions away.

"You could do worse than alder, you know," continued Ollivander, packing up the box and handing it to her. "Loyal wood, that. Although the dragon heartstring makes for a rather temperamental wand. It would be interesting to see what the combination achieves. That will be five galleons."

She paid for the wand silently and exited, her mind already moving past the initial rush of happiness, and onto more practical matters. She'd give the owl a day or two to respond. In the meantime, she had reading to do. A lot of reading.