"Are you sure you're alright, then?" she asked.

Harry nodded.

"There's nothing wrong with me," said Harry. "I think they're just keeping me here because wizards want to feel good about themselves and just label everyone else as 'infirm' whatever that means. It says more about them than about me."

The witch at his bedside smiled.

"Well, I'm glad that you're-"

She was interrupted by the infirmary door slamming open and admitting a large mass of leather and hair.

"Bless me," said the creature. "Is tha' you, Harry?"

"My name is Harry," said Harry, "but I'm not sure how I would know if I'm the Harry that you think I am."

"Righ'," he said. "Dumbledore reckoned you'd be a bit weird with words. 'S ok, they say I'm not too great with words, meself."

"Dumbledore sent you?" asked the witch in an even tone. Her hair had turned red, which Harry thought was probably because she liked the color.

"Sure did!" he said. "The professor sent me 'imself to take young Harry, here, over to Diagon and get his supplies."

"And you're going alone?" asked the witch.

"Well, no," he said. "I'm taking Harry along like I just said."

Tonks sighed.

"Hagrid, that's not what I meant," she said. "I just wanted to make sure that- well nevermind."

"Ready then, Harry?" Hagrid asked.

Harry narrowed his eyes. The man wasn't wearing a hat of any sort, but he was sent by a wizard. There was only one way to get to the truth of the matter.

"Are you a wizard?" Harry asked.

"Hmph!" Hagrid appeared insulted, which was a good sign. "Listen here, Harry, I don' know what you've been told, but I'm just as much a wizard as you or Tonks there!"

"Oh," said Harry. "That's alright then, so where are we going again?"

Hagrid seemed nonplussed and Tonks was resting her face on both of her hands.

"Um," said Hagrid, "Diagon Alley! Just wait till you see it, Harry!

"Wow," said Harry. "This really is amazing!"

Hagrid looked like he had sat on a tac and was doing his best to ignore it.

"How did they get the buildings like that? I mean they aren't exactly pretty, but it seems like they can only get that big because of magic," ranted Harry.

"Um," said Hagrid.

"And what are these things that everyone's riding around in? Are they some sort of magical creature? I love how they're all different colors!"

"Well, you see-," began Hagrid.

"And why is it called Diagon Alley?" asked Harry. "There are lots of roads here and all of them are bigger than any I've ever seen!"

"The thing is-" said Hagrid.

"Wait, why are we going into this dingy tavern?" asked Harry.

"'Snot Diagon Alley," muttered Hagrid.

"What?" asked Harry.

"This is just muggle London, we haven't gotten to the Alley yet," said Hagrid.

"Muggle? London?" Harry had taken to shortening his questions about words he didn't know.

"London's just a city, though a right big one," said Hagrid. "Muggle means people without magic. They built all the stuff you see 'round ya. 'Cept for this pub, here. That's all wizard."

"What about that building?" asked Harry. "It's got so many windows there's no way it could stand up on its own without magic."

Hagrid truly considered the aforementioned building, quite possibly for the first time.

"I suppose I don't rightly know," he admitted.

"And what about that long metal tubey thing that we rode in? How'd people without magic make that?" asked Harry.

"The train? Oh, that's jus' electricity they run on, perfectly normal," he said.

"What's electricity?" Harry asked.

"It's… it's a bit like lightning, I suppose," said Hagrid.

"So these people, without magic, pull lightning from the sky to make their trayns go places?" Harry asked.

"No, no. They don't go 'round pullin' it from the sky. They usually make it out of other things," Hagrid saw the next question forming on Harry's lips so he continued. "Other things like rivers, and the wind, gasoline and such."

"What's gaso-" Harry began.

"It's a type of fuel made from old plants and animals, like dinosaurs," said Hagrid.

"What are-" Harry began again.

"Dinosaurs're a bit like giant lizards," Hagrid interrupted.

"Like dragons?" asked Harry.

"Yep, tha's right, like dragons. 'Cept not all of 'em fly, I don' reckon any of 'em breathed fire, and all of 'em are long dead." Hagrid got a far-off look in his eyes. "A shame that, a true shame."

"So they dig up these dragon-ish things and burn them in some sort of ritual that gives them kinda-lightning and they use that to make trayns and such go places?" asked Harry.

"No, that's not quite right," said Hagrid.

"That's for sure, it sounds like necromancy," said Harry.

"What? No," said Hagrid.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't desecrate a dragon's grave like these necromantic muggles," said Harry. He gave a suspicious glance at the buildings and street behind him, which now seemed altogether sinister to him.

"Um..." began Hagrid. "Well… you see…"

They found themselves before a brick wall, which Hagrid hastily tapped with his umbrella.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Harry!" Hagrid said as the bricks folded away.

"Oh," said Harry. "Cool."

"Cool?" said Hagrid.

"Yeah, like, it looks like a village bazaar, but with more magic," said Harry. "Which is cool, but not like 'woah' level and obviously magical like the muggles and their draconic necromancy."

"Righ'," said Hagrid. "Well, let's getcha over to the bank first."

It was a long walk and conversation was hard as Harry used Hagrid's bulk to shield himself from the press of the crowd. Because of this, Harry didn't see the large white marble building until it was right in front of him.

"Woah," he said. Hagrid's bushy eyebrows furrowed.

"Really?" Hagrid asked. "Ne'ermind that. Now once we go inside you migh' wanna be careful what you say. See, the folk what run the bank they're a rough lot. Violent, proud, stingy, as like to run you through and take your money as anything."

"Oh, they're wizards then?" Harry asked.

A bark-like laugh sounded from the bank's door. Harry looked over and saw a short figure with rough dark green skin dressed in gleaming armor. It looked like it might be smiling. It was showing a lot of teeth at any rate.

"Well, let's get on in, then."

Harry crinkled his nose at the goblin as they passed. Something in the air tickled the inside of his nose.

Harry made a strange noise that was a combination of a sneeze, a cough, a hiccough, and a snort.

The short creature made a similar sound back at him, it was probably contagious, like yawning.

Hagrid's eyebrows climbed up his forehead and seemed determined to join their kin to the north.

Harry figured that he must be allergic to these short, green wizards since he kept being attacked by sneezes, coughs, hiccoughs, and snorts in various combinations. The green wizards must also be allergic to him since they kept responding to him in kind. Either that or it was, indeed, as contagious as yawning, like he had first suspected.

Whatever the case, Hagrid eventually stopped talking to one of them and they headed towards the back of the bank.

"Into the cart, wizard," said the latest short wizard.

Harry crossed his arms. "I'll not stand here and be insulted like some kind of wannabe witch you... you-" but before he could think of a proper insult Harry was overcome by a cough that transitioned into a sneeze, followed shortly by a hiccough.

The green wizard was taken aback, probably concentrating on not sneezing himself.

"Very well, youngling," he said eventually.

His mild words were a cover, however, as he then tried to murder both Harry and Hagrid through grossly negligent cart driving.

It might not be personal, though. Based on the state of the tracks, Harry figured that the short wizards resented their underground lifestyle and were determined to meet their own ends as soon as possible.

Fortunately for Harry, his innate magical strength as a witch in training was enough to guarantee the safety of all passengers in rickety death-trap.

As it came to a stop, the diminutive wizard led them to a large door which he opened to reveal a pile of gold more substantial than Harry had ever bothered to imagine.

"Woah," said Harry. Hagrid's beard twitched. "All this gold was my parents'?"

"That's right," said Hagrid. "Though most of it came from your dad, being a pureblood and all."

Harry was confused about what one's blood had to do with the amount of gold one had.

Unless…

"Was my dad a dragon?" Harry asked?

"What?" said Hagrid.

"Oh, that's probably why he was killed," said Harry.

"Pardon?" Hagrid tried to interrupt.

"Those cursed muggles must have killed him so their foul sorcery could turn his body into lightning to build their majestic but also evil buildings," Harry said. All the pieces fit.

Hagrid stood there, mouth agape. He was stunned that Harry had figured out the truth so quickly.

"Don't worry Hagrid," said Harry. He could see why the not-wizard hadn't filled him in right away.

"I know I'm not ready to confront the muggles and their superior magic yet," said Harry. "I'll work hard and become as great a wit-, er, wizard as I can be before knocking the muggles down a peg."

"Er," said Hagrid, "I don't think that's quite right."

"No, no," said Harry patiently, "all the pieces fit."

"Right then," muttered Hagrid. He let out a sigh and let his shoulders rest as low as they could go. Harry figured that it must be tiring carrying around shoulders like that, so didn't judge him at all for the gesture.

Harry looked for the shorter wizard, expecting him to butt in as well. Fortunately, he seemed to be occupied in arranging gold coins on the floor in the shape of a long oval with two circles at one end.

"Let's, er," said Hagrid, "go fetch your supplies then."


Harry was decidedly uncomfortable.

He was dressed in comfortable robes which were being altered to fit him perfectly.

Wizard robes.

"What about those robes?" he asked. "The ones with the nice black lace."

The proprietress cast a polite glance to her stock.

"Those are witches robes, young sir," she said.

"Yes, and?" Harry asked.

"Well, if you wear those, then everyone will think you're a witch!" she said.

"Yes," said Harry, "that's the po-, er, what I mean to say is you are most certainly right. That would, er, be terrible."

Harry carefully considered how to get some witch's robes without people finding out that he was secretly a witch.

"Ms.," he began, "you wouldn't happen to have a book of spells for the mending and," his eyes darted over to the beautiful lace-trimmed robes, "alteration of clothing would you?"

"I don't usually make a practice of selling those," she said, "but I do have an extra copy I could part with, just for you."

She ambled to the back room a swiftly returned with a narrow and well-worn tome. Harry flipped through the pages looking for illustrations, but only found sketches of hands holding sticks and confusing arrows. More cunning would be required.

"Does this have anything about sewing lace?" Harry asked. "Just so I know it's complete and all."

She took the book and read a page in the back before turning to a page in the middle and handing it back to Harry.

"There you are dear," she turned, "Mr. Hagrid, perhaps you could talk some sense into him?" she asked.

"Er," said Hagrid, "I think I'll be off to the Leaky Cauldron fer a pint."

For such a big man, Hagrid made off quite quickly.

Harry, meanwhile, stared at the page in incomprehension.

"Ms., how do people usually remember to do things that they don't think they'll remember to do," he asked.

"Oh, well I usually just write a note to myself about it," she said.

"Oh," said Harry. "I suppose it's worth a shot. Could you please write a note here at the top of the page?"

A pencil appeared in her hand.

"What would you like it to say, dear?" she asked.

"Learn to read," Harry enunciated carefully.

She paused for a long moment before scribbling something on the page. Presumably what Harry had asked of her.

Harry looked at the markings carefully, unsure of how this was going to help him remember anything.


"Mr. Potter," said the shopkeep, "I think you'll enjoy this fully charmed trunk. It's got our specialized luxury manor themed, and sized, interior, full blood, soul, and password protection, and even comes with three house elves for upkeep. The price is only fitting for one of your station and fame."

"You said all these things come from being charmed?" asked Harry.

"Yes, these are a special product of our chief charms master, the venerable and wizened Bureaut Buehrer," the shopkeep replied.

"A wizard?" Harry asked with narrowed eyes.

"Not just any wizard, I'd say even Dumbledore would be afraid to match charms with him," he said.

"No thank you," Harry gritted out. "I'll take a natural trunk and be on my way," he paused. "In black please."


"Aren't you supposed to be in school? Wait, oh right, McGonagall sent an owl saying you needed first-year potion supplies. I've got them ready right here," said the merchant.

"That's good," said Harry, "I'll need these as well."

With that, he put one of the shop's small display barrels on the counter.

"Oh, how many do you want of 'em?" he asked.

Harry looked at the barrel and looked back at the merchant in confusion, which quickly gave way to excitement.

"You mean you have more barrels of this?!" he said.

"What? No. Are you saying you want the whole barrel?" the merchant asked.

Harry nodded.

"What on earth do you need that many newt eyes for?" he asked.

Harry narrowed his eyes but didn't otherwise respond.

"Alright then, that's fine, I guess," said the merchant.


Harry stepped into the book store and found it to be full of books. He considered the book he already had, and couldn't figure how him having any more books would do anyone any good.

Harry stepped out of the bookstore, stepped some more, and stepped into the wand shop. Wands were almost as wizardy as brimless hats covered in stars. Wizards cared greatly about their wands and constantly bragged about them. As Granny said, "wands are very important to those that have them." But he had to keep up appearances, for now, at least.

"Mr. Potter, I've been expecting you," said a voice, that turned out to belong to a decrepit and old looking man who seemed to enjoy frightening young children. That is to say, he was everything Harry expected from a wizard.

"Well, you've got my name mostly wrong," said Harry, "so I expect all your expecting has gone to waste."

"Hm," said the wizard, "let's see about fitting you for a wand."

Harry spent the next hour feeling exposed and vindicated. No amount of magical measuring tape, dusty boxes of wands, or 'how about this' had managed to pair him with a wand. Harry knew it was because he was actually a witch. Harry was afraid that the wizard knew it was actually because he was a witch.

"I don't suppose," the wizard trialed off, "well, why not?"

He dug around for a wand behind his desk and emerged a minute later. He handed the wand to Harry almost reverently.

Once Harry grasped it, it sent ocatarine sparks flying everywhere and filled him with a fantastic sense of warmth that he didn't have time to talk himself out of.

"Funny that that wand should pick you," said the wizard.

Harry remembered the pretense that he was maintaining.

"And why should that be funny?" Harry asked defensively.

"Just that this wand is the brother-"

"-or sister," Harry interrupted.

The man looked at him strangely for a moment before deciding to ignore him.

"-of the wand that gave you that scar."

"Wait," said Harry, "it was the death curse that gave me this scar. Does this wand shoot death curses?" Harry dropped it on the floor, then dove away when it bounced back towards him.

"Of course it could," said the wizard.

"Oh," said Harry, "I don't suppose I could get a different one, or just do without?"

"Ah, this wand has chosen you, no other will do, and every wizard needs one."

"Oh, ok," said Harry, "would you, er, mind setting that back in its box for me? Thanks!"