Lucy Four
Lucy woke early the next morning. Although she could tell it was daylight, she kept her eyes shut tight.
"It was a dream," she told herself firmly. "I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for witches. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard."
There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.
"And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door," Lucy thought, her heart sinking. But she still didn't open her eyes. It had been such a good dream.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"All right," Lucy mumbled, "I'm getting up."
She sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off her. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.
Lucy scrambled to her feet, so happy she felt as though a large balloon were swelling inside her. She went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.
"Don't do that."
Lucy tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at her and carried on savaging the coat.
"Hagrid!" said Lucy loudly. "There's an owl -"
"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.
"What?"
"He wants paying for delivering the paper. Look in the pockets."
Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets - bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags… finally, Lucy pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.
"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.
"Knuts?"
"The little bronze ones."
Lucy counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg so Lucy could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window.
Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.
"Best be off, Lucy, lots to do today, gotta get up to London and buy all your stuff for school."
Lucy was turning over the witch coins and looking at them. She had just thought of something that made her feel as though the happy balloon inside her had got a puncture.
"Um - Hagrid?"
"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.
"I haven't got any money - and I don't think Uncle Vernon would let even Dudley pay for my schooling. You heard Uncle Vernon last night… he won't pay for me to go and learn magic. Not in any way."
"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "Do you think your parents didn't leave you anything?"
"But if their house was destroyed -"
"They didn't keep their gold in the house, girl! Nah, first stop for us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold - and I wouldn't say no to a bit of your birthday cake, neither."
"Wizards and witches have banks?"
"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."
Lucy dropped the bit of sausage she was holding.
"Goblins?"
"Yeah - so you'd be mad to try and rob it, I'll tell you that. Never mess with goblins, Lucy. Gringotts is the safest place in the world for anything you want to keep safe - except maybe Hogwarts. As a matter of fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. For Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me to do important stuff for him. Fetching you - getting things from Gringotts - knows he can trust me, see.
"Got everything? Come on, then."
Lucy followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.
"How did you get here?" Lucy asked, looking around for another boat.
"Flew," said Hagrid.
"Flew?!"
"Yeah - but we'll go back in this. Not supposed to do magic now I've got you."
They settled down in the boat, Lucy still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying.
"Seems a shame to row, though," said Hagrid, giving Lucy another of his sideways looks. "If I was to - er - speed things up a bit, would you mind not mentioning it at Hogwarts?"
"Of course not," said Lucy, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.
"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Lucy asked.
"Spells - enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guarding the high security vaults. And then you've got to find your way around - Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. You'd die of hunger trying to get out, even if you did manage to get your hands on something."
Lucy sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Lucy had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, she'd never had so many questions in her life.
"Ministry of Magic messing things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.
"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Lucy asked, before she could stop herself.
"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore for Minister, of course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, asking for advice."
"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?"
"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches and wizards up and down the country."
"Why?"
"Why?! Blimey, Lucy, everyone would be wanting magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."
At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.
Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Lucy? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"
So Lucy tried explaining things to him. "It's because parking spaces are limited, so guests pay to park at them," she said, looking up at him softly and earnestly. Hagrid plainly didn't get it.
"Hagrid," said Lucy at last, "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"
"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."
"You'd… like one?"
"Wanted one ever since I was a kid - here we go."
They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money" as he called it, gave the bills to Lucy so she could buy their tickets.
People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent. Lucy looked out the window and pretended not to notice the staring.
"Still got your letter, Lucy?" Hagrid asked as he counted stitches.
Lucy took the parchment envelope out of her pocket.
"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list in there of everything you need."
Lucy unfolded a second piece of paper she hadn't noticed the night before, and read:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Uniform
First-year students will require:
Three sets of plain work robes (black)
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.
Course Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Other Equipment
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal vials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
"Can we buy all this in London?" Lucy wondered aloud.
"If you know where to go," said Hagrid.
Lucy had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. Lucy watched uncertainly as he got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.
"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said to Lucy's hesitant blinking, as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.
Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Lucy had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of witch's gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke the Dursleys had cooked up? If Lucy hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, she might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told her so far was unbelievable, Lucy couldn't help trusting him.
"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."
It was a tiny, old-fashioned pub with a dark wood front and a painted oval sign hung out on a rod, wood plank flapping slightly in the breeze. The Leaky Cauldron seemed somewhat grubby; even the sign seemed coated in very old soot.
If Hagrid hadn't pointed the Leaky Cauldron out, Lucy wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other, and they strolled farther down Charing Cross Road as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Lucy had the most peculiar feeling that only she and Hagrid could see it. Before she could mention this, Hagrid had steered her inside.
For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. It had lots of little dark wood tables, a long bar with gleaming metal instruments behind it, a fireplace off to the right side, and a staircase off to the left side that must lead up to the rooms. Even the flower-printed wallpaper seemed again old and sooty. A few old women were sitting in a corner drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut.
"They're all wearing ordinary clothes," Lucy murmured, frowning. "But with some very old-fashioned additions."
"Yeah, well," said Hagrid, "we do wear Muggle clothes, mostly. Robes are mostly traditional things, for special or official occasions, they don't really have a fashion. Only eccentrics always wear robes. And we tend to live longer than Muggles, so you'll see a lot of people walking around dressed up in some very old fashioned Muggle garments - the kind they wore when they were young. When we're out among Muggles and we want to spot each other, though, we always try to wear purple and green. Those are our colors."
The low buzz of chatter in the Leaky Cauldron had stopped by this point. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"
"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Lucy's shoulder and marking Lucy's knees buckle.
"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Lucy, "is this - can this be -?"
The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.
"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Lucy Potter… what an honor."
He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Lucy and seized her hand, tears in his eyes.
"Welcome back, Miss Potter, welcome back."
Lucy didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at her. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.
Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Lucy found herself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron. Two particularly old-fashioned men bowed over her hand again, the second time that had happened in her life.
"Doris Crockford, Miss Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."
"So proud, Miss Potter, I'm just so proud."
"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter."
"Delighted, Miss Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."
"I've seen you before!" said Lucy, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."
"She remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? She remembers me!"
Lucy shook and offered her hand again and again - Doris Crockford kept coming back for more; those same two men wouldn't stop bowing.
A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.
"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Lucy, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."
"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Lucy's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"
"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously.
"Oh, I'm sure you have so much to teach me," said Lucy eagerly, remembering her promise to become a great witch from the night before. "Professor, I'm particularly interested, what can a witch do after she leaves school? I aim to become someone special, you see."
"S-some would s-s-say you already a-are," said Professor Quirrell, smiling anxiously and seeming surprised.
"But I want to actually do something. Not just have something happen to me," said Lucy firmly. "Not necessarily something great… just something that proves I'm a worthwhile witch."
"You don't have to prove that to anyone, Lucy," said Hagrid.
"Except to myself," said Lucy. "So, Professor." She turned back to him, eagle-eyed. "Is there anything in particular I should study? What are my career options?" She lifted her head. She wanted to know what a witch could do after she left school.
"W-well…" said Professor Quirrell thoughtfully, apparently interested to be asked a scholarly question. "Th-there are really f-four ways to go. There are the w-working class jobs - sh-shop clerk, caretaker. There are the jobs that are e-everywhere - p-professor, journalist, lawyer, g-government worker, Au-Aurors are a bit like policemen, and then Potioneers for Apothecaries are rather like ph-pharmacists in the Muggle world, while Healers are rather like d-doctors. No b-banking; th-that's goblin purview. There are jobs in any of the arts, though one would replace f-film with th-theater in our world, as we don't have t-television or the Internet; we even have our kind of p-professional sports. Then there are specifically m-magical jobs - working with m-magical creatures or in magical experimentation and theory, working on the magic surrounding G-Gringotts vaults, alchemy, that sort of thing. There are even people who specifically s-study sentient magical creature languages, or M-Muggle culture. And there are people who magically reconfigure w-wizarding technology, electricity normally being incompatible with m-magic, to f-fit into our old-fashioned w-world.
"You have m-many options, Miss Potter. N-n-never forget that."
"That sounds wonderful…" said Lucy softly, watching him intently.
"Professor Quirrell knows, 'cause he used to teach Muggle Studies," said Hagrid proudly. "That's a third-year elective. He changed subjects."
"Really? That's interesting," said Lucy thoughtfully. "What made you go from one to the other?"
Nervous Professor Quirrell looked like he was beginning to wonder the same thing himself. He was still pale; one of his eyes was still twitching. "Oh, j-just wanted a change." He tried for a trembling, brave smile. "S-so, P-P-Potter, you'll be g-g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.
"I can't wait to buy books. I'll have to start out with lots of extras," said Lucy, smiling. Hearing her countless career options had excited her, opened her eyes to all the things she could do with her life if she took her studies seriously enough. This world, with its modern clothes and its selective technology and its fantastical careers, was like the ordinary world on steroids. All those careers… how would she be able to choose just one?!
But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Lucy to himself. It took almost ten more minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.
"Must get on - lots to buy. Come on, Lucy."
Doris Crockford shook Lucy's hand one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.
Hagrid grinned at Lucy.
"Told you, didn't I? Told you you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was trembling to meet you - mind you, he's usually trembling."
"Is he always that nervous?"
"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studying out of books, but then he took a year off to get some firsthand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit of trouble with a hag - never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject - now, where's me umbrella?"
Hagrid found it, took it out of his coat pocket, and began counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.
"Three up… two across…" he muttered. "Right, stand back, Lucy."
He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.
The brick he had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle a small hole appeared - it grew wider and wider - a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street full of colorful little shop buildings that twisted and turned out of sight.
"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."
He grinned at Lucy's amazement. They stepped through the archway. Lucy looked quickly over her shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.
The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self Stirring - Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them. The shop was called Potages.
"Yeah, you'll be needing one," said Hagrid, "but we've got to get your money first."
Lucy wished she had about eight more eyes. She turned her head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad…"
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Lucy's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Lucy heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand - fastest ever…" Meanwhile, several girls of about Lucy's age were oohing and aahing outside the windows of a department store advertising itself as Gladrags Wizardwear. There were shops selling antique robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Lucy had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…
"Gringotts," said Hagrid.
They had reached a snowy white marble building with Grecian columns that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was -
"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Lucy. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Lucy noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"Like I said, you'd be mad to try and rob it," said Hagrid.
A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Lucy made for the counter.
"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come to take some money out of Miss Lucy Potter's safe."
"You have her key, sir?"
"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Lucy watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.
"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.
The goblin looked at it closely.
"That seems to be in order."
Lucy took the key and tucked it deep in her pocket.
"And I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."
The goblin read the letter carefully.
"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid. "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"
Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all of the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Lucy followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.
"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Lucy asked.
"Can't tell you that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More than my job's worth to tell you that."
Griphook held the door open for them. Lucy, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in - Hagrid with some difficulty - and were off.
At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passageways. Lucy tried to remember left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.
Lucy's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but she kept them wide open. Once, she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.
"I never know," Lucy called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite."
"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "And don't ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."
He did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.
So Lucy asked Griphook. "Griphook - just what does my family's money look like?" She thought this to be an important thing to know, if she was going to try and know everything that was important.
"Well." Griphook paused thoughtfully. "You had an ancestor in the twelfth century who invented several commonly used medicinal potions. You get a cut of money every single time a Skele-Gro Potion or a Pepperup Potion is made, bought, and sold. That's a limb regrowing potion and the cure for the common cold."
Lucy's eyes had widened.
"So you have quite a bit of money," said Griphook casually. "The Potters are one of our oldest and wealthiest families. You have the trust fund you can access now, and then the main Potter family vault when you come of age at seventeen. The main vault continually refills the trust vault, and the medicinal potions continually refill the main vault. Do you see?"
Lucy did see.
"The family vault is cursed with an ever-growing spell. The minute a piece of gold is touched, it continues to magically multiply false gold until eventually the thief drowns in a pile of the money they themselves wanted. The trust vault is cursed with toxic fumes - they come out every time the vault is opened, and are only harmless to those with good intentions and those who belong. So a bit milder.
"You are worth several million Galleons a year. In Muggle terms that makes you a billionaire," said Griphook, smirking.
A billionaire. Lucy was speechless, completely floored.
But that was nothing compared to what was about to come.
Lucy's trust vault was number six hundred and eighty seven. Griphook unlocked the door with the tiny golden key, then gave it back to Lucy. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Lucy gasped, wordless. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.
"All yours," smiled Hagrid.
All Lucy's - it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from her faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Lucy cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a fortune belonging to her, buried deep under London.
"... Can this be transferred over into Muggle pounds, any of it?" she asked intently.
"As much as you wish, Miss Potter," said Griphook with a slow, wicked smile.
"... I would like to do that when we get back to the hall," she said, determination forming over her expression. She would finally be able to pay back Dudley.
Hagrid helped Lucy pile some of it into a bag.
"The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough for a couple of terms, we'll keep the rest safe for you." He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"
"One speed only," said Griphook.
They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled around tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Lucy leaned over to try to see what was at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled her back by the scruff of her neck.
Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.
"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.
"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.
"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Lucy asked.
"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.
Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Lucy was sure, and she leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least - but at first she thought it was empty. Then she noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Lucy longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.
"Come on, back inside this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.
One wild cart ride and exchange of some of Lucy's money at the counter later, they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Lucy didn't know where to run first now that she had a bag full of witch's gold. She knew she was holding more money than she'd had in her whole life - more money than even Dudley had ever had.
"Might as well get your uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Lucy, would you mind if I slipped off for a pick me up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Lucy entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.
Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Lucy started to speak. "Got the lot here. A young man your age being fitted up just now, in fact."
In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Lucy on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over her head, and began to pin it to the right length.
"Hello," said the boy. "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes," said Lucy.
"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."
Lucy felt a sharp spurt of distaste.
"I don't suppose you've got your own broom or play Quidditch at all, being a girl," the boy supposed slowly.
Whether Quidditch was a game or a sport, Lucy frowned.
"You're right, I don't have my own broom, but I don't think it's because I'm a girl," she said, quiet but surprisingly fierce.
The boy smirked. "Oh, of course," he drawled, rolling his eyes.
Lucy was still wondering what on earth Quidditch could be and why broom flying was reserved for men. She was beginning to strongly dislike this boy.
"I play Quidditch," the boy continued. "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"
"No," said Lucy, feeling more stupid by the minute.
"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
"Mmm," said Lucy, wishing she could say something a bit more interesting.
"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Lucy and pointing at two large ice cream cones to show he couldn't come in.
"That's Hagrid," said Lucy, brightening. "He works at Hogwarts."
"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"
"He's the gamekeeper," said Lucy. She was liking this boy less and less every second.
"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage - lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."
"I personally find Hagrid to be much better company than you're turning out to be," Lucy sniffed.
"Really?" The boy sneered again. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"
"They're dead," said Lucy shortly. She didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy.
"Oh, sorry," said the boy, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"
"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"
But before Lucy could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Lucy, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped off the footstool.
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.
Lucy was rather quiet as she ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought her (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).
"What's up?" said Hagrid.
"Nothing," Lucy lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Lucy cheered up a bit when she found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote. When they had left the shop, she said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"
"Blimey, Lucy, I keep forgetting how little you know - not knowing about Quidditch!"
"Don't make me feel worse," said Lucy. She told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Malkin's.
"- and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in -"
"You're not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who you were - he's grown up knowing your name if his parents are wizarding folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw you. Anyway, what does he know about it, some of the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in them in a long line of Muggles - look at your mum! Look what she had for a sister!"
"I just feel like I've been wanting so badly to fit in here, to be a great witch who studies really hard, but what if it's impossible? What if I just don't fit in?" said Lucy, earnest and upset as she stopped on the street to look up at Hagrid.
"You want to know the truth?" said Hagrid seriously. "The truth is that the boy you met just loves mocking people. Wizarding folk, wizards and witches, are good at accepting everyone - women, gay people, people of different races - we're great at accepting everyone, except for the people unlike us in the biggest way. People who come from Muggle families.
"But that doesn't make it right, and it doesn't make it true. You can fit in; you can be a great witch if you set your mind to it. Never let anyone make you think differently because they don't like things that are different. Okay?"
He looked underneath his thick eyebrows at her. At last, Lucy's face broke into a smile.
"... Okay," she said. "So what is Quidditch?"
"It's our sport. Wizard sport, and yes witches do play it too. It's like - like football in the Muggle world - everyone follows Quidditch - played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls - sort of hard to explain the rules."
"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"
"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuffs are a lot of duffers, but -"
"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Lucy gloomily.
"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."
"Vol-, sorry - You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"
"Years and years ago," said Hagrid.
They bought Lucy's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps covered in silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Here, Lucy went mad. Determined to become a powerful witch, she decided she had to narrow her extra reading down to a specific point of focus, and she went for the intricacies of magic itself. Magical theory, learning, and mastery as well as potions and magical plants and creatures - those were her choices outside of school.
"I figure I'll learn everything I need to about wizarding culture and history over time and at Hogwarts," she told Hagrid excitedly, lifting up her gigantic pile of extra books and tottering under the weight. "But I must learn as much as possible about magic, if I'm to become a powerful witch!"
"Half that magic you couldn't even work yet. At least half," said Hagrid, bewildered. "You'll need a lot more study before you get to that level."
"But there's no harm in starting my studies early. Right? Come on, Hagrid, they're books to do with school. Parents usually want their kids to take an interest in that," Lucy sighed, peeking big green bespectacled eyes out from behind the pile of books in her arms.
"Well, all right," said Hagrid skeptically. "Just do me a favor and don't practice anything that says it's past first or second year, okay? We don't want you passing out."
Lucy also bought wizarding versions of some of her favorite hobbies while around Flourish and Blotts. She bought lots of fiction books full of wizards and witches who went on adventures that seemed fantastical even by wizarding standards. She also bought several globes of different moons and planets, and several star charts complete with stars that glowed, shimmered, and moved around in shooting formations periodically about the chart.
To her fascination, all the pictures moved. The star charts, the book covers. Even the artistic images writhed and moved around their covers as though alive, and the person-like sentient subjects waved and made personality appropriate movements and signs from the pictures, sometimes disappearing from the frame for a while altogether.
"That's all our pictures - art, photographs. It all moves around," said Hagrid. "Most wizards and witches can't believe it when Muggleborns tell them everything just stays put in Muggle pictures. Very strange indeed."
Hagrid finally put his foot down and wouldn't let Lucy buy a solid gold cauldron ("It says pewter on your list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Lucy (the expensive kit, complete with crystal vials and expensive black dragonhide protective gloves), Lucy herself examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).
Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Lucy's list again.
"Just your wand left - oh yeah, and I still haven't got you a birthday present."
Lucy felt herself go red.
"You don't have to -"
"I know I don't have to. Tell you what, I'll get your animal. Not a toad, toads went out of fashion years ago, you'd be laughed at - and I don't like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get you an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry your mail and everything."
Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Lucy now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. She couldn't stop thanking Hagrid fervently.
"Don't mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don't expect you've had a lot of presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now - only place for wands, Ollivanders, and you gotta have the best wand."
A magic wand… this was what Lucy had really been looking forward to.
The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Lucy felt strangely as though she had entered a very strict library; she swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to her and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Lucy jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.
An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," said Lucy awkwardly.
"Ah, yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Lucy Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
Mr Ollivander moved closer to Lucy. Lucy wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.
"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for Transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it - it's really the wand that chooses the witch or wizard, of course."
Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Lucy were almost nose to nose. Lucy could see herself reflected in those misty eyes.
"And that's where…"
Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Lucy's forehead with a long, white finger.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"
He shook his head and then, to Lucy's relief, spotted Hagrid.
"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"
"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.
"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr Ollivander, suddenly stern.
"Er - yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.
"But you don't use them?" said Mr Ollivander sharply.
"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Lucy noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.
"Hmmm," said Mr Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now - Miss Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"Er - well, I'm right-handed," said Lucy.
"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Lucy from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another witch's wand."
Lucy suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.
"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss Potter. Try this one. Beech wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."
Lucy took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once.
"No, no - here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
Lucy tried. And tried. She had no idea what Mr Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands mounted higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder, now - yes, why not - vine and phoenix feather, ten inches, hard."
Lucy took the soft, fibrous brown wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…"
He put Lucy's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious… curious…"
"Sorry," said Lucy, "but what's curious?"
Mr Ollivander fixed Lucy with his pale stare.
"First, there is the meaning behind your wand wood. And I will explain why it is interesting in a moment.
"The druids considered anything with a woody stem as a tree, and vine makes wands of such a special nature that I have been happy to continue their ancient tradition. Vine wands are among the less common types, and I have been intrigued to notice that their owners are nearly always those witches or wizards who seek a greater purpose, who have a vision beyond the ordinary and who frequently astound those who think they know them best. Vine wands seem strongly attracted by personalities with hidden depths, and I have found them more sensitive than any other when it comes to instantly detecting a prospective match. Reliable sources claim that these wands can emit magical effects upon the mere entrance into their room of a suitable owner, and I have twice observed the phenomenon in my own shop.
"Now, why is this interesting?
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its mate - why, its mate gave you that scar."
Lucy swallowed.
"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the witch, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great."
Lucy shivered. She wasn't sure she liked Mr Ollivander too much. The thought of doing great things should have been welcome, but somehow in this context it was just creepy and overwhelming. She paid seven gold Galleons for her wand, and Mr Ollivander bowed them from his shop.
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Lucy and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Lucy didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; she didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Lucy's lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Lucy only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped her on the shoulder.
"Got time for a bite to eat before your train leaves," he said.
He bought Lucy a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Lucy kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.
"You all right, Lucy? You're very quiet," said Hagrid.
Lucy wasn't sure she could explain. She'd just had the best birthday of her life - and yet - she chewed her hamburger, trying to find the words.
"Everyone thinks I'm special," she said at last. "Before I've even done anything, I mean. All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr Ollivander… but I don't know anything about magic at all yet! How can they expect great things from me already? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for! I don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry - I mean, the night my parents died."
Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows, he wore a very kind smile.
"Don't you worry, Lucy. You're one of the keenest kids I've met so far, and everyone learns fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yourself. I know it's hard. You've been singled out, and that's always hard. But you'll have a great time at Hogwarts - I did - still do, as a matter of fact. And after that… just think what Quirrell said. You've got your whole life as a witch ahead of you."
Lucy nodded. "I meant what I said," she added, determination forming over her features. "I want to prove myself - to myself as much as to anyone else. Those extra books on magic will be a start. There's just so much exciting knowledge out there that I can learn… so many future options to choose from."
"Well, luckily you've got a few years to figure it out," Hagrid chuckled. "Hey, you know what you could do? Do you remember the deputy headmistress, Professor McGonagall, from your acceptance letter?"
Lucy nodded curiously.
"Write to her this summer, while you're reading and studying! She's usually a rather strict sort, but I think she'd like you. She loves tutoring keen young witches who ask for her help.
"You could ask her how to practice spells and potions, or about what you're reading, or about what you should study and what you should memorize. She'd be great for that! Ask her for study and training tips. She's much less of a stickler for rules or a stickler for needless knowledge than one might expect, and she's brilliant - especially with magic, but she was a Halfblood, so she could probably answer just about any question you had. She could teach you how to practice magic, and how to memorize important sections of readings, without you having to memorize the whole thing as though you'd just swallowed the textbook."
"... I'll do that," said Lucy thoughtfully. "Thanks, Hagrid."
Hagrid helped Lucy onto the train that would take her back to the Dursleys, then handed her an envelope.
"Your ticket for Hogwarts," he said. "First of September - King's Cross - it's all on your ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with your owl, she knows how to find just about anyone… See you soon, Lucy."
The train pulled out of the station. Lucy wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; she rose in her seat and pressed her nose against the window, but she blinked and Hagrid had gone.