Catlyn Ollivander (Harry Potter)

----Quick note, Things in * for Catlyn will be when she's using BSL (British Sign Langauge), and things in ' will be when she's using her notebook.

"Beep, Beep, Beep," yells my alarm, waking me from the nightmares of sleep. I lazily roll to face the alarm, still half asleep, only to see a sight that kicks me right out of bed; it's 05:30.

I rush to hit snooze as I mentally curse myself for the stupidity of my sleep schedule. Peaceful silence follows the buzzing of my alarm, hanging in the room like dust in the air.

Waiting for a moment, I sigh in relief for no sound of Father stirring makes itself known.

Lying back down, I close my eyes to fall back into peaceful slumber; not that my slumber is ever peaceful. Buzzing thoughts replace the drowsiness that I now long for. Curse my ability to wake up easily! I yell to myself as I look around the room, not wanting to get out of bed yet.

Light rays poked through the windows, across the room, catching the dust floating through the air; unnecessarily illuminating my dark blue painted room. My dark oak wood desk shines from under the windows and matches the four bookshelves. Books ranging from The Art Of War to The Cat in The Hat fill their shelves.

Separating the two sides of the room is the door to the hallway. On the other side of the room sits my wood-framed bed shoved onto the wall with my door. Opposing that wall stands my golden-handled wardrobe.

Between the two sits the door to my bathroom and my busted-up nightstand that holds my alarm clock, music player, and notepad. Finally, picking myself up from my purple sheets, I move into my duck-themed bathroom after grabbing a change of clothes.

Why ducks? Slipping off my bunny branded fuzzy pajamas, I invite myself into the freezing cold water of the shower. I calmly wash as I let the water take me, knowing that I have all the time in the world, only to have the appearance of my body drive me back on a clock.

Even if I close my eyes, I can still feel the scars and cuts that pepper my deathly pale skin. Even if that wasn't enough, my ghostly skin allows my veins to poke through. With intrusive thoughts ruining the mood, I quickly finish my shower and hop out to dry myself off.

After having to wrap the towel around my body twice, the towel hangs down to my ankles.

after using the step stool to reach the mirror, I start to poke and prod at my face. Keeping it simple, I wash my face and do my white hair. Parting down the middle, it frizzes out with stupid waves down to my chin. Narrowing my eyes, I grab my straightener and beat the waves out of my hair, lengthening it to past my shoulders.

Moving into my room, I rush to put on my oversized black pullover and blue faded jeans, not wanting to get drawn in by the sight of my body. Looking into the full-length mirror hanging from my door, I immediately fail. Crimson eyes stare back at me as I fiddle with my hair. Spinning around, I look to see if any of my scars can be seen.

My hand moves to rest on the hidden brand singed into my skin above my heart, where my collar bone is. I'm too short, I need to lose weight, why do I have stupid wavy hair, you're such a coward for hiding your fangs, you're a monster.

Intrusive thoughts sprint through my head like a cheetah chasing its prey. Slapping my cheeks with my hands, I snap out of my stupid pity trance as I grab my pen and notepad. My black socks protect my feet as I step out of my brown carpeted room and onto the mahogany floorboards of the hallway.

Walking left on the balls of my feet, I pass Father's room and move to the metal spiral staircase. Even without my sneaking, no one would hear me. Going a floor down, I walk off the staircase and onto the second level.

The floor is split into parts with only a half-wall with a ledge separating them. on the side with the staircase is a kitchen with marble countertops and light brown wood cabinets. On the other side sits floor-to-ceiling windows, comfy dark brown couches, and a bricked fireplace.

Moving into the kitchen, I open the fridge to grab the blood pack on the bottom shelf and move one from the fridge to the shelf. Why does Father Insist on my blood being on a specific shelf? What's so wrong with the blood being next to food? It's not like the blood pack's open. I ponder as I move into the living room.

"Good morning Catty," a fine posh accent greets me in an extremely formal tone. Looking to find the voice I spot Father sitting in an armchair in the far corner. With a cup of tea in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other, his calm demeanor and glazed look in his grey eyes baffled me. His fine white hair runs down to his shoulders as his wrinkled face lets out a smirk.

*Good morrow Mr. Ollivander, I'd say it's quite an outlandish sightseeing you look so chipper at this time. Pray tell, what is the meaning of this?* I sign, mocking him as I put on a smile. Most people find it shocking that he's my Father, considering the age difference. Then again I'm adopted so that image didn't happen.

"It's getting closer to the school year so I need to start opening sooner," he says with a chuckle, understanding my humor, as he takes a sip of his tea, hand slightly shaking.

*Smart,* I sign, remembering the line we get if we don't open early as I take a sip from my blood pack. Now I remember why I love to get up at this time, the rare quiet of the city, the gentle glow of the morning sun, and the damp feeling in the air give it just a great sense of peace.

"Speaking of which, have you gotten all your school supplies yet?" he asks, knowing the answer. I think back fondly to when I got my letter from Hogwarts. I immediately wrote back yes and reread it so much that I can recite it by memory.

For the longest time, I convinced myself no one would send me a letter. My magic has never once made itself known. If it wasn't for my magical existence, you'd think I was a squib.

*No. But I have a month to get the rest and we live right above the shops I need to go to,* I remind him as I finish up my blood pack. *When do you want me to help out today?* Ever since I got my wand balancing license I've been helping out at Father's wand shop. Although it's not like I've gotten much practice: most people don't even realize how important it is to clean and maintain your wand.

"I think, in the morning. It will be more hectic then," he reasons as he turns a page, popping a thought into my head.

*That reminds me, when can I make my own wand?

* I ask, eyes sparkling, in excitement as Father chokes on his tea.

"Would you look at the time! It's about time to open, wouldn't you agree?" Father sidesteps the question as he folds down the paper and gets out of his chair. A soft, soundless, chuckle escapes my lips as I start running to the stairs.

"Don't forget to grab a mask!" Father shouts as I change directions to start going up the stairs instead. Quickly running to my room, I grab a random hard black fabric face mask and meet Father inside the shop after putting on brown loafers.

Stepping out of the door, I stand on the balcony-type area that overlooks the shop. Candles already lit, the wand shop may be small, but I think it has its charm to it. I admire the tall shelves filled with wands stretching up to the ceiling as I walk down the curved staircase seemingly built into the bookcases.

The bottom floor is pretty bare, with only a desk near the back, a stool in the middle, and a bench against the wall with the door and display. Looking around the floor, you couldn't tell that two people work here considering all the wands sprawled on the floor and the shelves with no organization system, yet there are.

There are a lot of wands we have to try in a day so we never have time to clean up, not that we need to. Somehow Father always knows where each wand is; a trait I picked up after a while. Grabbing a pile of wand boxes, I start cleaning up a little as Father does the same in the crafting room behind the desk. The sign moves to say open as Father steps out from the back, flicking his wand.

*Showoff,* I sign, earning a snicker, as I grab a broom and start to sweep. The wait for a customer doesn't last long as the bell chimes, causing me to sit up from my perch near the top of the tall ladder.

"Good morning," father greets as the customers walk into the store.