Chapter 2

Using the Floo is mildly terrifying.

The books and movies did not do the experience justice. Sure, they went over how badly things can go if you're not clear with your pronunciation — which is why I practiced saying "Diagon Alley" thrice under my breath before even touching the Floo Powder — and how dizzying the journey can be. But they seem to forget that moment of brief terror when you have to put your feet into a hearth of green flames, and then allow yourself to be consumed by fire.

Sure, it's perfectly harmless to do so long as the Floo Powder was used correctly and the flames were still green. You just had to be quick about it because the magic only lasted as long as the power still burned and made the flames viridian… if they turned back, you would be burned. But burns weren't severe injuries as far as the Wizarding World was concerned. The Flame-Freezing Charm was apparently "basic" enough for adult wizards to use, and actual burn-wounds were easily healed by any half-decent Healer with the right potions and charms.

Still, I couldn't help the start I gave when the flames consumed me, even if I knew Mum wasn't far behind. I did remember to keep my elbows tucked in, and allowed myself to be spun rapidly as I was whisked along the network. It was a bit fascinating, what little I could grasp of the inside of the Floo Network while being spun like a top so rapidly that my eyes seemed to roll in their sockets too. I was idly reminded of how the Muggle internet was connected together before WiFi had been invented in my first life, or perhaps more accurately, how phone lines were routed, but I was too dizzy to think much of it. Before I had the time to really contemplate the analogy, I was ejected from a fireplace and sprawled into a heap on a surprisingly soft rug in the Leaky Cauldron.

The Leaky had several fireplaces it seemed, and the one connected to the Floo was in an out-of-the-way corner of the pub, probably to keep people from popping onto someone's food if they tripped on the way out like I had. I barely had the time to get my bearings before Mum had appeared behind me in a rush of green flames and immediately started fussing over me. It seemed to be a universal trait for mothers, because she kept trying to brush my hair and straighten my collar, despite all protestations, in a familiar manner to both sets of memories.

Unsurprisingly, the Leaky Cauldron was a lot like its depiction in the early movies, only far warmer and much emptier this early in the day. Though, the description from the earlier books also reigned supreme - the pub was quite dark despite having multiple fireplaces and felt oddly shabby for such an important place. Most patrons seemed to be having breakfast or chatting among themselves over a pot of tea, though there was one odd fellow reading a book on theoretical physics by himself in a corner. Tom, the innkeeper, smiled graciously at Mum and I with his toothless smile. He looked much more like the actor from the first movie, I noted, rather than the hunchback from the second, though he was still quite old and bald. I gave him a wave as Mum shepherded me towards the back where the entrance to the Alley was.

From the trash can, three up, two across.

Diagon Alley was a lot less crowded than the Sorcerer's Stone film had made it out to be. Still very much a bustling center of Wizarding culture and peoples, and all the delightful and odd sights and sounds and smells that accompanied our varied populace. But it wasn't full to the brim like I had been expecting.

And yet, I still marveled over each and every sight. Sure, I'd seen them before, but back then I'd been younger, not shopping for Hogwarts supplies, and I certainly didn't have the knowledge of the future I now possessed. I would, however, endeavour to contain my excitement.

...Obviously, I failed.

Mum chuckled and had to practically manhandle me towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions to be fitted for the school robes. I pouted but bore with the indignity of being poked and prodded by the seamstress, who apparently was a fan of Mum's books. I spotted the familiar title on a book spine under some rolls of cloth, but it was studiously shunted aside before I could actually get a good look at it. Annoying. I was never allowed to read any of Mum's work, and she wrote under a pseudonym so I couldn't just sneak listen to people talk to her about it either. Stupid silencing spells on the doors when her editor comes over…

Anyways, my time at Madam Malkin's was relatively quick and uneventful. Unlike countless fanfictions I had read in my first life, not everyone has a chance to interact with "The Great Harry Potter" at the seamstress'. I suppose my excitement and rush to buy things at Diagon Alley contributed to that - it was the 25th of July, and Harry only came to London on his birthday, the 31st. Unfortunate, but not unwelcome. I had no intention of mucking with Harry's first impressions of anything. There was plenty of time to do that at Hogwarts… depending on where I ended up. I wasn't entirely sure myself. Ravenclaw, I suspected. I certainly felt smart enough, and having an entire life's worth of memories crammed into my noggin wouldn't hurt my chances of getting in there.

After we got robes, we ended up going all over the place. My eyes lingered on certain shops — Flourish and Blotts, Obscurus Books, Gringotts, Ollivanders — but despite all pleading, Mum dragged me to get "the essentials" first. Apparently, it was tradition in our family to get our wands last on a trip to Diagon, and I suppose she knew me well enough to realize that if we stopped at a bookshop, I'd never leave.

I bore with it stoically and exhibited great decorum when told this. Let no one tell you differently.

The shop was narrow, shabby, and felt positively ancient when we walked up to the door. The sign was painted in peeling golden lettering, and there was only a single wand in the display window. For the oldest wand shop in London, Ollivanders was terribly unassuming compared to the riotous oddity that was the rest of Diagon Alley during the summer.

A bell tinkled as I walked in, and I was struck with how tiny the shop was, as well as the quiet. Mum was waiting outside, having run into Mrs. Macmillan before we could enter and sent me on ahead with the 7 Galleons so she could gossip. I was perfectly fine on my own, and while I was a little concerned about facing the daunting prospect of receiving my wand all by myself, some part of me felt this was a private moment and didn't want her hovering to affect which wand I got.

Even so, I was awfully nervous, staring at the towering piles of wandboxes on narrow shelves that reached towards the ceiling. There was an odd prickling sensation, a feeling of ancient and secret magics. I idly wondered if it was the wands whispering to one another in an unknowable fashion, understood by none but perhaps their maker and the one they deigned to choose to wield them.

"Good afternoon," came the expected voice, appearing from apparently nowhere. Garrick Ollivander had no reason to raise his voice, but even so, his soft tones made me start. The wandmaker was visibly old with wild, wispy white hairs escaping from under his crooked Phrygian hat, skeletal hands clasped gently over frayed, faded robes. I met his eyes and was struck at how pale and silver they looked. The man had to have been half-blind, from how rheumy they seemed, and yet those pale orbs were focused upon me without error, vast and deep in sunken sockets. They didn't even blink.

"Good afternoon," I replied. "I've come for a wand."

"Yes, I've been expecting you, Mr. Godewyn," Ollivander nodded, moving closer. "Though part of me wondered if you would actually grace my shop. Your distant cousin doesn't plan to — I suspect he will be inheriting his father's wand — but as you have the blessing of parents to take care of you, I couldn't help but wonder if you would take your grandmother's or not. But then, it's the wand that chooses the wizard, and not the other way around."

I blinked. I certainly hadn't been expecting that.

"Of course, you knew that already." It wasn't a question, and I was caught even more off guard when Ollivander whipped out a tape measure marked in silver and began to take measurements. "Wand arm?"

I held out my right, mutely allowing the tape to measure my body and take note of the oddest of things while the wandmaker shuffled silently into the towering boxes.

"Yes, well, you've already started trying to master your magic, I see. Normally, most young wizards and witches prefer to wait. At least, the purebloods do - mimicking their parents as they grow up, seeing how they use their wands." Ollivander took a glance at me and then at some of the notes a quill had been jotting down while the tape continued to measure me. "But then, you're not that sort of wizard. Difficult customer then. Not dogwood, no, nor cypress."

"How did you know?" I couldn't help but wonder. As far as I knew, there was no way to tell that I'd been trying to learn magic on my own without telling anyone; all experimentation had been at home, where the Trace would never have caught me.

Ollivander didn't answer, instead drawing out several boxes from different shelves before selecting one to open and hand to me. I hadn't even noticed the tape had stopped measuring and rolled itself back up. "Here, Mr. Godewyn. Walnut and unicorn hair, nine inches, reasonably swishy. Give it a wave."

I took the wand, but didn't feel anything. It just felt like wood to me, but I still gave it a wave when I found that it had disappeared from my hand.

"Apparently not. Ebony and dragon heartstring, 13 and a quarter inches, fairly rigid. Try that."

I gave it another go, but it was out of my hands almost as soon as I had touched it.

"Thought so. Try—"

It went on for a while. Discarded wands were left to pile up on the only spindly chair in the store as Ollivander tried to get me to match with a wand. I was beginning to feel like Harry must have when he first got his own wand: a "tricky customer", as Ollivander put it. My mind inadvertently began to wander, wondering whether it was because I could remember my previous life, from before I was Ken, and knew things about this world that I shouldn't otherwise know. My musings were interrupted when Ollivander failed to hand me another wand in under thirty seconds and instead had head off to mutter to himself in a corner before approaching me slowly.

"Very tricky," he was muttering softly. "But maybe — but no, I would think not — and yet, it might actually fit — unusual combination — oh, why not give it a try." Ollivander extended another wand to me hesitantly. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

I froze at the description and started at the wand proffered to me. Holy shit. This was his wand. No way it would match with me… but I couldn't help it. I had to try. I gingerly reached out to take it and —

There was a quiet murmur and something flickered out of the corner of my vision.

—nothing.

I tried not to be visibly disappointed, but the wandmaker didn't seem to notice.

"Oh, I see," Ollivander grinned happily. "You were born in the winter, yes? The middle of January? Capricorn?"

I nodded.

"I see. Very close indeed. One moment. I don't think I've ever had to try this wand before, but maybe —" He disappeared into the shelves before returning with an old, dusty wandbox. "Here. English Oak and phoenix feather, thirteen inches, supple."

I reached out and took it gingerly, expecting nothing to happen. Instead, I couldn't help but feel the rush of magic tingling under my fingertips at the slightest touch of the wood.

What?

Then I gripped it, and the sensation of warmth and tinges of wonder surged through my heart and my hand. I raised it, and something felt…

Oh.

I gave the wand a simple wave and a rush of strength flowed through me, carrying with it a heat and certitude that filled the air with keen awareness. Sparks erupted in a riot of colors, like someone had taken Holi and Diwali and put them together to paint the world in vivacious, multi-hued brilliance, lingering as dancing lights flickering in the dusty shop. The grin on my face was infectious as I was filled with joy and overwhelming wonder at this display of magic. It was a dream come true.

"Oh, bravo! Well done, indeed, oh, quite a display," laughed Ollivander, taking the wand from my tingling fingers to put it back inside the old box and wrapping it with brown paper. "A little dramatic for an oak, but then, great expectations have a funny way of showing themselves."

"What?" I said dumbly, still a little overwhelmed by the sensation of the wand. Magic had been wonderous without it already, but I had been very much unprepared for how right the wand had felt.

"Indeed, yes, indeed. Of course, I expect you'll practice with your wand just as much as you do without, Mr. Godewyn. These things are clear to those who have studied wandlore — the wand chooses the wizard, but the connections are complex." Ollivander's hazy silver eyes glistened like a still lake reflecting the full moon. His words were soft, quiet, and yet echoed with some secret, ancient wisdom. "You've felt the initial attraction, a partnership struck, but now the quest of experience must be mutual. Phoenix feathers are like that; an English oak, even more so. The wand learns from the wizard, and the wizard their wand. Their loyalty is hard earned, so I expect you'll take good care of each other."

I nodded, feeling a little stupid. I could vaguely recall the qualities of a phoenix feather core from memories of my first life, but why English oak was particular escaped me. Though, it also felt strange for oak to be supple, so I imagined it was just the magic of the wand that made it that way; the strength of an oak, yet somehow, supple. Still, despite my experience telling me that I was capable of magic without it, I deeply wished to see how far I could go with it in hand.

Handing over the seven Galleons Mum had given me, I bowed in gratitude when Ollivander gave me the wand, and swallowed a gulp of nervousness. His pale eyes were still upon me, and I felt oddly like a butterfly under an aurelian's lens. Thanking the wandmaker profusely as I made my exit, Ollivanders spoke up just as I reached the door.

"Oh, and Mr. Godewyn. Do remember to use the Interface the next time you feel like experimenting. I always find a brief tutorial quite illuminating."

What?

I turned, bewildered, about to ask what the old man had meant by that, but he had vanished into thin air. All I saw was a dusty old shop filled to the brim with countless wands, and the distinct sense that I had missed something very important.

I was still quite dazed when I rejoined my mother outside the wand shop, where she'd been gossiping with Mrs. Macmillan about some scandal or other. Based on her double-take just by looking at me, and the grip I had on the twine and brown-paper package, I must have been quite a sight. Apparently, this warranted a pick-me-up, so she wrapped me in a tight hug and whisked me to Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlor for a cone.

Despite the immense variety of curious flavors to choose from, I ended up taking the simple mint-and-chocolate-chip. It did make me feel better, somehow, and I quietly debated whether to mention what had worried me. I decided not to, then explained how I had had to try loads of wands before Ollivander found the right fit for me. Mum extracted a promise from me that I'd show her the wand at supper when Dad got home.

From there, we made our way to Flourish and Blotts, where I was once more drawn into the wonderful world of magical books. However, after the experience at Ollivanders, my enthusiasm was strangely muted, tinged by the worry I had regarding Ollivander's words after I'd found my wand. I still wanted nothing more than to read anything and everything I could get my hands on in this bookshop, no doubts about that.

But, despite my rekindled desire to devour knowledge and master the arts of magic, I felt oddly shy and restrained. Before today, I knew that in both my lives I would have likely begun to start reading some of the books in the store itself. Now, I simply wished to find as many books as I could and abscond with them to some secret place where I could learn in private without worrying about the pale eyes of a half-blind wandmaker who seemed to see right through me. Running my fingers along the spines (and dodging the ones that tried to bite back), a shiver ran down my spine. I fingered the paper package containing my wand and focused on the wonder I had felt. The memory gave me strength.

I ended up having to negotiate with Mum for permission to buy more books than were listed as course materials. She was all too familiar with my habit of hoarding books, and I suppose I may have gone a tad overboard in trying to buy three year's worth of course books all at once. But I managed to negotiate for at least several reference books besides the course materials, as well as books on various topics I thought might have been slightly interesting to read in my free time. Oh, and novels; plenty of novels. I even managed to get a copy of Hogwarts: A History, if only to see what was so darn great about it. I'd leafed through it while browsing the shelves and hadn't seen anything truly special.

All it took to get the books I wanted was to give up sweets and ice-cream and other unhealthy snacks until I left for Hogwarts and a promise that I would spend at least an hour outside each day doing something active, and my biweekly tennis lessons for the summer didn't count. My stomach grumbled in protest, but I thought it was more than a fair deal.

We stopped by Gringotts on our way back to the Leaky Cauldron as Mum needed to speak to a banker about something. I was left waiting in the atrium on a bench alongside my new school supplies, and busied myself with staring at the architecture and trying to puzzle how Gobbledegook worked as a language. The goblins tended to speak it among themselves when discussing business, and it was harsh, rasping, distinctly inhuman and astonishingly weird. I didn't make much progress in figuring out what the goblins were actually talking about before Mum had returned, and made a note to myself that I ought to learn the language if I had the free time.

After returning home via the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron (another dizzying experience), I absconded with my precious books and my new wand and plopped into a comfy armchair to begin reading. Adalbert Waffling's Magical Theory occupied my time until Dad came home and Smokey had finished preparing supper.

I ended up regaling my amused father about the details of the day and all the things that had happened — though I left out Ollivander's parting message — and showed them my wand. When prompted to give it a whirl, I ended up trying to cast the Levitation Charm again. I practiced it without a wand yesterday, after all. But instead of floating gently upwards at my command, the spoon I had flicked at shot upwards like a rocket, embedding itself into the ceiling. Whoops.

Embarrassed, I tried not to flush as my parents laughed and enveloped me in a hug, full of congratulations. My baby brother had giggled and clapped his hands, demanding, "Again, again!"

After my father retrieved the spoon from the ceiling and repaired the hole with a wave of his wand, I did end up trying the spell again, this time with much better results. I got more hugs and couldn't help the feeling of pride that surged through me.

Once supper was over, I ended up continuing to read in my room until late, idly practicing some of the wand movements detailed in my books to get a better feel for the motions. I also started reading The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) and tried a few of the spells therein too, but I was not always successful. By the time Smokey came in and reminded me I ought to have been in bed, I had moved onto levitating my pillows in an attempt to construct a pillow-pyramid.

Lying in bed, I ruminate over the events of the day, thinking back on the sights and sounds and smells, and couldn't help the gleeful smile that came to my face. But then I was reminded of my wand and Ollivander's last, curious words which ruined the mood. I frowned thoughtfully, puzzling over them.

There weren't many ways to take his words and I worried that, somehow, it had been a message that none of what I was experiencing was real. The thought terrified me. I shot up and reached for the wand on my bedside dresser. The wood was oddly comforting in my hand, so I clutched it like a lifeline. Summoning up bravado, I stabbed dramatically into the darkness, as if lunging at some imaginary opponent to dispel my doubts.

Obviously nothing happened.

"Right," I muttered to myself, waving the wand like a sword. "As if I could just stab reality and prove it wasn't real. I can't even summon up an Interface or whatev—"

—and then something did happen.

A small roll of parchment appeared out of nowhere. It hovered in midair, and seemed to glow faintly in the darkness. Then it unrolled itself, blank and featureless before ink started appearing out of thin air, detailing elegant designs along the border and edges of the page. Then it began spelling out a message.

Greetings Jumper!

Welcome to the world of Harry Potter!

Hope you Survive the Experience!

I stared mutely at the parchment, partly in shock, partly in horror. Then I collapsed back into bed, laughing like a madman.

A/N: So, things actually start happening here. Unlike many other stories, Ken doesn't meet anyone worth mentioning at Diagon Alley because it's a trope that doesn't make sense to me - there's over a month between when the letters start arriving and when Hogwarts begins, and not everyone will buy their supplies at the same time. Even so, events progress, Ken has a perplexing experience in a wandshop, and a revelation is made. Things are beginning to get exciting.