A company car takes Shelli and Larry into central London. Larry has them be dropped off across the street from the Leaky Cauldron. He tells the driver that everywhere they need is within walking distance from here, and that keeping him around during shopping would be a waste of his time. Larry will him when they're ready to be picked up. The driver grins, saying that he's being paid by the hour to transport them to London and back to their hotel, so by all means, take all the time that they need, he's heard great things about the fare at a particular pub from a mate of his. And so he drives away.
Shelli and Larry had been chatting about the school on the way there, but Shelli noticed how dodgy Larry had been with his answers, how generic. He had mentioned that it was the school that he had attended, but was acting as if he couldn't reveal anything of note to those who hadn't. Something didn't sit right with her about it.
As they waited for the cross signal she said, "It's very strange that a Scottish school would choose to have their exclusive materials suppliers in the heart of London, and not, say, Edinburgh. Not logistically sound, if you ask me."
Larry chuckled. "Well, that's mostly due to the fact that all of the top specialty shops set up around the bank, which is here in London."
"And there's not a Scottish branch of this prestigious bank? Why not go with another bank?"
"Well, no. And this is the only bank that deals with the exchange rates…."
"This school has its own currency? That's loony! And a bank actually goes along with it??"
Larry shook his head in amusement at her outburst. "It really does make sense. You'll understand when we get there," he says as he walks up to the door of the run down looking pub and holds it open for her.
"And now we're going to a pub? Did you not eat before we left? We've only just gotten started!" Shelli cried exasperatedly.
Larry's grin grew. "Fear not, Miss Masten, this is just a throughway."
A look of confusion clouded her face as she tossed out her habitual "You can call me Shellianna, you know," as she walked inside. Once their eyes adjusted to the dim interior, Larry guided her by the shoulders, past the bar with a nod to the bartender, and out a backdoor into a blind alleyway.
"Some throughway," Shelli muttered as Larry started tapping some bricks on the far wall. She was starting to doubt the trust that she had instinctively felt when meeting him, and considering possible escape routes. Suddenly, the sound of grinding stones broke her out of her thoughts as, impossibly, the bricks were moving themselves aside to form an archway that revealed a bright, colorful, and crowded street beyond.
Larry had moved back to her side, smiling gleefully at her shock. "Shellianna Masten, welcome to Diagon Alley, the Oxford Street of Wizarding Britain."
"That wasn't there before……" Shelli said dumbly.
"And now it is," Larry agreed, steering her by the shoulder again.
"But, but, HOW???" she asked, feeling her brain move things around to try to accommodate.
"Magic," Larry said simply.
Shellianna tensed. "Magic isn't real," she said automatically, and Larry frowned.
"Look around you, and tell me again that magic isn't real," he said with a sweeping gesture.
And look, she did. There were people dressed in colorful robes and cloaks and pointy hats everywhere. There were shops advertising new potion ingredients, and cauldrons of various materials, and spellbooks. One shop had a crowd of kids around the front window, where the fanciest looking broom Shelli had ever seen was on display. It would be terrible for sweeping.
Sensing that his young charge was beginning to feel overwhelmed, Larry said "Hey. I get that this is turning your mind inside out. Why don't we take a break, stop for ice cream, and I'll answer any questions that you have?" He took her dumbstruck nod as consent enough, and steered her to Florean Fontescue's Ice Cream Parlour.
Larry returned to the patio where he had left Shellianna, carrying 2 cones. She was staring out into the street, her mask having slipped from mature, stern disbelief to an expression of childlike wonder. When her guard was down, she really did look eleven years old, and not like some junior executive in training.
Smiling softly, he handed her the ice cream he had gotten her. "I didn't know what you might like," he said, using his now free hand to rub the back of his neck, "and I thought that all of the new flavors may overwhelm you more, so I got you butterbeer. Most people like butterbeer."
Shelli tentatively tried a bit.
"This tastes like butterscotch caramel cream soda…… but extra. I don't dislike it," she decided.
"The extra is the magic," Larry all but chirped.
"About that. Magic? Like fairy tales and such?"
"And so much more. Hasn't there ever been something in your life that science couldn't quite explain?"
Shelli stared back at him, looking embarrassed. "When I was younger, I used to get massive headaches because objects would speak to me…. Well, not with words, but pictures of their 'lives'," she corrected, with finger quotes. "The older it was, the more it wanted to tell me….. and living in a house full of fancy antiques……." She paused, her eyes clouded as her mind travelled her childhood, then she shook her head. "Of course when I asked Father if we could spread the antiques out more and told him my reasoning, he very quickly and quietly got me put on antipsychotics. All they do is make me lethargic," she concluded, looking at Larry. Her gaze was level, but fear lurked in her eyes. She was daring him to judge her, as her father and doctors had before, and unsure what she would do if he did.
"Well, I haven't heard of that one before, but 99% of young witches and wizards have bouts of what we call 'accidental magic' at a young age. Uncontrolled, unconscious impulses to get what they want or act upon a thought. When I was little, my mum had told me that I couldn't have any of the cookies that she had just baked, and when she turned around, suddenly the whole batch had teleported into my playroom with me!" Larry laughed.
Shelli could imagine a small freckly boy with biggish ears giggling over the fact that the sought after cookies were suddenly with him in the other room. It made her smile to think about how perplexed his mother must have been.
"So, yeah, you're magical. Which is why you've been invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It's one of a few prestigious schools in Europe, and the only one in Britain, serving all 5 countries in the Isles. Gringotts, the Wizarding bank, is here in London, and they handle currency exchanges between Muggle -- nonmagical -- and Wizarding monies, to answer your earlier question. Keeping up so far?"
Shelli paused in eating her ice cream. "I think so…. So, is everyone just surprised that they are randomly magical, or…….?"
"No, there are magical bloodlines. It seems to be a genetic trait, and like with most genetics, if one or both parents have it, the offspring is liable to as well. Though, also like other genetics, sometimes the offspring of 2 magical folk isn't magical, and sometimes the offspring of 2 Muggles is magical. Nobody's really tracked down the particular gene, so it's not like we can test for it."
"Oh….. so I could just have been lucky that a latent gene was expressed…. Or maybe…" 'Or maybe my mother was of this world' went unsaid, but Larry understood. It's tough growing up with just one parent. Luckily, his mum eventually found a loving partner in his step-mum, but that's not always the case.
"Anyways, any more questions? We should probably start heading towards the bank," Larry added, checking his watch.
"So, all of the candles and oil lamps… do they not have electric power in the Wizarding part of society?"
"No, and I think that they do it purely for aesthetic! They claim that most electric technology goes on the fritz around magic, but somehow they have radios!" Larry started, clearly passionate about the subject as they made their way up the street to the massive white marble building that could only be a bank in Shelli's eyes.
"So, weird stuff I've learned so far," Shelli started listing on her fingers. "First, Goblins are real, among other magical races, and they are primarily bankers, appraisers, and fine craftsmen. Secondly, Wizarding money has the strangest system that I've ever seen, and I'm British. Also, Wizarding society just expects us to just walk around with sacks of bullion to pay for goods and services. Thirdly, Brooms instead of motorcars, naturally because magic carpets are banned in Britain, and you would only take a broom if you're unable to teleport one of 3 possible ways, which are the most common modes of travel. And despite being able to teleport at will, wizard send their post via the slowest flying type of birds, despite nonmagic post being faster. Lastly, Potionmaking is a cross between magical chemistry and cooking, not to be mistaken with alchemy, or actual magical cooking. So what's left?"
"Well, we still need to get your wand, your books, and get you fitted for your uniforms. Do you have a preference?
"... Wand first?"
"Sounds like a plan."
As they stepped into the small front room of the dimly lit shop with walls stacked floor to ceiling with long narrow boxes that was Olivander's, Shelli was overcome by a cacophony of whispers that hit her like a bus. Larry saw her grimace and looked at her with concern. "It's just dusty in here, felt like I was about to sneeze," she waved him off.
There was a slight creak of the floorboards and a soft croaking voice spoke behind her. "Ah, but if you could only hear them."
Shelli jumped a little bit, started by how swiftly the old man with moon-like eyes had snuck up on them.
Ollivander smiled, but it seemed more polite than friendly. "I'd imagine that they're all abuzz to learn from you." His eyes shifted to Larry and his eyes narrows slightly. "Lawerence. A pleasure seeing you again. Dogwood. Dragon heartstring. Ten inches. Is it still serving you well?"
Larry smiled and nodded. "Of course, sir. The best, as always. But I'm actually here helping Shelliana Masten to pick a wand."
Ollivander's smile widened, but his eyes suggested he was unamused by the noncommittal answer as he shifted his gaze back to Shelliana.
"So, I am supposed to choose a wand?" She asked nervously.
The wand-maker's polite smile fell a touch and the look in his eyes almost appeared like those of someone's stern grandfather.
"The wand chooses the witch, Ms. Masten. They have all the life and personality a their own. We are but travel partners, chosen for the potential experiences we can bring to the fold. Do you understand?"
Shelliana nodded, even though she most assuredly did not.
Ollivander seemed to accept this though and he pulled a wand from a dusty shelf, setting it under his arm as he began measuring her hands with his magical tape measure, his eyes practically glowing amidst the motes of dust in the dimmest of lights through the shop door.
"Hmm. Are you left handed or right handed?" He asked.
"...I write ambidextrously, if that helps." She replied, not really keen on Ollivander just grabbing her hands like he did.
The wand-maker nodded absent-mindedly and handed her the wand from under his arm and she gets the sensations of a field; the cool green grass near a clear winding brook that was a fresh as springtime. She got the feeling of flying through the air and the sensation of roast mutton on her tongue. But despite the feeling of peace it should have given, she felt uneasy.
"Willow, Dragon Heartstring. Nine and seven eighths inches, slightly springy. Give that a go."
Unsure what else to do, Shelli gave it a wave and strand of thick mucous launched itself to catch on her sleeve.
The Wand-maker's eyes gleamed and he set off to find Shelliana another wand, his fingers nimbly grabbed a box off the shelf. "Try this one. Cherry. Unicorn Hair."
Shelli took it but as soon as she grabbed it, she cried out in pain as it painfully seared into the flesh of her palm.
"Ah, definitely not it seems." Ollivander swiftly and nimbly yanked it from her hand.
"...That one really didn't like me." Shelliana agreed, forgetting briefly about hiding the voices as she rubbed the painful spot of her palm.
The Wand-maker's eyes twinkled and he went about finding another wand, muttering to himself with an almost manic glee as he fluttered about the shop.
It took nearly twenty more wands in as many minutes and Shelli grew more and more dejected with each rejection. Until finally, Ollivander came back with another wand, a look of sheer triumph on his face.
"At last, this one will do the trick. I'm certain of it. Unusually long for your hands at fourteen and half inches, but I have a feeling you'll grow into it. He gingerly placed it in her hands. "Red Oak. Unicorn Hair. Only a slight yield."
And then Ollivander frowns. Nothing is happening. Not bad, but nothing. Muttering something under his breath, he clears his throat. "Try something. Anything."
Shelliana gave it a half hearted flick and the wand gave an equally noncommittal beam of light from its tip.
"Fascinating. Utterly fascinating. This will be the first wand I've ever sold that will only barely work for its potential owner. I wager it might have to do with your particular style of magic that we can expect from you after Hogwarts, but nevertheless I do believe it is the best we can hope for, Ms. Masten."
Shelliana nods and zones out as Larry pays Ollivander the appropriate amounts, eager to just be out of the shop